Fic: Love Belongs to All in Deed and Name, 3/?
Title: Love Belongs to All in Deed and Name, 3/?
Author: knittycat99
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: R for language and boy on boy action
Spoilers: my take on canon through 3.05
Summary: Blaine keeps himself pretty well hidden, until he meets a stranger at school
Author's Note: The dialogue from Glee is from ep. 3.05. Quotes from Boy Meets Boy are property of David Levithan, who writes amazing YA novels featuring transformative GLBT characters. If you like quality YA, he's a don't miss author.
Word Count: 6,136
McKinley wasn’t hard, exactly. The classes were easy, and Blaine was good enough at playing at confidence that he didn’t face quite the same wrath from the other students that most of New Directions did. Walking into a situation with a ready group of friends helped.
But Blaine felt tender, raw and bruised under his skin, like he was growing out of himself. The only times he felt right was when he was with Kurt, so he hung around after school for Mr. Schue’s booty camp and on the nights when his mom had to go to work or social functions with his dad, he’d have dinner with Kurt’s family. One Wednesday in October, he was sitting at the kitchen table after dinner, pouring over some Calculus while Kurt was upstairs getting his own homework when Burt wandered through the kitchen looking for something.
Blaine waited while Burt opened and closed three cupboards and the fridge before digging a sleeve of Oreos out of the depths of a fourth cupboard. He poured a mug of milk and waggled a finger at Blaine. “Don’t you even breathe a word of this to Kurt.”
“No, sir.” Blaine shook his head and gnawed on the eraser end of his pencil while he studied his problem set and tried to ignore Burt staring at him.
“Kid.” Blaine turned in his chair at the gentle gruffness in Burt’s voice. “Are things- are you- is-” Burt sighed, and looked away before he blurted out, “are things okay for you at home?”
Blaine felt his eyes widen, and he must have paused for too long before replying, because But was suddenly apologetic. “I didn’t mean to be too forward, it’s just that you’re here almost every night, not that you’re not welcome, because you are. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
Blaine set his pencil down and crossed his arms over the back of his chair, rested his chin on the back of his arms. “I don’t like eating alone.” It wasn’t the whole story, but it was all he could manage at the moment, the easiest thing to say in a situation where even that wasn’t an easy answer.
“Christ, Blaine. You’re as bad as Kurt. Have to pull every damn thing out of you. That’s not an answer to are you okay.”
“I- well. My dad? He doesn’t like that I transferred, or that my mom signed all the papers. Things are chilly, to say the least, right now.” He waved his hands in front of himself in a vague gesture. “That’s kind of saying a lot, because things have never been warm to begin with. My mom has been trying to be home more, but sometimes she has to go to my dad’s work things, or dinner with the neighbors or whatever. Appearances, and all.” Blaine shrugged, because he was really never going to understand what was so important about impressing neighbors or colleagues.
“You seem . . . different? Since coming to McKinley.” Burt shuffled his hands, looking for the ballcap that Blaine had watched him take off before dinner. “There’s a lot I don’t know, but you seem happier. Oreo?” Burt held out the sleeve of cookies, and Blaine took three, setting them in a neat pile next to his Calculus book.
“I am.” Blaine smiled, and felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. He watched Burt pull another mug down from where they hang on pegs over the sink, filled it with milk, and sat it down on the table in front of Blaine. He pulled a chair out with a scrape and sat, eyeing Blaine with caution.
“You and Kurt- that going okay?”
“Um.” Blaine swallowed, and focused on twisting the top off his first cookie. “Yes, sir. Kurt is- look. I know it sounds crazy, or corny, or whatever. But Kurt makes me feel real. Like, being with him makes me more of myself, you know?”
Burt leaned back in his chair, sighed lightly and nodded. “Yeah, kid. I do.”
Blaine wondered if Burt was thinking about Carole, or Kurt’s mom. Or maybe both of them, because he suspected that love made you feel the way Kurt made him feel, and Burt was clearly lucky enough to have loved two women in his life.
Blaine nibbled at the edges of his last cookie and sipped at his milk in silence, hoping that he hadn’t said too much. He waited while Burt downed the last of his milk, and watched him twist the plastic around the last of the cookies, hide them back in the cupboard, and put his mug in the dishwasher. He turned back and clasped Blaine’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, kid. You’re good for Kurt, and I can see that he’s good for you. You treat each other right, you respect each other. It’s a good start. And don’t worry, you’re always welcome for dinner.”
He pulled away then at the sound of Kurt clattering down the stairs and nodded at Blaine. “Always welcome. And drink your milk.”
**
The driveway was empty when Blaine got home just before 10, but he could see that someone had left not only the outside lights on, but also the kitchen and living room lamps. He let himself in, hung his coat appropriately in the closet, and tossed his bag in defiance on a living room chair before wandering into the kitchen. There was a plastic-covered plate on the counter with a sticky note on top.
Blaine-
I had to go to Columbus with your father for an awards banquet, but I thought you might want a snack when you got in from Kurt’s. Maybe next time, we can make them together.
Love
Mom
Chocolate chip cookies, the way Blaine liked them with pecans and oats. The way he vaguely remembered helping his mom make them, his awkward hands clutching a wooden spoon and his mother’s admonitions to stir carefully, baby, so the oats don’t spill. Blaine poured himself a glass of milk and took the plate up to his room, thinking that he’d snack while he finished The House on Mango Street for English, but when he slipped into his room and turned on the light he found a paper bag from the independent bookstore in Dayton, full of books and with another post it on the side.
B-
I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re reading these days. But I was down in Dayton for lunch today and couldn’t resist. I hope I guessed right.
-Mom
Blaine dumped the books onto his comforter and took quick note of two books by Connie Willis, who he’d read voraciously the summer after 9th grade. The trilogy of Swedish crime novels that had been popular a few years back as well that Blaine had never gotten around to, and at the very bottom a slim blue volume with a title in letters so small that Blaine had to blink twice at to make sure he’d read it correctly. Boy Meets Boy. Hm. He stacked the rest of the books on his nightstand, changed into his sweatpants and the Dalton Athletics t-shirt he liked to sleep in, and crawled into bed. The book was meant for kids a little younger than Blaine, but that didn’t matter once he had fallen into the dream-like quality of the writing. He worked his way through half the plate of cookies, and had to pad back downstairs for a refill of his milk, and was swirling around in phrases like my lines all curve. I tend to connect the wrong dots and I find my greatest strength in wanting to be strong. I find my greatest bravery in deciding to be brave. I don't know if I've ever realized it before,[...] I think we both realize it now. If there's no feeling of fear, then there's no need for courage when his door squeaked open and his mom poked her head around to look at him.
“It’s past midnight,” she said, looking at the delicate gold-banded dress watch on her wrist.
Blaine waved the book at her. “I only have about 10 pages left,” he said, and smiled sheepishly.
“You really are my kid,” she laughed, before crossing into his room and stopping, like she wasn’t sure what to do next. Blaine scooted his legs over and patted the edge of the bed. She sat, then, rearranged the skirt of her dress and kicked off her heels before crossing her ankles.
“I did alright, then, picking books?” She sounded hopeful, like she really wanted to have done something well. Blaine knew that feeling all too well.
“They’re perfect. Thank you. And the cookies. I remember when we used to make them together.” He saw a genuine smile cross her face.
“You do?”
“Yeah. I- I’d like to make them with you next time. Maybe . . .” Blaine paused, mulling over his next words because it wasn’t that he didn’t want the time with his mom, it was just that he thought maybe he wanted to include his mom in the other parts of his life. “Maybe sometime we could have Kurt and his stepmom over, and we could all do something together. Kurt especially likes to bake.”
