Breaking and Entering
SO. ROSS. THIS IS FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY. IT IS HOW I SAY I LOVE YOU.
And so it got really long- I know, you are so, so surprised.
But its' for you and I love you and everything you are.
So. Here.
Breaking and Entering
By Tee
“Blaine Charles Anderson, you are pathetic.”
“Eric ‘Evil Bastard’ Amparo, this is startlingly familiar.”
And it really was. To a painfully ridiculous degree. The scenery had changed, but Blaine was once again huddled in bed (well, not so much a bed as a beat down old futon) and Eric was in the doorway, radiating smug. “If you throw something at my head, I will end you.”
The first time Kurt Hummel had broken up with him, Blaine had spiraled into a depression the likes of which Dalton Academy had never seen. It had been almost two years, but Blaine was sure there were still tales of it circling around amongst the newest batch of blazer clad Warblers. He had basically brought the acapella choir to its knees with that month or so of emo disaster. Of course, the story was far more fantastic now than it actually was. In one version Blaine had heard, the whole thing had ended in a Mexican standoff on the roof of the Dalton Tower, with Blaine threatening to throw himself to the rocky ground below. That was a much better drama than what had actually happened which was a lot of pouting and groaning and writing horrible depressing love songs until Eric rattled Blaine’s head enough to beat sense into it.
Of course as soon as Blaine felt like he was getting over it and moving on with his life, Kurt had shown up with tears in his impossibly beautiful eyes, telling him how hard it was to be without him and with a million apologies that Blaine wanted to hear but not as much as he needed Kurt to be kissing him. It wasn’t too long before the world knew that they two were back together, mostly because Eric and Tristan had barged in when the proceedings were moving into a very NC-17 rated territory. Both claimed to be forever scared for life, even if they hadn’t actually seen anything. Much.
The next year and a half had been a hot mess for all involved with Kurt and Blaine falling even more desperately in love with each other, Blaine transferring to McKinley (“I’m not going because of Kurt, it’s for my own self worth. Or something. I wrote it down somewhere, and as soon as I find it, I’ll tell you eloquently how I’m not following my boyfriend around like a lost puppy dog.”), a severe case of Warbler separation anxiety (“Tristan, stop crying, for the love of God, you can call Blaine after rehearsal.”) and always the looming threat of college hanging over everyone’s head.
Blaine had been pinning all of his dreams on Berklee College of Music since he found out they had a whole degree program just for song writing. He was fifteen and nothing seemed more magical than that. The need to go there only got more intense when he and Kurt visited Boston one day late in December their senior year. The whole atmosphere of Boston was amazing- the quaint brownstones and this air of history everywhere you went. It reminded Blaine so much of Dalton, which had always been more a home to him than his actual home had ever been. And Berklee was heaven- the walls vibrated with music, and as he walked around he felt something he’d never felt before. This feeling of belonging. He looked around and could see in everyone’s face something he felt deep down inside. That sense of music just coursing through your veins.
He remembered running giddily out on the quad after sneaking in a lecture on music theory. He had grabbed Kurt’s hand and pulled him into an odd little dance before kissing him soundly and whispering excitedly into his ear, “This is it.” And Kurt had smiled as widely as Blaine had, and Blaine hadn’t realized there had been sadness in his eyes until it was too late.
Two weeks later, Kurt had taken his hand and said words that had utterly devastated him. “I’m going to California.”
Blaine had laughed at first, not believing. The plan was NYU. Or Julliard if Kurt could rock an audition hard enough (Blaine had faith that he could). That was always the plan. Sure, it was four hours away, but they had spent a good amount of their relationship living two hours away from each other. So it would be easy to make that work. Piece of rainbow cake.
“So we’ll meet in Kansas on weekends,” Blaine had joked, ducking his head into Kurt’s neck and sucking a bruise onto the column of Kurt’s throat.
Kurt had made a sound that wasn’t the one Blaine was looking for and pushed him away. When Blaine looked up at him with a question on his face, Kurt had tears on his cheeks. “I’m not joking, Blaine. UCLA gave me a full ride. And with Dad’s health, and how poorly the garage has been doing…I can’t put more strain on him. It wouldn’t be fair, when they’re offering me everything.” Blaine looked at Kurt blankly, while Kurt twisted his fingers into knots and tried not to cry in earnest. “I have to go.”
Blaine had wanted to protest- he was paying his own way through Berklee because his dad had basically disowned him, so why couldn’t Kurt put in the god damn effort- but Blaine didn’t let his thoughts stay there long. Because he knew Kurt was right. So he had just slumped into Kurt in defeat, hiding his tears in Kurt’s shoulder and when he was done, Kurt cried into his neck. They seemed to take turns for hours until Burt had knocked on the door and told Blaine it was time to go home.
The question of ‘what now’ hung over graduation like a dark cloud and had made the celebratory last party of the original New Directions crew a pretty major drag for all involved. While most of the glee clubbers had been valiantly trying to get their party on, Kurt and Blaine spent most of the time avoiding each other- Kurt clinging to Mercedes hand and speaking to her in soft, tortured whispers while Blaine got massively drunk and cried loudly into Rachel Berry’s shoulder before throwing up on her shoes. For the second time Blaine found himself sleeping off a hangover in Kurt’s room but that time in the morning Burt Hummel had just smiled sadly at him like he understood.
A week later, Kurt and Blaine had decided to solve the ’what now’ quandary in a way that meant they didn’t actually have to say what they wanted out loud. Ever since the LA bomb had dropped, they had tiptoed around words, constantly hyper aware of how much and how easily they could hurt each other. So Blaine had written I can’t lose you. We should try it. on a slip of paper and folded it four times. They sat across from each other in the Lima Bean over cooling coffees neither of them could touch and slid their slips of paper across the table. When Blaine unfolded his, it said I think we should break up. in Kurt’s messy but elegant scrawl. The ‘b’ was smudged and the paper puckered with what had to be fallen tears.
Blaine had left without a word, unable to even look up at Kurt. He couldn’t even cry, just sat in his car trying to get his hands to stop shaking long enough for him to start the ignition. Eventually he had to call Tristan to come pick him up, because he couldn’t stop trembling. He watched Kurt through the window until Tristan showed up- how he sat their with his back straight and strong, his shoulders shaking slightly and his eyes bloodshot. But still so, so much stronger than Blaine ever was.
They spent a week at this little bed and breakfast just outside Columbus, right before Blaine had to catch a plane to Massachusetts. The plan had been to actually do things- go out to meals and dancing and shopping. But they spent almost the whole week in the bedroom, clinging to each other and trying to memorize everything about the other person. It was sex and tears and cuddling and hysterical laughter and something too impossibly lovely to ever put words to. They left the B&B in separate cars- with fresh tears and promises to still be friends.
There wasn’t much time to mourn after that, no matter how much Blaine wanted to. But there was moving into his awful apartment and finding a job that would work around his class schedule. The more he kept moving, the less everything hurt. And Berklee was everything he had dreamed- he fit there like he had never fit anywhere. It was the first thing Blaine could remember that felt entirely his. This was his school and his life and music was everywhere. He couldn’t shake the dull ache in his chest, but he figured that he would carry that around with him forever. All in all, life was pretty okay and sometimes awesome. It was more than Blaine had hoped for.
