Kurt/Blaine: Just A Touch (1/2) (NC-17)
Title: Just A Touch (1/2)
Pairing: Klaine
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~10,000
Spoilers: None
Summary: Written for this prompt at the Glee Kink Meme: Klaine, badboy!Kurt, top!Kurt, Rachel is having a party at her house. Can take place during BIOTA, except Kurt and Blaine are both at McKinley and have barely ever had contact before. Kurt isn't in the glee club. Kurt and Blaine notice each other during one of the games they play(spin the bottle, strip!games, never have i ever, etc.), and later have sex somewhere else in the house.
“Tell me again what I’m doing here,” Kurt says, shooting Puck the most judgmental side-eye he can muster as they walk down the stairs into Rachel Berry’s basement, of all places.
“Free booze. Does there really need to be another reason?” Puck asks, shaking his head and already taking off his coat. Kurt sighs and slips the first button through the hole on his coat, scanning the room and sighing.
“These are not my people,” he says with a shake of his head, unable to stop his nose from scrunching up a little as he takes in the crowd.
“Well they’re my people, so take the stick out of your ass and try to have a good time.”
“I rather like the stick in my ass, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.” Kurt huffs and rolls his shoulders after pulling off his coat. It’s a little warm in the basement, but he’s fairly certain that it’s more from his discomfort than the actual temperature. There’s hardly more than a handful of people there, all of them glee club members. He’d think that he was sticking out like a sore thumb, but it’s so much worse than that.
Whenever someone catches sight of him, they pause mid-sentence before getting back to their conversation partner with a slightly shocked look on their face. He doesn’t belong here and Puck knows that. Not even the promise of free alcohol is enough to make this okay.
Kurt had been like them once. Maybe even worse. In his freshman year, he’d been bullied for two solid weeks before he’d stood up to Puck, shoving him back so hard he’d fallen on his ass and getting up in his face so fiercely that the taunts and dumpster throws and slushies to the face had stopped immediately. He’d become one of them. It might not have been exactly where he belonged-Kurt was not stupid and knew better than to do any actual bullying himself lest he find himself suspended or in juvie-but it was far better than the alternative. And it was more than enough to get him through these four torturous years until he could finally escape the hellish confines of Ohio and escape to New York City where he could be himself.
“Noah, Kurt,” Rachel greeted as soon as she caught sight of them at the foot of the stairs. Kurt sneered at her, curious as to why exactly she was addressing him as if she knew him since she absolutely did not. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” It was no secret that she was tossing that last comment in his direction.
“I didn’t exactly expect to be here,” he replies, folding his coat over his arm.
“Well, the more the merrier,” she says, the smile screwed on her face so tight she’d probably needed a screwdriver to get the thing in place. “Here are your drink tickets.”
“Is she serious?” Kurt asks, staring down at the two little slips of red paper in his hand with utter disbelief. What, was he at a wedding reception?
“Unfortunately,” Puck replies, giving Kurt a look that screams “I know, dude.” As he starts in about how Rachel needs to let him break into her dads’ liquor cabinet, Kurt looks around the room again.
He recognizes everyone, but not by name. McKinley is a big school but not that big. It’s impossible to get through three years of school and not recognize the people that have been embarrassing the hell out of themselves at assemblies all that time. They’re not the worst breed of misfits in the school, but they’re close enough to make Kurt decidedly unexcited about spending his Friday night with them. Especially if there are only two wine coolers in his future.
“Let’s go,” Puck says, breaking Kurt out of his gaze. Kurt lets out a sigh of relief. Finally, Puck has come to his senses.
“Thank god. I don’t know what you were thinking bringing me here anyway,” Kurt replies.
“We’re not leaving. You’re going to help me break into the liquor cabinet upstairs,” Puck tells him. “Try to relax. You might even have a good time.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“Finn will be here soon.”
“Wonderful.”
“I thought you liked Finn,” Puck says, raising his eyebrows as they reach the main floor. “Like, like him.”
“I learned my lesson there quickly, trust me,” Kurt says, not even trying to mask the look of displeasure on his face. “Not only is he straight but he has the most appalling taste in women I’ve ever seen. Case and point.” Kurt gestures grandly toward the rather terrifying painted portrait of Rachel hanging on the wall. Puck shrugs and heads into the living room, digging around on the shelves of the wall-spanning bookcase.
“I’ve made out with her before. She’s not so bad,” he says as he peeks behind a framed picture.
“I weep for you.”
Kurt takes one look at the liquor cabinet and knows exactly where the key is. Sure enough, he finds it resting in the gilded Faberge egg sitting right on top of the thing. He holds it up and gives Puck a judgmental look before opening the lock and putting the key back in its ‘hiding place.’ “You’re losing your touch.”
“Shut up,” Puck huffs, already loading up arms full of bottles, all of them clanging together noisily in the otherwise quiet room.
“Oh hey Puck,” a voice sounds from the hallway. Both of them turn to face the source of the greeting, Puck’s face splitting into a smile while Kurt fights not to roll his eyes.
Blaine Anderson.
Of course he’s there.
“You want to help us get all this stuff downstairs?” Puck asks.
“Sure,” Blaine replies, walking toward them and shifting his gaze toward Kurt every few seconds. Kurt makes sure to keep the look on his face icy, loving the way Blaine recoils a bit when he gets closer.
Blaine is the only other out kid at school, which should be a good thing. They could be friends. But, they’re not. He transferred in at the beginning of the school year and due to the fact that he had immediately joined New Directions, he had killed any chance of Kurt making nice. He has a reputation to uphold and honestly, there are few things in the world Kurt finds more offensive than Blaine’s apparently extensive collection of bowties.
“You know Kurt, right?” Puck asks.
“Not really,” Blaine says, flushing slightly as he bends down to grab as many bottles as he can carry. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”
Why does he have to be so nice all the time? Kurt has never been nice to him before, has never so much as given him a friendly smile in passing, so what's with the niceties all of a sudden? Kurt looks at him for a long moment, long enough that Blaine starts to squirm under the intensity of his gaze and then he looks over at Puck.
“I’d say with this amount of liquor, I might be able to get through the evening without committing seppuku.”
“Without what?” Puck asks, shoving a few bottles at Kurt and looking thoroughly irritated about something.
“Disemboweling himself,” Blaine interjects, sneaking a glance at Kurt before swallowing hard. “I’m just going to take these downstairs.” He rushes from the room, peeking once over his shoulder before disappearing.
