Hesitation Blues (1/5)
Title: Hesitation Blues
Rating: NC-17 for smut in the last chapter
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Warnings: Blowjobs and talky, talky boys.
Word Count: 14k-ish total
Summary: Kurt loved the make-out sessions, the experimenting, when one or the other of them said, “Do you want to try - ”or “Have you ever -” or “Could we -” and the answers were always a permutation of “yes” and ranged from a lackluster, “I suppose, if you really want to,” to a roof-raising “Hell, yeah!” And then the day came when Blaine said no.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
If anyone asked Kurt Hummel what he would never, ever part with in a boyfriend - the one thing Blaine gave him that he couldn’t live without - Kurt didn’t know what he’d say.
He loved the anticipation of morning, when he was getting dressed and wondering if Blaine would meet him at breakfast and launch into a retelling of a particularly wild and woolly dream, or whether Blaine would sleep through breakfast and stretch Kurt’s anticipation almost to the breaking point as he spent the morning waiting for that first glimpse of Blaine, musing over what sort of mood he’d be in. He loved singing with Blaine, in private and with the Warblers, where they all became one blaze of harmony; he usually couldn’t pick Blaine’s voice out of the mesh (unless they were standing next to each other), but it felt good to be part of something bigger than themselves, together.
He loved that although he couldn’t tell which voice was Blaine’s, if Blaine wasn’t singing, he knew immediately.
He loved the constant texting, the shopping together, the dates. The phone calls saying, “How fast can you get to the west side of campus? Craig from my physics class has a blow-up doll that looks like Dolly Parton stuffed with homemade explosives. I can show you on my phone later, but it won’t be the same.”
He loved the intense study sessions where they mostly ignored each other, but felt encouraged by the other’s presence.
He loved the make-out sessions where they mostly ignored everything but each other. The gentle, slow kissing, the confessions, the dreams, the irritation, the soothing. He loved the experimenting, when one or the other of them said, “Do you want to try - ”or “Have you ever -” or “Could we -” and the answers were always a permutation of “yes” and ranged from a lackluster, “I suppose, if you really want to,” to a roof-raising “Hell, yeah!”
And then the day came when Blaine said no.
---
Blaine read the same paragraph about John Muir for the fourth time without a single word registering. He set the book aside. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t expected this. He had. He’d expected things to move forward. He’d also thought he’d get to set the pace.
He balanced his pen on his upper lip, stared at the ceiling, and wondered where exactly he’d gotten the idea that Kurt would be content to take it slow. Maybe it was because he’d fallen so hard for Kurt, so quickly. When they finally started dating, he’d expected he’d be the one wanting more than Kurt was ready to give.
The first time Kurt asked if he could blow him, he hadn’t expected it. They’d been lying on the bed, mostly dressed, Blaine sitting up with Kurt’s head resting on his thigh. They gently teased each other with more curiosity than passion. Blaine ran his finger close to the sides of Kurt’s neck, barely tickling the tiny blond hairs below the hairline and watching the goosebumps form as Kurt shivered. It was like touching the tip of a cat’s ear and watching it shake it’s head. Kurt, similarly intent, had Blaine’s fly open and drew his forefinger across Blaine’s cock lightly, absorbed with the ridges, the veins, the hair, the minute contractions. Then he turned his head and breathed out against the material of Blaine’s pants, pressed a kiss there, and rolled over so he was facing Blaine.
“Can I kiss you there?” he asked.
Blaine had been surprised, then embarrassed, and after a moment of not being able to speak at all, he said, “No. I’m not ready to go there, yet.”
The second time Kurt asked, the question surprised him less, embarrassed him more, and he still wasn’t ready.
Kurt hadn’t asked a third time.
Which was good, because Blaine would have felt even more guilty and uncomfortable coming back with the same answer: Not ready.
The more he thought about it, the more pressure he felt. The more pressure he felt, the less ready he was, and the more grateful he was that Kurt backed off. He worried a little that he’d hurt Kurt’s feelings, or that Kurt would see it as a challenge. (Kurt really liked a challenge.) He’d steeled himself for a third request. It hadn’t come, though, and Blaine had started to feel like he could breathe again. It was such a relief to know that Kurt might want, but Kurt didn’t expect.