Blaine pretended that he didn’t see the way his mom wiped at her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “I- I think I’d like that. Kurt- he makes you happy, doesn’t he?”
Blaine nodded, and when his mom slid her hand over his he didn’t pull away. “Good,” she said. “I don’t want to pretend that part of your life doesn’t exist. Kurt, and his family, they’re a part of you now too.” His mom nodded, like she had a plan in the works. “Why don’t you give me Carole’s number, and she and I can set something up. Now,” she patted his arm, “ten pages or not, you have school in the morning.”
Blaine sighed and set the book on his nightstand. He waited until his mom was almost out the door before speaking. “Mom?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Thank you, for everything.” How to tell her that he was happy to be getting his mom back, that she was trying in the same ways he was, that they were learning to be themselves again. But he didn’t have the words.
When he looked over at his mother and saw the look of free and open love on her face, he knew that he didn’t need the words.
**
Blaine spent three weeks shifting the narrow envelope full of West Side Story tickets from his locker to his bag to his jacket to his desk, and he couldn’t make himself drive the distance to Dalton. He thought about dropping them in the mail to Jeff, but that didn’t seem right either.
“Why don’t you go tomorrow,” Kurt said, pulling the envelope out of the breast pocket of Blaine’s shirt and setting it on Blaine’s nightstand before tugging him down onto the bed. “We don’t have rehearsal, and you know that Nick will be keeping the guys late this close to Sectionals.”
Blaine snorted. “Wes and David taught him well.”
“Exactly. Take them the tickets, have a coffee, see your friends, Blaine.” Kurt leaned over and kissed him, long and slow, and Blaine shivered. Artie’s words to him fluttered through his consciousness, and he cursed the “no hands” rule for about the millionth time since he’d brought it up, because he could feel Kurt deepening the kiss, felt his hands settling at the small of Blaine’s back. They tried to avoid being alone in empty houses for exactly this reason, because it was too easy to fall into the haze of oh, so so good and lose track of hands or forget to still frantic bodies.
Blaine was giving into it, fingers under Kurt’s sweater and vest and tugging at his shirt where it was tucked into Kurt’s pants, when his brain kicked in and he jumped away like he’d been burned. “I- sorry.”
“No, don’t be.” Kurt was flushed, and turned his attention to straightening his clothes. Blaine took a moment to shuffle through his iPod until he found his dance mix; he needed to move to do something with the tension curling in his body, and he supposed that dancing could work as well as making out. He bounced and spun, and felt himself start to settle when Kurt looked up at him.
“Do you think I’m boring?”
Blaine’s heart skipped a beat, because Kurt was anything but. “Are you crazy? You’re the single most interesting kid in all of Ohio.” And it wasn’t a lie; Blaine had never met anyone with so much passion and so many interests and so much love as Kurt.
“I mean, like, sexually. We are playing it very safe by not granting our hands visas to travel south of the Equator.” Kurt gestured wildly, and Blaine thought about the embarrassment of that summer afternoon when Carole had found them, and he knew that if they hadn’t been so disciplined in the months since, things would be really different for them. Because wanting didn’t always equate with ready, and Blaine was lots of things, but ready for sex wasn’t one of them. Not when he was still muddling through life like he was a snake regrowing his skin.
“I thought that’s what we wanted,” he said, twirling across the carpet.
“It is. I’m just wondering, have you ever had the urge just to rip off each other’s clothes and get dirty?” More hand-waving from Kurt, and Blaine let his eyes drift down Kurt’s body.
Oh, yes, he’d thought about that very thing so many times, especially nights, alone, here in his dark room in his empty bed. Where Kurt was kneeling now. He spoke in a rush around the light embarrassment in his chest. “Yeah, but that’s why they invented masturbation.”
“It’s pretty hot in this room, can we open up a window?” Kurt fanned himself, and tugged at his shirt collar and tie, and Blaine was seized by a sudden want to nibble at the tender skin under that collar and tie with his teeth.
He shook the idea away, and moved slowly, tentatively onto the bed next to Kurt. “Hey, I’m serious. We’re young, we’re in high school. And yeah, we have urges, but whatever we do I want to be sure that you’re comfortable.” He rubbed a gentle hand on Kurt’s back. “So I can be comfortable. And besides, tearing off all of your clothes is sort of a tall order.”
“Because of the layers?” Kurt’s voice was teasing, because they’ve talked about Kurt’s clothes the same way they’ve talked about Blaine’s, and they both understand that Kurt’s layers and Blaine’s bowties and and loafers are about shields and masks and the things they want the rest of the world to see.
“Because of the layers,” Blaine nodded, and he wasn’t talking about clothes at all, because he knew that underneath the sweater and vest and button-down Kurt was a complex web of dreams and wants and so many things he thought he could never have. Blaine knew, because he was the same. He leaned in and kissed Kurt, pushing lightly against him until they were stretched out together and Blaine had tucked Kurt into the curves of his body. He ran his thumb gently over the back of Kurt’s wrist and kissed the nape of his neck. “If you want,” he whispered into the shadows of dusk in his room, “we can re-negotiate the no hands rule.”
“Yes,” Kurt whispered, voice full. “I want.”
“Good,” Blaine chuckled. “Because I want, too.”
**
Blaine didn’t want to have sex with Kurt just to say he had. He wanted it to mean something, to be special and beautiful, no matter what Artie thought it would do for his artistic performance. That said, it felt like he had a giant blinking sign over his head announcing virgin to the whole world.
Case in point: one Sebastian Smythe.
The kid was ballsy, more forward than Blaine was really comfortable with, but still. The attention, the shameless flirting, felt nice. The way that it made Kurt jealous, and the strength with which Kurt accepted Sebastian’s challenge to go to Scandals, was completely hot.
Blaine was pretty sure that part of the reason his week was turning into such a train wreck was because while he and Kurt had decided on Monday to lift the no hands rule, they hadn’t had time or space to so much as think about doing anything since then.
Blaine was jittery and turned on, and it was making him crazy.
He knew better than to drink at the bar, even though Kurt was driving. He knew what happened when he tried to blot out his feelings with alcohol. What did he expect, really?
But Kurt was so warm, and so nice, and Blaine fucking loved him so much that it made it hard to breathe, and he just wanted to touch and taste and feel. As rough and forward as Blaine was, grabbing and groping, Kurt gave right back, pushing and demanding and yelling, and Blaine wanted to shrink away because in an instant Kurt’s daggers of words had sent Blaine right back into that place where he was bad and wrong and never going to be worthy of anyone or anything.
“I’m sorry,” he ground out, tears in his eyes and his breath heavy and hot in the night. “I’m sorry for trying to be spontaneous.” He turned on his heel so he didn’t have to see Kurt’s crumpled face.
“Where are you going?” Kurt was desperate, Blaine could hear it in his voice, but in that moment of alcohol-clouded pain, Blaine couldn’t handle it.
“I’m going to walk home.” He started across the parking lot, willing Kurt to follow him, hold him, keep him safe. To love him enough to not let him go. But all Kurt gave him was a plaintive wail of his name.
Blaine cried the whole walk to his house.
**
Showmance turned out to be a pretty valuable skill. It let Blaine muddle his way through breakfast with his mom, and six periods of classes and Glee, which was basically a study period that day because Artie didn’t want everyone over-working their voices before the show that night.
Kurt barely spoke to him, and Blaine’s heart broke a little bit more with each unsaid word and loaded stare.
He knew, of course, that it was all his own miserable fault.
