Glee!fic, Fix: My Better-Dressed Demons pt II
Too long, la ^^;
They have to spend some time just sitting in Blaine's car, because neither of them are in any fit state to drive. Blaine's already asked Kurt, urgent and scared, what Dave did to him; Kurt said quietly, "He came to say sorry." and saw no comprehension on Blaine's face. He doesn't know what Dave said, months ago now, to make Blaine snap, to make Blaine capable of forgetting everything in the world but needing to attack him. He doesn't think he wants to. He doesn't think Dave meant it anyway, he was just looking for something to hurt Kurt's boyfriend with, to hurt Kurt by proxy with, because Kurt chose someone who wasn't him and Dave couldn't touch him anymore with Blaine around. He can't touch him now, for better or worse. Kurt can't ever let those two cross paths again. Thank god for New York. Thank god for escape plans . . .
He swallows again, and lifts a hand to his forehead, and it seems to be steady. He touches Blaine's leg. "Switch. I'll drive."
Blaine licks his lips, looks at him. His eyes look dark and young and too big in his face, blanched in a sickly way. Kurt finds half a smile for him, and opens his door to get into the driver's seat.
Blaine's parents aren't home, they're still both away more often than not. They walk upstairs together, Blaine's hand twitchy on his, and with the bedroom door closed behind them Kurt puts his bag down and Blaine paces the room like a trapped cat, too much energy not quite contained, something frantic inside him that needs to out. Kurt walks to him, touches his shoulder and says, "Blaine-?" and Blaine grabs for that leather bracelet, raw against his bruised skin, trying to squeeze too many fingers into it.
"We should go to New York."
Kurt stares at him. "We are going to New York."
"No. Now. Grab some stuff and go. No-one has to know, it's fine, we can - I've got a savings account, we can find work and make -"
Now Kurt can't stop staring at him. "Blaine, I can't - my dad -"
Blaine's fingers are too tight in that band. He licks his lips, searches Kurt's eyes which must look just baffled. "We could get married. In New York. We could forge the consent documents, I checked the laws online-"
"Blaine, what the - what is wrong with you?"
"What am I supposed to do?" Blaine barks at him. He lets go of his wrist and strides off pulling at his hair, then seems to change his mind too quickly and grabs for Kurt's hand again, in both of his. "I've been thinking about that tattoo. I'm going to get one. Your name. On me. I want it."
"Blaine what are you -?" Kurt touches his face, stares into his eyes, runs his thumb over his cheek. "What's wrong?"
"This!" Blaine yells. "Me! What do you think is wrong, it's always me!"
"- no it's not."
Blaine grabs at his own hair again, turns away, his breath huffing loose hard. "It's always me. I always fuck up, you know that. And-" He rubs his knuckles into his eyes, chokes. "You have no idea, all I think about - I can't wait to get the hell out of here with you and never look back but when we get out of this cowshit town, Kurt, there'll - there'll be all these other guys who aren't me and they couldn't love you more but fuck knows they could love you better than I do and what, do I just let you go off with them? Because I should if I really love you but I can't and I'm selfish and I need you and I don't want us to go because you'll find someone better-"
"Jesus Blaine what the hell," Kurt whispers.
"- and all I do is fuck up and I shouldn't be near you but god I'll die, Kurt, I'm not - I'm serious, I won't last without you, I'll - just - I'll go to pieces, I'll break myself-"
"Blaine -" Kurt catches him, has to physically turn him in his arms to find his face, to say to him so confused, "Blaine, I'm not going anywhere, you know I'm not, we're - we'll be together, we always will be-"
Blaine takes his hand, and stretches his arm out, and pulls the sleeve of his jacket up. Kurt flicks his eyes over the ugly ring of bruising and says, "I was the one who jumped on you, Blaine."
"What if I'd hurt you? What if I'd really hurt you, would we still be having this conversation? I wasn't thinking, I could've split your head open banging you over like that, I could've-"
"I don't care. I did it because I love you and I don't want you going to jail and getting wrecked because of me. I could have hurt you too, do you even realise that? Shoving you over like that. I didn't know what else to do, I couldn't cope if you got in trouble any more than you could, Blaine, all I would be able to think about . . ."
"You don't understand what it's like," Blaine says so shakily, his fingers stroking so gently around the bruises on Kurt's wrist, "being me with you, you just don't even see it. You just don't see what you are and what the whole rest of the world outside this shithole will know the second they look at you, and you don't see me -"
"I see you." Kurt says, quiet and sure. "I know you."
"No. If you knew me then you wouldn't like me. Every time I fuck up, Christ, how long does it take for you to buy a clue?"