Blaine just wished he’d ask one more time.
Blaine plucked the pen from his lip and hooked it over the notebook he kept next to the bed to catch stray music and dreams. He turned his lamp off and pushed his feet under the covers.
After a moment, he reached up and grabbed the notebook. He scribbled five words before turning over and hoping to sleep without any dreams of Kurt’s lips in unexpected places.
You are so fucked up.
---
At McKinley, Kurt always rolled his eyes when he heard couples complaining about their parents issuing the “Don’t let your love life distract you from your studies” warning, because, seriously, what kind of love life was he ever going to have? Even if he did, he didn’t see the problem. Considering the ridiculous amounts of time he spent with Mercedes and the other girls, if THAT didn’t distract him from schoolwork, what would?
Then there was Dalton. And then there was Blaine. And then it made sense.
Not in the beginning. In the beginning, his schoolwork improved. He and Blaine studied together, went out together, and talked for hours. Days. Once they started dating, Kurt’s focus improved because of the refreshing breaks in the otherwise dull routine of classes. They found surreptitious opportunities to run a finger down the back of a hand, or to simply stand with arms around one another for a few long seconds. They managed to carve hours here and there of blissful solitude, where they could gently tease each other or get hot and heavy, however the mood swung.
Lately, it had been chaste and sweet, because hot and heavy had brought them to a stalemate. Kurt still was puzzling over it; Blaine presumably had the answer, but he wasn’t sharing. Until he decided to talk, they’d retreated to safe ground. Yet the tension hung there between them, and it distracted Kurt more than waiting for Gaga tour dates to be announced.
Kurt wanted to blow Blaine.
He’d asked the first time one day when they’d been playing with each other’s bodies to see what they could make them do. Blaine was warm and solid beneath his head, his cock doing gentle and interesting things, and the request popped out of Kurt’s mouth before he had thought much about it.
Once it was out there, it was all he could think about. He let some time pass, because Blaine said he had to think about it, but the second request had been met with a well-considered, unapologetic, firm (although kind) no.
Since then, Kurt had been practicing. He’d started out on bananas, and that had been a disaster of epic proportions. The cucumbers had been a winner choice, though. They tasted good, they had interesting textures, they came in a variety of sizes, and they were good for his skin. He wished he had the nerve to buy a dildo, but his dad monitored his credit card bills and bank statements, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to walk into a local sex shop where he could pay cash.
The cucumbers had been going on for awhile, though, and he was ready to graduate to the real thing. And Blaine wasn’t having any of it, even though Kurt had it all worked out.
Actually, he had it worked out about a thousand different ways, which was what made it so impossible to let go of. Anywhere you could steal a kiss, you could give a blowjob. Even if that was an exaggeration, there was significant overlap. The thought of lingering in the stairwell, fleeing rumpled and satisfied (or not - that could be fun, too) before they got caught; or sneaking into bathroom stalls, or stopping the car (or not, he hummed to himself) on the way to or from a concert, or under the bleachers next to the athletic field (Kurt would go to a lot more games), or under a restaurant table... the possibilities seemed endless. Blowjobs turned the world into a sexual amusement park, with Kurt and Blaine strolling down the fairway.
If only he could get Blaine to see it that way.
He could feel Blaine tense up any time he kissed too low on his stomach. It was like an invisible line had been drawn around his waist: Hands Only. If they were standing, and Kurt began to bend his knees, even to kiss lower on Blaine’s neck, strong hands grasped his elbows to keep him standing. Mentioning the second time to Blaine had branded Kurt as utterly singleminded about it, because now, anytime he reached for Blaine’s belt buckle, those hands were on his elbows, and Kurt could feel Blaine’s underlying tension even during a handjob.