At least until February. Blaine and Kurt, despite their assurances to be friends, hadn’t really talked a whole lot since they’d left each other in Ohio. There had been the occasional text or e-mail, but they had both decided that for a little while, they shouldn’t interact too much. So they could heal and do that moving on thing people were supposed to do. And then Blaine had opened his Facebook page on February eighteenth and seen one of those stupid little hearts by Kurt Hummel’s name and the words “is in a relationship with”. The guy’s name was Andrew and he was tall and blond and had straight white teeth. His profile was locked down tight, but all Blaine really needed to see was the guy’s profile picture which was a sickeningly sweet picture of him and Kurt with their faces pressed together and grinning idiotically. Blaine had felt something inside him crack and his stomach twisted up in so many knots he was sure it would never feel right again.
And then Blaine had done something he wasn’t proud of. He got painfully drunk and did the exact think he had promised himself he wouldn’t do, even in the depths of his despair. He called Kurt. When Kurt answered, it had been the first time he’d heard Kurt’s voice in almost eight months and it made Blaine feel like he’d been hit with a steam roller.
“So you’re in a relationship?” he’d slurred out when he could find his voice.
“Blaine, you shouldn’t have-” Kurt started, sounding sad and conflicted. “I probably should have told you.”
God it hurt. Everything hurt. Hearing Kurt’s voice and knowing it was three thousand miles away made Blaine’s chest ache. “Yeah,” Blaine had answered. “I saw that picture. It was really fucking cute,” he ground out, swaying on his feet and clutching at his fridge for dear life. “Has he fucked you yet?”
Blaine heard Kurt suck in a breath and Kurt’s voice was pained when he whispered back, “That isn’t fair.”
It was bad and wrong, but the hurt in Kurt’s voice was a balm to Blaine’s wounds and he found himself smiling. “Bet he doesn’t make you feel half as good as I do.”
“You are drunk and mean and are really going to regret this later,” Kurt said after a moment, voice quiet but full of rage and tears.
“I hate everything about this,” Blaine answered back, viciously but so achingly earnest. Because everything about this was awful. It made him wish he could curl up into a ball and die. Or punch that blond, smiling jackass in his perfect fucking teeth.
“I do too,” Kurt sighed back.
Blaine could see him in his mind’s eye, one arm crossed protectively around his chest while he leaned against a wall, looking small and nothing at all like the strong person he was. God, he was being an asshole. “I’m going to hang up now.”
Kurt made a sound painfully close to a sob and said, “I think that’s wise.”
“Yeah,” Blaine said, nodding along. He took a few shaky breaths and hated how small and broken he sounded when he said, “I’m sorry.”
He almost missed Kurt’s reply of “Me too” as he took the phone away from his ear to hit the disconnect button. And then he threw the phone away from him so hard it bounced off the wall and broke into four sizable chunks. He couldn’t even bring himself to care and dragged himself to the futon and passed out.
Blaine didn’t know how much time had passed, but at some point he blearily opened his eyes and saw Eric Fucking Amparo making Bloody Marys in his kitchen. “Fuck me,” Blaine had moaned quietly and pushed his face back into his pillow. He could hear Eric talking quietly on the phone.
“He’s fine. I mean, he’s still passed out on the couch and he looks like death, but he’s breathing… Tristan, chill. Don’t get a plane ticket…You have a fucking midterm, man, I’ll handle it…Just…Tristan. Shut up. Call Kurt and let him know our boy isn’t dead. So he can stop freaking the fuck out and calling me every five minutes…Yeah. I’ll get a pound of flesh for you too…Tristan….Yeah…Love you too, sweetie.”
Blaine groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. Which brought everything back to the beginning- Eric leaning in the doorway and looking infuriatingly smug and Blaine wishing he was dead.
“Blaine Charles Anderson, you are pathetic.”
“Eric ‘Evil Bastard’ Amparo, this is startlingly familiar. If you throw something at my head, I will end you.” Blaine pulled his head out from under his pillow and squinted at Eric, trying to get his eyes to focus properly. God, he was hung over. He decided that giving Eric the finger might make him feel better. It did.
Eric just smirked wider. Asshole. “Last time I was drawing you out of emotastic depression, I didn’t mix drinks. Or break and enter. By the way, you need a new lock. And possibly a new front door.”
Blaine’s head was pounding and every muscle in his body ached so he couldn’t even find the will to get upset that Eric had violently broken into his apartment. “Awesome,” Blaine answered. “You are a spectacular douche.”
“So are you,” Eric answered, handing Blaine a Bloody Mary. Blaine sat up and sipped it carefully, still giving Eric the evilest of eye. “You do realize you’ve been completely incommunicado for two days, right?” He hadn’t actually. Blaine hadn’t realized he had drunk himself into that much of a stupor that he’d needed two days to sleep it off. “Tristan almost had an aneurysm when you wouldn’t answer your phone. Which I found in pieces in your kitchen. So...kudos there.” Eric toasted him with his own drink and sipped with an arched eyebrow.
“So Tristan sent you over.”
“Well, he and Kurt did.”
At the mention of Kurt, Blaine groaned and threw his pillow across the room. “I’m sure Kurt was beside himself,” he muttered bitterly, taking a generous sip of his drink. He was really enjoying it until he felt something wet and rubbery hit the side of his face. Eric had thrown a celery stick at him. A soggy celery stick. Blaine stood up too quickly and thus missed Eric by a pretty wide margin when he chucked it back. The celery skid across the carpet, leaving a slight red line in it’s wake. It was going to stain. So today- pretty fucking awful. Blaine glared at Eric and was completely floored at the look on his former roommate’s face. Eric looked furious but also so disappointed that Blaine felt like he was about three inches tall.
“You have no idea how terrified Kurt has been these last two days,” Eric said in a low, dangerous kind of voice. “You-” Eric stopped and threw his hands up, starting to pace a little across the carpet. Blaine felt an instant rush of guilt. Eric and Kurt had never really gotten along, so the way Eric was reacting made it all the worse.
“I’ll let him know I’m okay then,” Blaine said hollowly when Eric never resumed speaking.
Eric turned his head and Blaine was sure Eric was going to reach out and hit him. Blaine almost wished he would. Because through the haze of his hangover, Blaine knew he had fucked up spectacularly and he didn’t really know how to deal with it. “Don’t,” Eric said, sharp and succinct. “Tristan’s talking to him right now. And when he finds out you’ve just gone on a two day bender and not killed yourself in some weepy melodramatic fashion he is never going to want to talk to you again, you pathetic fuck.” Eric’s rage built as he talked until it seemed to be it’s own entity. For one heart stopping second, Blaine was positive Eric was going to beat the shit out of him. Eric seemed to come to the same conclusion and diverted himself of that course by throwing his glass against the wall with an angry cry of “Fuck!” Blaine flinched as it shattered, and he watched the red drink drip down the wall like blood.
“I’m sorry!” Blaine cried out suddenly, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain and guilt. “I’m fucking sorry. Fuck. I am such a prick.” Blaine buried his face in his hands.
