Can't Explain (How The Wind Went And Pulled Me Into Your Hurricane)
Kurt can’t understand it. He knows he should be jumping around his room in joy, ringing Mercedes and squealing down the phone but seriously, now that the kissing is over and the shock and the soft, plush pressure on his lips have both worn off, he’s just plain confused. He honestly can’t believe himself. Blaine kissed him, Blaine who is beautiful and charming and who Kurt has been pining over for so long now and his dominant emotion is confusion, not elation. It makes no sense. But neither does the kissing. Blaine has gone from falling too hard and too fast for a near stranger, to having a sudden sexuality crisis, to telling Kurt he looks like he has freaking gas pains, to a heartfelt speech on how Kurt moves him and then the kissing.
Blaine Anderson is an enigma, and though the kissing was wonderful, Kurt really was trying to move on, trying so so hard, and Blaine’s sort of ruined that whilst also making a blender out of Kurt’s brain. All his thoughts and insecurities and fantasies are kind of muddled up and there’s Blaine sat in the middle of it with that awe-struck you move me look on his face and Kurt’s kind of mad at him.
Because Blaine doesn’t have the right to play on all his insecurities and tell him he’s not sexy and go to his dad with a bunch of pamphlets and make out with Rachel Animal-sweater Berry and then suddenly want to cover Kurt’s lips with his own and not have to explain himself. At all. And he hasn’t, oh no. Blaine kissed Kurt and Kurt (in the haze of beautiful boy and full, pretty lips) kissed Blaine several times, they rehearsed through the song once and shared one final kiss before Blaine realised the time and had to get back home. Kurt was left in the parking lot, lips swollen and blood humming and feeling slightly forlorn as the taste of Blaine faded in the back of his mouth.
And Kurt’s mind is pulled back to Valentine’s Day and he really wants to take a copy of When Harry Met Sally and shove it down Blaine’s throat (without damaging his lips because really, that was some excellent kissing and Blaine is far too cute when he’s pouty). The big difference is that Sally didn’t spend months pining for Harry only to get led on and let down. And Harry didn’t have a sudden epiphany and pivot one-eighty degrees because ‘oh, just realised, I actually do have feelings for you, sorry about that’. Kurt would feel a lot less pathetic about this if both he and Blaine had stayed friends for a couple of decades first before both conveniently realising at the same time that they were deeply and passionately in love and making out on New Year’s Eve (Kurt prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that Blaine won’t have that bad a receding hairline when he’s forty and what the hell is Kurt doing imagining them at forty anyway this is ridiculous). Instead, Kurt is now having to process a rejection and a repeal of said rejection, and a kiss, and the death of a beloved bird, all in one day. And it’s too much, it feels somehow worse than the rejection.
Blaine can’t do this, he can’t just take it back. It hurt too much the first time. He can’t just expect Kurt to open himself up, bare his insecurities only to be hurt again, and worse. And Kurt knows that it seems like his stupid pride and indignant persona are getting in the way of him and a beautiful boy with puppy-dog eyes and amazing, pouty lips, but it’s more than that. It runs deeper than that. This is about Kurt not knowing whether this is real or not. Blaine can’t suddenly find him attractive and kissable and moving. That’s not how it works. Kurt’s sure of it. He’s getting into bed after a rushed ten minute moisturising session on the day of his first real kiss and all he wants to do is cry.
It’s not that he hates Blaine, it’s just that he sort of does. He hates that his first kiss was terrifying and his second kiss was something else that Kurt can’t quite name. He thinks demeaning might be the word, because he feels messed with. There’s a torrent of conflicting emotions creating tidal waves in Kurt’s heart and he hurts because he doesn’t know how to feel. It’s almost like he’d be betraying himself if he gave into the joy that occupies a tiny portion of his mind that’s yelling Blaine likes you at an obscene number of decibels.
He needs to talk to Blaine. Blaine, Blaine. Not mentor-Blaine or strictly-friends-Blaine. No, he needs honest to God, truthful, maybe-a-little-broken Blaine, with feelings and wants and insecurities that Kurt knows are being hidden probably around ninety-nine percent of the time. He’ll go find him tomorrow, maybe bring a bucket of water and some conditioner to break his hair free from its gelled prison because Kurt’s got a theory that Blaine hides his real personality in his hair. Seriously.