“I’m going to lock this back up and then I’ll be down. Go on ahead.” Kurt takes all of two steps before freezing and turning to glare at Puck.
“No,” he says.
“Huh?”
“No, Puck.”
“I have no idea what your problem is.”
“Just because Blaine and I are the only two out gay kids in the school does not mean-“
“Dude, I just want you to take the booze downstairs. Relax.”
“I’m on to you,” Kurt says, his eyes narrowed as he leaves the room.
This is going to be a disaster.
By the time he again reaches the basement, a few familiar faces have thankfully added themselves to the mix. He immediately spies Finn, Santana, and Brittany mingling with everyone else. They’ve all managed to maintain a kind of balance between their other lives and glee club. Kurt honestly doesn’t know how they’ve done it without completely destroying their reputations.
The fact that Santana and Brittany combined have slept with close to half of the male student body has to help. That might be an exaggeration, but on most days, that’s what it seems like. Whatever the reason, though, Kurt is entirely certain that if he ever made at attempt to straddle the feeble line between glee and popularity, he’d wind up with his back slammed into a locker faster than he could sing the first line of Defying Gravity.
And god how he loves to sing that to the welcome audience of his bedroom mirror.
“What’ve you got there?” Santana asks as she slinks toward him.
“I have no idea,” Kurt replies honestly, finally looking down to see that he’s holding a bottle of Goldschläger, a half empty fifth of Captain Morgan, and a mostly full bottle of some cheap brand of gin. She tries to take the cinnamon schnapps from him, but he coils his fist around the neck and glares at her. “Mine.”
“Did you forget your manners at the door? Sharing is caring, Kurt.”
“I’m going to need all of this to get through tonight. Find something else.”
“Oh bite me,” she rolls her eyes. He snaps his jaw shut at her, his teeth clacking together noisily.
“Ooo,” she coos him, shooting him a wink before taking the other two bottles from his grasp and heading back to Brittany.
Surprise surprise. Kurt’s known about them for awhile. Neither of them have said anything and neither has he. It’s not his place and honestly, what would any of them gain from talking about it?
“I think we’ve got enough to get the party started,” Puck says from his side, startling Kurt out of his little daze.
“Maybe alcohol will actually make these people tolerable,” Kurt says with a big fake smile, one that makes Puck roll his eyes.
“Seriously. The stick in your ass needs to go and I’m not going to be the one to pull it out for you.”
“As if I’d even want you to,” Kurt snips, screwing the lid off the bottle and taking a long sip. It’s not his favorite but it’ll do quite nicely.
“Whatever, man,” Puck sighs, leaning in a little closer and prompting Kurt’s eyebrow to raise. It’s probably the closest Puck has ever physically been to him since he stopped bullying Kurt every chance he got, and it’s making Kurt feel strange to say the least. “I’m just glad you came tonight. It’ll do you some good to loosen up and have a good time.” Kurt can feel his nostrils flare.
“And what makes you think I’m going to have a good time here tonight?” he asks. Puck’s eyebrows fly up and he raises his hands.
“I just think you’ll actually like these guys if you give them a chance,” he says.
“Right.” Kurt Hummel is many things, but he’s definitely not stupid. And he’s almost entirely certain that the reason he’s there has everything to do with Blaine Anderson.
“So do you want to play quarters?” Puck asks hopefully, eying the table where Quinn, Mike, Mike’s girlfriend, and Blaine are already seated.
“No.”
“But-“
“No.” Kurt takes another drink, his body giving a little pleasant shudder as the warm sensation burns down his throat.
“Fine, be like that.”
“Planning on it!” Kurt says with unnecessary amounts of false cheer, waving a little at Puck as he heads for the table.
“Come sit with us,” Santana calls out, beckoning him over to the couch with a curl of one perfectly manicured finger.
Kurt looks around the room to see what his other choices are. Save sitting in the corner like the loser he most definitely isn’t, joining them really is his only option. He throws back his shoulders and heads over, plopping down beside her on the couch and crossing his legs as he shakes his head.
“This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?” he asks, already raising the bottle back to his mouth for another drink.
“It will be if you refuse to wipe that bitchy ice princess look off your face,” Santana snaps. “Come on, you have an entire bottle of booze in your hand. It could be a lot worse.”
“Just make fun of people with me,” Kurt huffs, rolling his eyes and again filling his mouth with the delicious liquor.
“Now that I can do,” Santana replies, her lips curling into a smile as she watches Brittany get up and wrap her arms around Blaine’s neck as she watches them play.
And that’s precisely how Kurt and Santana bide their time for a good half hour as their drinks dwindle and their cheeks redden. Kurt doesn’t know exactly when he'd gone from sober to tipsy or from tipsy to almost drunk, but it’d happened and that was the only reason why when Rachel had screamed out that it was time to play Spin the Bottle that he had agreed. Quite readily, too.
In his defense-or rather, what he tells himself as he strides across the room with his now half-empty bottle and his mostly numb face-it’s been a really long time since he kissed someone and that someone had been Brittany back before he’d come out. She had been a good kisser but he hadn’t really felt anything. And now that he's heavily intoxicated, all he wants to do is feel.
No matter who it’s with.
He finds himself in the circle between Sam-who’s decidedly adorable and Kurt definitely wouldn’t mind having to kiss him--and that one girl… Mercedes? It’s not exactly his prime choice of circle real estate. Blaine and Puck are sitting directly across the circle from him, Blaine all flushed and smiley and Puck looking back at Kurt and smiling as if he’s won some competition Kurt isn’t aware he’d been participating in.
The first few spins are boring and predictable: the guy in the wheelchair and Mike’s girlfriend, Rachel and Finn. But then it’s Blaine’s turn. Kurt drags his gaze over Blaine, intending to entertain himself by judging him until the bottle can be passed on to Puck. But when his eyes sweep over Blaine, he notices something. Namely two somethings-his arms.
They’re really nice. Well muscled, veins standing out on his forearms, a kind of compact strength about them that Kurt suddenly wants to test more than anything. As soon as the thought passes through his mind-his stupid drunken traitorous mind-a series of whoops and hollers breaks out in the crowd. Kurt looks down at the bottle to see what’s caused such a commotion and his eyes fly open before he can stop them.