The show was a blessing, because it allowed him to lose himself in Tony and forget about the way he’d messed up the best thing to ever walk into his life. His brain was quiet for the first time all day when he was onstage with Rachel, singing and dancing, and when it was all over there was only one thing left, the idea of Kurt lingering long after the auditorium had cleared out and the rest of the cast had headed off to Artie’s afterparty.
Blaine needed to apologize, he knew that. But he needed to figure out what to say, so he lingered on stage, working through one of the dance steps that he still hadn’t managed to conquer. He was getting frustrated with his inability to get it just right when he heard motion in the wings.
“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” Kurt sounded tentative, like he wasn’t sure what to do or say.
“I’m going over this move. I messed it up tonight. I know I can do it better.” Of course you can, you’re not trying hard enough whispered a ghost of his father’s voice.
“The beauty of the stage. You get to do it all over again tomorrow night. Personally, I thought both of you guys were perfect.” Kurt’s words were genuine, and generous, because Blaine knew that he and Rachel had both been holding something back during the performance.
“Thank you. Your Officer Krupke killed, brought the house down.” God, Kurt had been amazing. His comedic timing was impeccable, and he’d managed to turn a caricature into a halfway-sympathetic character.
“Well, I can’t help but pull focus, sorry.” Kurt rolled his eyes and smiled lightly, brushing off the compliment, but Blaine knew he was secretly thrilled.
“Don’t apologize, it was great.” It was. It was so so great.
“All your friends were here tonight. The Warblers, Sebastian. They were all loving it.” Blaine always liked the way Kurt tried to ask questions by making them statements instead, because it made Blaine feel more like he was being guided into answering rather than poked at with a sharp stick.
“Come here. Give me your hand, hold it to your heart.” He paused for a moment, then reached for Kurt’s hand.
“Just like the song?”
“Like the song.” Oh, boy, was Blaine in trouble. He was awash in something that felt sweet and gentle and delicate, and he knew that if he didn’t watch his step, he was going to break it. “Kurt. Sebastian doesn’t mean anything to me. And you were right, our first time shouldn’t be like that. I was drunk and I’m sorry.” God, he was sorry. So so sorry.
“It sure beats the last time you were drunk and made out with Rachel.” Kurt laughed, and that fact alone made Blaine grateful that they were both able to look back and laugh about his bumblings last spring. “But I’m sorry too. I wanted to be your gay bar superstar, but try as I might I’m still just a silly romantic.”
Blaine’s breath caught in his throat. Didn’t Kurt know that his romanticism was one of the things Blaine loved about him? “It’s not silly.”
Blaine stilled as Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck, and Blaine leaned close and kissed him, softly, on his closed mouth.
Kurt relaxed his whole body into the kiss and sighed heavily when he pulled bare inches away. “You take my breath away. And not just now. Tonight, on that stage, I was so proud to be with you.”
“I hope so.” Blaine felt his stomach flip-flop, because he wasn’t sure anyone had ever been proud of him. At least, nobody but his mother had ever told him so. He was on the verge of crying when he looked at Kurt, feeling more open and honest than he had all week. “I want you to be.” He wanted to spend his life making Kurt proud, because that feeling was amazing. “Um. Artie’s having an afterparty at Breadstix. Will you accompany me?” Say yes, he willed. Let me have made this right.
“No.” Oh. Blaine held his breath. “I want to go to your house.”
Oh. “Okay.”
Okay. Blaine took Kurt’s hand and walked him through the wings to gather their things. They shrugged into coats and shouldered their bags, and walked hand-in-hand to the parking lot. “Meet me there?” Blaine said as he watched Kurt climb into the Navigator.
“Of course,” Kurt said, a little gleam in his eyes.
Blaine’s stomach dropped to his feet, and he tried not to skip back to his car once Kurt had pulled out of the parking lot.
**
“Are they gone overnight?” Kurt wandered the familiar confines of Blaine’s room, running his finger over polished wood and trying not to be nervous.
“They won’t be back till Sunday, some conference or something. My mom was really upset to miss the show, but my dad wouldn’t let her stay home. Something about me making my choice when I transferred. Apparently I don’t deserve their support at all now. Or something.” Kurt could hear the puzzlement in Blaine’s voice.
“At leas your mom wanted to be there. That’s a start, right?” He was happy that Blaine’s mom was starting to work her way back into Blaine’s life.
“I guess. Will you get in trouble for being over here after curfew?” Blaine took his watch off and set it on his nightstand with a thunk.
Kurt shook his head. “No. Dad and Carole went down to Toledo for some campaign event, and Finn texted me something about Rachel.” He shivered in amusement. “I’m not sure I want to know. But anyway, nobody will miss me. We-” he bit back the racing thoughts that were making him crazy.
“What?” Blaine looked at him with unabashed tenderness.
“We, um. We have all night, if we want it.” Kurt caught Blaine’s gaze and fell into it. “Please. Tell me you want it.” Tell me you want me. His words were a rough whisper, clouded with need and want and whatever had been simmering under his skin since Monday.
Blaine crossed the room in three steps and pulled Kurt into his body, hands gentle but fast at the back of his head, the buttons of his vest, mouth a little sloppy but still tender.
“I’ll take that as a yes?” Kurt muttered into the side of Blaine’s neck, and Blaine laughed at the puff of breath there.
“Yes.” Blaine pushed at the vest, and Kurt didn’t fight when Blaine let it fall on the floor at the bottom of the bed. “Not too many layers tonight.”
“No,” Kurt said, his breath coming faster at the tentative swipe of Blaine’s fingers at the hem of his shirt. “On purpose,” he gasped, Blaine’s tongue working the spot just under his left ear that turned him to jelly. “No hiding.” Christ, he couldn’t even manage complete sentences.
Kurt felt Blaine pause for a second. His words were choked with emotion. “I’ve never been able to hide from you. God, Kurt. I’ve been crazy all week.” He touched their foreheads together, and Kurt felt instantly cocooned and safe and whole.
“I know. I know. Me, too.” He huffed into the tiny space between them. “I think I forgot what it felt like to not be afraid of touching you.”
Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt and pulled him close. “You feel so good. I didn’t- I never- I can’t even tell you. I thought I’d broken us, last night.”
“No, baby. You didn’t break us. It took me so long to get you, I wouldn’t just let you walk away.” I don’t think I could live with myself, he thought, because the idea of losing Blaine made him feel physically ill.
“Kurt,” Blaine said, soft and strangled. “I really, really want you.” Blaine was working the buttons on Kurt’s shirt, and Kurt just let him. “Want you in my bed. Please.”
Kurt breathed through desire and fear, and voiced the nagging doubt that had been lingering underneath all the other intense feelings. “Are you sure, that you want this?” That you want me?
Blaine’s eyes were wide. “Scared,” he whispered. Swallowed. Nodded. The golden lamplight picked up and sparkled the matching flecks in his eyes. Kurt just stared and stared, because Blaine was beautiful when he was unguarded and honest. “But yes. I want this. Want you,” he growled, and that was all Kurt needed.
He was alive, then. On fire. Surging forward, bold because he was fueled by something bigger than the tiny trembling feelings of fear in his chest. He had to get Blaine out of that ridiculous pair of pants, wanted the slide of his hands on Blaine’s chest as he lifted his shirt over his head. He wanted to feel Blaine against every inch of his body, and he couldn’t get his hands to cooperate.
He felt clumsy, awkward, the way he had when the growth spurt had first hit, like he couldn’t control his limbs. When Blaine growled in frustration after his third attempt at the button on Kurt’s jeans, he realized he wasn’t the only one having that problem. “Wait,” he said, stilling Blaine’s frantic hands with his own. “Relax.”
