"The Last of the Romantics," Part Two, Glee, Kurt/Blaine (brief hint of unrequited Karofsky/Kurt)
(Back to Part One)
“Mmm,” murmurs Blaine, his fingers stroking through Kurt’s hair absent-mindedly. Kurt moans and leans up into the touch, raising his head off of Blaine’s knee in order to prolong the contact. “The evening worked out all right in the end, in spite of everything. This is nice.”
Kurt nods, and lets out a small, breathy noise as Blaine’s fingers card through his hair again. They’re curled up on a large leather couch in the Anderson family living room, Blaine sitting with Kurt’s head in his lap as a movie plays on a low volume in front of them. It’s not a particularly exciting or engaging film; a popcorn fantasy flick with some nice costumes, it doesn’t take too much effort to follow and the ethereal music is nice to cuddle to. Blaine’s family television is also absurdly large. Bigger than anyone could possibly need, all flat-screen and embedded into the wall. It makes the fantastical ships and swords and oceans appear larger than life.
In some part of Kurt’s mind, he distantly remembers his mother running her fingers through his hair like this when he was sick or upset. He can’t be entirely sure whether the memory is real or constructed, but the feel of Blaine’s fingers stroking through the strands and gently massaging his scalp makes him feel just as safe and protected. Taken care of.
It also just feels good, in a not-so-familial way. Making him arch up into Blaine’s touch and shiver when his fingertips brush the short hairs at the base of Kurt’s neck. Hair-stroking has never seemed to be a particularly sensual act to him before, but the evening is rapidly making him change his stance on that one.
“I really am sorry, though.” The apologetic, self-conscious note is back from before. “I... I really did try to get them here tonight. But then mom had an emergency call about her charity event in New York and had to fly out this afternoon, and dad had that call from Japan about the merger...”
Kurt groans, pushing himself up into a sitting position so as to look Blaine in the eye. The sudden absence of Blaine’s fingers in his hair is distressing, but bearable. “Honest to God, Blaine. If you apologize one more time, I will find every one of your multitude of cardigans and set them all on fire.” He reaches out a hand and squeezes Blaine’s knee, continuing on in a softer tone. “It really is all right. This is nice too, having a whole house to ourselves.”
“I just really wanted them to meet you tonight.” For a moment, Blaine’s face is a portrait of disappointment - before his trademark grin makes a reappearance. His eyes light up. “You’re totally right, though. It is nice to not have to worry about PDA-overloading any friends or parentals.”
“And this house. Oh my god, Blaine.” Kurt takes the opportunity to stare shamelessly at the outrageously fancy decor around them. The living room is massive, with real mahogany hardwood floors and a (doubtlessly incredibly expensive) soft maroon area rug in the middle of the room. The furniture is all something out of a design magazine, and the part of the dining room Kurt can see from his position on the couch seems to feature a twelve-person dining table.
“Yeah,” admits Blaine, wincing self-consciously. “It’s... a bit much, really.”
“It’s incredible,” insists Kurt. “But... it is a bit hard to believe that you actually live here. If that’s okay to say. Oh, god, that’s probably not okay to say.”
“It’s fine. And I don’t, really. Dalton’s more of a home to me now than this place has ever been.” Blaine shrugs, and then gets a wicked look on his face. He leans in and gives Kurt a soft, chaste kiss on the mouth. “But if it impresses my oh-so-discerning boyfriend, at least it’s good for something.”
“Indeed,” agrees Kurt, and he leans in to kiss Blaine again.
It’s slow and languid as they sprawl there together on the ridiculously large couch, relaxed comfortably into one another. They shift so that Blaine is lying on his back, Kurt positioned directly on top of him. The lines of their bodies are snug as their mouths move together, wet and warm and wonderful. Blaine reaches up and strokes a hand through Kurt’s hair, making him whimper into Blaine’s mouth and grind their hips together. Kurt can feel both of them hardening quickly, feels Blaine nip softly at his bottom lip before pushing his tongue deep into Kurt’s willing mouth. The kisses are deep, the heat gradually building between them. Soft lips and playful tongues slide together. The world narrows down to Blaine’s mouth, his body, his hand as it pushes under Kurt’s plaid button-up and trails over the skin hidden underneath.
The feel of Blaine’s tongue caressing his own is enough to make Kurt whine low at the back of his throat and strain into Blaine’s body. He’s beginning to wonder if they should move this to the bedroom - the house may be deserted, but there’s something about the idea of making out with his boyfriend in his doubtlessly extravagant bedroom with no parents at home that is endlessly appealing - when Blaine pulls away, panting slightly.
“Kurt,” he gets out, face flushed. “I need to ask you something.”
“Oh?” asks Kurt, pressing a series of kisses along Blaine’s jaw, his neck. Blaine shivers and inhales sharply, then pushes Kurt away.
“Something important.” Kurt can feel his own face scrunching up in confusion, but he begins to disentangle himself from their position. To his surprise, Blaine’s hand’s slide up and hold tight to Kurt’s back, keeping him in place. He raises an eyebrow, but obligingly remains sprawled on top of the more compact boy, their faces so close together Kurt can feel Blaine’s breath across his still-damp lips. It tingles. Blaine takes a deep breath, and then begins.
“It’s just... I know that you said Karofsky took your first kiss.” Kurt feels himself tense, and Blaine’s hand rubs soothing circles on his back through the fabric of his shirt. “But... you also said ‘first kiss that counted’. It didn’t seem too important at the time, but we’re together now, and... I’ve been thinking about that a lot.” Blaine looks at him, dark brown eyes serious. “I need to know who you’ve been with, Kurt. Whether it was just kissing, or... more than that. I just need to know.”