"Like I'm the dumb one in this relationship when you're coming out with this crap? God's sake, Blaine -" Kurt reaches for his face, runs a hand around his cheek, already feels the day's stubble's graze underneath his thumb. "I never thought I would feel like this for anybody. Do you know that? I just didn't think I could bring myself to do it, I didn't think I could trust anyone enough to just . . . I loved the idea of love but the reality of it scared the hell out of me. And then there was you, and - what do you think, we'll get to New York and I'll leave you? I'll just dump you for the first available guy or - don't you even believe me when I tell you I love you?"
Blaine stares at him, too much in his eyes, tense and sparky staring at Kurt. "I do," he says, roughly. "Kurt I do, you're the . . . I do."
"But you don't. If you don't think I mean it - you can't if you think -"
Blaine says quietly, "If I really loved you I would give you to someone better."
Something in Kurt snaps. "If I didn't love you I would slap you for that. I am not yours to give, I am mine to give and you've got me whether you like it or not you cretin. You do not get to make these decisions for me, god I could-"
Blaine's gaze keeps dropping from his eyes to his mouth. "You're really sexy when you're angry."
Kurt makes a little screaming noise, his hand grabs into Blaine's hair and the kiss is all teeth and tongue, Blaine's hand gripping his wrist, one on his face as they slip into something less of an active battle, though there's still plenty of aggression behind it, heated and hard. Kurt breaks his mouth back, hisses over Blaine's, "You haven't got a clue you fucking idiot. Do you think I could have done this for anyone else? Do you think I could have ever wanted this with anyone else?"
They kiss, and again, and Kurt uses his height advantage to press Blaine's head back, so there's the bared side of his neck now for Kurt to drag his teeth down. Blaine twists a hand into Kurt's hair, growls, "There would've been better guys. Guys who made it like you wanted it, guys who took the time and lit candles and made you feel -"
"Made me feel what?" Kurt huffs at the pulse in his neck. "Fuck all that. I wanted you. You have no idea. That bed and you, it's all I wanted, the smell of you, you have no idea."
He begins working Blaine's belt open, tilts his forehead down on Blaine's chest to watch his hands work. "You don't even know. You think I could do better? You could have fucked me in my car that first night, do you realise that? If you'd said the right things I would have just crumbled, I was so stupid and naïve and lonely, you know that. But you didn't because - because you're not that guy -"
"I've been that guy," Blaine says, and Kurt yanks his jeans and underwear down at once, lets himself to his knees.
"No, you haven't. You might have wanted to be but you never were. You care too much. You're too good." He slides his hand under Blaine's balls, enclosing them in fingers and palm, breathes in and he can almost feel his pupils dilating. "You have no idea. Do you think I could have done this for anyone else? The idea of sex horrified me, I swear to you, you have no idea, I thought I never would. And then there's you, the smell of you -" He kisses, sweet and tender, the underside of Blaine's dick, the things you do for love, it just undoes what you thought your boundaries were. "Do you honestly think there's another human being on the planet I would want to get on my knees for?"
Blaine's fingers stroke into his hair, and he whispers sounding sort of awed and rough with arousal, "No."
Kurt presses his tongue under the head, and closes his mouth around it.
They were slow to come to blowjobs, like this at least. Kurt had felt like he ought to, Blaine went at them with such enthusiasm, but Blaine just hadn't let him, had physically stopped him, picking him up and rolling him over to rut at him instead like maybe he could tell that Kurt was motivated by ought and not want. Until the afternoon Kurt was kneeling over his waist and sucking his nipple with Blaine's sweaty fingers in his hair and just, it wasn't enough, not anymore, and he could feel Blaine's dick wet against the inside of his thigh -
So Kurt's had less practise than Blaine, but he approaches the blowjob as an artist: it's all about the feeling you put into it. The feeling Kurt puts into it is primarily want, need even, he smells Blaine and he's just hungry, he wants to do this to him. Feel him vulnerable in his mouth and make him feel good and safe and taken care of and always loved, always. He whispers and caresses and hums to him, when Kurt kisses him here Blaine whimpers. And when he needs it, Kurt offers him lips and pressing tongue and that rhythm he needs, and all he can think is, You have no idea. How have you never worked out that this is just another way to try to make you feel it? Why can't you tell that every part of this is I love you?
Kurt wraps an arm around his hips and presses his other palm firm to his pelvis to hold him steady when he comes, so Blaine can't jerk and buck too far down his throat. He swallows, and again, and blinks the sweat out of his eyes, wiping his mouth, he should have at least taken his jacket off before this. But Blaine's coming down to his knees, sliding his hands over Kurt's shoulders and drawing his jacket down his arms as he kisses him, deep and determined, and Kurt's mouth is overraw and buzzing for him.
Blaine breathes over his mouth, hands undoing the button on his pants, "If this breaks I'll kill myself."
"Don't you fucking dare ever do that I would kill you-"
Blaine rumbles the laugh into his mouth as he kisses him, and his hands spread around Kurt's waist, begin wrenching Kurt's probably too tight pants down. "I'm getting that tattoo."