It’s the worst possible way he could respond but it’s already too late for a bitch brow lift and a sneer. The bottle is pointed directly at him and when he follows the line up to Blaine’s face, he finds himself being stared down by a nervous-looking Blaine.
“Come on, my buzz is wearing off waiting for you two,” Santana says, shaking her head at Kurt before shrugging at him in a way that says ’No seriously, what are you waiting for. Let’s go.’ Kurt understands Blaine’s hesitation, his nerves, but he can’t afford the luxury of displaying such emotions himself. He’s Kurt Hummel and drunk or not, he can’t let on that he’s nervous to kiss the boy across from him.
Who has really nice arms.
Blaine lifts up onto his knees and leans in toward the middle of the circle, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth like he’s nervous that Kurt’s not going to follow suit. Mentally punching his nerves into submission, Kurt rocks forward, his knees digging into the carpeting as he slides a hand around the back of Blaine’s neck and yanks him close, his fingertips grazing over gelled hair that feels so much softer than it looks.
They kind of freeze against each other for a moment, just taking in the press of lips on lips, everything going quiet and fuzzy and delightfully alone for a few seconds before Blaine’s mouth is moving. His lips are parting, his tongue-oh god that tongue-is brushing against Kurt’s bottom lip. He tastes like vodka and orange juice and Kurt draws that perfect tongue into his mouth, sucking off the sweetness of the many drinks Blaine has consumed before something’s grabbing onto his vest and hauling him backward.
“Whoa there,” that one girl laughs. He shoots her a glare and grabs his bottle, taking a swig as something to do to busy himself and immediately wishing that he’d done anything else because the second the schnapps slides over his tongue, the taste of Blaine is gone.
Not that he cares. Because it’s Blaine Anderson, the kind of nerdy kid who wears stupid amounts of bow ties and who transferred in from that hoidy-toidy private school at the beginning of the year. Who sings lead in most of the glee club’s songs and who just so happens to have nice arms and soft lips and a tongue that did such sinful things against Kurt’s that he’s finding himself a little hard and a lot pissed off at himself.
Kurt dares to shoot a look across the circle only to find Blaine looking back at him. His beautiful honey-hazel eyes are searching but they drop the second Kurt looks his way.
Wait, not beautiful.
“Get a grip, Hummel,” Kurt mumbles to himself before drowning his overly horny brain with more booze.
That should work, right?
By the time the game’s over, Kurt’s kissed Rachel and Brittany in addition to the one he shared with Blaine and he’s so drunk he can hardly keep his eyes focused long enough to notice who’s kissing who or whether he should be kissing someone. Everything feels slow and warm, the air wrapped snugly around him as he sits there smiling more than these people have probably seen him do so in three entire years of school. He’d care, but he’s too busy feeling happy to squelch it.
They’re really not so bad, the New Directions, but that’s never something he’d admit out loud. He’s surprised, actually, at how normal they seem. As he watches Rachel and Blaine dance and sing on the stage-honestly, who in the hell has a stage in their basement?-he feels a momentary pang of jealousy, thinking how nice it must be to just not care that they’re making gigantic asses out of themselves.
“Are you going to sing something?” a voice asks from his side.
“Absolutely not,” he replies before looking to see who the owner of the voice is. It’s Puck, his eyes clearly having a hard time focusing as he peers at Kurt through some giant old lady glasses.
“You’re such a buzzkill.”
“I think the party will somehow find a way to keep on going even if I don’t regale them all in song,” Kurt says, noticing that some of his words are slurring a little. He sags toward Puck, subconsciously seeking out the comfort of body heat and something firm to lean against.
“Well, there’s a game of strip poker getting started over there if you’re interested.” Kurt’s heart skips a beat and he swallows hard and the thought of taking off his clothes in front of all these people. He’s proud of his physique and works hard on it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to get naked in front of a bunch of near strangers.
“I think I’ll pass,” he says, taking in the group forming around the table Puck had inclined his head toward. Blaine’s among them and they’re all laughing as everyone but Brittany takes off an article of clothing. Blaine’s red in the face and stripping off his sweater, revealing a gray tank underneath that's hugging every line of his body like it was painted on. Honestly, why does he hide all of that beneath those stupid clothes? Nothing can make any guy in their right mind turn away faster than a short-sleeved button-up and capris. Even if Blaine’s ass does look incredible did them.
Not that Kurt has ever noticed before.
“See something you like?”
Kurt forces his eyes to roll and fixes his face into a glare.
“Not even remotely,” he lies, hoping that the bitterness of the tone he’s pushing out will be enough to shut Puck up.
“Right. Well, I’m going to join them,” Puck says with a shrug, heading across the room and leaving Kurt alone once again.
It’s still a little strange to him that Puck asked him to come to the party. They’re friends… ish. They talk at school and Kurt sits at the same lunch table, but they’re not usually the ‘do things together on Friday night’ kind of friends. To be honest, Kurt doesn’t really have any of those friends at all.
He’s excellent at false bravado, but when it comes down to it, he’s not nearly as genuinely popular as he seems. Most of it is his own doing and he knows it, but honestly, the idea of spending an entire evening drinking with people he doesn’t know that well or care much about doesn’t appeal to him nearly as often as it appeals to his classmates. Apparently even those he never would have imagined, like Mike’s girlfriend who’s performing a little giggling striptease as she slides her shirt over her head.
And then Kurt sees it.
Blaine’s shirtless. So are other guys at the table, Puck and Sam included, but he’s seen them shirtless before. The sight of that isn’t without merit, but god, Kurt can’t stop staring at Blaine. He busies himself with a long sip from his bottle, swiping off his lips with the back of his hand before heading over. He’s drawn to the table with some kind of surprisingly powerful lust gravity, his eyes raking over Blaine’s naked skin, taking in every line of muscle, every inch of smooth, perfect torso.
“You want to play, Kurt?” Mike’s girlfriend asks, shimmying with the music in her seat.
“No, I'm just…” he trails off, realizing how perverted he’ll sound if he says that he’s just watching. “Just hoping to find out where the restroom is.”
“Upstairs. Second door on the right,” Rachel gets out as she struggles to extricate herself from the sea foam green monstrosity of a caftan she’d somehow settled on for the evening. Kurt nods and takes a step away from the circle, daring to sneak a final peek back-but definitely not at Blaine and his strong-looking biceps and little brown nipples just begging to be sucked on-only to find Blaine staring back at him.