Kurt feels the laugh bubble up inside him, and it escapes before he can stop himself. The look of hurt on Blaine’s face is enough to curtail any hysterics, and Kurt presses a reassuring kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that there’s really nothing to tell.” He props himself up higher on his elbows. “If you want the whole story: when my dad was spending more and more time with Finn, I tried to force myself to... act straight, I guess. I wanted him to spend time with me, to not be awkward around me anymore. So I brought Brittany over to my house so that he could walk in on us kissing.” Kurt shakes his head. “It took him thirty whole minutes to come in, too. And I wouldn’t let her use tongue, or grab my ass, or anything. It was the most awkward half-hour of my life. That’s what I meant by ‘first kiss that counted’; my first kiss with a boy. Other than that and... and Karofsky...” He swallows. “It’s only ever been you, Blaine.”
The look slowly spreading over Blaine’s face below him is one of shocked delight. As though Christmas has come early, or he’s just been presented with a double-feature to a college football game followed by a Broadway musical.
“You mean... I’m the only one who’s ever...?” At Kurt’s nod, Blaine shudders long and hard. Then he reaches up, grabs the back of Kurt’s neck, and slams their mouths together in a scorching kiss. He growls possessively into Kurt’s mouth, their teeth clacking together. Kurt whines when Blaine drags his hips sharply against Kurt’s, the spark of pleasure it ignites making the world blur and spin around them.
“That’s so hot,” murmurs Blaine against his lips, before sitting up in one swift motion and pushing Kurt against the opposite arm of the couch. Kurt squeaks in surprise, but the feeling of Blaine frantically rubbing up against him is quickly overwhelming his ability to speak. The position is slightly awkward, but he can’t bring himself to care. Blaine is frantically unbuttoning his shirt, fingers shaking as each unfastened button reveals more of Kurt’s pale skin. Kurt glances down, and the sight of Blaine’s hands shaking as he undresses him makes Kurt let out a choked moan. “Can’t believe I’m the first one to ever touch you like this, my beautiful. You’re so hot. So mine.”
“W-wait,” stammers Kurt, throwing his head back as Blaine’s hand finds his nipple. Blaine rolls the hardened flesh between his fingers, making Kurt cry out and shut his eyes at the spark of pleasure that shocks through him. “What about you?” He barely manages to get the last sentence out, shaking as Blaine’s fingers swirl over the sensitive skin.
All at once, Blaine’s fingers still. He pulls back, looking confused. “What about me?”
“Who have you been with?” asks Kurt, feeling profoundly awkward with his shirt flung open and his cock still hard from Blaine’s attention, but soldiering on nonetheless. “I know you said you’ve never had a boyfriend, but I didn’t know if that meant...” He trails off at Blaine’s expression. “It only seems fair to ask you back, right?”
The curly-haired boy blinks. “Of course,” he says. Kurt wonders if they should change positions in order to have this conversation, but Blaine doesn’t seem inclined to move any time soon. “Well. I had my first kiss in grade nine at my cousin’s wedding; the son of one of the bride’s friends, I think. Jason.” He chuckles. “It was one of the things that got me wondering if maybe I wasn’t one hundred per cent straight. And in grade ten I went with my parents to Florence. They don’t really have a proper drinking age like we do - not one that gets enforced, anyways. So I snuck out and went to a club one night, and I met Giovanni. He was my age, and handsome, and didn’t speak much English. We... went out behind the club after an hour or two, and he gave me my first hand job. It was... nice. Nothing like I thought it would be, really. I’d had a bit to drink, and I didn’t know him very well. He was sweet, though.” Blaine gives Kurt a small, embarrassed smile before continuing.
“Then there was Jeremiah, which as you remember ended wonderfully.” Kurt snorts, and Blaine grins at him. “We kissed in his car after the second coffee date, and... I guess I thought it mattered more than it actually did. I can do that sometimes; build it all up in my head. But then there was Rachel and spin-the-bottle, and then... there was you. And I’ve had a few crushes in between, for sure. But Kurt... none of it matters. Not really. I’ve never felt anything for those people - not compared to what I feel for you.”
“I feel the same,” Kurt admits, feeling a broad grin spread across his face. His striped shirt is still hanging open, Blaine still pressing him up into the arm of the sofa. But it feels comfortable. Safe.
“Hearing about all this... it doesn’t make you upset?”
Kurt takes a moment to consider the question seriously. “A little? Not really, I don’t think. I know that I have you now, and that’s all that matters. Although it is nice to know about the people of your past - and that you feel stronger about me than you have about past crushes. I know that we both tend to fall embarrassingly hard, so it’s a real compliment.” A thought occurs to him, and he laughs out loud. “Oh, god. You should have seen me when I had a crush on Finn. It was soul-crushingly mortifying; I was a bit of a rabid basket-case.”
Immediately, Kurt knows he has said something very, very wrong. Blaine has gone completely stiff in front of him, and Kurt can’t quite identify the look in his eyes. His boyfriend’s hands fall from their resting positions on Kurt’s torso.
“Finn?” asks Blaine, voice hard and unreadable. Kurt winces at the way his lip curls slightly. “Your step-brother Finn? Who lives in the same house as you?”