When they were having make-out sessions, if Kurt started at his collar and unbuttoned toward his belt, it took awhile for Blaine to tense up and turn things around. But if Kurt started by pulling Blaine’s shirt out of his pants, there was a 50/50 chance that Blaine would groan and flip Kurt on his back, kissing him hard; or he’d whisper, “Kurt, please kiss me,” in a needy voice that drew Kurt’s lips to his like a magnet; or he’d rub Kurt’s arms and shoulders lightly, using that gentle touch to guide Kurt where he most needed to be touched... and it had all been so loving and passionate and goddamned subtle that it took Kurt weeks to realize Blaine was in charge even when he didn’t seem to be.
It wasn’t like Blaine was rejecting him, because half the time, those hands on his elbows would spin him around and reach down for him, and he’d be momentarily blissed out and boneless and Blaine would be kissing him. But when he came to himself, and he and Blaine were grinning at each other with hot, playful affection, part of him would think, “He put me off again.”
And to think about it not as getting off but as being put off... he had been frustrated and irritated at first, but now, he was getting concerned.
Not only wasn’t Blaine ready to do it, he wasn’t even ready to talk about it. The second time Blaine said no, Kurt asked if he could tell me more - their special code for Pass me a clue, because I'm worried here, okay? - and Blaine simply repeated he wasn’t ready. He didn’t expound, didn’t explain, certainly didn’t tell him more. But he looked away from Kurt for a millisecond, and Kurt knew he knew he was dodging the question. Evidently, Blaine decided that would be even worse, because he finally said, “I don’t know what more there is to tell. I haven’t been able to think about it coherently. If I can’t think clearly, I can’t talk about it, and if I can’t talk about it, I’m not ready for it.”
“The best sex is incoherent,” Kurt said. “Don’t you think you might be asking too much of your brain?”
“Maybe.” Blaine shrugged.
“You do realize I’m not asking you to reciprocate? I want to go down on you. I’m not asking you to do the same to me. In case that makes a difference.”
Blaine’s gaze was unreadable, but Kurt could tell there was a lot going on in that brain he was trying to beat into submission. Finally, Blaine said, “I know that.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t object at all if you wanted to, but I don’t expect it.”
Blaine looked upset at that and pressed a finger to Kurt’s lips.
And there it had rested. Kurt had backed off, because he knew what it was like to be pressured. But he didn’t like the fact that there was something Blaine wasn’t telling him. Or that Blaine wasn’t telling himself.
He was also getting a little bit tired of cucumbers.
---
They were in Kurt’s room. Blaine was stretched out on the floor, propped up on his elbows, reading PoliSci, and Kurt was at his desk, typing furiously on his laptop, finishing a report on Louis I. Blaine was so absorbed in reading, he wasn’t even taking notes, and he certainly didn’t notice when Kurt’s typing stopped. The room was silent for a long while.
“Have you ever gotten a blowjob before?”
Blaine watched every letter on the page defocus and vanish into a blurry grey wash. “What?”
“Have you ever -“
“I heard you, Kurt. I heard you. Jesus.” He let his arms fall forward and his head dropped onto his book. Oh, my god. “Where do you come up with these - what made you ask that?”
“Well, have you?” Kurt asked, his back to Blaine; he was facing his laptop, but he sure wasn’t writing. “Because if you’ve only ever given them, I understand how it might be different and a little scary to think about being on the other side.”
“Don’t you have a report due?”
“I finished. I’ve been finished for awhile now.”
“Well, I’m not done with my PoliSci.” Blaine leaned up on his elbows again and willed the words back into focus. He could do this. He spun his pen between his thumb and forefinger, then slalomed it back and forth from forefinger to pinky and back. Blowjob, blowjob, blowjob. Shit.
“It was just a simple question.”
“Those kinds of questions are never simple. Don’t be an ass.” He sounded irritated, but beneath it, he was anxious. Yes or no. Simple. He was hyperaware of his dick and the floor beneath him and Kurt’s ass in the chair five feet away. He folded his arms and rested his head on them, feeling out of sorts and off balance. The question was simple. The answer certainly wasn’t.
“I didn’t realize it was a state secret.”
Despite the words, Kurt’s tone was gentle, but Blaine deliberately chose the interpretation that would buy him some time. “Knock it off, Kurt. It’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think? More suited to when we’re making out? Not when I’m trying to get work done.” Because asking when we're making out went over so well when you tried that. Twice.