Blaine just glared at him. “Button,” he muttered, staring at Kurt’s jeans and then gasping when Kurt popped the button himself.
He grinned back at Blaine. “Maybe we should take care of our own clothes,” he said, thinking it would save them time and unnecessary aggravation. He kept his eyes on Blaine while sliding his jeans down his legs, stepping out of them and adding them to the pile with his vest and shirt. He contemplated his t-shirt and boxer briefs, but he was feeling a little cold and a little shy, even though Blaine’s eyes were liquid heat. He climbed up onto Blaine’s bed and settled against the pillows; Blaine started to follow him, but Kurt wagged his finger. “Nah ah, Romeo. Clothes. Off.”
Kurt didn’t think he’d ever seen Blaine move that fast. He heard the whisper of Blaine’s pants and shirt joining his, mingling in a pile of cotton and silk, and then Blaine was next to him, warming his bare skin and raising goosebumps at the same time.
“You’re so beautiful,” Blaine whispered in his ear. “I can’t believe you’re here. With me.”
“I love you, Blaine,” he breathed, his hands fast and seeking under Blaine’s boxers and tank top. He was trying not to think too hard, because he knew what he wanted to do, but he knew that if he worried about it too hard then he’d be too nervous or scared or shy to do anything, and that was unacceptable. Instead, he closed his eyes and let himself feel, be felt, just the press and touch and taste of bodies and hands and mouths.
“I want- oh, god-” Blaine trembled, as Kurt’s hand found him, hard and hot between them. Kurt stroked him twice, and Blaine shivered. “I’m not- can’t wait-”
“It’s okay,” Kurt smiled into the kiss he placed on Blaine’s shoulder, “we have all night.”
Kurt stroked a third, fourth, fifth time, and Blaine was gone, shuddering under Kurt’s fingers in a most delicious way. He held on to Blaine as best he could until Blaine had relaxed and ducked his head into the crook of Kurt’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, and Kurt could hear the embarrassment seeping out in his voice.
“Don’t be, baby,” Kurt said, his hand flat against Blaine’s stomach. He felt himself blush. “That was really hot,” he whispered.
“It felt, um. Amazing.” Blaine shivered again, and Kurt tugged the throw blanket from the foot of the bed up over them. He could feel Blaine’s hands moving, soft and tentative, along his arms and side and hip. “I think- I want-”
Kurt arched into Blaine’s body, seeking contact. “What? What do you want?” He was trying to hold on, to wait, because he was so close to coming.
“Is it- can I-”
Kurt bucked into Blaine’s hip, because it was there. “Speak, Blaine.”
“I want to go down on you.”
Oh. “Please,” Kurt was barely able to blurt out, but as soon as he did Blaine was almost frantic to slide Kurt’s boxers down his legs, and Blaine’s mouth was warm and wet and his tongue was strong and it felt like nothing Kurt had ever expected. It was better. And because Kurt had been burning slowly for close to a week, it was over way too fast. It seemed like only seconds before he was gasping, pulling away from Blaine’s mouth and coming into the sudden cooleness. “Holy fuck,” he laughed as he trembled with aftershocks.
“I guess I don’t have to ask if it was good for you,” Blaine teased, sliding up his body and resting his head on Kurt’s shoulder.
Kurt kissed Blaine’s forehead, and trailed a finger through his sweat-dampened curls. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to ask.”
“Good.” Blaine’s voice sounded rough and sleepy.
“Nap?” Kurt wasn’t particularly tired, but he felt calm and happy for the first time all week and he just wanted to breathe in that moment for a while longer.
“Mmm. Just a little while? I’ll set my alarm, and then we can get food. And then maybe? More of that?” Blaine sounded almost embarrassed.
Kurt nodded into Blaine’s hair. “Definitely more of that. We have all night.”
**
All night.
It had seemed like more than enough time, before the nap and the Indian delivery and the food that they’d eaten right from the containers, passing it between them in the nest of blankets that was tangled all over Blaine’s bed.
But once the food had been put away and all that was left of the night was hours of nothing but time and the sometimes gentle, sometimes frantic exploration of each other, Blaine thought that it could never be enough time. That there was never going to be enough time in the world to learn all he wanted to about Kurt, to show Kurt everything about himself. Blaine counted the hours in glances and touches and the slide of skin, and the countless ways that Kurt tumbled apart, made Blaine lose himself, the two of them clinging and falling, breathless and bright and god, it was like the best gift ever.
As night turned into early morning, they dressed themselves in odd layers of shared clothing and Blaine pulled Kurt down to the kitchen for pancakes, which they cooked and ate in silence and a perfect haze of more intimacy than Blaine had ever felt. “Leave the dishes,” he’d waved at both the mess and Kurt’s vague insistence that they really should clean up first.
“I don’t care about cleaning up. Not when I can have more time with you,” Blaine muttered as he ran his hands over the long-hidden curve of Kurt’s bicep - where had those muscles come from, he’d marveled earlier in the night - and then slid a hand down to grasp at Kurt’s so that he could pull his beautiful boyfriend back upstairs and into his bed for a little longer.
“Mm. Tired,” Kurt said, curling up on top of the comforter and facing Blaine, his socked feet brushing Blaine’s bare ones.
Blaine slid his feet closer. “You’re warm.”
“You should wear socks,” Kurt teased, his tone light and fond as he rubbed his thumb barely under the edge of Blaine’s tank top.
Blaine closed his eyes and just felt. Happy. Loved. Warm. Safe.
“You’re beautiful, you know,” Kurt whispered, reverently. “All of your walls were gone. It was pretty amazing.”
“It felt pretty amazing. Thank you. Was it- um.” Blaine worried at his lip with his teeth. “Was it as scary as you’d thought?”
“No.” Kurt shook his head. “Intense. Different. But no, not scary.”
“Good.” Blaine wasn’t sure why he felt awash in relief, but he just went with it.
Kurt leaned closer and pressed their foreheads together. “You’re not responsible for how sex makes me feel. Well. Other than the damn amazing part, that is. You know that, right? That you made me feel loved and special and incredible?”
“No,” Blaine puffed into the tiny space between them. “I mean, I kind of guessed that you enjoyed yourself.”
“It’s also not all about me, baby. How do you feel?” Kurt was looking at him with gentleness and openness, and Blaine was so fucking in love in that moment that he almost couldn’t breathe.
“Like you’ve seen the best and the worst of me, and I feel so lucky and grateful that you’re still here.” Blaine closed his eyes again, against the slightly raw feeling of too much honesty; he was suddenly afraid that he was giving up every last bit of his control. Trusting Kurt with everything that he was.
“We’re in this together, Blaine.” Kurt’s voice and his touch were soothing balms against Blaine’s nerves, and he relaxed enough to open his eyes. Kurt was looking back at him with something new, something Blaine couldn’t identify but knew as just for him. He leaned in and rubbed his nose against Kurt’s.
“Eskimo kisses,” Kurt sighed. “My mom used to do that with me, when I was little.” He was quiet then, pensive. “I used to tell her everything. If she were still alive, I’d tell her about this. Us.”
Blaine could hear the emotion in Kurt’s voice, and he shifted so that he could hold Kurt tightly to his chest as he rubbed circles on Kurt’s back. “I know.” There was nothing to say, really.
“I miss her.”
“I know that, too.” Blaine felt Kurt’s silent tears soaking into the cotton of his tank top. “You’re okay. Just cry.”
Blaine just lay there, breathing in the dark, holding Kurt while he cried himself to sleep. Blaine knew that it really had very little to do with Kurt’s mom, because Blaine felt the same urge to cry himself. Not because anything was wrong, but from the sheer brilliant relief that something was finally so so right.