“Blaine -”
“You had a crush on him? How big a crush are we talking here?” Blaine stares fixedly at him, and Kurt can’t help biting his lip and glancing away. Blaine scoffs, disbelieving. “A big one, then. And you didn’t tell me.”
“It’s not -”
“It is!” Blaine pulls away from Kurt, scooting backward onto the main body of the couch. There is a look of betrayal on his face. “What is wrong with you, Kurt? What on earth made you think it was okay to exclude that little detail? You let me think that Finn was just some - some guy from school, when he was really -” Blaine breaks off, a sickened expression stealing over his dark features. “Did you love him? Fuck, Kurt, do you still love him?”
And it’s not true, but it’s too much, too close. Too awful. It’s all spiralling out of control, and Kurt doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to make it all better again. There’s a hollow feeling in the base of his stomach, and only minutes ago they’d been happy and laughing and kissing. Blaine had been stroking his fingers through Kurt’s hair. He wants to get back to that. Wants to go back to the moment of calm before he had to go and stupidly open his mouth.
Unthinking, Kurt leans forward and presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips, but his boyfriend jerks away. And that hurts. Aches like a punch in the gut, makes him feel suddenly winded. Makes his eyes sting.
“Please, Blaine, please,” he can hear himself mumbling, blinking hard and not even truly aware of what he’s saying. Blaine won’t even look him in the eye, and that’s so scary so frightening ohgodpleasedon’tleaveme. “Don’t hate me, please don’t hate me. It’s not like that. He’s my brother. That’s all Finn is, okay? My brother. He would never - I would never -” He breaks off, breathless. Blaine still won’t look him in the eyes. “Even when I had a crush on him, I never felt anything like what I feel for you. I love you. Blaine, please.” His voice cracks on the last word. “I d-didn’t tell you because it was embarrassing, not because I still feel that way. I don’t. I don’t, I don’t, it’s only you, I promise...”
Kurt trails off, trembling, unable to look up at his boyfriend in case his eyes are still cold, untrusting, disgusted. Disgusted with him.
What was I thinking, I don’t - I can’t - oh, god. He’s going to leave me.
When Blaine’s arms wrap around him a few moments later, it is the most relieved Kurt has ever felt in his life. He clings to the back of Blaine’s shirt, gasping, and buries his face in Blaine’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, I forgive you.” Blaine’s voice is comforting against his ear, but there is still a hint of dull frustration lurking in his words. Kurt shudders against his boyfriend’s shoulder, and one of Blaine’s hands begins to rub circles in his back. “I forgive you, Kurt. But you understand why it hurt so much that you lied to me?”
“I didn’t -”
His boyfriend squeezes him tighter, and he falls silent. “I know. But you intentionally didn’t tell me, didn’t you?”
Blinking furiously and lips pulled together in a thin line, Kurt nods.
Blaine pulls away slightly, and Kurt hears himself make a noise of frantic distress before his boyfriend shushes him gently. He grips Kurt’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing the blue-eyed boy to raise his head and meet his gaze. There is disappointment there, yes. Sadness. But there is also profound love, and the sight gives Kurt hope.
“We’re both new at this, and we’re both bound to make mistakes. But... I need you to tell me everything, okay? So that we don’t have misunderstandings like this anymore.” Blaine takes a deep breath, fingers still firm on Kurt’s chin. His eyes look directly into Kurt’s own. “Stuff from the past, if someone hits on you... everything. You can’t hide anything from me anymore, sweetheart. Does that make sense?”
Kurt nods emphatically. When Blaine pulls him forward into a kiss, Kurt returns it whole-heartedly. Pressing his lips against Blaine’s once, twice, three times while simultaneously rambling softly under his breath.
“Everything, I promise, Blaine. Love you so much.” Kissing his way down Blaine’s jaw, down his clothed chest. “Just let me... wanna touch you. I’ll make it so good, I promise.”
Blaine gasps. “Okay,” he breathes, hand reaching up and tangling in Kurt’s hair. “Okay.”
It only takes a moment before Kurt’s able to get Blaine’s fly undone, and in another instant he has Blaine’s cock in his hand. He’s hard, thick. Shockingly hot against the delicate skin of Kurt’s palm. They’ve done this a few times since the dorm room - not too many, since it’s hard to find time alone and Kurt is still nervous. But it’s never felt so important to make Blaine feel good before; it’s never felt so necessary.
Blaine groans as Kurt wraps his fingers tight around the shaft and he begins to stroke. Up and down, up and down, hard and fast. Seeking redemption. Forgiveness. Release. Kurt is better at this now than he was before, and he flicks his wrist every so often when it reaches the tip of Blaine’s cock, drawing out long, broken exhalations. He can’t stop looking at his hand on Blaine, at first moving quickly before slowing to drawn-out, dragging strokes like Blaine showed him last time. His boyfriend gasps, body beginning to tense.
Suddenly, Kurt is jolted out of his trance - up and down, up and down - by the blunt pressure of two of Blaine’s fingertips pressing against his lips. He opens his mouth in surprise, and Blaine takes the opportunity to press them inside. Kurt gags for a moment, pace faltering, before re-establishing a quick rhythm. He looks up into Blaine’s face and sees it hazy with want and need and possession and love.
Kurt looks straight into Blaine’s eyes, doesn’t stop when his boyfriend begins to pump the fingers in and out between Kurt’s lips. Instead, he begins to suck on them, swirling his tongue around the tips and slicking them with spit. Blaine’s whole body tenses and his eyes flutter shut. Kurt re-establishes a quick speed with his hand, and his boyfriend’s lips fall open in shocked pleasure as his orgasm washes over him. The look on Blaine’s face is perfect, beautiful, and his fingers keep thrusting in and out of Kurt’s mouth as he comes in spurts over Kurt’s hand.