Nothing else exists except for those warm eyes boring into his own, and Kurt feels a surge of lust swoop low in his stomach. He turns and hurries up the stairs, fighting the inescapable pull toward Blaine and wondering what in the hell has gotten into him all of a sudden.
As soon as he reaches the main level, Kurt ducks into the room Rachel had told him was the bathroom, but finds himself in a laundry room instead. Leave it to Rachel Berry to get so stupidly drunk that she can’t even remember the layout of her own house. Kurt huffs out an annoyed breath and starts peeking in every door down that main hallway until he finally locates a half bath.
He doesn’t have to go to the bathroom, only needs to get a grip on himself, so he doesn’t shut the door, just sets his bottle beside the sink on the granite countertop and stares at himself in the mirror. It takes a couple of blinks until everything comes fully into focus. He looks… well, he looks drunk. Blazingly red cheeks, eyes struggling to remain trained on his reflection. It’s been a long time since he was this drunk and honestly, he doesn’t really know if it’s a good thing or not. For a moment he debates splashing some cold water on his face, but shakes his head instead. The movement sends everything into a swirl and he grabs onto the edge of the sink as he reaches for his bottle and turns toward the door.
Standing in the doorway is Blaine. Shirtless Blaine.
Kurt tries. Honestly, he tries very hard. There has never been a time in his life when he has actively attempted not to do something so fiercely, but he’s powerless against it. His eyes roam over Blaine’s exposed torso, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he imagines circling one of those perfect nipples with the tip of his tongue.
“Are you…” Blaine trails off and blinks hard, his eyes flicking up and down Kurt’s body before settling back on his face. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah,” Kurt breathes out. “I am.” Blaine shifts from foot to foot and Kurt looks him over one more time before stepping out into the hallway, his body brushing against Blaine’s as he passes. That second of contact is too much. He freezes, breathing in sharply before mentally slapping himself and continuing out of the bathroom. Blaine doesn’t move, just stands there until Kurt has taken a few steps away. Only then does he hear the door click shut.
With a frustrated sigh, Kurt slumps against the wall halfway down the hallway, his bottle clanking noisily at the same time he lets his head thunk back until it too collides with the wall. Seriously, what in the hell has gotten into him? It’s not like he’s never seen a guy without his shirt on before.
And it’s not even that Blaine is that good-looking. It’s not like he has the prettiest, most expressive eyes Kurt has ever seen or lips that are even more enticing now that he’s tasted them or abs that could be used to efficiently launder clothing. And it’s definitely not like Kurt is furious with himself for ignoring this beautiful boy day after day just because he’s in the glee club.
It’s definitely none of these things.
So why isn’t he going back downstairs to rejoin the party?
“Are you having a good time tonight?” a voice asks from directly in front of him. Kurt’s eyes widen and he sucks in a breath, almost dropping the bottle he’s so startled.
“I guess,” Kurt says. It’s amazing how not uncomfortable Blaine seems with being randomly shirtless in that moment. Blaine nods.
“I’m glad you came tonight.”
“And why’s that?”
Blaine thinks about it for a second, looking at the wall a few feet away from Kurt’s head for a moment before slowly returning his gaze.
“You just always seem kind of lonely to me,” Blaine tells him with a shrug. Kurt’s eyes narrow and he pushes off the wall, putting himself mere inches away from Blaine-and his beautiful, beautiful eyes--and feeling his shoulders tense.
“I’m not lonely,” Kurt says, though his quavering voice reveals his lie. “I have tons of friends.”
“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just… I’m really glad you came,” Blaine says, giving Kurt a little smile before moving to walk away. Without really thinking about it, Kurt reaches out and grabs onto Blaine’s arm, his fingertips gripping into his--oh god, so so soft--skin and holding him still.
“How do you do it?” he asks.
“How do I do what?” Blaine asks back, both eyebrows raising as he looks curiously down at Kurt’s hand which is still closed just above his elbow. Kurt’s eyes widen and he drops his hand, his palm immediately mourning the loss of Blaine’s warm skin against it.
“How do you… not care? I mean, how do you put up with the bullying and the teasing and just be… yourself?” Blaine’s face softens.
“I don’t know how to do anything else,” he says with a shrug. Kurt blinks back the tears he wasn't aware had flooded his eyes and nods. He wants to tell Blaine everything and he’s not exactly sure why. It has to be something about his eyes. Honestly, Kurt’s having kind of a hard time actually bringing them into focus at the moment, but he still knows they’re stunning.
His head feels heavy, his face feels numb, but for as much as he wants to talk to Blaine, the only other person in the school who could even possibly begin to understand what Kurt’s gone through, he wants to do something else more.
“Blaine,” he starts, taking a half step forward. Distantly, he realizes that he’s very much in Blaine’s personal space. He smells amazing, like cologne and boy, and Kurt swears that he can feel heat radiating off of Blaine’s bare skin. All he wants to do is touch, but he can't. He shouldn't. “Do you know why Puck invited me tonight?”
“No, but when he told us that he had, I was excited. I’m not going to lie.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to get to know you better.”
“Oh?”
“I knew that if Puck invited you to hang out with us, there’s no way you could be as much of an asshole as you want everyone to think you are,” Blaine says, not backing down at all as he speaks to Kurt. “I just… we could be friends, you know. Or at least be there for each other.”
It’s so warm in the hall. Kurt can feel his whole body on the verge of breaking out in a sweat, his grip on the bottle slick from his damp palm. Everything’s feeling like too much-Blaine’s words, the intensity of his drunk, the pressure of everything compressing around him.
“I have plenty of friends,” Kurt says instinctively, the kind of thing he always says in response to something like that, but his tone is soft and his eyes are watery. Why did he have to drink so much? He could still be downstairs leering discreetly at the game of Strip Poker, not standing here on the verge of tears.
“You can always have more friends,” Blaine replies. “Especially one who really gets it. But we don’t have to be. I know that we don't know each other, but the offer’s always here if you need someone to talk to or-“
Every word he’s saying is… perfect. Blaine’s not being pushy. He’s not being a jerk. He’s not being anything other than himself and god, Kurt’s starting to think that being Blaine Anderson might not be so bad after all. Before he can finish that sentence, Kurt feels the desperate need to silence him lest he either say the wrong thing and ruin everything or keep going on so wonderfully and reduce Kurt into a sobbing heap on the hallway floor.