"Like hell you are."
"I am. Four letters." His fingers run over the very base of Kurt's spine, startlingly too much for such a small touch, his entire body rolls up on a moan. "Right here. You can pick the font."
"Blaine-"
"I want you on the bed."
Kurt kisses him again, palm against the beating side of his throat, fingers closing in his hair.
"Jesus," Blaine whispers as he undresses him, finding new, unexpected bruises. His knee has come up dark purple, one hip's marked where it hit the floor, one side of his chest checkerboarded, his wrists and even the back of one hand from where it struck the locker show the marks. Kurt runs a hand up Blaine's arm, turns his elbow to check the graze on it, lets his fingertips run down his shoulder blades underneath his t-shirt before he pulls it off to check his wince. "We look terrible," he confirms.
"You look beautiful. Fuck, you have no idea." Blaine puts a hand on his naked hip, stares down at Kurt's erection. "You don't have a clue, I know you don't, my mouth goes dry. We look like - we look like we've been in a fight."
"We have," Kurt points out, trying to keep his breathing steady, staring at Blaine staring at his dick.
Blaine says, eyes not raised yet, "Get on the bed."
Blaine lays next to him, warm naked skin, lays a leg over his and kisses him, and kisses him. His hand runs down Kurt's side, fuck he feels like he could come without any traditional erogenous zone coming into it sometimes, curves back over his ass - his fingers a whisper of a suggestion - and then back around to the front, to settle around him where Kurt feels as hot and aching as if there's the finest membrane of skin between Blaine and his pounding, desperate blood. His breath comes out against the corner of Blaine's mouth where Blaine leaves a trail of little kisses, each one gone before Kurt's lips can respond, and he whispers, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm such a fuck up, I won't hurt you again, I won't-"
"I'm not hurt," Kurt breathes back, as Blaine's hand begins to move and Kurt grips convulsively at his arms. "Hah - I'm not." He swallows. "I'm exactly where I want to be. Don't want anything else. Just you you you -"
Blaine hides his face in Kurt's throat and works him with a hand, and Kurt can feel Blaine's every breath too much, too hot on his shoulder, and his dick against Kurt's thigh. He swallows, curls his fingers in Blaine's hair. "Are you hard again?"
Blaine's breath bursts loose, and he nods. Kurt slumps his head back on the pillow, tugs gently at his hair. "Do you have a condom?"
Blaine - laughs, such a happy noise against Kurt's shoulder, which he kisses. "You always say that. You never say will you fuck me, you always ask if I've got a condom, when do I ever not have condoms?"
Kurt growls. Blaine lifts his head, lifts his hand to run his thumb over Kurt's mouth. "You have no idea. I think it's adorable. I think you're adorable. And Kurt -?"
Kurt kisses him back, loosely entwining his arms around his neck, and makes a small questioning noise. Blaine breaks the kiss, and promises solemnly, "I swear to you, I will always, always have condoms."
He fucks him slow and steady with Kurt's ankles over his shoulders, like there's no urgency, like they have all the time in the world. Kurt grips the sheets, clenching tight enough that if the Andersons had cheaper linen he'd tear it, and watches his face, and thinks, You have no idea. Six billion people on this planet, you are the only one who will ever be this to me. There will never be anyone else. Don't be stupid. I don't care if you fuck up, we both fuck up, just don't be stupid.
Blaine's thighs shuffle closer, bumping his legs higher, and Kurt slips into an easier arch and lets his head fall back, lets his breath whisper loose as the climax rises.
*
Blaine sighs into his hair, one arm draped over his side, fingertips lazily skimming that naked skin on his lower back. He's tracing letters there; Kurt lets him. He could sleep, warm and contained like this, and he lifts his cheek from Blaine's chest mostly so he won't, trying to blink some coherency back into a very foggy mind. "You actually just asked me to marry you, did you even notice that?"
"Yeah," Blaine says, and his thumb rubs over Kurt's skin like an eraser, like Kurt's body is an etch-a-sketch, so he can start writing again. "I meant it too."
"Blaine, we're seventeen."
"I know what I want." he says, calm and sure. "I know what I need."
Kurt puts a hand on his chest, tips his head to the side against his own bent arm. "Yes," he says, watching Blaine's face. "If you did mean it. Yes, you know I will. Just - not right now, my dad would - I actually literally don't know what he would do. I cannot see your parents liking it. How about we get through college, and we have some vague idea of what our lives are going to look like, and then I can plan the wedding appropriately. How about then?" He smiles, and it broadens. "Will you still want me by then?"
"Mm, by then we'll be what, twenty-four, twenty-five? No, you'll be far too old and decrepit for me by then, I'll need to go looking for fresher meat. Ow that was a you know that was a-"
"Things you don't joke about," Kurt snarls at him, slamming the pillow back onto the mattress from beating Blaine about the head with it, while Blaine lays there trying to shield his face with his arms. "That."