Eventually, the fingers still. Shuddering with aftershocks, Blaine breathes and trembles in front of him. One of Kurt’s hands is covered in rapidly-cooling come, and although he did try his best to keep any from splashing onto the sofa he isn’t entirely sure he’s been successful. But Kurt can’t look away from Blaine’s face to check. He has to know that it’s all right, that everything is okay again. His lips are still wrapped around Blaine’s fingers.
After a long moment Blaine pulls his fingers from Kurt’s mouth, eliciting small mewl from Kurt as he does so. He opens his eyes, and drags the wet fingers down the side of Kurt’s face. He looks... tired, and lazy, and content. Not angry at all.
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice uneven and eyes full of affection. “That was... god, that was amazing. You’re amazing, Kurt. I love you.” He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Kurt’s swollen lips. Then Blaine glances down between them and lets out an embarrassed laugh. “I suppose we should probably get cleaned up, huh? And maybe get some dessert. It’s not like we’ve even been watching, anyways.”
Kurt is confused for a second before realizing with a jolt that Blaine is referring to the movie. He glances sideways, and sees it still playing on the enormous screen. He nods. “Okay,” he says, and then hesitates. “Is... is everything-?”
“Yeah,” murmurs Blaine, kissing Kurt on the lips again. “It’s all fine; we just can’t keep secrets anymore, okay?” At Kurt’s nod he continues, a playful look coming to his face. “Now: how do you feel about some organic frozen yoghurt? And then we can go have a cuddle in my room before we have to go to sleep. After all,” he grins, “your dad does think we’re in separate rooms. We can spend the whole night together for once, tangled up in each other.”
Carefully cupping his hand to make sure to catch all of the white slickness, Kurt feels hot relief spread through him. He messed up, but it’s okay. They’re stronger than this; they can handle it.
“Sure,” he says, a small smile spreading across his face. “As long as it’s organic, I think I can be tempted.”
--
Most of the time, things between them are wonderful.
--
Next Thursday Kurt has a free block at the end of the school day, so he drives up to Dalton and spends the afternoon with Blaine and the other Warblers. Somehow, it’s even better than when they all actually attended the same school: Kurt is like some exotic explorer, bringing back tales from a far-off land to the crowd of wide-eyed young men in uniform. He feels fabulous and admired, the centre of attention.
They’re ecstatic to see him, too, eager to share school news and fresh funny stories from residence. Kurt’s old dorm mates clap him on the back, and Wes even goes in for an extremely awkward man-hug.
Sitting in the common area, Blaine slings loose arm around Kurt’s shoulder while they all talk and laugh, reminiscing fondly about days gone by. They talk about the upcoming Nationals, about the new Dalton cook’s questionable lunchtime delicacies, about the fact that McKinley’s Junior Prom is just around the corner. Blaine is insecure about so many things, and it is exhilarating to see him on his home turf again; confidant and vivacious, enjoying sharing the spotlight with him. His boyfriend looks at him with a mixture of pride and delight all night; like he’s honoured to be with Kurt, to show him off to his friends. It makes Kurt giddy, exuberant. The stories he tells to the Dalton boys seem better-timed and funnier than usual, their reactions even more exaggerated. The playful barbs are wittier, and they all laugh harder.
It’s a fantastic evening, and when he kisses Blaine goodbye on the Dalton front doorstep he can’t stop grinning. Their kiss is sweet and interrupted by giggles, and Kurt isn’t sure of the last time he felt so happy.
Burt is even starting to really warm up to Blaine, too, and Kurt doesn’t really have the words to convey how imperative this is. He is fairly certain that Carole taking an instant liking to Blaine has something to do with his father’s change of heart. Every time Blaine comes over for Friday night dinner, Carole is completely charmed by the polite, well-groomed, charismatic young man her stepson is dating. She offers him third servings of dessert and frets over Blaine’s makeshift bed on the couch.
But every relationship does have its compromises, and Kurt is aware that he messed up badly with the whole Finn thing. Blaine is already aware of the whole Sam situation: he was at Dalton when Sam had made the awkward pizza delivery that had unintentionally revealed his secret. Nevertheless, Kurt is sure to keep his boyfriend ridiculously up to date, texting him seven times in fifteen minutes when he goes to the motel to give Sam some of his clothes. He knows Lima, after all, and knows how easily the rumour mill can be set abuzz.
They meet for coffee dates, and movie dates, and make-out dates. They skype or text goodnight every evening before bed. Prom gets closer and closer, and the prospect of actually being with someone at the dance makes Kurt so happy he can barely talk about it without vibrating.
And if there is a tiny fraction of time when things between them get strained...
Every couple has its ups and downs. Kurt knows they’ll work through it.
--
It really all starts to go to hell with Karofsky. Which is somewhat ironic, but mostly just consistent.
Since Santana and Karofsky had started their gut-churning ‘relationship’, Kurt’s former tormentor began to spend been gradually spending more and more of his free time in the glee practice room. Although this development had been met by strong protest by the rest of the club - which often included mimed fingers pretend-shoved down throats in expressions of distaste - Santana had convinced Mr. Schuester with a few well-rehearsed speeches about redemption, and mending bridges, and all of the crap that left him starry-eyed. Interestingly, Brittany was among the most vocally opposed to Karofsky’s presence. Not that her arguments made much sense, really, but it was remarkable enough to see her muster the wherewithal to actively dislike someone at all.