“So you’d feel better if we tabled it.”
Blaine exhaled deeply at the reprieve. “Yes.”
The room filled with silence again. Kurt’s disappointment was palpable, and Blaine felt another wave of guilt wash over him. Finally, Kurt said, “Okay. I’m going to get a latte. Want one?” He kept his voice light.
“Please.” Blaine watched Kurt’s shoes and ankles push back from the desk. A hand, out of his field of vision, ruffled his hair, and then the feet walked out the door. Blaine closed his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted, and wondered if Kurt would be offended if he wasn’t here when he got back. He’d probably be confused, but not angry. Blaine slid up onto his knees, flipped his book closed, grabbed his notes, and headed back to his room.
Eddie, Bruce, and Marcus were in the midst of a raucous videogame, which was why Blaine had been studying in Kurt’s room to begin with, but at this point, Blaine thought their racket would be far less distracting. The door was open, and he left it that way.
It shouldn’t be this hard. He should just tell Kurt he didn’t know what he wanted. Did he really expect Kurt to wait forever? If not for the act, then for an answer? He remembered Kurt looking up at him, his face rosy and warm and as he uttered that request with quiet, humble intimacy. How he’d asked Blaine to tell him more, and Blaine didn’t have an answer.
Kurt appeared a few minutes later. “Hey.” He looked at Blaine - lying supine on his bed with his PoliSci book propped on his stomach - then at the trio of boys on the other side of the room. “Where’d you go?”
“Right here,” Blaine said, as he leaned up to take the coffee. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Kurt hesitated. Blaine’s fingers hadn’t even touched his when he took the coffee. They weren’t even touching anymore. He withdrew, feeling adrift. He did his best to smile anyway. “See you tomorrow.”
Blaine watched him go, then set the coffee on the bedstand, grabbed his earplugs, shoved the book aside and the covers back, and yanked them up, turning his back on both the party and on thoughts of the insanely inquisitive boy without propriety who was his boyfriend.
Rating: NC-17 for smut in the last chapter
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Warnings: Blowjobs and talky, talky boys.
Word Count: 14k-ish total
Summary: Kurt loved the make-out sessions, the experimenting, when one or the other of them said, “Do you want to try - ”or “Have you ever -” or “Could we -” and the answers were always a permutation of “yes” and ranged from a lackluster, “I suppose, if you really want to,” to a roof-raising “Hell, yeah!” And then the day came when Blaine said no.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
If anyone asked Kurt Hummel what he would never, ever part with in a boyfriend - the one thing Blaine gave him that he couldn’t live without - Kurt didn’t know what he’d say.
He loved the anticipation of morning, when he was getting dressed and wondering if Blaine would meet him at breakfast and launch into a retelling of a particularly wild and woolly dream, or whether Blaine would sleep through breakfast and stretch Kurt’s anticipation almost to the breaking point as he spent the morning waiting for that first glimpse of Blaine, musing over what sort of mood he’d be in. He loved singing with Blaine, in private and with the Warblers, where they all became one blaze of harmony; he usually couldn’t pick Blaine’s voice out of the mesh (unless they were standing next to each other), but it felt good to be part of something bigger than themselves, together.
He loved that although he couldn’t tell which voice was Blaine’s, if Blaine wasn’t singing, he knew immediately.
He loved the constant texting, the shopping together, the dates. The phone calls saying, “How fast can you get to the west side of campus? Craig from my physics class has a blow-up doll that looks like Dolly Parton stuffed with homemade explosives. I can show you on my phone later, but it won’t be the same.”
He loved the intense study sessions where they mostly ignored each other, but felt encouraged by the other’s presence.
He loved the make-out sessions where they mostly ignored everything but each other. The gentle, slow kissing, the confessions, the dreams, the irritation, the soothing. He loved the experimenting, when one or the other of them said, “Do you want to try - ”or “Have you ever -” or “Could we -” and the answers were always a permutation of “yes” and ranged from a lackluster, “I suppose, if you really want to,” to a roof-raising “Hell, yeah!”