Blaine laughs, puts an arm around Kurt's shoulders again and murmurs, "Come here."
He is very lucky, given that he is so very stupid, to be so very beautiful. Kurt accepts the kiss, and the next one, and passes his hand down Blaine's perfect side, running that leather band along Blaine's skin as he goes. "So this thing is probably the strangest promise ring anyone's ever been given," he says, and Blaine stretches, yawns, settles back into the mattress resting his cheek on his own folded arms.
"I bet real leather fetishists come up with stranger ones. Do you want one, a real one? One that at least I paid for?"
"It's alright," Kurt murmurs, fingers slipping on his lovely skin, around to his back, the shallow curve of it, the strength of his spine under the skin. "I like it."
His fingers, shyly, dip to touch, to feel the little patch of skin there just above his tailbone. Blaine mumbles into his forearm, "K U R . . ."
Kurt says, "You're not really getting a tattoo."
"I fail to see how you could stop me."
"You can't get a tattoo. It won't ever come off, Blaine."
"That's the idea. What, you're okay with the idea of planning our wedding, you freak out when I get your name written on me? They're really the same thing anyway."
"No they're -" Kurt scowls, doesn't know how to explain the difference to a boy who does still occasionally set fire to things just because he's bored, he thinks Kurt doesn't know but Kurt can smell it on him. He runs his fingers over the skin again. "Why? You know I don't need it. I do know that you love me. I know it, Blaine."
"It's for me more than you. I want to feel owned." Blaine shrugs. "I know what I was like when we first met, and all along you've worn the collar when I'm the one who really needed it. So. I just want to know it's there, I'm yours, even when you're not in the room with me."
Kurt's cheeks have got dizzyingly hot far too quickly. He licks his lips, lets his fingertips trace the skin; Kurt, he thinks, little hot thrill in his stomach, if he's getting an offer to choose the typeface then he does need to take Blaine up on it, he's the one who's going to have to look at the damn thing for the rest of his life . . .
He thinks about the size of the rest of his life, the rest of their lives. He thinks about his own skin, naked on his lower back. He thinks about Blaine's fear that Kurt doesn't mean this, won't want this, that Kurt will find someone else - when oh god he knows, he must know, doesn't he know? Kurt would kneel down and beg for him, all of Kurt's pride means nothing against how much he needs Blaine. He closes his eyes, and traces with his fingertips, Blai . . .
"We should both get them."
Blaine blinks, lifts his head from his arms. "What?"
"Both of us. Even though your name is longer and it will hurt you asshole."
"You're not - you're not serious."
"I fail to see, Blaine Anderson, how you could stop me getting one."
"You get a tattoo. You."
"What exactly is so bizarre about me getting a tattoo?"
"Well, I've pretty much been on the universe's tattoo waiting list since I was like, thirteen, and everyone knows it. You're - you know. Sensible."
"Do you think so? When it comes to you, do you really think so?" Kurt watches his eyes, as Blaine watches his. "I would die for you. If I need to get it permanently etched into my skin before you believe it, god, it's a small price to pay."
"You don't have to do that. You don't have to do that for me-"
"It's not for you, not really, not all of it." Kurt lays down on his side again, runs his fingers over Blaine's cheek. "Don't you like the idea? Your name on my body? No-one else would ever be able to touch me without knowing I was yours." His eyes follow his face, the barely-there twitching of Blaine's mouth and his eyes and his lowering eyebrows, and Kurt knows him too well, Kurt knows how to get desire to darken his eyes with a single sentence if he wants to. "Not that anyone else ever would see it. It would only and always be there for you."
Blaine's silent for a moment, breathing long and slow, staring at Kurt. Then he says like he's thought long and hard about it, "Fuck."
The smile grows warm, and Kurt's thumb strokes his cheek. "I know."
*
In his bedroom that night, stomach steeped in really, really not wanting to - he just doesn't want to touch it, he wants to put everything to do with it in a box in the back of his brain and never never go near it again - he reads Dave's note. He doesn't know how he could feel like he owes Dave anything, when Dave's the one who did everything to him, but being a human being gives you responsibilities you never asked for and don't get a choice in. Life isn't there to be easy. It's there to be lived, and fucked up as little as you can manage. So he reads it, and sits for some time feeling quiet, and lonely, and incredibly young, faced with a life that sometimes no-one has a choice in.
Then he puts it in the very back of a drawer, and opens his laptop. Blaine has sent him an email saying, Or this maybe? with a JPG attached of a tattoo on someone's bicep, a skull wearing a top hat with roses coming out of it, and a snake in its teeth.
Kurt emails back, I am pre-emptively divorcing you.
Then he folds his arms around himself and tilts himself left and right on his desk chair, and smiles at his inbox as the reply arrives.