Kurt, although not exactly comfortable with Karofsky’s recent need to infringe on what should have been a safe place, takes the larger boy’s presence with a grain of salt. If having the jock around makes it less likely that any more of his Marc Jacobs and YSL shirts would be forever ruined from slushie tosses, he’s willing to put up with one more red-and-yellow dot on the landscape.
Kurt has spent most of the period sitting off to the side with his earbuds in, listening to Ladies Choice from Hairspray on repeat while simultaneously going over the sheet music in preparation for the audition tomorrow. Knowing Mr. Schuester the solo will go to Finn, but Kurt enjoys the irony of himself potentially singing such a heterosexuality-fest.
Plus, he knows for a fact that he looks fucking incredible in 1960’s menswear.
He’s on his fourth time listening through the song when he feels his phone buzz in the messenger bag at his feet. Kurt plucks it out, and reads.
French is not half as fun without you here! Mon nouveau partenaire a un accent terrible, et il ne comprend pas mon merveilleux jeux de mots français. Call me tonight!! - XoxBlaine
The jab at Blaine’s replacement partner makes him grin privately to himself as he types out a quick response, making sure to toggle out often in order to get the punctuation correct. Blaine would probably never let him live down the embarrassment of even one misplaced cédille.
C'est vrai, je suis irremplaçable. Mais votre calembours français ne sont pas bons -- ils sont atroces. <3 - Kurt
He hits the send button and breathes out long, contented sigh - before noticing that someone in a letterman’s jacket is striding purposefully toward him across room.
As a general rule, Karofsky keeps his distance when they happen to occupy the practice room together. Most days he sits dutifully next to Santana like a dog on a chain, perhaps glancing occasionally over at Kurt or the other Glee Club kids with resignation on his face. Not today, apparently. Kurt waits for the nervousness to flare within him at his former bully’s quick approach, but there is something about Karofsky’s posture that is entirely incongruous with attempting to be threatening. He chances a glance at Santana: she looks entirely uninterested in the scene unfolding in front of her, instead staring off in the direction of Brittany, Artie, and Puck conversing in a corner.
And then Dave Karofsky is standing right in front of him, big and brawny and looming over Kurt’s chair. He doesn’t look particularly imposing, though, somehow. Just... vaguely uncomfortable. Posturing. Kurt sees his mouth form words, but the Original Broadway Link Larkin is still singing in his ears - hey, little girl lookin’ for a sale; test drive this American male. He rolls his eyes deliberately at Karofsky, then pauses his iPod and plucks out his earbuds.
“Can I help you?” he snaps, feeling his lips thin and his posture get even stiffer. He really has no time for Karofsky and his pretending-to-be-straight, look-at-me-I’m-so-repentant shtick.
“Hey. Hummel.” The words are clipped, self-conscious. Karofsky seems to be attempting to look anywhere but at him. Kurt lets out a small, disgusted noise.
“Why are you talking to me, Karofsky? Aren’t you worried that someone will think you’ve caught “the gay”?” he asks, forming his fingers into exaggerated air-quotation marks.
Karofsky makes an aborted shushing gesture, looking around semi-frantically. “No, I am not - God, Hummel, why do you have to be such a -?” He shakes his head, then grabs a nearby chair and drags it over before sitting down in front of him. They sit glaring at each other for a long moment before Karofsky’s eyes flick down to Kurt’s phone and back up to his face. “That from your boyfriend?”
Anger, hot and hard, flares in Kurt’s chest. “As a matter of fact, yes, Blaine did just send me a text message.” The emphasis on his boyfriend’s name is so strong Kurt almost spits the word out, and Karofsky winces. “Not that it’s any of your business, by the way.”
“I really hate that guy,” Karofsky mutters, looking down at the floor.
Kurt learns in, his face curled in a sneer and carefully enunciating each word. “You only hate him, David, because he tried to help you and you were too much of a coward to accept that. You only hate him because he knows that you’re -” Karofsky shoots him a terrified look, and Kurt backs off, sniffing. “Well. Because.”
“Look,” says Karofsky furiously, leaning in close. “I don’t hate him because of that, all right? I - I hate him because he’s a complete douche to you.”
The words shock the irritation right out of him, and he straightens up in shock. Kurt feels his eyes widen. “What?” he asks, dumbfounded. There’s a beat; he gives his head a shake. “I have no idea what you’re--”
“Last week when he visited you in here, he practically glued himself to your side. And gave death glares to any guy who came within five feet.” Karofsky is speaking quickly now, leaning in conspiratorially. “Then, when you were in the bathroom? He went up to Mr. Schuester and started asking him all these questions about your adjustment process, your performance level since the transfer. I mean, who does that? How is that his business?” Karofsky shakes his head. “Look, H - Kurt. The guy gives me a case of the skeevies, okay? Sometimes, the way he looks at you is -”
“What is you angle with this?” Kurt asks, words coming out slow and disbelieving. It’s a struggle to keep his voice low enough for the other glee kids not to hear. “Another way to mess with my head? Because for your information, Blaine is a perfect boyfriend. He’s thoughtful, and loving, and doesn’t shove me into lockers so hard I get bruises for weeks.” Karofsky’s lips thin at that, and Kurt feels a twinge of regret for reasons he doesn’t care to examine too closely. But it’s buried beneath a haze of fury and incredulity. “And whatever you think this little sabotage can accomplish? It can’t. Because I Io-”
“I know this might be hard for you to believe,” Karofsky cuts him off, looking pained. “But I am actually not the jerk in this situation.” The jock stands up suddenly. He licks his lips, looks down at the ground.