Author: knittycat99
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: R for language and boy on boy action
Spoilers: my take on canon through 3.05
Summary: Blaine keeps himself pretty well hidden, until he meets a stranger at school
Author's Note: The dialogue from Glee is from ep. 3.05. Quotes from Boy Meets Boy are property of David Levithan, who writes amazing YA novels featuring transformative GLBT characters. If you like quality YA, he's a don't miss author.
Word Count: 6,136
McKinley wasn’t hard, exactly. The classes were easy, and Blaine was good enough at playing at confidence that he didn’t face quite the same wrath from the other students that most of New Directions did. Walking into a situation with a ready group of friends helped.
But Blaine felt tender, raw and bruised under his skin, like he was growing out of himself. The only times he felt right was when he was with Kurt, so he hung around after school for Mr. Schue’s booty camp and on the nights when his mom had to go to work or social functions with his dad, he’d have dinner with Kurt’s family. One Wednesday in October, he was sitting at the kitchen table after dinner, pouring over some Calculus while Kurt was upstairs getting his own homework when Burt wandered through the kitchen looking for something.
Blaine waited while Burt opened and closed three cupboards and the fridge before digging a sleeve of Oreos out of the depths of a fourth cupboard. He poured a mug of milk and waggled a finger at Blaine. “Don’t you even breathe a word of this to Kurt.”
“No, sir.” Blaine shook his head and gnawed on the eraser end of his pencil while he studied his problem set and tried to ignore Burt staring at him.
“Kid.” Blaine turned in his chair at the gentle gruffness in Burt’s voice. “Are things- are you- is-” Burt sighed, and looked away before he blurted out, “are things okay for you at home?”
Blaine felt his eyes widen, and he must have paused for too long before replying, because But was suddenly apologetic. “I didn’t mean to be too forward, it’s just that you’re here almost every night, not that you’re not welcome, because you are. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
Blaine set his pencil down and crossed his arms over the back of his chair, rested his chin on the back of his arms. “I don’t like eating alone.” It wasn’t the whole story, but it was all he could manage at the moment, the easiest thing to say in a situation where even that wasn’t an easy answer.
“Christ, Blaine. You’re as bad as Kurt. Have to pull every damn thing out of you. That’s not an answer to are you okay.”
“I- well. My dad? He doesn’t like that I transferred, or that my mom signed all the papers. Things are chilly, to say the least, right now.” He waved his hands in front of himself in a vague gesture. “That’s kind of saying a lot, because things have never been warm to begin with. My mom has been trying to be home more, but sometimes she has to go to my dad’s work things, or dinner with the neighbors or whatever. Appearances, and all.” Blaine shrugged, because he was really never going to understand what was so important about impressing neighbors or colleagues.
“You seem . . . different? Since coming to McKinley.” Burt shuffled his hands, looking for the ballcap that Blaine had watched him take off before dinner. “There’s a lot I don’t know, but you seem happier. Oreo?” Burt held out the sleeve of cookies, and Blaine took three, setting them in a neat pile next to his Calculus book.
“I am.” Blaine smiled, and felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. He watched Burt pull another mug down from where they hang on pegs over the sink, filled it with milk, and sat it down on the table in front of Blaine. He pulled a chair out with a scrape and sat, eyeing Blaine with caution.
“You and Kurt- that going okay?”
“Um.” Blaine swallowed, and focused on twisting the top off his first cookie. “Yes, sir. Kurt is- look. I know it sounds crazy, or corny, or whatever. But Kurt makes me feel real. Like, being with him makes me more of myself, you know?”
Burt leaned back in his chair, sighed lightly and nodded. “Yeah, kid. I do.”
Blaine wondered if Burt was thinking about Carole, or Kurt’s mom. Or maybe both of them, because he suspected that love made you feel the way Kurt made him feel, and Burt was clearly lucky enough to have loved two women in his life.
Blaine nibbled at the edges of his last cookie and sipped at his milk in silence, hoping that he hadn’t said too much. He waited while Burt downed the last of his milk, and watched him twist the plastic around the last of the cookies, hide them back in the cupboard, and put his mug in the dishwasher. He turned back and clasped Blaine’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, kid. You’re good for Kurt, and I can see that he’s good for you. You treat each other right, you respect each other. It’s a good start. And don’t worry, you’re always welcome for dinner.”
He pulled away then at the sound of Kurt clattering down the stairs and nodded at Blaine. “Always welcome. And drink your milk.”
**
The driveway was empty when Blaine got home just before 10, but he could see that someone had left not only the outside lights on, but also the kitchen and living room lamps. He let himself in, hung his coat appropriately in the closet, and tossed his bag in defiance on a living room chair before wandering into the kitchen. There was a plastic-covered plate on the counter with a sticky note on top.
Blaine-
I had to go to Columbus with your father for an awards banquet, but I thought you might want a snack when you got in from Kurt’s. Maybe next time, we can make them together.
Love
Mom
Chocolate chip cookies, the way Blaine liked them with pecans and oats. The way he vaguely remembered helping his mom make them, his awkward hands clutching a wooden spoon and his mother’s admonitions to stir carefully, baby, so the oats don’t spill. Blaine poured himself a glass of milk and took the plate up to his room, thinking that he’d snack while he finished The House on Mango Street for English, but when he slipped into his room and turned on the light he found a paper bag from the independent bookstore in Dayton, full of books and with another post it on the side.
B-
I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re reading these days. But I was down in Dayton for lunch today and couldn’t resist. I hope I guessed right.
-Mom
Blaine dumped the books onto his comforter and took quick note of two books by Connie Willis, who he’d read voraciously the summer after 9th grade. The trilogy of Swedish crime novels that had been popular a few years back as well that Blaine had never gotten around to, and at the very bottom a slim blue volume with a title in letters so small that Blaine had to blink twice at to make sure he’d read it correctly. Boy Meets Boy. Hm. He stacked the rest of the books on his nightstand, changed into his sweatpants and the Dalton Athletics t-shirt he liked to sleep in, and crawled into bed. The book was meant for kids a little younger than Blaine, but that didn’t matter once he had fallen into the dream-like quality of the writing. He worked his way through half the plate of cookies, and had to pad back downstairs for a refill of his milk, and was swirling around in phrases like my lines all curve. I tend to connect the wrong dots and I find my greatest strength in wanting to be strong. I find my greatest bravery in deciding to be brave. I don't know if I've ever realized it before,[...] I think we both realize it now. If there's no feeling of fear, then there's no need for courage when his door squeaked open and his mom poked her head around to look at him.
“It’s past midnight,” she said, looking at the delicate gold-banded dress watch on her wrist.
Blaine waved the book at her. “I only have about 10 pages left,” he said, and smiled sheepishly.
“You really are my kid,” she laughed, before crossing into his room and stopping, like she wasn’t sure what to do next. Blaine scooted his legs over and patted the edge of the bed. She sat, then, rearranged the skirt of her dress and kicked off her heels before crossing her ankles.
“I did alright, then, picking books?” She sounded hopeful, like she really wanted to have done something well. Blaine knew that feeling all too well.
“They’re perfect. Thank you. And the cookies. I remember when we used to make them together.” He saw a genuine smile cross her face.
“You do?”
“Yeah. I- I’d like to make them with you next time. Maybe . . .” Blaine paused, mulling over his next words because it wasn’t that he didn’t want the time with his mom, it was just that he thought maybe he wanted to include his mom in the other parts of his life. “Maybe sometime we could have Kurt and his stepmom over, and we could all do something together. Kurt especially likes to bake.”