Eric gave a strangled laugh. “You really are. Go take a shower, man, you look like ass.”
Blaine took one step toward the bathroom, but kept being drawn back to the red mess pooling on his carpet. “My carpet is going to look like a crime scene,” he moaned.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Blaine!” Eric cried out. He pulled Blaine’s Bloody Mary out of his hands and before Blaine could react to that, Eric had dumped the entire thing over his head. Blaine squawked in indignation, blinking tomato juice out of his eyes and pulling an olive out of his hair. His carpet would never be the same. He looked down at it mournfully and Eric snapped, “Forget the fucking carpet, Blaine, we thought you were dead.”
Blaine didn’t know if it was the reality of that notion sinking in or just his general weakened hung-over state, but all of a sudden his knees gave out underneath him and he slumped unceremoniously to the floor. “Go. Get cleaned up and I’ll take care of your fucking precious carpet,” Eric said, looking at Blaine like he was a bit of dog crap on the bottom of his shoe.
“Yeah,” Blaine answered, fully intending to get up and work his way to the bathroom. But he couldn’t get any of his limbs to work properly, so he just sat their hopelessly and watched Eric putter around his kitchen looking for cleaning supplies. When he reentered the main room, with a roll of paper towels and a damp cloth, he gave Blaine a sour look that slowly softened as Blaine just gazed at him sadly. “My legs don’t work,” Blaine said, tears filling his eyes. “Kurt is seeing someone else and I’m covered in tomato juice and vodka and I hate everything about myself and my stupid legs won’t work.” Blaine knew it was stupid and really lame, but he burst into tears and buried his face in his hands.
“You sad, pathetic bastard,” Eric said, something in his tone made the words sound almost fond.
“Rub it in, will you?” Blaine choked out. “Just go Eric. Let me wallow in peace.”
“I drove four hours and committed a felony. I’m not going anywhere,” Eric said, now definitely sounding fond, if a little exasperated.
Blaine felt an arm settle around his shoulders and without a second thought, he pushed his face into Eric’s chest and clung to him for dear life. “He’s tall and blond and looks like he knows how to actually dress himself and has these perfect stupid teeth and looks too fucking wholesome to be real,” Blaine started babbling in between gasping sobs. “And I’m this short, curly headed, hipster hobbit douche bag. And I let Kurt get away and I’ll never get him back because I can’t compete with that.”
Eric stroked his head awkwardly and pat his back, saying nothing until Blaine stopped talking and his sobs faded into soft sniffles. “Are you quite done?” he asked when Blaine had quieted sufficiently.
“Yeah,” Blaine sniffed, rubbing his face further into Eric’s sweater.
“Good,” Eric said with a smug kind of satisfaction. And then he slapped Blaine as hard as he could. Blaine already had a wickedly bad headache, but the slap still managed to jangle his head enough to make it worse. And it also made the entire left side of his face sting.
“Ow!” Blaine hollered, jumping away from Eric and cradling his cheek. The skin felt hot under his fingertips and it really, really fucking hurt. “What the fuck?”
Eric grinned at him and shook his head. “There are so many things wrong with you, Blaine Anderson. You sorry, fucked up little man. Now go take a shower. I’ll make you ketchup and crackers, since that’s all you have in your fridge right now.”
“I had celery and tomato juice before you made Bloody Marys for the floor,” Blaine said pitifully.
“My soul bleeds for you, princess,” Eric said, leaning over and kissing Blaine’s forehead before drifting away.
Blaine looked after him with a pout before muttering, “What the actual fuck is my life?” and dragging himself down the hall to the bathroom. He didn’t mean to, but he cried again in the shower, clinging to the wall and watching his tears mix with the boiling hot shower water. When he had washed all of the tomato juice out of his hair and scrubbed himself clean of stale hangover sweat, Blaine found he didn’t have the will to actually get dressed and just curled up in his oversized terrycloth robe (which, of course, had been a gift from Kurt and had almost made him start crying again). He padded back out to the front room and slumped into his thrift store recliner and curled up as tightly as he could.
“Why, good morning, Sunshine!” Eric sing-songed when he saw Blaine had returned. He set a steaming mug of coffee on the table by the chair and grinned winningly at him.
“Bite me,” Blaine retorted, but he grabbed the mug anyway and took a grateful sip.
“Oh, I plan to, darling.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not having sex with you.”
Eric looked positively startled.
Blaine smiled, the first sincere smile he’d had since he’d found out about Andrew. Of course, it was also an evil smile. “You’re a violent criminal who broke into my apartment to abuse me and ruin my carpet. And you threw fucking celery at my head. I’m not rewarding that behavior.”
“Suit yourself,” Eric said with a shrug. “Just thought I’d offer. You just give off an air of ‘haven’t had sex in too long’. How many months we talking?”
“Seven,” Blaine said with a scowl, looking into his coffee mug and blushing slightly.
“You haven’t had sex since you broke up with Kurt?” Eric asked incredulously. When Blaine didn’t say anything, Eric whistled. “That is so sad. You haven’t even had a ‘suddenly single and hating it’ one night stand. You, sir, are pitiful.”
Blaine sighed despondently into his coffee. So maybe it was pitiful, but Blaine had some silly romantic hopes that Kurt would all of a sudden come to his senses and say he was wrong about all of it and beg for them to give it another go. And when that happened, Blaine didn’t want any other person in between them. But now Kurt had gone and put someone there- this handsome stranger with too white teeth that Blaine wanted to punch in the face. Repeatedly.
“Blaine, my friend,” Eric said, settling a had on one of Blaine’s knees and squeezing it tightly. “I am going to have to fuck you for your own good. Again.”
“Fat chance,” Blaine snorted.
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Eric smirked, raising one eyebrow dangerously.
“The dickhead should stop referring to me as a lady if he wants to get laid, methinks,” Blaine shot back.
“So you’re open to the possibility, then,” Eric replied, smirk growing.
Blaine sighed and closed his eyes. “Were you this much of a dick when we were living together?”
“Worse, probably,” Eric said good-naturedly.
“I can’t believe I ever let you put your dick inside me,” Blaine pouted, curling his hands around his mug and giving it sad puppy dog eyes.
Eric laughed. “You loved it, Anderson. Don’t front.”
“Cocky son of a bitch,” Blaine muttered darkly, sipping his coffee and hating that bantering with Eric was making his intense pain seem--less. God, he wanted to punch the bastard.
“Drink your coffee, kitten,” Eric almost purred, once again leaning over to press a kiss to Blaine’s forehead. “I’m going out for reinforcements.”
Before Blaine could begin to wonder what that entailed, Eric had breezed out of his (very broken) front door. With nothing else to do, Blaine finished his coffee and stared despondently out of the window for awhile. And then he picked up his guitar and wrote a truly tragic bit of music that consisted mostly of the line ‘You left me’ sung in different arrangements over minor chords.
Eric came back during a run through of the chorus and grimaced like he had smelled a skunk. “Oh good God, Blaine. If that is what your fancy school is teaching you about song writing, you need to run away from that place. Quickly. Hideous. That is hideous.” Blaine changed the words to ‘I hate you, go and die’ which made Eric laugh and drop into a faux swoon. “Be still my heart,” he fluttered, closing the door as best he could. He pulled something out of his pocket and waggled it in Blaine’s direction. “Reinforcements.”