He mutters something, almost inaudible, and Kurt is certain that he’s misheard when he thinks he hears Karofsky mumble, “I just want you to be happy, okay,” before he flees to the opposite side of the room. Back to his fake girlfriend, back to his comfort zone. Away from Kurt Hummel.
Kurt sits perfectly still for a long moment, not trusting himself to move. His hands are folded stiffly in his lap, and his back is ramrod straight. After a few minutes he checks his phone - and sees that Blaine must have texted him at some point during the... whatever that was with Karofsky.
Oh, haha. Very funny :P I really can’t wait to hear your voice tonight, though. Your dulcet tones are one of many things I miss about you. Have fun at practice! - xoxBlaine
Kurt lets out a shaky breath, the weight of the cell phone in his hand as comforting as Blaine’s words. He types off a quick response, and then starts to gather his things together. He doesn’t particularly want to sit by himself in the corner anymore, feeling Karofsky’s eyes burning on the back of his neck for the rest of the block.
Maybe ‘Cedes and Tina need some help getting ready for their duet, he thinks, and soon enough he’s able to force the previous conversation entirely from his mind.
--
“Boom! Head shot!”
Finn pumps his fist triumphantly into the air, letting out a loud whoop of victory. Beside him on the couch, Puck groans. The burly boy lets his Xbox controller fall onto his lap and buries his face in his hands. On the screen, a blue-armoured man made out of pixels pulses with electricity and then falls to the ground.
“C’mon, man, best three out of five,” whines Puck, looking slightly pathetic.
“No way! I just owned your ass, Puckerman. Don’t even try to convince me to go for another game.”
“Keep trying, Puck,” pipes up Kurt from the dining room table, where he and Blaine have their respective homework spread out like some sort of slithering monster made of textbooks and worksheets. He flips a page of his Literature textbook. “Eventually he’ll crack and you can get your rematch.”
“Hey!” squawks Finn, turning so he’s leaning over the back of the couch to glare at his step-brother. “You’re supposed to be on my side, dude.”
“Naw, Kurt just knows where the winning team is at. Puckzilla’s totally got this one in the bag.” Puck has both hands held up in the air in front of him, nodding, with an expression akin to that of the smarmiest used car salesman imaginable. Finn punches him on the shoulder, and the two of them begin to tussle on the couch.
Blaine is completely ignoring his homework, watching the boys slap each others’ hands away as though they are creatures on some sort of bizarre nature program. His thick eyebrows are drawn together in an expression of intense concentration, and it makes Kurt chuckle internally as he half-skims a paragraph on Robert Frost. He’s certainly never had a brother, thinks Kurt absently. Before it hits him that, until recently, neither had he. Things have really changed in the last year, he realizes, glancing first to Blaine and then to Finn and Puck on the couch.
Young jocks in their natural habitat; tousling over their alpha status in the realm of shoot ‘em up games.
“All right, girls,” says Kurt, bookmarking and closing his textbook. “You’re both pretty.” He is trying to go for ‘snide’, but ends up edging into ‘affectionate’ territory instead. He stands and walks over to the edge of the couch nearest his brother’s friend. “Puck, didn’t you mention you had to head out by two?”
“Dude, you’re right,” says Puck, detaching himself from Finn and glancing up at the clock with a worried expression. “Lauren’s expecting me at two thirty. We’re going to watch porn together and make fun of peoples’ O-faces,” he adds, looking slightly lovesick. Kurt tries to hide his shudder of distaste. Puck glances up at him, and brown eyes all lit up and eager. “But I can totally hang around for a few minutes if you wanna play a round with me, though.”
“Kurt sucks at Halo, Puck. Hardcore.” Finn is looking at them with a mixed expression of fondness and caution. “I got him to play with me once. You know how shooting yourself is supposed to be some kind of impressive trick? Yeah, he managed it as soon as I handed him the controller.”
“Hey!” exclaims Kurt, pointing a long finger at his stepbrother. “I’ll have you know that those controllers are absurd and convoluted. Plus, you know I don’t see the point in trying to use little pixelated guns to kill little pixelated people.”
“That, Kurt my boy, is simply because you haven’t learned from the master.”
Puck pounces without another word, darting up over the arm of the couch and wrapping a strong arm around Kurt’s waist. Kurt lets out an undignified squeal as he’s hauled, flailing, to sprawl overtop of Puck on the couch. He glares up at both of the laughing boys.
If he is honest with himself, though, there is something deeply touching about how comfortable Puck obviously feels being close to him, with initiating contact. He, Finn, and Puck have so much bad history together. Cruel pranks, sharp words. They hated him for so long for being who he was, for being ‘sick’ and ‘gross’. For being a fag.
The ease with which Puck is willing to be both physically and verbally affectionate towards him says more about the progress they’ve all made in the past year than anything else possibly could.
“C’mon, dude, just give it a try,” wheedles Puck, one of his large hands reaching up and ruffling Kurt’s styled hair. Kurt huffs, and makes a show of resisting for a few more minutes before caving in. The three of them sit on the couch together, Kurt desperately attempting to figure out how to use the stupid controller, because seriously, what is this? He suspects that Puck goes easy on him, because it takes three whole minutes for his brother’s friend to utterly annihilate him. This is impressive, considering Kurt still hadn’t quite figured out how to make his character move forward.