They have to spend some time just sitting in Blaine's car, because neither of them are in any fit state to drive. Blaine's already asked Kurt, urgent and scared, what Dave did to him; Kurt said quietly, "He came to say sorry." and saw no comprehension on Blaine's face. He doesn't know what Dave said, months ago now, to make Blaine snap, to make Blaine capable of forgetting everything in the world but needing to attack him. He doesn't think he wants to. He doesn't think Dave meant it anyway, he was just looking for something to hurt Kurt's boyfriend with, to hurt Kurt by proxy with, because Kurt chose someone who wasn't him and Dave couldn't touch him anymore with Blaine around. He can't touch him now, for better or worse. Kurt can't ever let those two cross paths again. Thank god for New York. Thank god for escape plans . . .
He swallows again, and lifts a hand to his forehead, and it seems to be steady. He touches Blaine's leg. "Switch. I'll drive."
Blaine licks his lips, looks at him. His eyes look dark and young and too big in his face, blanched in a sickly way. Kurt finds half a smile for him, and opens his door to get into the driver's seat.
Blaine's parents aren't home, they're still both away more often than not. They walk upstairs together, Blaine's hand twitchy on his, and with the bedroom door closed behind them Kurt puts his bag down and Blaine paces the room like a trapped cat, too much energy not quite contained, something frantic inside him that needs to out. Kurt walks to him, touches his shoulder and says, "Blaine-?" and Blaine grabs for that leather bracelet, raw against his bruised skin, trying to squeeze too many fingers into it.
"We should go to New York."
Kurt stares at him. "We are going to New York."
"No. Now. Grab some stuff and go. No-one has to know, it's fine, we can - I've got a savings account, we can find work and make -"
Now Kurt can't stop staring at him. "Blaine, I can't - my dad -"
Blaine's fingers are too tight in that band. He licks his lips, searches Kurt's eyes which must look just baffled. "We could get married. In New York. We could forge the consent documents, I checked the laws online-"
"Blaine, what the - what is wrong with you?"
"What am I supposed to do?" Blaine barks at him. He lets go of his wrist and strides off pulling at his hair, then seems to change his mind too quickly and grabs for Kurt's hand again, in both of his. "I've been thinking about that tattoo. I'm going to get one. Your name. On me. I want it."
"Blaine what are you -?" Kurt touches his face, stares into his eyes, runs his thumb over his cheek. "What's wrong?"
"This!" Blaine yells. "Me! What do you think is wrong, it's always me!"
"- no it's not."
Blaine grabs at his own hair again, turns away, his breath huffing loose hard. "It's always me. I always fuck up, you know that. And-" He rubs his knuckles into his eyes, chokes. "You have no idea, all I think about - I can't wait to get the hell out of here with you and never look back but when we get out of this cowshit town, Kurt, there'll - there'll be all these other guys who aren't me and they couldn't love you more but fuck knows they could love you better than I do and what, do I just let you go off with them? Because I should if I really love you but I can't and I'm selfish and I need you and I don't want us to go because you'll find someone better-"
"Jesus Blaine what the hell," Kurt whispers.
"- and all I do is fuck up and I shouldn't be near you but god I'll die, Kurt, I'm not - I'm serious, I won't last without you, I'll - just - I'll go to pieces, I'll break myself-"
"Blaine -" Kurt catches him, has to physically turn him in his arms to find his face, to say to him so confused, "Blaine, I'm not going anywhere, you know I'm not, we're - we'll be together, we always will be-"
Blaine takes his hand, and stretches his arm out, and pulls the sleeve of his jacket up. Kurt flicks his eyes over the ugly ring of bruising and says, "I was the one who jumped on you, Blaine."
"What if I'd hurt you? What if I'd really hurt you, would we still be having this conversation? I wasn't thinking, I could've split your head open banging you over like that, I could've-"
"I don't care. I did it because I love you and I don't want you going to jail and getting wrecked because of me. I could have hurt you too, do you even realise that? Shoving you over like that. I didn't know what else to do, I couldn't cope if you got in trouble any more than you could, Blaine, all I would be able to think about . . ."
"You don't understand what it's like," Blaine says so shakily, his fingers stroking so gently around the bruises on Kurt's wrist, "being me with you, you just don't even see it. You just don't see what you are and what the whole rest of the world outside this shithole will know the second they look at you, and you don't see me -"
"I see you." Kurt says, quiet and sure. "I know you."
"No. If you knew me then you wouldn't like me. Every time I fuck up, Christ, how long does it take for you to buy a clue?"