And then the day came when Blaine said no.
---
Blaine read the same paragraph about John Muir for the fourth time without a single word registering. He set the book aside. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t expected this. He had. He’d expected things to move forward. He’d also thought he’d get to set the pace.
He balanced his pen on his upper lip, stared at the ceiling, and wondered where exactly he’d gotten the idea that Kurt would be content to take it slow. Maybe it was because he’d fallen so hard for Kurt, so quickly. When they finally started dating, he’d expected he’d be the one wanting more than Kurt was ready to give.
The first time Kurt asked if he could blow him, he hadn’t expected it. They’d been lying on the bed, mostly dressed, Blaine sitting up with Kurt’s head resting on his thigh. They gently teased each other with more curiosity than passion. Blaine ran his finger close to the sides of Kurt’s neck, barely tickling the tiny blond hairs below the hairline and watching the goosebumps form as Kurt shivered. It was like touching the tip of a cat’s ear and watching it shake it’s head. Kurt, similarly intent, had Blaine’s fly open and drew his forefinger across Blaine’s cock lightly, absorbed with the ridges, the veins, the hair, the minute contractions. Then he turned his head and breathed out against the material of Blaine’s pants, pressed a kiss there, and rolled over so he was facing Blaine.
“Can I kiss you there?” he asked.
Blaine had been surprised, then embarrassed, and after a moment of not being able to speak at all, he said, “No. I’m not ready to go there, yet.”
The second time Kurt asked, the question surprised him less, embarrassed him more, and he still wasn’t ready.
Kurt hadn’t asked a third time.
Which was good, because Blaine would have felt even more guilty and uncomfortable coming back with the same answer: Not ready.
The more he thought about it, the more pressure he felt. The more pressure he felt, the less ready he was, and the more grateful he was that Kurt backed off. He worried a little that he’d hurt Kurt’s feelings, or that Kurt would see it as a challenge. (Kurt really liked a challenge.) He’d steeled himself for a third request. It hadn’t come, though, and Blaine had started to feel like he could breathe again. It was such a relief to know that Kurt might want, but Kurt didn’t expect.
Blaine just wished he’d ask one more time.
Blaine plucked the pen from his lip and hooked it over the notebook he kept next to the bed to catch stray music and dreams. He turned his lamp off and pushed his feet under the covers.
After a moment, he reached up and grabbed the notebook. He scribbled five words before turning over and hoping to sleep without any dreams of Kurt’s lips in unexpected places.
You are so fucked up.
---
At McKinley, Kurt always rolled his eyes when he heard couples complaining about their parents issuing the “Don’t let your love life distract you from your studies” warning, because, seriously, what kind of love life was he ever going to have? Even if he did, he didn’t see the problem. Considering the ridiculous amounts of time he spent with Mercedes and the other girls, if THAT didn’t distract him from schoolwork, what would?
Then there was Dalton. And then there was Blaine. And then it made sense.
Not in the beginning. In the beginning, his schoolwork improved. He and Blaine studied together, went out together, and talked for hours. Days. Once they started dating, Kurt’s focus improved because of the refreshing breaks in the otherwise dull routine of classes. They found surreptitious opportunities to run a finger down the back of a hand, or to simply stand with arms around one another for a few long seconds. They managed to carve hours here and there of blissful solitude, where they could gently tease each other or get hot and heavy, however the mood swung.
Lately, it had been chaste and sweet, because hot and heavy had brought them to a stalemate. Kurt still was puzzling over it; Blaine presumably had the answer, but he wasn’t sharing. Until he decided to talk, they’d retreated to safe ground. Yet the tension hung there between them, and it distracted Kurt more than waiting for Gaga tour dates to be announced.
Kurt wanted to blow Blaine.
He’d asked the first time one day when they’d been playing with each other’s bodies to see what they could make them do. Blaine was warm and solid beneath his head, his cock doing gentle and interesting things, and the request popped out of Kurt’s mouth before he had thought much about it.