Part Two
Pairing: Klaine
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~10,000
Spoilers: None
Summary: Written for this prompt at the Glee Kink Meme: Klaine, badboy!Kurt, top!Kurt, Rachel is having a party at her house. Can take place during BIOTA, except Kurt and Blaine are both at McKinley and have barely ever had contact before. Kurt isn't in the glee club. Kurt and Blaine notice each other during one of the games they play(spin the bottle, strip!games, never have i ever, etc.), and later have sex somewhere else in the house.
“Tell me again what I’m doing here,” Kurt says, shooting Puck the most judgmental side-eye he can muster as they walk down the stairs into Rachel Berry’s basement, of all places.
“Free booze. Does there really need to be another reason?” Puck asks, shaking his head and already taking off his coat. Kurt sighs and slips the first button through the hole on his coat, scanning the room and sighing.
“These are not my people,” he says with a shake of his head, unable to stop his nose from scrunching up a little as he takes in the crowd.
“Well they’re my people, so take the stick out of your ass and try to have a good time.”
“I rather like the stick in my ass, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.” Kurt huffs and rolls his shoulders after pulling off his coat. It’s a little warm in the basement, but he’s fairly certain that it’s more from his discomfort than the actual temperature. There’s hardly more than a handful of people there, all of them glee club members. He’d think that he was sticking out like a sore thumb, but it’s so much worse than that.
Whenever someone catches sight of him, they pause mid-sentence before getting back to their conversation partner with a slightly shocked look on their face. He doesn’t belong here and Puck knows that. Not even the promise of free alcohol is enough to make this okay.
Kurt had been like them once. Maybe even worse. In his freshman year, he’d been bullied for two solid weeks before he’d stood up to Puck, shoving him back so hard he’d fallen on his ass and getting up in his face so fiercely that the taunts and dumpster throws and slushies to the face had stopped immediately. He’d become one of them. It might not have been exactly where he belonged-Kurt was not stupid and knew better than to do any actual bullying himself lest he find himself suspended or in juvie-but it was far better than the alternative. And it was more than enough to get him through these four torturous years until he could finally escape the hellish confines of Ohio and escape to New York City where he could be himself.
“Noah, Kurt,” Rachel greeted as soon as she caught sight of them at the foot of the stairs. Kurt sneered at her, curious as to why exactly she was addressing him as if she knew him since she absolutely did not. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” It was no secret that she was tossing that last comment in his direction.
“I didn’t exactly expect to be here,” he replies, folding his coat over his arm.
“Well, the more the merrier,” she says, the smile screwed on her face so tight she’d probably needed a screwdriver to get the thing in place. “Here are your drink tickets.”
“Is she serious?” Kurt asks, staring down at the two little slips of red paper in his hand with utter disbelief. What, was he at a wedding reception?
“Unfortunately,” Puck replies, giving Kurt a look that screams “I know, dude.” As he starts in about how Rachel needs to let him break into her dads’ liquor cabinet, Kurt looks around the room again.
He recognizes everyone, but not by name. McKinley is a big school but not that big. It’s impossible to get through three years of school and not recognize the people that have been embarrassing the hell out of themselves at assemblies all that time. They’re not the worst breed of misfits in the school, but they’re close enough to make Kurt decidedly unexcited about spending his Friday night with them. Especially if there are only two wine coolers in his future.
“Let’s go,” Puck says, breaking Kurt out of his gaze. Kurt lets out a sigh of relief. Finally, Puck has come to his senses.
“Thank god. I don’t know what you were thinking bringing me here anyway,” Kurt replies.
“We’re not leaving. You’re going to help me break into the liquor cabinet upstairs,” Puck tells him. “Try to relax. You might even have a good time.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“Finn will be here soon.”
“Wonderful.”
“I thought you liked Finn,” Puck says, raising his eyebrows as they reach the main floor. “Like, like him.”
“I learned my lesson there quickly, trust me,” Kurt says, not even trying to mask the look of displeasure on his face. “Not only is he straight but he has the most appalling taste in women I’ve ever seen. Case and point.” Kurt gestures grandly toward the rather terrifying painted portrait of Rachel hanging on the wall. Puck shrugs and heads into the living room, digging around on the shelves of the wall-spanning bookcase.
“I’ve made out with her before. She’s not so bad,” he says as he peeks behind a framed picture.
“I weep for you.”
Kurt takes one look at the liquor cabinet and knows exactly where the key is. Sure enough, he finds it resting in the gilded Faberge egg sitting right on top of the thing. He holds it up and gives Puck a judgmental look before opening the lock and putting the key back in its ‘hiding place.’ “You’re losing your touch.”
“Shut up,” Puck huffs, already loading up arms full of bottles, all of them clanging together noisily in the otherwise quiet room.
“Oh hey Puck,” a voice sounds from the hallway. Both of them turn to face the source of the greeting, Puck’s face splitting into a smile while Kurt fights not to roll his eyes.
Blaine Anderson.
Of course he’s there.
“You want to help us get all this stuff downstairs?” Puck asks.
“Sure,” Blaine replies, walking toward them and shifting his gaze toward Kurt every few seconds. Kurt makes sure to keep the look on his face icy, loving the way Blaine recoils a bit when he gets closer.
Blaine is the only other out kid at school, which should be a good thing. They could be friends. But, they’re not. He transferred in at the beginning of the school year and due to the fact that he had immediately joined New Directions, he had killed any chance of Kurt making nice. He has a reputation to uphold and honestly, there are few things in the world Kurt finds more offensive than Blaine’s apparently extensive collection of bowties.
“You know Kurt, right?” Puck asks.
“Not really,” Blaine says, flushing slightly as he bends down to grab as many bottles as he can carry. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”
Why does he have to be so nice all the time? Kurt has never been nice to him before, has never so much as given him a friendly smile in passing, so what's with the niceties all of a sudden? Kurt looks at him for a long moment, long enough that Blaine starts to squirm under the intensity of his gaze and then he looks over at Puck.
“I’d say with this amount of liquor, I might be able to get through the evening without committing seppuku.”
“Without what?” Puck asks, shoving a few bottles at Kurt and looking thoroughly irritated about something.
“Disemboweling himself,” Blaine interjects, sneaking a glance at Kurt before swallowing hard. “I’m just going to take these downstairs.” He rushes from the room, peeking once over his shoulder before disappearing.