"Like I'm the dumb one in this relationship when you're coming out with this crap? God's sake, Blaine -" Kurt reaches for his face, runs a hand around his cheek, already feels the day's stubble's graze underneath his thumb. "I never thought I would feel like this for anybody. Do you know that? I just didn't think I could bring myself to do it, I didn't think I could trust anyone enough to just . . . I loved the idea of love but the reality of it scared the hell out of me. And then there was you, and - what do you think, we'll get to New York and I'll leave you? I'll just dump you for the first available guy or - don't you even believe me when I tell you I love you?"
Blaine stares at him, too much in his eyes, tense and sparky staring at Kurt. "I do," he says, roughly. "Kurt I do, you're the . . . I do."
"But you don't. If you don't think I mean it - you can't if you think -"
Blaine says quietly, "If I really loved you I would give you to someone better."
Something in Kurt snaps. "If I didn't love you I would slap you for that. I am not yours to give, I am mine to give and you've got me whether you like it or not you cretin. You do not get to make these decisions for me, god I could-"
Blaine's gaze keeps dropping from his eyes to his mouth. "You're really sexy when you're angry."
Kurt makes a little screaming noise, his hand grabs into Blaine's hair and the kiss is all teeth and tongue, Blaine's hand gripping his wrist, one on his face as they slip into something less of an active battle, though there's still plenty of aggression behind it, heated and hard. Kurt breaks his mouth back, hisses over Blaine's, "You haven't got a clue you fucking idiot. Do you think I could have done this for anyone else? Do you think I could have ever wanted this with anyone else?"
They kiss, and again, and Kurt uses his height advantage to press Blaine's head back, so there's the bared side of his neck now for Kurt to drag his teeth down. Blaine twists a hand into Kurt's hair, growls, "There would've been better guys. Guys who made it like you wanted it, guys who took the time and lit candles and made you feel -"
"Made me feel what?" Kurt huffs at the pulse in his neck. "Fuck all that. I wanted you. You have no idea. That bed and you, it's all I wanted, the smell of you, you have no idea."
He begins working Blaine's belt open, tilts his forehead down on Blaine's chest to watch his hands work. "You don't even know. You think I could do better? You could have fucked me in my car that first night, do you realise that? If you'd said the right things I would have just crumbled, I was so stupid and naïve and lonely, you know that. But you didn't because - because you're not that guy -"
"I've been that guy," Blaine says, and Kurt yanks his jeans and underwear down at once, lets himself to his knees.
"No, you haven't. You might have wanted to be but you never were. You care too much. You're too good." He slides his hand under Blaine's balls, enclosing them in fingers and palm, breathes in and he can almost feel his pupils dilating. "You have no idea. Do you think I could have done this for anyone else? The idea of sex horrified me, I swear to you, you have no idea, I thought I never would. And then there's you, the smell of you -" He kisses, sweet and tender, the underside of Blaine's dick, the things you do for love, it just undoes what you thought your boundaries were. "Do you honestly think there's another human being on the planet I would want to get on my knees for?"
Blaine's fingers stroke into his hair, and he whispers sounding sort of awed and rough with arousal, "No."
Kurt presses his tongue under the head, and closes his mouth around it.
They were slow to come to blowjobs, like this at least. Kurt had felt like he ought to, Blaine went at them with such enthusiasm, but Blaine just hadn't let him, had physically stopped him, picking him up and rolling him over to rut at him instead like maybe he could tell that Kurt was motivated by ought and not want. Until the afternoon Kurt was kneeling over his waist and sucking his nipple with Blaine's sweaty fingers in his hair and just, it wasn't enough, not anymore, and he could feel Blaine's dick wet against the inside of his thigh -
So Kurt's had less practise than Blaine, but he approaches the blowjob as an artist: it's all about the feeling you put into it. The feeling Kurt puts into it is primarily want, need even, he smells Blaine and he's just hungry, he wants to do this to him. Feel him vulnerable in his mouth and make him feel good and safe and taken care of and always loved, always. He whispers and caresses and hums to him, when Kurt kisses him here Blaine whimpers. And when he needs it, Kurt offers him lips and pressing tongue and that rhythm he needs, and all he can think is, You have no idea. How have you never worked out that this is just another way to try to make you feel it? Why can't you tell that every part of this is I love you?
Kurt wraps an arm around his hips and presses his other palm firm to his pelvis to hold him steady when he comes, so Blaine can't jerk and buck too far down his throat. He swallows, and again, and blinks the sweat out of his eyes, wiping his mouth, he should have at least taken his jacket off before this. But Blaine's coming down to his knees, sliding his hands over Kurt's shoulders and drawing his jacket down his arms as he kisses him, deep and determined, and Kurt's mouth is overraw and buzzing for him.
Blaine breathes over his mouth, hands undoing the button on his pants, "If this breaks I'll kill myself."
"Don't you fucking dare ever do that I would kill you-"
Blaine rumbles the laugh into his mouth as he kisses him, and his hands spread around Kurt's waist, begin wrenching Kurt's probably too tight pants down. "I'm getting that tattoo."