Afterwards, Kurt throws up his hands in mock-outrage, and Finn punches his stepbrother lightly on the shoulder. It’s with a grin and a tiny fistbump that Kurt says goodbye to Puck at the door, while Finn remains seated on the couch and opens up another save file.
“Well, that was something,” says Kurt as he shuts the front door, unable to keep the small grin from his face. “Blaine, do you want to come upstairs to my room to study with me? The virtual blood and gore can’t be very good for our concentration.”
Blaine nods quietly, eyes downcast as he begins to gather their papers and textbooks.
Eyes still fixed on the screen and fingers flying over the controller, Finn calls out to them as they head upstairs with their piles of books: “Just remember that Mom and Burt are going to be home by four, you two!” Before immediately going back to killing virtual soldiers. Or possibly aliens. Cyborgs? Whatever those guys were supposed to be, anyways.
Blaine is silent for the short walk up to Kurt’s bedroom, but Kurt manages to fill the silence with chatter. As they walk inside, he’s animatedly discussing the importance of reading Burns aloud with a proper Scottish accent.
Once their stacks of books are safely atop Kurt’s desk and the door is firmly closed, Blaine sits down on Kurt’s bed. He’s looking down at the ground. When there is a break in Kurt’s happy chatter, he speaks suddenly and abruptly.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls last night?” Blaine’s voice is low and calm, but the question is such a non sequitur that it jolts Kurt right out of his babbling. Taking a closer look, Kurt realizes that his boyfriend is stiff with tension. Body strung like a taut wire, his fists clenched at his sides on the bedspread.
The hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck rise, and something tells him to be very, very cautious with his response. He schools his features into a self-effacing expression and lets out a small laugh. It sounds more brittle than he intends it to.
“I told you,” says Kurt, trying to catch his boyfriend’s eye. It’s a lost cause; Blaine’s gaze is fixed on a patch of carpet, looking at something only he can see. “I fell asleep with my phone still on silent. As my phone is also my alarm, you can imagine my distress this morning when I was practically late for school. I didn’t even have time for my moisturizing routine.” Kurt knows he’s rambling but can’t seem to stop himself. He wants to do something with his hands; wring them, or tap out rhythms, or something. But he’s afraid that any such gesture would make him look suspicious.
Suspicious of what? I didn’t do anything last night. So why do I feel guilty?
“You’re lying.”
The words are not entirely unexpected, but they still hurt. The three simple syllables resonate throughout Kurt’s entire body, making him inhale sharply and wince.
“I’m not.” Kurt can hear the tremble in his own voice. He wants to will it away, but can’t seem to muster a steady tone. Wants to be the fierce bitch he acts at school - all sneer and bluntness and courage - but his hands won’t stop shaking. “I’m not lying, Blaine, I promise. I really did -”
“Stop lying to me!” his boyfriend shouts, standing up from his position on the bed. He looks Kurt in the eye for the first time since they left the living room, and Kurt takes an involuntary step back. Blaine looks so angry, eyes flashing and jaw held taught with tension. He looks betrayed, and hurt, and absolutely furious. He lets out a sardonic, nasty little laugh that shoots straight to Kurt’s heart. “I can’t believe I actually... I trusted you, Kurt. And - and you’ve been cheating on me this whole time?”
Every protest at Blaine’s unfairness rushes out of Kurt’s head all at once, leaving him lightheaded and stunned. “What?” he whispers, dumbstruck, voice tiny and fragile in the air. All at once Kurt feels incredibly young.
“Is it Puckerman?” asks Blaine, voice coming faster and louder. It occurs to Kurt that Finn won’t be able to hear them over the noise of his video game downstairs. “Were you with him last night while I was two hours away, worrying about you? Did you let ‘Noah’ take you in his big, strong arms and -”
“No! Of course not, how could you even think that?”
Blaine steps closer. Although he doesn’t physically touch Kurt, the movement makes him take another step backward. There is a small thump as his back comes into contact with the solid bedroom door. Kurt draws his arms up defensively into a crossed position, eyes stinging.
“Did you let him touch you?” His boyfriend’s words are dripping with disgust, and he looks up and down Kurt’s body - folded in on himself, shaking - as though it is the most vile thing he has ever seen. “Did you let that jock have what he wanted for a few nice words and a pat on the shoulder?”
“Blaine, please don’t say that, please -”
Intellectually, Kurt knows that Blaine is shorter than him. This doesn’t stop it from feeling as though Blaine is towering over him against the door, a pillar of righteous anger and betrayal. Blaine takes an unsteady breath.
“Was it Karofsky?” A sob catches in Kurt’s throat, and one of his hands flies up to his mouth to clamp across it. “You’ve always liked them big and beefy and dumb, haven’t you? Did you run when he kissed you because you liked it too much? And now you’ve gone back for more.”
“Nonononono,” Kurt repeats into his hand, shaking his head frantically. There is no way to make Blaine’s words stop, to make his anger go away. Kurt can the tears begin to fall, running down his face; he can barely see Blaine anymore, his vision is so blurred.
“Or was it Finn?” sneers Blaine, and the words are so awful they knock the wind right out of Kurt’s lungs. “You still love him. And then he came in here looking for some brotherly love, and you gave it up so hard that -”
Kurt wails, and shakes his head, and he’s breathing too fast, too hard, and he can’t stop. His hand flies away from his mouth, and he’s talking in a long, unbroken chain of desperate words.