Kurt wants to know him, know what really goes on in his mind because how is he supposed to trust that Blaine really wants to be with him if he doesn’t even know who the hell Blaine really is? So far his personality has seemed a little skittish, a little inconsistent. It’s not fair that Blaine should sit on his bed looking adorable and asking Kurt to open up to him when he’s never done that for Kurt.
And then he feels a little mean, because he suspects that that impromptu speech over a bejewelled bird casket maybe was Blaine opening himself up to Kurt. Letting himself feel something, be vulnerable. Maybe Blaine realised that Kurt could reject him in that moment (and Kurt thinks he probably had every right to). Maybe that was the earnest look in his eyes, the bashful ducking of his head, the light blush before the kissing.
Kurt softens, and lets his eyes fall shut. His hand curls up to rest on the pillow and he’ll deal with tomorrow when his alarm rings out the start of another confusing day.
*
When he does find Blaine the next day, at his locker before AP English, he has so many questions fighting for dominance in his mind that he almost gives up his quest for answers at the sight of Blaine’s blindingly beautiful smile. But he’s reeling his life into his own control for once, and if this, whatever the hell this is, is ever going to work out, Kurt needs to understand.
“Why do you suddenly find me attractive?” Kurt’s voice comes out slightly weaker than intended and he clears his throat before continuing, because Blaine’s face is kind of blank, all traces of smiles wiped from his face, and Kurt thinks he should probably expand. “You can’t say it’s because I sang Blackbird and expect me to just accept that, Blaine. It’s not that simple. You pretty much told me I have about as much sex appeal as a banana. Except a banana’s a phallic symbol, isn’t it? So let’s go with kiwi. Kiwis aren’t sexy at all. I’ve been walking around these past few weeks feeling like Kurt ‘Kiwi’ Hummel because of you, and you have to realise that I have insecurities. You can’t have just conveniently forgotten about the fact that I’ve… well, I haven’t exactly been treated ‘kindly’ at high school.” His voice cracks a little at that last part. Kurt doesn’t like to talk about the bullying. He doesn’t like to feel like a martyr or use it to his advantage. He‘s not a saint. “Blaine,” his voice softens, “you’ve got to give me something to work with here. How can you suddenly not find me utterly repulsive?”
Blaine scuffs a shoe against the floor and raises his eyes up at Kurt and whispers “I’ve never found you repulsive.” The small voice that is so unlike Blaine chips away at Kurt’s heart a little and he wants to wrap him up in his arms and rock him back and forth but he’s suddenly painfully aware of their location and the fact that they have to get to class.
“Can we talk this through later?” Kurt feels bad for bringing all this up so early in the day, when he knew they wouldn’t have time to talk it through sufficiently and now they’ll both have to sit through AP English and the rest of the day without getting to talk it through. Blaine nods, looking dejected. “Lima Bean after school?” Kurt asks tentatively.
“I’m not sure a coffee shop is the best place for this precise conversation. Could we maybe… go to your place? If you don’t mind, I mean, I know-”
“That’s fine, let’s get to class.” The bell rings and Kurt smiles rather awkwardly at Blaine, and they walk, rather awkwardly, to AP English.
*
Kurt is reminded of little more than a week ago, Blaine is sat on his bed again, minus the eager expression, and Kurt is feeling crappy. He paces a little. They’ve barely spoken a word to each other and that kiss feels like a dream now. The car ride back to Kurt’s house was long and painful and Kurt couldn’t even bring himself to turn on the radio. This silence isn’t companionable, it’s horrible and Kurt wants it to end now.
“Blaine, these past few weeks…”
“I know, Kurt, I know.” Blaine looks so dreadfully sad. “I’ve been trying to come up with one simple way of explaining it all, but there’s nothing. And it won’t go away and I’m completely crazy, aren’t I? Nobody does all that and can still call them self sane afterwards.”
“Well if you can’t explain it all away, why don’t we try each specific thing? I feel horrible Blaine, but I can’t do this when I feel like I don’t even know you.” And he does, Kurt feels horrible. He wishes he could just stop this conversation now but it feels like Pandora’s box has been opened and honest to God he just wants to be with Blaine and he can’t do that if he feels this screwed around with.