Blaine narrowed his eyes, going back and forth from Eric to the bag a few times. “I am not getting high with you.”
An hour later, Blaine was on his back on the floor, counting the cracks in his ceiling and giggling. “Pass it back, man,” he said between laughs.
“The joint or the bag of Cheetos?”
“The joint, duh,” Blaine said rolling his eyes. Eric passed it off and Blaine sucked in a lungful of smoke before passing it back. “He just has the perfect eyes,” Blaine said dreamily as he exhaled. “You could see for miles in them. Like…the whole universe is in there. In his face. His insanely gorgeous face.”
“Oh God, please stop,” Eric moaned. He was sprawled halfway across Blaine’s stomach and he turned his face so his sharp nose was poking uncomfortably into Blaine’s ribs.
“People aren’t supposed to be perfect like that, are they?” Blaine continued, not hearing Eric or not caring. “Even his dick is perfect. How is that possible? They aren’t even really nice looking but his is just--”
Eric made a strangled sound and pushed his face further into Blaine’s stomach as if that would make his ears close up. “I don’t want to hear you wax poetical about your ex-boyfriend’s dick, Anderson. Please don’t. For the love of all that is holy.”
“You don’t even know, Eric. You don’t. Even. Know,” Blaine said with a ridiculous sincerity, reaching down to pat the top of Eric’s head. “His cock is just so pretty. It’s long and thin, like he is and it tastes…I can’t even describe it. But it just like…it’s everything, you know. I just wanted to suck it all the time. Just the weight of it on my tongue…God. Fuck. It was the best thing ever.”
“I am having sexual thoughts about Kurt Hummel now. I will never, ever forgive you as long as I live,” Eric groaned, punching Blaine half-heartedly in the shoulder and rolling his face along Blaine’s hip as if that would clear it from having unwanted images.
Blaine became aware of three things very quickly. The first was that talking about Kurt’s cock was getting him hard. The second was that Eric’s nose was brushing against his hard on. The third thing was that, fuck, he was going to sleep with Eric. God damn it.
Eric seemed to become aware of Blaine’s erection around the same time Blaine did and after shooting Blaine an amused glance, he nuzzled it, humming lightly.
“That isn’t for you,” Blaine muttered, trying to slap Eric’s head away, no matter how nice that felt. He really didn’t want to give in to Eric. He didn’t want to give the jerk the satisfaction.
“I know. It’s for Kurt’s magical glitter cock. But I’m going to take advantage of it anyway,” Eric said, twisting so he could rest his chin on Blaine’s hip. He started fiddling with the belt of Blaine’s robe.
Blaine half-heartedly pushed his hands away. “I hate you.”
“I know, darling. I hate you too,” Eric replied brightly. Blaine grimaced and continued to try and push Eric away. Eric sighed and grabbed Blaine’s wrists. “Blaine. I can’t suck your dick if you keep hitting me.”
“God, fine,” Blaine huffed, rolling his eyes.
Eric let out a breathy laugh and dropped Blaine’s wrists and went to undo the belt’s knot. “A blow job isn’t torture, Blaine. Chill.”
Blaine shivered a little as Eric pulled the robe open, partly from cold but mostly out of some kind of anticipation. It had really been a long, long time. He groaned louder than he intended to when he felt Eric’s hand slid down his cock. “Fuck,” Blaine muttered, arching into the touch. Just having a hand on him that wasn’t his own felt incredible.
“Chill,” Eric said again, gently, sinking his teeth lightly into Blaine’s hip. He ran the fingers of his free hand through the dark curling hair that trailed down from Blaine’s navel, tugging at it a little, drawing a strangled gasp out of Blaine.
“God damn tease,” Blaine ground out when he felt Eric’s warm breath hit the head of his cock, one hand reaching out to fist in Eric’s hair.
“You wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart,” Eric hummed happily. Blaine was about to retort, but then Eric had to go and be a magnificent bastard and take at least half of Blaine’s length into his mouth without any warning. Blaine threw his head back, thumping it against the carpet hard enough for it to hurt, but not enough for Blaine to care at all. All he could really care about was the wonderful hot wet pressure as Eric sucked. It took every ounce of will power he had not to shove Eric’s head further down on his dick because it had been seven God damn months and he could hardly remember anything feeling this good. Blaine’s fingers tightened in Eric’s hair, tugging at it roughly. Not that Eric seemed to mind. He hummed and wrapped his tongue around the head of Blaine’s cock.
“Holy fucking fuck,” Blaine breathed, unable to keep himself from jerking his hips up, fingers holding onto Eric’s head like his life depended on it. Eric caught Blaine’s eye (which-- hot) and fucking winked. Blaine made some incoherent noise in the back of his throat and closed his eyes because that was the only thing he could think to do to keep from coming right that instant. Luckily, or not, depending on how you look at it, Eric seemed to sense that same thing and tightened his fist around the base of Blaine’s cock to stave off orgasm for a little longer.
Eric gave Blaine one last lingering suck and popped off of Blaine’s dick with a lewd, moist sound that made Blaine moan. “It really has been too long, Blaine. You poor thing.” He kissed the head of Blaine’s dick almost primly.
“Yes, my life is pain and horror,” Blaine muttered. “Weren’t you doing something?”
Eric laughed, the breath ghosting across Blaine’s spit slicked dick and making him jerk. Which just made Eric laugh more. Fucking asshole. “Look who’s all eager now.” Blaine tugged violently at Eric’s hair, and Eric yelped. “You are such a bitch,” Eric said with a fond grin.
“God fucking damn it, Amparo, are you going to blow me or--” Blaine started before his words turned into a long, low moan as Eric’s mouth once more descended on Blaine, wet and messy and perfect. Eric pushed at Blaine’s hip with his free hand, trying to still the occasional erratic thrust that Blaine couldn’t help while Blaine settled for keeping a grip on Eric’s hair and just going along for the ride. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem destined to last for too much longer, because Eric grinned around Blaine’s cock and just went for it. Blaine didn’t know what was better, the feeling of Eric taking Blaine deep into his throat or the sight of it. He was sure he could construct pretty good arguments for both, but he couldn’t think about it for too long. Because, well. Eric’s nose was almost touching his stomach and Blaine could feel a little gust of breath as Eric breathed through his nose. Blaine shuddered and knew he had to be babbling the most inane shit, but he couldn’t even care because holy fuck this was amazing. Eric looked up at him with twinkling eyes like he was the one who was getting his cock sucked and not the other way around. Then the bastard ever so gently scraped his teeth along the top of Blaine’s dick and Blaine couldn’t hold back any longer. He came with something very near a scream, thrusting deeply into Eric’s mouth.
He flopped bonelessly back to the carpet when it was over, drifting pleasantly in the afterglow. Time was passing but he wasn’t sure how much, and just laid there, sprawled out naked in his living room and so blissed out he couldn’t even begin to give a fuck about the fact that he should be returning the favor. Eventually, Eric swam into his line of vision, perched over him on his elbows and grinning impossibly wide. “I fucking rock,” Eric said gleefully, bending down to press a strangely chaste kiss to Blaine’s lips.