“I didn’t, I didn’t, Blaine, please. Please don’t say those things.” The words are dissolving into choked sobs. “B-Blaine, please believe me. I would n-never do any of those that, I swear. I’d never cheat on you, I promise, I’m yours, just. Please stop saying - I can’t -”
And then his speech is cut off by Blaine’s lips as they slam against his own, pushing him hard against the bedroom door. Blaine’s hands are tangled in his hair so hard it hurts, and his nose is so clogged from crying that he can’t breathe while his boyfriend violates his mouth, all gnashing teeth and salty tears. When Blaine finally pulls back, Kurt inhales sharply and stares in shock at the boy in front of him.
“Say it again,” says Blaine, then sweeps his tongue over Kurt’s trembling lower lip. “Say that you’re mine again.”
Kurt is still inches away from hyperventilating, the panting gasps wracking his chest almost painful. He looks straight into Blaine’s eyes and sees something uncertain there, something frightened and lonely. Kurt takes a controlled breath, willing his hands to steady, and then reaches up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek.
“I’m yours,” he says, not looking away. The words are tremulous, but genuine. Blaine growls in response and kisses him again, until all Kurt can think about is Blaine’s lips on his. The mash of lips and tongue, the sharp pain of Blaine’s nails as they dig into his skin. The way Blaine shudders against him, hard and long.
When they finally break apart, there is a look of profound shame and regret on Blaine’s face.
“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” Blaine murmurs, leaning in again so that his lips can press gentle touches up the side of Kurt’s face, kissing the tears away. “I’m so sorry, angel. I just - I got so scared, and I couldn’t - I couldn’t lose you, I -”
“I know,” says Kurt, and his voice is beginning to grow stronger again. “I know, Blaine. It’s all right.”
He gasps as Blaine pulls him into a tight embrace. His boyfriend buries his face in Kurt’s neck, drawing in ragged breaths. For a moment Kurt doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Then, slowly, he wraps them around Blaine’s compact waist. Hugs him back. All at once he feels like the strong one, the brave one, as he holds his boyfriend close and lets him shudder into his shoulder.
They stand like that for a while, wrapped up in each other while Kurt rubs calming patterns into Blaine’s back. Before long, though, Blaine is pressing soft kisses against Kurt’s neck, his jaw, his collar bone.
“Kurt, will you let me...” Blaine trails off to suck gently at the delicate skin at the edge of his jaw, and Kurt cries out involuntarily at the sensation. “I know we haven’t before, but... I want to... will you let me...?”
His boyfriend pulls back and looks at him, an expression of regret and the desperate need for forgiveness on his face. Blaine’s eyes dart quickly down below Kurt’s waist, before flicking up again. He licks his lips. And Kurt is already hard, aching for Blaine’s touch - because by now, sex feels like redemption. As though the touch of skin on skin and the white heat of release will absolve them of the anger and pain that is still lying between them. As though it will make everything normal, and happy, and good again.
He nods. Blaine leans in and kisses him, whimpering into his mouth and holding Kurt tight.
As Blaine removes both of their clothes, peeling them off and dropping them to the floor where they lie like casualties of war, Kurt experiences everything vaguely, distantly. As though the sweet kisses and gentle brushes of fingertips are happening to someone else. He kisses Blaine back sloppily as he undoes Kurt’s dress pants and slides them down Kurt’s slender hips. When they are finally naked in front of each other -no barrier of clothes standing between them for the first time - Blaine leads them over to Kurt’s bed.
Blaine pushes him gently into a lying position, trailing barely-felt kisses down Kurt’s chest, his thighs. The look on his face is one of love, of worship when he finally takes Kurt into his mouth, wrapping his full lips around Kurt’s cock and sliding down as far as he can go. It makes Kurt close his eyes and gasp; makes him clench his hands in the sheets and feel something again as he tries to stop himself from thrusting up into Blaine’s inexperienced mouth. Soon everything is the slow slide of Blaine’s lips around him. The sweet pressure when Blaine moves up to suckle the tip, the feeling of simultaneous power and powerlessness when Blaine gets too enthusiastic and gags around him before redoubling his efforts.
Kurt can hear himself making high, keening noises as Blaine’s mouth tightens around him, the gentle suction increasing into something needy and demanding. His eyes flutter open, and the sight of his boyfriend with his lips enveloping Kurt’s cock makes the sweet, hot pressure inside of him flare. Makes him gasp out of breathy, wanton sound as Blaine moves up and down, up and down, tongue occasionally swirling around him and making raw spasms of pleasure shake him all the way to his fingertips.
When the pressure becomes too great, the heat too intense, the pleasure too much too bright too real, he lets out a choked warning, squeezes Blaine’s shoulder - but Blaine doesn’t pull away. Instead, he seals his lips tighter around Kurt, determinedly taking him faster, harder, deeper, and ohgodohgodohgod -
And as Kurt comes hard, arching into the wet heat of Blaine’s mouth while his own lips fall open in a silent scream of rapture, it occurs to some barely-functioning part of his mind that this is what love is. It isn’t always gentle, or kind, or considerate.
Sometimes love is cruel. It can be hard and brutal and selfish in ways that storybooks and movies never talk about. But this - what lies between him and Blaine, connecting them as intimately as humanely possible - this is real. This is passion.
When Blaine leans up to kiss him a few moments later, his mouth tastes of the cloying musk of romance. Kurt kisses back and lets himself relax into Blaine’s grip, boneless and empty and entirely, irrefutably owned.
The End