“I’m going to lock this back up and then I’ll be down. Go on ahead.” Kurt takes all of two steps before freezing and turning to glare at Puck.
“No,” he says.
“Huh?”
“No, Puck.”
“I have no idea what your problem is.”
“Just because Blaine and I are the only two out gay kids in the school does not mean-“
“Dude, I just want you to take the booze downstairs. Relax.”
“I’m on to you,” Kurt says, his eyes narrowed as he leaves the room.
This is going to be a disaster.
By the time he again reaches the basement, a few familiar faces have thankfully added themselves to the mix. He immediately spies Finn, Santana, and Brittany mingling with everyone else. They’ve all managed to maintain a kind of balance between their other lives and glee club. Kurt honestly doesn’t know how they’ve done it without completely destroying their reputations.
The fact that Santana and Brittany combined have slept with close to half of the male student body has to help. That might be an exaggeration, but on most days, that’s what it seems like. Whatever the reason, though, Kurt is entirely certain that if he ever made at attempt to straddle the feeble line between glee and popularity, he’d wind up with his back slammed into a locker faster than he could sing the first line of Defying Gravity.
And god how he loves to sing that to the welcome audience of his bedroom mirror.
“What’ve you got there?” Santana asks as she slinks toward him.
“I have no idea,” Kurt replies honestly, finally looking down to see that he’s holding a bottle of Goldschläger, a half empty fifth of Captain Morgan, and a mostly full bottle of some cheap brand of gin. She tries to take the cinnamon schnapps from him, but he coils his fist around the neck and glares at her. “Mine.”
“Did you forget your manners at the door? Sharing is caring, Kurt.”
“I’m going to need all of this to get through tonight. Find something else.”
“Oh bite me,” she rolls her eyes. He snaps his jaw shut at her, his teeth clacking together noisily.
“Ooo,” she coos him, shooting him a wink before taking the other two bottles from his grasp and heading back to Brittany.
Surprise surprise. Kurt’s known about them for awhile. Neither of them have said anything and neither has he. It’s not his place and honestly, what would any of them gain from talking about it?
“I think we’ve got enough to get the party started,” Puck says from his side, startling Kurt out of his little daze.
“Maybe alcohol will actually make these people tolerable,” Kurt says with a big fake smile, one that makes Puck roll his eyes.
“Seriously. The stick in your ass needs to go and I’m not going to be the one to pull it out for you.”
“As if I’d even want you to,” Kurt snips, screwing the lid off the bottle and taking a long sip. It’s not his favorite but it’ll do quite nicely.
“Whatever, man,” Puck sighs, leaning in a little closer and prompting Kurt’s eyebrow to raise. It’s probably the closest Puck has ever physically been to him since he stopped bullying Kurt every chance he got, and it’s making Kurt feel strange to say the least. “I’m just glad you came tonight. It’ll do you some good to loosen up and have a good time.” Kurt can feel his nostrils flare.
“And what makes you think I’m going to have a good time here tonight?” he asks. Puck’s eyebrows fly up and he raises his hands.
“I just think you’ll actually like these guys if you give them a chance,” he says.
“Right.” Kurt Hummel is many things, but he’s definitely not stupid. And he’s almost entirely certain that the reason he’s there has everything to do with Blaine Anderson.
“So do you want to play quarters?” Puck asks hopefully, eying the table where Quinn, Mike, Mike’s girlfriend, and Blaine are already seated.
“No.”
“But-“
“No.” Kurt takes another drink, his body giving a little pleasant shudder as the warm sensation burns down his throat.
“Fine, be like that.”
“Planning on it!” Kurt says with unnecessary amounts of false cheer, waving a little at Puck as he heads for the table.
“Come sit with us,” Santana calls out, beckoning him over to the couch with a curl of one perfectly manicured finger.
Kurt looks around the room to see what his other choices are. Save sitting in the corner like the loser he most definitely isn’t, joining them really is his only option. He throws back his shoulders and heads over, plopping down beside her on the couch and crossing his legs as he shakes his head.
“This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?” he asks, already raising the bottle back to his mouth for another drink.
“It will be if you refuse to wipe that bitchy ice princess look off your face,” Santana snaps. “Come on, you have an entire bottle of booze in your hand. It could be a lot worse.”
“Just make fun of people with me,” Kurt huffs, rolling his eyes and again filling his mouth with the delicious liquor.
“Now that I can do,” Santana replies, her lips curling into a smile as she watches Brittany get up and wrap her arms around Blaine’s neck as she watches them play.
And that’s precisely how Kurt and Santana bide their time for a good half hour as their drinks dwindle and their cheeks redden. Kurt doesn’t know exactly when he'd gone from sober to tipsy or from tipsy to almost drunk, but it’d happened and that was the only reason why when Rachel had screamed out that it was time to play Spin the Bottle that he had agreed. Quite readily, too.
In his defense-or rather, what he tells himself as he strides across the room with his now half-empty bottle and his mostly numb face-it’s been a really long time since he kissed someone and that someone had been Brittany back before he’d come out. She had been a good kisser but he hadn’t really felt anything. And now that he's heavily intoxicated, all he wants to do is feel.
No matter who it’s with.
He finds himself in the circle between Sam-who’s decidedly adorable and Kurt definitely wouldn’t mind having to kiss him--and that one girl… Mercedes? It’s not exactly his prime choice of circle real estate. Blaine and Puck are sitting directly across the circle from him, Blaine all flushed and smiley and Puck looking back at Kurt and smiling as if he’s won some competition Kurt isn’t aware he’d been participating in.
The first few spins are boring and predictable: the guy in the wheelchair and Mike’s girlfriend, Rachel and Finn. But then it’s Blaine’s turn. Kurt drags his gaze over Blaine, intending to entertain himself by judging him until the bottle can be passed on to Puck. But when his eyes sweep over Blaine, he notices something. Namely two somethings-his arms.
They’re really nice. Well muscled, veins standing out on his forearms, a kind of compact strength about them that Kurt suddenly wants to test more than anything. As soon as the thought passes through his mind-his stupid drunken traitorous mind-a series of whoops and hollers breaks out in the crowd. Kurt looks down at the bottle to see what’s caused such a commotion and his eyes fly open before he can stop them.