“You are a god among men,” Blaine deadpanned, Eric’s smug attitude pretty effectively killing his orgasm high.
“Yep,” Eric agreed happily, nipping at Blaine’s collarbone.
Blaine rolled his eyes and shoved Eric off of him, sitting up wondering where that joint had gotten off to. Eric seemed to read his mind and got it out of the makeshift ashtray (an old Starbucks lid). “You killed my high, you smug asshole.”
“Oh mercy. What a pity.” Eric was still grinning like the cat that ate the canary and it was as infuriating and attractive as ever. “And here I thought you’d like to get a little better acquainted with my asshole.”
“You…what?” Blaine asked, joint hanging off his bottom lip, forgotten.
“Oh nothing,” Eric said, waving the thought away with a hand. He grabbed the lighter and lit the tip of the joint. Blaine sucked on it reflexively, never tearing his eyes away from Eric. “Just thought you might want to fuck me over the kitchen table.” With that Eric shrugged and stood up. Blaine was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open unattractively, but luckily Eric wasn’t paying attention. What he was doing was sauntering toward the kitchen. And taking off his clothes as he went.
“I fucking hate you,” Blaine called after him when he could get his mouth to work again. Most of Blaine (and most of all his dick) wanted to get up and run after Eric, but the stubborn part of Blaine didn’t want to let the bastard win so easily. So he took a few more puffs off the joint and watched through the window as the streetlight flickered on and off in an strange constant kind of pattern.
“Blaine,” Eric called from inside the kitchen. “Hurry your ass up.” Blaine smirked, loving the raw kind of sound to his voice.
“In a minute,” Blaine replied sweetly, sliding back to the floor and focusing on counting the cracks in the ceiling and not how much he wanted to bolt into the kitchen and fuck Eric as hard as he was capable. It was hard not to think about though, how light from the street would be cutting through the blinds and making patterns across Eric’s back as he bent over the table. Blaine shuddered, and bit his lip against a moan.
“What the fuck are you doing out there?” Eric said after some more time had passed, sounding a little more desperate.
“Thinking about you,” Blaine said, figuring the honesty would be enough of a tease.
Blaine heard Eric huff angrily. “You don’t really have to think about it, Blaine. I’m right the fuck in here.” Blaine only hummed in reply, closing his eyes and daring to let his fingers slide teasingly up and down his rapidly hardening dick. Serves the smug bastard right.
“Blaine, would you just get in here and fuck me already?” Eric cried after another lengthy silence sounding angry and turned on and really fucking needy. Which was kind of exactly what Blaine was hoping for. Blaine sprung to his feet and nearly fucking pranced into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite expecting to see Eric bent over the table top with two fingers in his ass, but it was kind of a nice surprise.
“I would have done that for you,” Blaine said as matter of fact as he could, even though his brain was close to fizzling out with how hot the imagery was. Eric turned his head to look at him but didn’t stop pumping his fingers in and out of himself, brow creased in concentration. It was possibly one of the hottest things Blaine had seen in his entire life.
“You were taking your sweet ass time,” Eric said in between short, gasping breaths. “You stupid bitch.”
Blaine would have rolled his eyes if he could get his brain to think of anything but sex at the moment. It wasn’t going to happen. Eric let out a stuttered little moan and Blaine’s dick twitched. Working hard to keep his breathing even to keep himself from getting to excited too quickly, Blaine took the few more steps he needed to so he could wrap his hands solidly around Eric’s hips. He squeezed tightly which made Eric moan again, this time louder and a little needier. Smirking, Blaine pressed himself up against Eric’s ass and bent over him to lick up the line of his spine. Eric’s body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to surge forward to relieve the pressure on his cock or back up against Blaine and tried to do both at the same time. He just about whined, and Blaine couldn’t help but laugh and sink his teeth into Eric’s shoulder.
“You stupid, stupid fuck,” Eric moaned wantonly, and Blaine ground his erection against Eric’s ass. “You are such a-” Eric was cut off when Blaine slid a spit slick finger into Eric to join the two fingers he already had there. “Jesus.”
“Name’s Blaine, actually,” Blaine breathed against Eric’s back, pleased when his eyes caught where Eric had set a bottle of lube, and helpfully, an open condom packet. Eric clearly wanted to say something in response, but Blaine pushed one more finger in and whatever retort Eric had was lost in a deep, guttural groan.
It was a little awkward, but Blaine managed to get the condom on one handed and slicked himself up with some lube without having to stop pumping his fingers in and out of Eric. Who seemed to be falling apart as much as Blaine had earlier, which was delicious to watch. No wonder Eric had been so fucking smug afterward. “You are a prick and will you please just fuck me for the love of God,” Eric burst out suddenly, the words all blending together.
But Blaine got the meaning quick enough. He slid his fingers out and watched as Eric followed suit. Blaine could almost feel his mouth water, just looking at Eric. Just as he imagined, the streetlights were throwing patterns across Eric’s skin and he was panting hotly, gripping the table tightly and pushing his ass out desperately. Blaine wrapped his hands around Eric’s hips again, and Eric’s breath caught in anticipation. That was the only warning he got before Blaine was pushing into him in a slow, steady way, not pausing until he was fully seated.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eric chanted earnestly, shifting ever closer and closer even if he couldn’t get any closer to Blaine than he already was.
“Shut up,” Blaine ground out. While the blow job earlier had helped, Blaine still had seven months of celibacy to get over and he had to concentrate really hard to keep from coming just at the incredible tightness all around him. He laid against Eric’s back and panted hotly against the back of Eric’s neck. Eric nearly whimpered at the sensation.
“Are you going to move anytime soon?” Eric breathed out eventually. Blaine could feel that every muscle in Eric’s back was tense with need. And God, it felt good to be needed like that. He licked up some of the sweat clinging to Eric’s back. Eric made a sound halfway between a sob and a moan. “Dick.”
“Eric. Shut up.”
“I will when you actually try fucking me and not just…hanging out back there.” Eric jerked his hips back as if to remind Blaine where the hell he was at the moment.
“Patience is a virtue,” Blaine smirked, tightening his hands on Eric’s hips and pushing himself into a more upright position.
“I will fucking murder you,” Eric muttered darkly, twisting his head to give Blaine the evilest glare he could muster. Eric looked about to launch into another tirade, but Blaine pulled out and thrust back in with a swiftness and power that caught Eric off guard. He arched off the table a little, but Blaine pushed him back down, moving one hand to fit between Eric’s shoulder blades and press him down. Eric’s whole body shuddered and he clenched tightly around Blaine which made Blaine moan in surprise.
Blaine had such nice plans for drawing the whole encounter out, making Eric beg for it even more, but it was all too much- the way Eric looked like some wanton god there in the dim lighting, the muscles in his back rippling. And he was just so tight and hot and Blaine had forgotten how powerful the feelings were when you were inside someone like that. Groaning low in his throat, Blaine forgot plans of sweet torture and set a brutal pace, hard and rough. The table groaned a little with the force of it, and so did Eric, though his groans were louder and they swirled around in Blaine’s head, making him just as high as the weed was.