"Like hell you are."
"I am. Four letters." His fingers run over the very base of Kurt's spine, startlingly too much for such a small touch, his entire body rolls up on a moan. "Right here. You can pick the font."
"Blaine-"
"I want you on the bed."
Kurt kisses him again, palm against the beating side of his throat, fingers closing in his hair.
"Jesus," Blaine whispers as he undresses him, finding new, unexpected bruises. His knee has come up dark purple, one hip's marked where it hit the floor, one side of his chest checkerboarded, his wrists and even the back of one hand from where it struck the locker show the marks. Kurt runs a hand up Blaine's arm, turns his elbow to check the graze on it, lets his fingertips run down his shoulder blades underneath his t-shirt before he pulls it off to check his wince. "We look terrible," he confirms.
"You look beautiful. Fuck, you have no idea." Blaine puts a hand on his naked hip, stares down at Kurt's erection. "You don't have a clue, I know you don't, my mouth goes dry. We look like - we look like we've been in a fight."
"We have," Kurt points out, trying to keep his breathing steady, staring at Blaine staring at his dick.
Blaine says, eyes not raised yet, "Get on the bed."
Blaine lays next to him, warm naked skin, lays a leg over his and kisses him, and kisses him. His hand runs down Kurt's side, fuck he feels like he could come without any traditional erogenous zone coming into it sometimes, curves back over his ass - his fingers a whisper of a suggestion - and then back around to the front, to settle around him where Kurt feels as hot and aching as if there's the finest membrane of skin between Blaine and his pounding, desperate blood. His breath comes out against the corner of Blaine's mouth where Blaine leaves a trail of little kisses, each one gone before Kurt's lips can respond, and he whispers, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm such a fuck up, I won't hurt you again, I won't-"
"I'm not hurt," Kurt breathes back, as Blaine's hand begins to move and Kurt grips convulsively at his arms. "Hah - I'm not." He swallows. "I'm exactly where I want to be. Don't want anything else. Just you you you -"
Blaine hides his face in Kurt's throat and works him with a hand, and Kurt can feel Blaine's every breath too much, too hot on his shoulder, and his dick against Kurt's thigh. He swallows, curls his fingers in Blaine's hair. "Are you hard again?"
Blaine's breath bursts loose, and he nods. Kurt slumps his head back on the pillow, tugs gently at his hair. "Do you have a condom?"
Blaine - laughs, such a happy noise against Kurt's shoulder, which he kisses. "You always say that. You never say will you fuck me, you always ask if I've got a condom, when do I ever not have condoms?"
Kurt growls. Blaine lifts his head, lifts his hand to run his thumb over Kurt's mouth. "You have no idea. I think it's adorable. I think you're adorable. And Kurt -?"
Kurt kisses him back, loosely entwining his arms around his neck, and makes a small questioning noise. Blaine breaks the kiss, and promises solemnly, "I swear to you, I will always, always have condoms."
He fucks him slow and steady with Kurt's ankles over his shoulders, like there's no urgency, like they have all the time in the world. Kurt grips the sheets, clenching tight enough that if the Andersons had cheaper linen he'd tear it, and watches his face, and thinks, You have no idea. Six billion people on this planet, you are the only one who will ever be this to me. There will never be anyone else. Don't be stupid. I don't care if you fuck up, we both fuck up, just don't be stupid.
Blaine's thighs shuffle closer, bumping his legs higher, and Kurt slips into an easier arch and lets his head fall back, lets his breath whisper loose as the climax rises.
*
Blaine sighs into his hair, one arm draped over his side, fingertips lazily skimming that naked skin on his lower back. He's tracing letters there; Kurt lets him. He could sleep, warm and contained like this, and he lifts his cheek from Blaine's chest mostly so he won't, trying to blink some coherency back into a very foggy mind. "You actually just asked me to marry you, did you even notice that?"
"Yeah," Blaine says, and his thumb rubs over Kurt's skin like an eraser, like Kurt's body is an etch-a-sketch, so he can start writing again. "I meant it too."
"Blaine, we're seventeen."
"I know what I want." he says, calm and sure. "I know what I need."
Kurt puts a hand on his chest, tips his head to the side against his own bent arm. "Yes," he says, watching Blaine's face. "If you did mean it. Yes, you know I will. Just - not right now, my dad would - I actually literally don't know what he would do. I cannot see your parents liking it. How about we get through college, and we have some vague idea of what our lives are going to look like, and then I can plan the wedding appropriately. How about then?" He smiles, and it broadens. "Will you still want me by then?"
"Mm, by then we'll be what, twenty-four, twenty-five? No, you'll be far too old and decrepit for me by then, I'll need to go looking for fresher meat. Ow that was a you know that was a-"
"Things you don't joke about," Kurt snarls at him, slamming the pillow back onto the mattress from beating Blaine about the head with it, while Blaine lays there trying to shield his face with his arms. "That."