Blaine pretended that he didn’t see the way his mom wiped at her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “I- I think I’d like that. Kurt- he makes you happy, doesn’t he?”
Blaine nodded, and when his mom slid her hand over his he didn’t pull away. “Good,” she said. “I don’t want to pretend that part of your life doesn’t exist. Kurt, and his family, they’re a part of you now too.” His mom nodded, like she had a plan in the works. “Why don’t you give me Carole’s number, and she and I can set something up. Now,” she patted his arm, “ten pages or not, you have school in the morning.”
Blaine sighed and set the book on his nightstand. He waited until his mom was almost out the door before speaking. “Mom?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Thank you, for everything.” How to tell her that he was happy to be getting his mom back, that she was trying in the same ways he was, that they were learning to be themselves again. But he didn’t have the words.
When he looked over at his mother and saw the look of free and open love on her face, he knew that he didn’t need the words.
**
Blaine spent three weeks shifting the narrow envelope full of West Side Story tickets from his locker to his bag to his jacket to his desk, and he couldn’t make himself drive the distance to Dalton. He thought about dropping them in the mail to Jeff, but that didn’t seem right either.
“Why don’t you go tomorrow,” Kurt said, pulling the envelope out of the breast pocket of Blaine’s shirt and setting it on Blaine’s nightstand before tugging him down onto the bed. “We don’t have rehearsal, and you know that Nick will be keeping the guys late this close to Sectionals.”
Blaine snorted. “Wes and David taught him well.”
“Exactly. Take them the tickets, have a coffee, see your friends, Blaine.” Kurt leaned over and kissed him, long and slow, and Blaine shivered. Artie’s words to him fluttered through his consciousness, and he cursed the “no hands” rule for about the millionth time since he’d brought it up, because he could feel Kurt deepening the kiss, felt his hands settling at the small of Blaine’s back. They tried to avoid being alone in empty houses for exactly this reason, because it was too easy to fall into the haze of oh, so so good and lose track of hands or forget to still frantic bodies.
Blaine was giving into it, fingers under Kurt’s sweater and vest and tugging at his shirt where it was tucked into Kurt’s pants, when his brain kicked in and he jumped away like he’d been burned. “I- sorry.”
“No, don’t be.” Kurt was flushed, and turned his attention to straightening his clothes. Blaine took a moment to shuffle through his iPod until he found his dance mix; he needed to move to do something with the tension curling in his body, and he supposed that dancing could work as well as making out. He bounced and spun, and felt himself start to settle when Kurt looked up at him.
“Do you think I’m boring?”
Blaine’s heart skipped a beat, because Kurt was anything but. “Are you crazy? You’re the single most interesting kid in all of Ohio.” And it wasn’t a lie; Blaine had never met anyone with so much passion and so many interests and so much love as Kurt.
“I mean, like, sexually. We are playing it very safe by not granting our hands visas to travel south of the Equator.” Kurt gestured wildly, and Blaine thought about the embarrassment of that summer afternoon when Carole had found them, and he knew that if they hadn’t been so disciplined in the months since, things would be really different for them. Because wanting didn’t always equate with ready, and Blaine was lots of things, but ready for sex wasn’t one of them. Not when he was still muddling through life like he was a snake regrowing his skin.
“I thought that’s what we wanted,” he said, twirling across the carpet.
“It is. I’m just wondering, have you ever had the urge just to rip off each other’s clothes and get dirty?” More hand-waving from Kurt, and Blaine let his eyes drift down Kurt’s body.
Oh, yes, he’d thought about that very thing so many times, especially nights, alone, here in his dark room in his empty bed. Where Kurt was kneeling now. He spoke in a rush around the light embarrassment in his chest. “Yeah, but that’s why they invented masturbation.”
“It’s pretty hot in this room, can we open up a window?” Kurt fanned himself, and tugged at his shirt collar and tie, and Blaine was seized by a sudden want to nibble at the tender skin under that collar and tie with his teeth.
He shook the idea away, and moved slowly, tentatively onto the bed next to Kurt. “Hey, I’m serious. We’re young, we’re in high school. And yeah, we have urges, but whatever we do I want to be sure that you’re comfortable.” He rubbed a gentle hand on Kurt’s back. “So I can be comfortable. And besides, tearing off all of your clothes is sort of a tall order.”
“Because of the layers?” Kurt’s voice was teasing, because they’ve talked about Kurt’s clothes the same way they’ve talked about Blaine’s, and they both understand that Kurt’s layers and Blaine’s bowties and and loafers are about shields and masks and the things they want the rest of the world to see.
“Because of the layers,” Blaine nodded, and he wasn’t talking about clothes at all, because he knew that underneath the sweater and vest and button-down Kurt was a complex web of dreams and wants and so many things he thought he could never have. Blaine knew, because he was the same. He leaned in and kissed Kurt, pushing lightly against him until they were stretched out together and Blaine had tucked Kurt into the curves of his body. He ran his thumb gently over the back of Kurt’s wrist and kissed the nape of his neck. “If you want,” he whispered into the shadows of dusk in his room, “we can re-negotiate the no hands rule.”
“Yes,” Kurt whispered, voice full. “I want.”
“Good,” Blaine chuckled. “Because I want, too.”
**
Blaine didn’t want to have sex with Kurt just to say he had. He wanted it to mean something, to be special and beautiful, no matter what Artie thought it would do for his artistic performance. That said, it felt like he had a giant blinking sign over his head announcing virgin to the whole world.
Case in point: one Sebastian Smythe.
The kid was ballsy, more forward than Blaine was really comfortable with, but still. The attention, the shameless flirting, felt nice. The way that it made Kurt jealous, and the strength with which Kurt accepted Sebastian’s challenge to go to Scandals, was completely hot.
Blaine was pretty sure that part of the reason his week was turning into such a train wreck was because while he and Kurt had decided on Monday to lift the no hands rule, they hadn’t had time or space to so much as think about doing anything since then.
Blaine was jittery and turned on, and it was making him crazy.
He knew better than to drink at the bar, even though Kurt was driving. He knew what happened when he tried to blot out his feelings with alcohol. What did he expect, really?
But Kurt was so warm, and so nice, and Blaine fucking loved him so much that it made it hard to breathe, and he just wanted to touch and taste and feel. As rough and forward as Blaine was, grabbing and groping, Kurt gave right back, pushing and demanding and yelling, and Blaine wanted to shrink away because in an instant Kurt’s daggers of words had sent Blaine right back into that place where he was bad and wrong and never going to be worthy of anyone or anything.
“I’m sorry,” he ground out, tears in his eyes and his breath heavy and hot in the night. “I’m sorry for trying to be spontaneous.” He turned on his heel so he didn’t have to see Kurt’s crumpled face.
“Where are you going?” Kurt was desperate, Blaine could hear it in his voice, but in that moment of alcohol-clouded pain, Blaine couldn’t handle it.
“I’m going to walk home.” He started across the parking lot, willing Kurt to follow him, hold him, keep him safe. To love him enough to not let him go. But all Kurt gave him was a plaintive wail of his name.
Blaine cried the whole walk to his house.
**
Showmance turned out to be a pretty valuable skill. It let Blaine muddle his way through breakfast with his mom, and six periods of classes and Glee, which was basically a study period that day because Artie didn’t want everyone over-working their voices before the show that night.
Kurt barely spoke to him, and Blaine’s heart broke a little bit more with each unsaid word and loaded stare.
He knew, of course, that it was all his own miserable fault.