“Touch me, fuck, so close,” Eric bit out between gasps and moans, rolling as much as he could to meet Blaine’s thrusts with the same intensity they were given with. Blaine grunted in response, not trusting himself to say much of anything else. He slipped his hand off of Eric’s back and under him to wrap around Eric’s neglected cock. “Yes, yes, fuck,” Eric babbled appreciatively. It took three good strokes for Eric to explode. Eric moaned his name, low and utterly wrecked, and Blaine had warm cum on his fingers and that was enough for Blaine to follow him over that edge.
Blaine collapsed against Eric’s back, gasping desperately for breath. For a long time there was nothing but the sound of their shaky breathing. And then Eric elbowed Blaine in the ribs and the afterglow was gone. Blaine made a discontent sound and pulled out, smacking Eric’s ass soundly with one hand as he walked over to find a wash cloth to wipe them off with. “You are scarily good at topping for such a little guy,” Eric said with a breathy laugh.
Well, there went gently cleaning Eric up. Blaine threw the wash cloth in Eric’s face and gave him the finger. “I am not little. I’m fucking awesome,” Blaine said primly. Well, as primly as one could when one was naked in their kitchen and thoroughly fucked out.
“Whatever you say, pumpkin,” Eric replied before tossing the cloth back and padding back out to the living room. Blaine followed him and when Eric arranged himself on the futon, Blaine curled in next to him. “Get away from me. It’s too hot to cuddle,” Eric complained, pushing at Blaine’s shoulder.
“Shut up,” Blaine said again, soft and full of affection, clinging to Eric and throwing a leg over his hip and slipping into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Blaine awoke to the sound of power tools. He jumped up off the futon and was by the front door before he realized- hello, very naked. The two men working on installing a new door did not take that much time to realize there was a naked man in their midst. Blaine gave them a cheery wave and fled into the nearest hiding place. Which was the kitchen.
Blaine gazed at the table a little longingly, before he realized one more thing that was wrong with his morning. “Eric?” Blaine called. There was no answer but the whine of a power drill. “Come on, you fucking dick.” Just power tools.
Then Blaine saw there was a new box sitting next to the sink. Blaine glared at it, as if daring it to do something to him. Nothing happened. It was still there, a lonely iPhone box with a Post-it note on top. Blaine read the note, didn’t know if he should laugh or cry, so he did both.
Next time you want to have a emo freak out, give me a call before you do something stupid. And stop worrying, everyone knows you and Kurt will be sparkly gay special snowflakes forever, so suck it up, be patient and it will all work out.
Oh, and you're welcome for all of that world rocking I did last night.
-Eric
And so it got really long- I know, you are so, so surprised.
But its' for you and I love you and everything you are.
So. Here.
Breaking and Entering
By Tee
“Blaine Charles Anderson, you are pathetic.”
“Eric ‘Evil Bastard’ Amparo, this is startlingly familiar.”
And it really was. To a painfully ridiculous degree. The scenery had changed, but Blaine was once again huddled in bed (well, not so much a bed as a beat down old futon) and Eric was in the doorway, radiating smug. “If you throw something at my head, I will end you.”
The first time Kurt Hummel had broken up with him, Blaine had spiraled into a depression the likes of which Dalton Academy had never seen. It had been almost two years, but Blaine was sure there were still tales of it circling around amongst the newest batch of blazer clad Warblers. He had basically brought the acapella choir to its knees with that month or so of emo disaster. Of course, the story was far more fantastic now than it actually was. In one version Blaine had heard, the whole thing had ended in a Mexican standoff on the roof of the Dalton Tower, with Blaine threatening to throw himself to the rocky ground below. That was a much better drama than what had actually happened which was a lot of pouting and groaning and writing horrible depressing love songs until Eric rattled Blaine’s head enough to beat sense into it.
Of course as soon as Blaine felt like he was getting over it and moving on with his life, Kurt had shown up with tears in his impossibly beautiful eyes, telling him how hard it was to be without him and with a million apologies that Blaine wanted to hear but not as much as he needed Kurt to be kissing him. It wasn’t too long before the world knew that they two were back together, mostly because Eric and Tristan had barged in when the proceedings were moving into a very NC-17 rated territory. Both claimed to be forever scared for life, even if they hadn’t actually seen anything. Much.
The next year and a half had been a hot mess for all involved with Kurt and Blaine falling even more desperately in love with each other, Blaine transferring to McKinley (“I’m not going because of Kurt, it’s for my own self worth. Or something. I wrote it down somewhere, and as soon as I find it, I’ll tell you eloquently how I’m not following my boyfriend around like a lost puppy dog.”), a severe case of Warbler separation anxiety (“Tristan, stop crying, for the love of God, you can call Blaine after rehearsal.”) and always the looming threat of college hanging over everyone’s head.
Blaine had been pinning all of his dreams on Berklee College of Music since he found out they had a whole degree program just for song writing. He was fifteen and nothing seemed more magical than that. The need to go there only got more intense when he and Kurt visited Boston one day late in December their senior year. The whole atmosphere of Boston was amazing- the quaint brownstones and this air of history everywhere you went. It reminded Blaine so much of Dalton, which had always been more a home to him than his actual home had ever been. And Berklee was heaven- the walls vibrated with music, and as he walked around he felt something he’d never felt before. This feeling of belonging. He looked around and could see in everyone’s face something he felt deep down inside. That sense of music just coursing through your veins.
He remembered running giddily out on the quad after sneaking in a lecture on music theory. He had grabbed Kurt’s hand and pulled him into an odd little dance before kissing him soundly and whispering excitedly into his ear, “This is it.” And Kurt had smiled as widely as Blaine had, and Blaine hadn’t realized there had been sadness in his eyes until it was too late.
Two weeks later, Kurt had taken his hand and said words that had utterly devastated him. “I’m going to California.”
Blaine had laughed at first, not believing. The plan was NYU. Or Julliard if Kurt could rock an audition hard enough (Blaine had faith that he could). That was always the plan. Sure, it was four hours away, but they had spent a good amount of their relationship living two hours away from each other. So it would be easy to make that work. Piece of rainbow cake.
“So we’ll meet in Kansas on weekends,” Blaine had joked, ducking his head into Kurt’s neck and sucking a bruise onto the column of Kurt’s throat.
Kurt had made a sound that wasn’t the one Blaine was looking for and pushed him away. When Blaine looked up at him with a question on his face, Kurt had tears on his cheeks. “I’m not joking, Blaine. UCLA gave me a full ride. And with Dad’s health, and how poorly the garage has been doing…I can’t put more strain on him. It wouldn’t be fair, when they’re offering me everything.” Blaine looked at Kurt blankly, while Kurt twisted his fingers into knots and tried not to cry in earnest. “I have to go.”
Blaine had wanted to protest- he was paying his own way through Berklee because his dad had basically disowned him, so why couldn’t Kurt put in the god damn effort- but Blaine didn’t let his thoughts stay there long. Because he knew Kurt was right. So he had just slumped into Kurt in defeat, hiding his tears in Kurt’s shoulder and when he was done, Kurt cried into his neck. They seemed to take turns for hours until Burt had knocked on the door and told Blaine it was time to go home.