Once it was out there, it was all he could think about. He let some time pass, because Blaine said he had to think about it, but the second request had been met with a well-considered, unapologetic, firm (although kind) no.
Since then, Kurt had been practicing. He’d started out on bananas, and that had been a disaster of epic proportions. The cucumbers had been a winner choice, though. They tasted good, they had interesting textures, they came in a variety of sizes, and they were good for his skin. He wished he had the nerve to buy a dildo, but his dad monitored his credit card bills and bank statements, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to walk into a local sex shop where he could pay cash.
The cucumbers had been going on for awhile, though, and he was ready to graduate to the real thing. And Blaine wasn’t having any of it, even though Kurt had it all worked out.
Actually, he had it worked out about a thousand different ways, which was what made it so impossible to let go of. Anywhere you could steal a kiss, you could give a blowjob. Even if that was an exaggeration, there was significant overlap. The thought of lingering in the stairwell, fleeing rumpled and satisfied (or not - that could be fun, too) before they got caught; or sneaking into bathroom stalls, or stopping the car (or not, he hummed to himself) on the way to or from a concert, or under the bleachers next to the athletic field (Kurt would go to a lot more games), or under a restaurant table... the possibilities seemed endless. Blowjobs turned the world into a sexual amusement park, with Kurt and Blaine strolling down the fairway.
If only he could get Blaine to see it that way.
He could feel Blaine tense up any time he kissed too low on his stomach. It was like an invisible line had been drawn around his waist: Hands Only. If they were standing, and Kurt began to bend his knees, even to kiss lower on Blaine’s neck, strong hands grasped his elbows to keep him standing. Mentioning the second time to Blaine had branded Kurt as utterly singleminded about it, because now, anytime he reached for Blaine’s belt buckle, those hands were on his elbows, and Kurt could feel Blaine’s underlying tension even during a handjob.
When they were having make-out sessions, if Kurt started at his collar and unbuttoned toward his belt, it took awhile for Blaine to tense up and turn things around. But if Kurt started by pulling Blaine’s shirt out of his pants, there was a 50/50 chance that Blaine would groan and flip Kurt on his back, kissing him hard; or he’d whisper, “Kurt, please kiss me,” in a needy voice that drew Kurt’s lips to his like a magnet; or he’d rub Kurt’s arms and shoulders lightly, using that gentle touch to guide Kurt where he most needed to be touched... and it had all been so loving and passionate and goddamned subtle that it took Kurt weeks to realize Blaine was in charge even when he didn’t seem to be.
It wasn’t like Blaine was rejecting him, because half the time, those hands on his elbows would spin him around and reach down for him, and he’d be momentarily blissed out and boneless and Blaine would be kissing him. But when he came to himself, and he and Blaine were grinning at each other with hot, playful affection, part of him would think, “He put me off again.”
And to think about it not as getting off but as being put off... he had been frustrated and irritated at first, but now, he was getting concerned.
Not only wasn’t Blaine ready to do it, he wasn’t even ready to talk about it. The second time Blaine said no, Kurt asked if he could tell me more - their special code for Pass me a clue, because I'm worried here, okay? - and Blaine simply repeated he wasn’t ready. He didn’t expound, didn’t explain, certainly didn’t tell him more. But he looked away from Kurt for a millisecond, and Kurt knew he knew he was dodging the question. Evidently, Blaine decided that would be even worse, because he finally said, “I don’t know what more there is to tell. I haven’t been able to think about it coherently. If I can’t think clearly, I can’t talk about it, and if I can’t talk about it, I’m not ready for it.”
“The best sex is incoherent,” Kurt said. “Don’t you think you might be asking too much of your brain?”
“Maybe.” Blaine shrugged.
“You do realize I’m not asking you to reciprocate? I want to go down on you. I’m not asking you to do the same to me. In case that makes a difference.”
Blaine’s gaze was unreadable, but Kurt could tell there was a lot going on in that brain he was trying to beat into submission. Finally, Blaine said, “I know that.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t object at all if you wanted to, but I don’t expect it.”
Blaine looked upset at that and pressed a finger to Kurt’s lips.