“Right, specific things.” Blaine chews on his lower lip. “Shoot.” His voice wavers.
“Jeremiah,” Kurt states, quite simply, lifting the chair from his dresser and swinging it round to face Blaine before taking a seat, hands laying delicately in his lap, back poker-straight. Blaine is rocking back and forth ever so slightly on Kurt’s bed and clenching his jaw.
“I deserve this. I deserve everything you’re saying to me, but God if this isn’t awful.” Blaine raises his head to make eye contact with Kurt for the first time since this morning and Kurt can see the torture in his expression. His voice is small. “Kurt, I’m not sure if I can explain Jeremiah. Not in simple terms. Not with it just being about Jeremiah.” He lets his head drop into his hands and lets out a noise that is a sort of cross between a sob and a groan. Kurt stays silent, he knows the words are coming.
And they do. Blaine’s hands eventually fall away and his head snaps up like a dam broken and the words pour out of him with such exuberance and Kurt can tell he’s been holding them back, holding everything back, for so long.
“You know I only transferred to Dalton around three months before you, right? Maybe you don’t, I can’t remember if I ever told you. I’m an idiot,” he chuckles darkly to himself “I guess we’ve already established that. Anyway, you came to spy and I thought you were really, really pretty but then you were vulnerable and beautiful and there were tears and I wanted to help you, because God knows nobody helped me. And then you saw me as a mentor and I got some kind of complex and I don’t even know, I started preaching about uniformity and fitting in because that’s what Thad told me and I wanted to feel like part of the school or something? I can’t explain. Christ, Kurt, I don’t know.” He shakes his head and raises his eyes to study the ceiling for a while, blinking repeatedly and Kurt wonders if he’s fighting back tears. But still, he stays silent. Blaine isn’t finished. “And so I’m trying to be a mentor and compartmentalising you as ‘friend’ in my mind because I deemed you ‘too vulnerable’ and not really giving you any choice in the matter, which wasn’t fair I know but I didn’t want you to think that the first out guy you met was some kind of predator. Because you are so gorgeous, God.”
“Not a baby penguin?” Kurt drawls, no humour in his voice.
“There hasn’t been a day gone by where I haven’t wanted to kiss you, Kurt.” Blaine’s eyes are wide and serious, and Kurt blushes despite himself, under the heat of Blaine’s gaze. And his insides jump a little because Blaine didn’t just suddenly find him attractive, he says he always has, and Kurt believes him because- well, he dares anybody to not believe Blaine when he‘s being the most himself Kurt has ever seen.
“Jeremiah…” Kurt prompts once more.
“Right, yeah. So he was gay, and there. And that’s pretty much all there is to it. And you see why I had to explain that other part first because ‘he was gay, and there’ sounds like an awful thing to say on its own but it’s true, Kurt. My idiot’s brain told me you were totally unavailable and I was feeling crappy about it trying to convince myself that you weren’t the most beautiful thing ever and so… Jeremiah.” He trails off, looking to Kurt hopefully.
“So… Jeremiah,” Kurt repeats. “I suppose I can understand that. But, Rachel-”
“Oh God please no.” Blaine looks as if he wants to clamp his hands over his ears and yell loud, happy songs but instead he opens and closes his mouth a few times and composes himself. And Kurt allows himself a small smile, because he knows Blaine is trying so hard. And then his stomach feels a little fuzzy because Blaine is trying so hard for him, and Kurt really wants to kiss him right now.
“Blaine, what do you feel about your sexuality now?” Kurt thinks he should be a therapist, because Blaine has never talked this much about himself, been so open with Kurt.
“Certain,” Blaine’s eyes widen once more, his voice is steady and even this time.
“Certain about what?”
“I’m so gay. So, so gay. Gay as a handbag full of rainbows and I was drunk and awful and I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself for it or if you’ll ever forgive me but please Kurt you have to understand I’m so-”
“Gay, yes, I heard,” Kurt really is smiling this time, and Blaine looks so much like he hopes this is over.
“So gay,” Blaine breathes out and looks at Kurt in a way that makes Kurt’s insides twist about in really, really nice ways.