The question of ‘what now’ hung over graduation like a dark cloud and had made the celebratory last party of the original New Directions crew a pretty major drag for all involved. While most of the glee clubbers had been valiantly trying to get their party on, Kurt and Blaine spent most of the time avoiding each other- Kurt clinging to Mercedes hand and speaking to her in soft, tortured whispers while Blaine got massively drunk and cried loudly into Rachel Berry’s shoulder before throwing up on her shoes. For the second time Blaine found himself sleeping off a hangover in Kurt’s room but that time in the morning Burt Hummel had just smiled sadly at him like he understood.
A week later, Kurt and Blaine had decided to solve the ’what now’ quandary in a way that meant they didn’t actually have to say what they wanted out loud. Ever since the LA bomb had dropped, they had tiptoed around words, constantly hyper aware of how much and how easily they could hurt each other. So Blaine had written I can’t lose you. We should try it. on a slip of paper and folded it four times. They sat across from each other in the Lima Bean over cooling coffees neither of them could touch and slid their slips of paper across the table. When Blaine unfolded his, it said I think we should break up. in Kurt’s messy but elegant scrawl. The ‘b’ was smudged and the paper puckered with what had to be fallen tears.
Blaine had left without a word, unable to even look up at Kurt. He couldn’t even cry, just sat in his car trying to get his hands to stop shaking long enough for him to start the ignition. Eventually he had to call Tristan to come pick him up, because he couldn’t stop trembling. He watched Kurt through the window until Tristan showed up- how he sat their with his back straight and strong, his shoulders shaking slightly and his eyes bloodshot. But still so, so much stronger than Blaine ever was.
They spent a week at this little bed and breakfast just outside Columbus, right before Blaine had to catch a plane to Massachusetts. The plan had been to actually do things- go out to meals and dancing and shopping. But they spent almost the whole week in the bedroom, clinging to each other and trying to memorize everything about the other person. It was sex and tears and cuddling and hysterical laughter and something too impossibly lovely to ever put words to. They left the B&B in separate cars- with fresh tears and promises to still be friends.
There wasn’t much time to mourn after that, no matter how much Blaine wanted to. But there was moving into his awful apartment and finding a job that would work around his class schedule. The more he kept moving, the less everything hurt. And Berklee was everything he had dreamed- he fit there like he had never fit anywhere. It was the first thing Blaine could remember that felt entirely his. This was his school and his life and music was everywhere. He couldn’t shake the dull ache in his chest, but he figured that he would carry that around with him forever. All in all, life was pretty okay and sometimes awesome. It was more than Blaine had hoped for.
At least until February. Blaine and Kurt, despite their assurances to be friends, hadn’t really talked a whole lot since they’d left each other in Ohio. There had been the occasional text or e-mail, but they had both decided that for a little while, they shouldn’t interact too much. So they could heal and do that moving on thing people were supposed to do. And then Blaine had opened his Facebook page on February eighteenth and seen one of those stupid little hearts by Kurt Hummel’s name and the words “is in a relationship with”. The guy’s name was Andrew and he was tall and blond and had straight white teeth. His profile was locked down tight, but all Blaine really needed to see was the guy’s profile picture which was a sickeningly sweet picture of him and Kurt with their faces pressed together and grinning idiotically. Blaine had felt something inside him crack and his stomach twisted up in so many knots he was sure it would never feel right again.
And then Blaine had done something he wasn’t proud of. He got painfully drunk and did the exact think he had promised himself he wouldn’t do, even in the depths of his despair. He called Kurt. When Kurt answered, it had been the first time he’d heard Kurt’s voice in almost eight months and it made Blaine feel like he’d been hit with a steam roller.
“So you’re in a relationship?” he’d slurred out when he could find his voice.
“Blaine, you shouldn’t have-” Kurt started, sounding sad and conflicted. “I probably should have told you.”
God it hurt. Everything hurt. Hearing Kurt’s voice and knowing it was three thousand miles away made Blaine’s chest ache. “Yeah,” Blaine had answered. “I saw that picture. It was really fucking cute,” he ground out, swaying on his feet and clutching at his fridge for dear life. “Has he fucked you yet?”
Blaine heard Kurt suck in a breath and Kurt’s voice was pained when he whispered back, “That isn’t fair.”
It was bad and wrong, but the hurt in Kurt’s voice was a balm to Blaine’s wounds and he found himself smiling. “Bet he doesn’t make you feel half as good as I do.”
“You are drunk and mean and are really going to regret this later,” Kurt said after a moment, voice quiet but full of rage and tears.
“I hate everything about this,” Blaine answered back, viciously but so achingly earnest. Because everything about this was awful. It made him wish he could curl up into a ball and die. Or punch that blond, smiling jackass in his perfect fucking teeth.
“I do too,” Kurt sighed back.
Blaine could see him in his mind’s eye, one arm crossed protectively around his chest while he leaned against a wall, looking small and nothing at all like the strong person he was. God, he was being an asshole. “I’m going to hang up now.”
Kurt made a sound painfully close to a sob and said, “I think that’s wise.”
“Yeah,” Blaine said, nodding along. He took a few shaky breaths and hated how small and broken he sounded when he said, “I’m sorry.”
He almost missed Kurt’s reply of “Me too” as he took the phone away from his ear to hit the disconnect button. And then he threw the phone away from him so hard it bounced off the wall and broke into four sizable chunks. He couldn’t even bring himself to care and dragged himself to the futon and passed out.
Blaine didn’t know how much time had passed, but at some point he blearily opened his eyes and saw Eric Fucking Amparo making Bloody Marys in his kitchen. “Fuck me,” Blaine had moaned quietly and pushed his face back into his pillow. He could hear Eric talking quietly on the phone.
“He’s fine. I mean, he’s still passed out on the couch and he looks like death, but he’s breathing… Tristan, chill. Don’t get a plane ticket…You have a fucking midterm, man, I’ll handle it…Just…Tristan. Shut up. Call Kurt and let him know our boy isn’t dead. So he can stop freaking the fuck out and calling me every five minutes…Yeah. I’ll get a pound of flesh for you too…Tristan….Yeah…Love you too, sweetie.”
Blaine groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. Which brought everything back to the beginning- Eric leaning in the doorway and looking infuriatingly smug and Blaine wishing he was dead.
“Blaine Charles Anderson, you are pathetic.”
“Eric ‘Evil Bastard’ Amparo, this is startlingly familiar. If you throw something at my head, I will end you.” Blaine pulled his head out from under his pillow and squinted at Eric, trying to get his eyes to focus properly. God, he was hung over. He decided that giving Eric the finger might make him feel better. It did.
Eric just smirked wider. Asshole. “Last time I was drawing you out of emotastic depression, I didn’t mix drinks. Or break and enter. By the way, you need a new lock. And possibly a new front door.”
Blaine’s head was pounding and every muscle in his body ached so he couldn’t even find the will to get upset that Eric had violently broken into his apartment. “Awesome,” Blaine answered. “You are a spectacular douche.”