And there it had rested. Kurt had backed off, because he knew what it was like to be pressured. But he didn’t like the fact that there was something Blaine wasn’t telling him. Or that Blaine wasn’t telling himself.
He was also getting a little bit tired of cucumbers.
---
They were in Kurt’s room. Blaine was stretched out on the floor, propped up on his elbows, reading PoliSci, and Kurt was at his desk, typing furiously on his laptop, finishing a report on Louis I. Blaine was so absorbed in reading, he wasn’t even taking notes, and he certainly didn’t notice when Kurt’s typing stopped. The room was silent for a long while.
“Have you ever gotten a blowjob before?”
Blaine watched every letter on the page defocus and vanish into a blurry grey wash. “What?”
“Have you ever -“
“I heard you, Kurt. I heard you. Jesus.” He let his arms fall forward and his head dropped onto his book. Oh, my god. “Where do you come up with these - what made you ask that?”
“Well, have you?” Kurt asked, his back to Blaine; he was facing his laptop, but he sure wasn’t writing. “Because if you’ve only ever given them, I understand how it might be different and a little scary to think about being on the other side.”
“Don’t you have a report due?”
“I finished. I’ve been finished for awhile now.”
“Well, I’m not done with my PoliSci.” Blaine leaned up on his elbows again and willed the words back into focus. He could do this. He spun his pen between his thumb and forefinger, then slalomed it back and forth from forefinger to pinky and back. Blowjob, blowjob, blowjob. Shit.
“It was just a simple question.”
“Those kinds of questions are never simple. Don’t be an ass.” He sounded irritated, but beneath it, he was anxious. Yes or no. Simple. He was hyperaware of his dick and the floor beneath him and Kurt’s ass in the chair five feet away. He folded his arms and rested his head on them, feeling out of sorts and off balance. The question was simple. The answer certainly wasn’t.
“I didn’t realize it was a state secret.”
Despite the words, Kurt’s tone was gentle, but Blaine deliberately chose the interpretation that would buy him some time. “Knock it off, Kurt. It’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think? More suited to when we’re making out? Not when I’m trying to get work done.” Because asking when we're making out went over so well when you tried that. Twice.
“So you’d feel better if we tabled it.”
Blaine exhaled deeply at the reprieve. “Yes.”
The room filled with silence again. Kurt’s disappointment was palpable, and Blaine felt another wave of guilt wash over him. Finally, Kurt said, “Okay. I’m going to get a latte. Want one?” He kept his voice light.
“Please.” Blaine watched Kurt’s shoes and ankles push back from the desk. A hand, out of his field of vision, ruffled his hair, and then the feet walked out the door. Blaine closed his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted, and wondered if Kurt would be offended if he wasn’t here when he got back. He’d probably be confused, but not angry. Blaine slid up onto his knees, flipped his book closed, grabbed his notes, and headed back to his room.
Eddie, Bruce, and Marcus were in the midst of a raucous videogame, which was why Blaine had been studying in Kurt’s room to begin with, but at this point, Blaine thought their racket would be far less distracting. The door was open, and he left it that way.
It shouldn’t be this hard. He should just tell Kurt he didn’t know what he wanted. Did he really expect Kurt to wait forever? If not for the act, then for an answer? He remembered Kurt looking up at him, his face rosy and warm and as he uttered that request with quiet, humble intimacy. How he’d asked Blaine to tell him more, and Blaine didn’t have an answer.
Kurt appeared a few minutes later. “Hey.” He looked at Blaine - lying supine on his bed with his PoliSci book propped on his stomach - then at the trio of boys on the other side of the room. “Where’d you go?”
“Right here,” Blaine said, as he leaned up to take the coffee. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Kurt hesitated. Blaine’s fingers hadn’t even touched his when he took the coffee. They weren’t even touching anymore. He withdrew, feeling adrift. He did his best to smile anyway. “See you tomorrow.”
Blaine watched him go, then set the coffee on the bedstand, grabbed his earplugs, shoved the book aside and the covers back, and yanked them up, turning his back on both the party and on thoughts of the insanely inquisitive boy without propriety who was his boyfriend.