The show was a blessing, because it allowed him to lose himself in Tony and forget about the way he’d messed up the best thing to ever walk into his life. His brain was quiet for the first time all day when he was onstage with Rachel, singing and dancing, and when it was all over there was only one thing left, the idea of Kurt lingering long after the auditorium had cleared out and the rest of the cast had headed off to Artie’s afterparty.
Blaine needed to apologize, he knew that. But he needed to figure out what to say, so he lingered on stage, working through one of the dance steps that he still hadn’t managed to conquer. He was getting frustrated with his inability to get it just right when he heard motion in the wings.
“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” Kurt sounded tentative, like he wasn’t sure what to do or say.
“I’m going over this move. I messed it up tonight. I know I can do it better.” Of course you can, you’re not trying hard enough whispered a ghost of his father’s voice.
“The beauty of the stage. You get to do it all over again tomorrow night. Personally, I thought both of you guys were perfect.” Kurt’s words were genuine, and generous, because Blaine knew that he and Rachel had both been holding something back during the performance.
“Thank you. Your Officer Krupke killed, brought the house down.” God, Kurt had been amazing. His comedic timing was impeccable, and he’d managed to turn a caricature into a halfway-sympathetic character.
“Well, I can’t help but pull focus, sorry.” Kurt rolled his eyes and smiled lightly, brushing off the compliment, but Blaine knew he was secretly thrilled.
“Don’t apologize, it was great.” It was. It was so so great.
“All your friends were here tonight. The Warblers, Sebastian. They were all loving it.” Blaine always liked the way Kurt tried to ask questions by making them statements instead, because it made Blaine feel more like he was being guided into answering rather than poked at with a sharp stick.
“Come here. Give me your hand, hold it to your heart.” He paused for a moment, then reached for Kurt’s hand.
“Just like the song?”
“Like the song.” Oh, boy, was Blaine in trouble. He was awash in something that felt sweet and gentle and delicate, and he knew that if he didn’t watch his step, he was going to break it. “Kurt. Sebastian doesn’t mean anything to me. And you were right, our first time shouldn’t be like that. I was drunk and I’m sorry.” God, he was sorry. So so sorry.
“It sure beats the last time you were drunk and made out with Rachel.” Kurt laughed, and that fact alone made Blaine grateful that they were both able to look back and laugh about his bumblings last spring. “But I’m sorry too. I wanted to be your gay bar superstar, but try as I might I’m still just a silly romantic.”
Blaine’s breath caught in his throat. Didn’t Kurt know that his romanticism was one of the things Blaine loved about him? “It’s not silly.”
Blaine stilled as Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck, and Blaine leaned close and kissed him, softly, on his closed mouth.
Kurt relaxed his whole body into the kiss and sighed heavily when he pulled bare inches away. “You take my breath away. And not just now. Tonight, on that stage, I was so proud to be with you.”
“I hope so.” Blaine felt his stomach flip-flop, because he wasn’t sure anyone had ever been proud of him. At least, nobody but his mother had ever told him so. He was on the verge of crying when he looked at Kurt, feeling more open and honest than he had all week. “I want you to be.” He wanted to spend his life making Kurt proud, because that feeling was amazing. “Um. Artie’s having an afterparty at Breadstix. Will you accompany me?” Say yes, he willed. Let me have made this right.
“No.” Oh. Blaine held his breath. “I want to go to your house.”
Oh. “Okay.”
Okay. Blaine took Kurt’s hand and walked him through the wings to gather their things. They shrugged into coats and shouldered their bags, and walked hand-in-hand to the parking lot. “Meet me there?” Blaine said as he watched Kurt climb into the Navigator.
“Of course,” Kurt said, a little gleam in his eyes.
Blaine’s stomach dropped to his feet, and he tried not to skip back to his car once Kurt had pulled out of the parking lot.
**
“Are they gone overnight?” Kurt wandered the familiar confines of Blaine’s room, running his finger over polished wood and trying not to be nervous.
“They won’t be back till Sunday, some conference or something. My mom was really upset to miss the show, but my dad wouldn’t let her stay home. Something about me making my choice when I transferred. Apparently I don’t deserve their support at all now. Or something.” Kurt could hear the puzzlement in Blaine’s voice.
“At leas your mom wanted to be there. That’s a start, right?” He was happy that Blaine’s mom was starting to work her way back into Blaine’s life.
“I guess. Will you get in trouble for being over here after curfew?” Blaine took his watch off and set it on his nightstand with a thunk.
Kurt shook his head. “No. Dad and Carole went down to Toledo for some campaign event, and Finn texted me something about Rachel.” He shivered in amusement. “I’m not sure I want to know. But anyway, nobody will miss me. We-” he bit back the racing thoughts that were making him crazy.
“What?” Blaine looked at him with unabashed tenderness.
“We, um. We have all night, if we want it.” Kurt caught Blaine’s gaze and fell into it. “Please. Tell me you want it.” Tell me you want me. His words were a rough whisper, clouded with need and want and whatever had been simmering under his skin since Monday.
Blaine crossed the room in three steps and pulled Kurt into his body, hands gentle but fast at the back of his head, the buttons of his vest, mouth a little sloppy but still tender.
“I’ll take that as a yes?” Kurt muttered into the side of Blaine’s neck, and Blaine laughed at the puff of breath there.
“Yes.” Blaine pushed at the vest, and Kurt didn’t fight when Blaine let it fall on the floor at the bottom of the bed. “Not too many layers tonight.”
“No,” Kurt said, his breath coming faster at the tentative swipe of Blaine’s fingers at the hem of his shirt. “On purpose,” he gasped, Blaine’s tongue working the spot just under his left ear that turned him to jelly. “No hiding.” Christ, he couldn’t even manage complete sentences.
Kurt felt Blaine pause for a second. His words were choked with emotion. “I’ve never been able to hide from you. God, Kurt. I’ve been crazy all week.” He touched their foreheads together, and Kurt felt instantly cocooned and safe and whole.
“I know. I know. Me, too.” He huffed into the tiny space between them. “I think I forgot what it felt like to not be afraid of touching you.”
Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt and pulled him close. “You feel so good. I didn’t- I never- I can’t even tell you. I thought I’d broken us, last night.”
“No, baby. You didn’t break us. It took me so long to get you, I wouldn’t just let you walk away.” I don’t think I could live with myself, he thought, because the idea of losing Blaine made him feel physically ill.
“Kurt,” Blaine said, soft and strangled. “I really, really want you.” Blaine was working the buttons on Kurt’s shirt, and Kurt just let him. “Want you in my bed. Please.”
Kurt breathed through desire and fear, and voiced the nagging doubt that had been lingering underneath all the other intense feelings. “Are you sure, that you want this?” That you want me?
Blaine’s eyes were wide. “Scared,” he whispered. Swallowed. Nodded. The golden lamplight picked up and sparkled the matching flecks in his eyes. Kurt just stared and stared, because Blaine was beautiful when he was unguarded and honest. “But yes. I want this. Want you,” he growled, and that was all Kurt needed.
He was alive, then. On fire. Surging forward, bold because he was fueled by something bigger than the tiny trembling feelings of fear in his chest. He had to get Blaine out of that ridiculous pair of pants, wanted the slide of his hands on Blaine’s chest as he lifted his shirt over his head. He wanted to feel Blaine against every inch of his body, and he couldn’t get his hands to cooperate.
He felt clumsy, awkward, the way he had when the growth spurt had first hit, like he couldn’t control his limbs. When Blaine growled in frustration after his third attempt at the button on Kurt’s jeans, he realized he wasn’t the only one having that problem. “Wait,” he said, stilling Blaine’s frantic hands with his own. “Relax.”
Blaine just glared at him. “Button,” he muttered, staring at Kurt’s jeans and then gasping when Kurt popped the button himself.