It’s the worst possible way he could respond but it’s already too late for a bitch brow lift and a sneer. The bottle is pointed directly at him and when he follows the line up to Blaine’s face, he finds himself being stared down by a nervous-looking Blaine.
“Come on, my buzz is wearing off waiting for you two,” Santana says, shaking her head at Kurt before shrugging at him in a way that says ’No seriously, what are you waiting for. Let’s go.’ Kurt understands Blaine’s hesitation, his nerves, but he can’t afford the luxury of displaying such emotions himself. He’s Kurt Hummel and drunk or not, he can’t let on that he’s nervous to kiss the boy across from him.
Who has really nice arms.
Blaine lifts up onto his knees and leans in toward the middle of the circle, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth like he’s nervous that Kurt’s not going to follow suit. Mentally punching his nerves into submission, Kurt rocks forward, his knees digging into the carpeting as he slides a hand around the back of Blaine’s neck and yanks him close, his fingertips grazing over gelled hair that feels so much softer than it looks.
They kind of freeze against each other for a moment, just taking in the press of lips on lips, everything going quiet and fuzzy and delightfully alone for a few seconds before Blaine’s mouth is moving. His lips are parting, his tongue-oh god that tongue-is brushing against Kurt’s bottom lip. He tastes like vodka and orange juice and Kurt draws that perfect tongue into his mouth, sucking off the sweetness of the many drinks Blaine has consumed before something’s grabbing onto his vest and hauling him backward.
“Whoa there,” that one girl laughs. He shoots her a glare and grabs his bottle, taking a swig as something to do to busy himself and immediately wishing that he’d done anything else because the second the schnapps slides over his tongue, the taste of Blaine is gone.
Not that he cares. Because it’s Blaine Anderson, the kind of nerdy kid who wears stupid amounts of bow ties and who transferred in from that hoidy-toidy private school at the beginning of the year. Who sings lead in most of the glee club’s songs and who just so happens to have nice arms and soft lips and a tongue that did such sinful things against Kurt’s that he’s finding himself a little hard and a lot pissed off at himself.
Kurt dares to shoot a look across the circle only to find Blaine looking back at him. His beautiful honey-hazel eyes are searching but they drop the second Kurt looks his way.
Wait, not beautiful.
“Get a grip, Hummel,” Kurt mumbles to himself before drowning his overly horny brain with more booze.
That should work, right?
By the time the game’s over, Kurt’s kissed Rachel and Brittany in addition to the one he shared with Blaine and he’s so drunk he can hardly keep his eyes focused long enough to notice who’s kissing who or whether he should be kissing someone. Everything feels slow and warm, the air wrapped snugly around him as he sits there smiling more than these people have probably seen him do so in three entire years of school. He’d care, but he’s too busy feeling happy to squelch it.
They’re really not so bad, the New Directions, but that’s never something he’d admit out loud. He’s surprised, actually, at how normal they seem. As he watches Rachel and Blaine dance and sing on the stage-honestly, who in the hell has a stage in their basement?-he feels a momentary pang of jealousy, thinking how nice it must be to just not care that they’re making gigantic asses out of themselves.
“Are you going to sing something?” a voice asks from his side.
“Absolutely not,” he replies before looking to see who the owner of the voice is. It’s Puck, his eyes clearly having a hard time focusing as he peers at Kurt through some giant old lady glasses.
“You’re such a buzzkill.”
“I think the party will somehow find a way to keep on going even if I don’t regale them all in song,” Kurt says, noticing that some of his words are slurring a little. He sags toward Puck, subconsciously seeking out the comfort of body heat and something firm to lean against.
“Well, there’s a game of strip poker getting started over there if you’re interested.” Kurt’s heart skips a beat and he swallows hard and the thought of taking off his clothes in front of all these people. He’s proud of his physique and works hard on it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to get naked in front of a bunch of near strangers.
“I think I’ll pass,” he says, taking in the group forming around the table Puck had inclined his head toward. Blaine’s among them and they’re all laughing as everyone but Brittany takes off an article of clothing. Blaine’s red in the face and stripping off his sweater, revealing a gray tank underneath that's hugging every line of his body like it was painted on. Honestly, why does he hide all of that beneath those stupid clothes? Nothing can make any guy in their right mind turn away faster than a short-sleeved button-up and capris. Even if Blaine’s ass does look incredible did them.
Not that Kurt has ever noticed before.
“See something you like?”
Kurt forces his eyes to roll and fixes his face into a glare.
“Not even remotely,” he lies, hoping that the bitterness of the tone he’s pushing out will be enough to shut Puck up.
“Right. Well, I’m going to join them,” Puck says with a shrug, heading across the room and leaving Kurt alone once again.
It’s still a little strange to him that Puck asked him to come to the party. They’re friends… ish. They talk at school and Kurt sits at the same lunch table, but they’re not usually the ‘do things together on Friday night’ kind of friends. To be honest, Kurt doesn’t really have any of those friends at all.
He’s excellent at false bravado, but when it comes down to it, he’s not nearly as genuinely popular as he seems. Most of it is his own doing and he knows it, but honestly, the idea of spending an entire evening drinking with people he doesn’t know that well or care much about doesn’t appeal to him nearly as often as it appeals to his classmates. Apparently even those he never would have imagined, like Mike’s girlfriend who’s performing a little giggling striptease as she slides her shirt over her head.
And then Kurt sees it.
Blaine’s shirtless. So are other guys at the table, Puck and Sam included, but he’s seen them shirtless before. The sight of that isn’t without merit, but god, Kurt can’t stop staring at Blaine. He busies himself with a long sip from his bottle, swiping off his lips with the back of his hand before heading over. He’s drawn to the table with some kind of surprisingly powerful lust gravity, his eyes raking over Blaine’s naked skin, taking in every line of muscle, every inch of smooth, perfect torso.
“You want to play, Kurt?” Mike’s girlfriend asks, shimmying with the music in her seat.
“No, I'm just…” he trails off, realizing how perverted he’ll sound if he says that he’s just watching. “Just hoping to find out where the restroom is.”
“Upstairs. Second door on the right,” Rachel gets out as she struggles to extricate herself from the sea foam green monstrosity of a caftan she’d somehow settled on for the evening. Kurt nods and takes a step away from the circle, daring to sneak a final peek back-but definitely not at Blaine and his strong-looking biceps and little brown nipples just begging to be sucked on-only to find Blaine staring back at him.