“How do you know that for sure? How do I know you’re not going to have another bisexual crisis, because I’m okay with warding men off you because there aren’t a whole lot of them who are going to try to get in your pants in Lima, but women too?” Kurt is joking now, dragging this conversation out as long as possible because Blaine deserves this torture for all the crap he‘s put them both through. “You’re quite attractive, Blaine, and I just don’t think I can deal with-”
“I know for sure. I do.” The anguish on Blaine’s face is fast merging with something else and Kurt’s not really sure but he swears he saw Blaine’s eyes darken a little.
“How?” Kurt’s voice comes out a little breathier than intended.
“Fuck, Kurt, you don’t want to go there,” Kurt gulps, breath coming in shallow bursts now because Blaine swore and Kurt’s pretty sure there were implications in that statement. His eyes are locked with Blaine’s now. “I really want to kiss you right now. I’d like you to confirm for me that if I were to act on this impulse, it wouldn’t be taking advantage or messing things up even further. Because I really don’t want to mess this up.”
Kurt licks his lips and whispers “confirmed.”
Blaine practically launches himself as Kurt, letting out a low purr of satisfaction and something-else and Kurt can empathise entirely because finally. This kiss carries none of the uncertainty that Kurt was battling the day before. There’s no wondering why and no sick, confused feeling manifesting itself in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. No, Kurt’s stomach is otherwise occupied with a warm, insistent pressure and the bundle of vulnerable boy who has managed to fit onto Kurt’s lap rather successfully. Blaine melds his lips with Kurt’s and the world collapses in on itself, with the only thing that matters being the union of two boys whose own worlds have merged and become nothing but wet, warm lips and tongues and scraping teeth. Kurt is unable to hold back a small, keening moan and Blaine stiffens a little in the arms wrapped around his middle.
“Not a baby penguin,” his voice is husky and he comes to rest his forehead against Kurt’s, noses nuzzling. “You’re beautiful.”
“Hyperbole, Mr. Anderson,” Kurt’s tone is slick and sarcastic as always, but he knows the underlying insecurity is obvious.
“No, Kurt. I don’t think I’ve been clear enough. You’re beautiful, and brilliant, and sexy-” Kurt opens his mouth to protest. “You are. I know I wasn’t exactly encouraging the other week but you don’t need to try to be sexy, Kurt. Those faces, they weren’t sexy, but you are. Your wit and your poise and your legs in tight jeans, that’s sexy.”
Kurt blushes, stilling his hands, which were stroking up and down Blaine’s lovely, lovely back. He brings one hand up to run over the top of Blaine’s head and instead of replying with something equally wonderful to make Blaine’s knees shake, he asks the question burning in the back of his mind for so long, “Why so much gel?”
Blaine giggles, if that’s possible, and the situation seems a little absurd. He shifts a little in Kurt’s lap to straddle him properly, bringing the backs of his knees round to lock against the sides of Kurt’s torso. “Dalton, fitting in. I really wanted to stick out as little as possible,” his smile is a little sad. “It used to be so much longer, too.”
“I want to see it, sometime.” The statement feels so very intimate, and Blaine’s legs feel ridiculously good wrapped around him and the chair and Kurt can’t believe he’s gone this long without this kind of physical contact. But then, only Blaine. The whole of his life has been working up to this, right here, with Blaine. He leans down to press a kiss against Blaine’s neck, and the world tilts again. Kurt idly wonders if physics will contradict itself every time he and Blaine end up in a situation such as this, but then he gets a little distracted running a path up Blaine’s neck, past his jaw to whisper, wet and breathy in his ear “You’re beautiful too.”
Blaine’s hips jerk a little, involuntarily, and he sighs back “So very, very gay.”
And Kurt knows that he’ll want to stop soon, because there’ll have to be more talking first, lots more talking, but he kisses Blaine some more first. Kisses him fervently, with a burning, important feeling that he’s not quite ready to put a name on, and with gratitude. He thanks Blaine in kisses.
He understands now, understands that Blaine is just as broken as he is. But right now, with an afternoon shadow pressed against his cheek and needy hands tugging his collar apart at the top, he imagines the broken parts of themselves fitting together. His overly romantic mind imagines them both as one whole.