He grinned back at Blaine. “Maybe we should take care of our own clothes,” he said, thinking it would save them time and unnecessary aggravation. He kept his eyes on Blaine while sliding his jeans down his legs, stepping out of them and adding them to the pile with his vest and shirt. He contemplated his t-shirt and boxer briefs, but he was feeling a little cold and a little shy, even though Blaine’s eyes were liquid heat. He climbed up onto Blaine’s bed and settled against the pillows; Blaine started to follow him, but Kurt wagged his finger. “Nah ah, Romeo. Clothes. Off.”
Kurt didn’t think he’d ever seen Blaine move that fast. He heard the whisper of Blaine’s pants and shirt joining his, mingling in a pile of cotton and silk, and then Blaine was next to him, warming his bare skin and raising goosebumps at the same time.
“You’re so beautiful,” Blaine whispered in his ear. “I can’t believe you’re here. With me.”
“I love you, Blaine,” he breathed, his hands fast and seeking under Blaine’s boxers and tank top. He was trying not to think too hard, because he knew what he wanted to do, but he knew that if he worried about it too hard then he’d be too nervous or scared or shy to do anything, and that was unacceptable. Instead, he closed his eyes and let himself feel, be felt, just the press and touch and taste of bodies and hands and mouths.
“I want- oh, god-” Blaine trembled, as Kurt’s hand found him, hard and hot between them. Kurt stroked him twice, and Blaine shivered. “I’m not- can’t wait-”
“It’s okay,” Kurt smiled into the kiss he placed on Blaine’s shoulder, “we have all night.”
Kurt stroked a third, fourth, fifth time, and Blaine was gone, shuddering under Kurt’s fingers in a most delicious way. He held on to Blaine as best he could until Blaine had relaxed and ducked his head into the crook of Kurt’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, and Kurt could hear the embarrassment seeping out in his voice.
“Don’t be, baby,” Kurt said, his hand flat against Blaine’s stomach. He felt himself blush. “That was really hot,” he whispered.
“It felt, um. Amazing.” Blaine shivered again, and Kurt tugged the throw blanket from the foot of the bed up over them. He could feel Blaine’s hands moving, soft and tentative, along his arms and side and hip. “I think- I want-”
Kurt arched into Blaine’s body, seeking contact. “What? What do you want?” He was trying to hold on, to wait, because he was so close to coming.
“Is it- can I-”
Kurt bucked into Blaine’s hip, because it was there. “Speak, Blaine.”
“I want to go down on you.”
Oh. “Please,” Kurt was barely able to blurt out, but as soon as he did Blaine was almost frantic to slide Kurt’s boxers down his legs, and Blaine’s mouth was warm and wet and his tongue was strong and it felt like nothing Kurt had ever expected. It was better. And because Kurt had been burning slowly for close to a week, it was over way too fast. It seemed like only seconds before he was gasping, pulling away from Blaine’s mouth and coming into the sudden cooleness. “Holy fuck,” he laughed as he trembled with aftershocks.
“I guess I don’t have to ask if it was good for you,” Blaine teased, sliding up his body and resting his head on Kurt’s shoulder.
Kurt kissed Blaine’s forehead, and trailed a finger through his sweat-dampened curls. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to ask.”
“Good.” Blaine’s voice sounded rough and sleepy.
“Nap?” Kurt wasn’t particularly tired, but he felt calm and happy for the first time all week and he just wanted to breathe in that moment for a while longer.
“Mmm. Just a little while? I’ll set my alarm, and then we can get food. And then maybe? More of that?” Blaine sounded almost embarrassed.
Kurt nodded into Blaine’s hair. “Definitely more of that. We have all night.”
**
All night.
It had seemed like more than enough time, before the nap and the Indian delivery and the food that they’d eaten right from the containers, passing it between them in the nest of blankets that was tangled all over Blaine’s bed.
But once the food had been put away and all that was left of the night was hours of nothing but time and the sometimes gentle, sometimes frantic exploration of each other, Blaine thought that it could never be enough time. That there was never going to be enough time in the world to learn all he wanted to about Kurt, to show Kurt everything about himself. Blaine counted the hours in glances and touches and the slide of skin, and the countless ways that Kurt tumbled apart, made Blaine lose himself, the two of them clinging and falling, breathless and bright and god, it was like the best gift ever.
As night turned into early morning, they dressed themselves in odd layers of shared clothing and Blaine pulled Kurt down to the kitchen for pancakes, which they cooked and ate in silence and a perfect haze of more intimacy than Blaine had ever felt. “Leave the dishes,” he’d waved at both the mess and Kurt’s vague insistence that they really should clean up first.
“I don’t care about cleaning up. Not when I can have more time with you,” Blaine muttered as he ran his hands over the long-hidden curve of Kurt’s bicep - where had those muscles come from, he’d marveled earlier in the night - and then slid a hand down to grasp at Kurt’s so that he could pull his beautiful boyfriend back upstairs and into his bed for a little longer.
“Mm. Tired,” Kurt said, curling up on top of the comforter and facing Blaine, his socked feet brushing Blaine’s bare ones.
Blaine slid his feet closer. “You’re warm.”
“You should wear socks,” Kurt teased, his tone light and fond as he rubbed his thumb barely under the edge of Blaine’s tank top.
Blaine closed his eyes and just felt. Happy. Loved. Warm. Safe.
“You’re beautiful, you know,” Kurt whispered, reverently. “All of your walls were gone. It was pretty amazing.”
“It felt pretty amazing. Thank you. Was it- um.” Blaine worried at his lip with his teeth. “Was it as scary as you’d thought?”
“No.” Kurt shook his head. “Intense. Different. But no, not scary.”
“Good.” Blaine wasn’t sure why he felt awash in relief, but he just went with it.
Kurt leaned closer and pressed their foreheads together. “You’re not responsible for how sex makes me feel. Well. Other than the damn amazing part, that is. You know that, right? That you made me feel loved and special and incredible?”
“No,” Blaine puffed into the tiny space between them. “I mean, I kind of guessed that you enjoyed yourself.”
“It’s also not all about me, baby. How do you feel?” Kurt was looking at him with gentleness and openness, and Blaine was so fucking in love in that moment that he almost couldn’t breathe.
“Like you’ve seen the best and the worst of me, and I feel so lucky and grateful that you’re still here.” Blaine closed his eyes again, against the slightly raw feeling of too much honesty; he was suddenly afraid that he was giving up every last bit of his control. Trusting Kurt with everything that he was.
“We’re in this together, Blaine.” Kurt’s voice and his touch were soothing balms against Blaine’s nerves, and he relaxed enough to open his eyes. Kurt was looking back at him with something new, something Blaine couldn’t identify but knew as just for him. He leaned in and rubbed his nose against Kurt’s.
“Eskimo kisses,” Kurt sighed. “My mom used to do that with me, when I was little.” He was quiet then, pensive. “I used to tell her everything. If she were still alive, I’d tell her about this. Us.”
Blaine could hear the emotion in Kurt’s voice, and he shifted so that he could hold Kurt tightly to his chest as he rubbed circles on Kurt’s back. “I know.” There was nothing to say, really.
“I miss her.”
“I know that, too.” Blaine felt Kurt’s silent tears soaking into the cotton of his tank top. “You’re okay. Just cry.”
Blaine just lay there, breathing in the dark, holding Kurt while he cried himself to sleep. Blaine knew that it really had very little to do with Kurt’s mom, because Blaine felt the same urge to cry himself. Not because anything was wrong, but from the sheer brilliant relief that something was finally so so right.