Blaine laughs, puts an arm around Kurt's shoulders again and murmurs, "Come here."
He is very lucky, given that he is so very stupid, to be so very beautiful. Kurt accepts the kiss, and the next one, and passes his hand down Blaine's perfect side, running that leather band along Blaine's skin as he goes. "So this thing is probably the strangest promise ring anyone's ever been given," he says, and Blaine stretches, yawns, settles back into the mattress resting his cheek on his own folded arms.
"I bet real leather fetishists come up with stranger ones. Do you want one, a real one? One that at least I paid for?"
"It's alright," Kurt murmurs, fingers slipping on his lovely skin, around to his back, the shallow curve of it, the strength of his spine under the skin. "I like it."
His fingers, shyly, dip to touch, to feel the little patch of skin there just above his tailbone. Blaine mumbles into his forearm, "K U R . . ."
Kurt says, "You're not really getting a tattoo."
"I fail to see how you could stop me."
"You can't get a tattoo. It won't ever come off, Blaine."
"That's the idea. What, you're okay with the idea of planning our wedding, you freak out when I get your name written on me? They're really the same thing anyway."
"No they're -" Kurt scowls, doesn't know how to explain the difference to a boy who does still occasionally set fire to things just because he's bored, he thinks Kurt doesn't know but Kurt can smell it on him. He runs his fingers over the skin again. "Why? You know I don't need it. I do know that you love me. I know it, Blaine."
"It's for me more than you. I want to feel owned." Blaine shrugs. "I know what I was like when we first met, and all along you've worn the collar when I'm the one who really needed it. So. I just want to know it's there, I'm yours, even when you're not in the room with me."
Kurt's cheeks have got dizzyingly hot far too quickly. He licks his lips, lets his fingertips trace the skin; Kurt, he thinks, little hot thrill in his stomach, if he's getting an offer to choose the typeface then he does need to take Blaine up on it, he's the one who's going to have to look at the damn thing for the rest of his life . . .
He thinks about the size of the rest of his life, the rest of their lives. He thinks about his own skin, naked on his lower back. He thinks about Blaine's fear that Kurt doesn't mean this, won't want this, that Kurt will find someone else - when oh god he knows, he must know, doesn't he know? Kurt would kneel down and beg for him, all of Kurt's pride means nothing against how much he needs Blaine. He closes his eyes, and traces with his fingertips, Blai . . .
"We should both get them."
Blaine blinks, lifts his head from his arms. "What?"
"Both of us. Even though your name is longer and it will hurt you asshole."
"You're not - you're not serious."
"I fail to see, Blaine Anderson, how you could stop me getting one."
"You get a tattoo. You."
"What exactly is so bizarre about me getting a tattoo?"
"Well, I've pretty much been on the universe's tattoo waiting list since I was like, thirteen, and everyone knows it. You're - you know. Sensible."
"Do you think so? When it comes to you, do you really think so?" Kurt watches his eyes, as Blaine watches his. "I would die for you. If I need to get it permanently etched into my skin before you believe it, god, it's a small price to pay."
"You don't have to do that. You don't have to do that for me-"
"It's not for you, not really, not all of it." Kurt lays down on his side again, runs his fingers over Blaine's cheek. "Don't you like the idea? Your name on my body? No-one else would ever be able to touch me without knowing I was yours." His eyes follow his face, the barely-there twitching of Blaine's mouth and his eyes and his lowering eyebrows, and Kurt knows him too well, Kurt knows how to get desire to darken his eyes with a single sentence if he wants to. "Not that anyone else ever would see it. It would only and always be there for you."
Blaine's silent for a moment, breathing long and slow, staring at Kurt. Then he says like he's thought long and hard about it, "Fuck."
The smile grows warm, and Kurt's thumb strokes his cheek. "I know."
*
In his bedroom that night, stomach steeped in really, really not wanting to - he just doesn't want to touch it, he wants to put everything to do with it in a box in the back of his brain and never never go near it again - he reads Dave's note. He doesn't know how he could feel like he owes Dave anything, when Dave's the one who did everything to him, but being a human being gives you responsibilities you never asked for and don't get a choice in. Life isn't there to be easy. It's there to be lived, and fucked up as little as you can manage. So he reads it, and sits for some time feeling quiet, and lonely, and incredibly young, faced with a life that sometimes no-one has a choice in.
Then he puts it in the very back of a drawer, and opens his laptop. Blaine has sent him an email saying, Or this maybe? with a JPG attached of a tattoo on someone's bicep, a skull wearing a top hat with roses coming out of it, and a snake in its teeth.
Kurt emails back, I am pre-emptively divorcing you.
Then he folds his arms around himself and tilts himself left and right on his desk chair, and smiles at his inbox as the reply arrives.