Nothing else exists except for those warm eyes boring into his own, and Kurt feels a surge of lust swoop low in his stomach. He turns and hurries up the stairs, fighting the inescapable pull toward Blaine and wondering what in the hell has gotten into him all of a sudden.
As soon as he reaches the main level, Kurt ducks into the room Rachel had told him was the bathroom, but finds himself in a laundry room instead. Leave it to Rachel Berry to get so stupidly drunk that she can’t even remember the layout of her own house. Kurt huffs out an annoyed breath and starts peeking in every door down that main hallway until he finally locates a half bath.
He doesn’t have to go to the bathroom, only needs to get a grip on himself, so he doesn’t shut the door, just sets his bottle beside the sink on the granite countertop and stares at himself in the mirror. It takes a couple of blinks until everything comes fully into focus. He looks… well, he looks drunk. Blazingly red cheeks, eyes struggling to remain trained on his reflection. It’s been a long time since he was this drunk and honestly, he doesn’t really know if it’s a good thing or not. For a moment he debates splashing some cold water on his face, but shakes his head instead. The movement sends everything into a swirl and he grabs onto the edge of the sink as he reaches for his bottle and turns toward the door.
Standing in the doorway is Blaine. Shirtless Blaine.
Kurt tries. Honestly, he tries very hard. There has never been a time in his life when he has actively attempted not to do something so fiercely, but he’s powerless against it. His eyes roam over Blaine’s exposed torso, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he imagines circling one of those perfect nipples with the tip of his tongue.
“Are you…” Blaine trails off and blinks hard, his eyes flicking up and down Kurt’s body before settling back on his face. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah,” Kurt breathes out. “I am.” Blaine shifts from foot to foot and Kurt looks him over one more time before stepping out into the hallway, his body brushing against Blaine’s as he passes. That second of contact is too much. He freezes, breathing in sharply before mentally slapping himself and continuing out of the bathroom. Blaine doesn’t move, just stands there until Kurt has taken a few steps away. Only then does he hear the door click shut.
With a frustrated sigh, Kurt slumps against the wall halfway down the hallway, his bottle clanking noisily at the same time he lets his head thunk back until it too collides with the wall. Seriously, what in the hell has gotten into him? It’s not like he’s never seen a guy without his shirt on before.
And it’s not even that Blaine is that good-looking. It’s not like he has the prettiest, most expressive eyes Kurt has ever seen or lips that are even more enticing now that he’s tasted them or abs that could be used to efficiently launder clothing. And it’s definitely not like Kurt is furious with himself for ignoring this beautiful boy day after day just because he’s in the glee club.
It’s definitely none of these things.
So why isn’t he going back downstairs to rejoin the party?
“Are you having a good time tonight?” a voice asks from directly in front of him. Kurt’s eyes widen and he sucks in a breath, almost dropping the bottle he’s so startled.
“I guess,” Kurt says. It’s amazing how not uncomfortable Blaine seems with being randomly shirtless in that moment. Blaine nods.
“I’m glad you came tonight.”
“And why’s that?”
Blaine thinks about it for a second, looking at the wall a few feet away from Kurt’s head for a moment before slowly returning his gaze.
“You just always seem kind of lonely to me,” Blaine tells him with a shrug. Kurt’s eyes narrow and he pushes off the wall, putting himself mere inches away from Blaine-and his beautiful, beautiful eyes--and feeling his shoulders tense.
“I’m not lonely,” Kurt says, though his quavering voice reveals his lie. “I have tons of friends.”
“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just… I’m really glad you came,” Blaine says, giving Kurt a little smile before moving to walk away. Without really thinking about it, Kurt reaches out and grabs onto Blaine’s arm, his fingertips gripping into his--oh god, so so soft--skin and holding him still.
“How do you do it?” he asks.
“How do I do what?” Blaine asks back, both eyebrows raising as he looks curiously down at Kurt’s hand which is still closed just above his elbow. Kurt’s eyes widen and he drops his hand, his palm immediately mourning the loss of Blaine’s warm skin against it.
“How do you… not care? I mean, how do you put up with the bullying and the teasing and just be… yourself?” Blaine’s face softens.
“I don’t know how to do anything else,” he says with a shrug. Kurt blinks back the tears he wasn't aware had flooded his eyes and nods. He wants to tell Blaine everything and he’s not exactly sure why. It has to be something about his eyes. Honestly, Kurt’s having kind of a hard time actually bringing them into focus at the moment, but he still knows they’re stunning.
His head feels heavy, his face feels numb, but for as much as he wants to talk to Blaine, the only other person in the school who could even possibly begin to understand what Kurt’s gone through, he wants to do something else more.
“Blaine,” he starts, taking a half step forward. Distantly, he realizes that he’s very much in Blaine’s personal space. He smells amazing, like cologne and boy, and Kurt swears that he can feel heat radiating off of Blaine’s bare skin. All he wants to do is touch, but he can't. He shouldn't. “Do you know why Puck invited me tonight?”
“No, but when he told us that he had, I was excited. I’m not going to lie.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to get to know you better.”
“Oh?”
“I knew that if Puck invited you to hang out with us, there’s no way you could be as much of an asshole as you want everyone to think you are,” Blaine says, not backing down at all as he speaks to Kurt. “I just… we could be friends, you know. Or at least be there for each other.”
It’s so warm in the hall. Kurt can feel his whole body on the verge of breaking out in a sweat, his grip on the bottle slick from his damp palm. Everything’s feeling like too much-Blaine’s words, the intensity of his drunk, the pressure of everything compressing around him.
“I have plenty of friends,” Kurt says instinctively, the kind of thing he always says in response to something like that, but his tone is soft and his eyes are watery. Why did he have to drink so much? He could still be downstairs leering discreetly at the game of Strip Poker, not standing here on the verge of tears.
“You can always have more friends,” Blaine replies. “Especially one who really gets it. But we don’t have to be. I know that we don't know each other, but the offer’s always here if you need someone to talk to or-“
Every word he’s saying is… perfect. Blaine’s not being pushy. He’s not being a jerk. He’s not being anything other than himself and god, Kurt’s starting to think that being Blaine Anderson might not be so bad after all. Before he can finish that sentence, Kurt feels the desperate need to silence him lest he either say the wrong thing and ruin everything or keep going on so wonderfully and reduce Kurt into a sobbing heap on the hallway floor.
Part Two