“So are you,” Eric answered, handing Blaine a Bloody Mary. Blaine sat up and sipped it carefully, still giving Eric the evilest of eye. “You do realize you’ve been completely incommunicado for two days, right?” He hadn’t actually. Blaine hadn’t realized he had drunk himself into that much of a stupor that he’d needed two days to sleep it off. “Tristan almost had an aneurysm when you wouldn’t answer your phone. Which I found in pieces in your kitchen. So...kudos there.” Eric toasted him with his own drink and sipped with an arched eyebrow.
“So Tristan sent you over.”
“Well, he and Kurt did.”
At the mention of Kurt, Blaine groaned and threw his pillow across the room. “I’m sure Kurt was beside himself,” he muttered bitterly, taking a generous sip of his drink. He was really enjoying it until he felt something wet and rubbery hit the side of his face. Eric had thrown a celery stick at him. A soggy celery stick. Blaine stood up too quickly and thus missed Eric by a pretty wide margin when he chucked it back. The celery skid across the carpet, leaving a slight red line in it’s wake. It was going to stain. So today- pretty fucking awful. Blaine glared at Eric and was completely floored at the look on his former roommate’s face. Eric looked furious but also so disappointed that Blaine felt like he was about three inches tall.
“You have no idea how terrified Kurt has been these last two days,” Eric said in a low, dangerous kind of voice. “You-” Eric stopped and threw his hands up, starting to pace a little across the carpet. Blaine felt an instant rush of guilt. Eric and Kurt had never really gotten along, so the way Eric was reacting made it all the worse.
“I’ll let him know I’m okay then,” Blaine said hollowly when Eric never resumed speaking.
Eric turned his head and Blaine was sure Eric was going to reach out and hit him. Blaine almost wished he would. Because through the haze of his hangover, Blaine knew he had fucked up spectacularly and he didn’t really know how to deal with it. “Don’t,” Eric said, sharp and succinct. “Tristan’s talking to him right now. And when he finds out you’ve just gone on a two day bender and not killed yourself in some weepy melodramatic fashion he is never going to want to talk to you again, you pathetic fuck.” Eric’s rage built as he talked until it seemed to be it’s own entity. For one heart stopping second, Blaine was positive Eric was going to beat the shit out of him. Eric seemed to come to the same conclusion and diverted himself of that course by throwing his glass against the wall with an angry cry of “Fuck!” Blaine flinched as it shattered, and he watched the red drink drip down the wall like blood.
“I’m sorry!” Blaine cried out suddenly, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain and guilt. “I’m fucking sorry. Fuck. I am such a prick.” Blaine buried his face in his hands.
Eric gave a strangled laugh. “You really are. Go take a shower, man, you look like ass.”
Blaine took one step toward the bathroom, but kept being drawn back to the red mess pooling on his carpet. “My carpet is going to look like a crime scene,” he moaned.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Blaine!” Eric cried out. He pulled Blaine’s Bloody Mary out of his hands and before Blaine could react to that, Eric had dumped the entire thing over his head. Blaine squawked in indignation, blinking tomato juice out of his eyes and pulling an olive out of his hair. His carpet would never be the same. He looked down at it mournfully and Eric snapped, “Forget the fucking carpet, Blaine, we thought you were dead.”
Blaine didn’t know if it was the reality of that notion sinking in or just his general weakened hung-over state, but all of a sudden his knees gave out underneath him and he slumped unceremoniously to the floor. “Go. Get cleaned up and I’ll take care of your fucking precious carpet,” Eric said, looking at Blaine like he was a bit of dog crap on the bottom of his shoe.
“Yeah,” Blaine answered, fully intending to get up and work his way to the bathroom. But he couldn’t get any of his limbs to work properly, so he just sat their hopelessly and watched Eric putter around his kitchen looking for cleaning supplies. When he reentered the main room, with a roll of paper towels and a damp cloth, he gave Blaine a sour look that slowly softened as Blaine just gazed at him sadly. “My legs don’t work,” Blaine said, tears filling his eyes. “Kurt is seeing someone else and I’m covered in tomato juice and vodka and I hate everything about myself and my stupid legs won’t work.” Blaine knew it was stupid and really lame, but he burst into tears and buried his face in his hands.
“You sad, pathetic bastard,” Eric said, something in his tone made the words sound almost fond.
“Rub it in, will you?” Blaine choked out. “Just go Eric. Let me wallow in peace.”
“I drove four hours and committed a felony. I’m not going anywhere,” Eric said, now definitely sounding fond, if a little exasperated.
Blaine felt an arm settle around his shoulders and without a second thought, he pushed his face into Eric’s chest and clung to him for dear life. “He’s tall and blond and looks like he knows how to actually dress himself and has these perfect stupid teeth and looks too fucking wholesome to be real,” Blaine started babbling in between gasping sobs. “And I’m this short, curly headed, hipster hobbit douche bag. And I let Kurt get away and I’ll never get him back because I can’t compete with that.”
Eric stroked his head awkwardly and pat his back, saying nothing until Blaine stopped talking and his sobs faded into soft sniffles. “Are you quite done?” he asked when Blaine had quieted sufficiently.
“Yeah,” Blaine sniffed, rubbing his face further into Eric’s sweater.
“Good,” Eric said with a smug kind of satisfaction. And then he slapped Blaine as hard as he could. Blaine already had a wickedly bad headache, but the slap still managed to jangle his head enough to make it worse. And it also made the entire left side of his face sting.
“Ow!” Blaine hollered, jumping away from Eric and cradling his cheek. The skin felt hot under his fingertips and it really, really fucking hurt. “What the fuck?”
Eric grinned at him and shook his head. “There are so many things wrong with you, Blaine Anderson. You sorry, fucked up little man. Now go take a shower. I’ll make you ketchup and crackers, since that’s all you have in your fridge right now.”
“I had celery and tomato juice before you made Bloody Marys for the floor,” Blaine said pitifully.
“My soul bleeds for you, princess,” Eric said, leaning over and kissing Blaine’s forehead before drifting away.
Blaine looked after him with a pout before muttering, “What the actual fuck is my life?” and dragging himself down the hall to the bathroom. He didn’t mean to, but he cried again in the shower, clinging to the wall and watching his tears mix with the boiling hot shower water. When he had washed all of the tomato juice out of his hair and scrubbed himself clean of stale hangover sweat, Blaine found he didn’t have the will to actually get dressed and just curled up in his oversized terrycloth robe (which, of course, had been a gift from Kurt and had almost made him start crying again). He padded back out to the front room and slumped into his thrift store recliner and curled up as tightly as he could.
“Why, good morning, Sunshine!” Eric sing-songed when he saw Blaine had returned. He set a steaming mug of coffee on the table by the chair and grinned winningly at him.
“Bite me,” Blaine retorted, but he grabbed the mug anyway and took a grateful sip.
“Oh, I plan to, darling.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not having sex with you.”
Eric looked positively startled.
Blaine smiled, the first sincere smile he’d had since he’d found out about Andrew. Of course, it was also an evil smile. “You’re a violent criminal who broke into my apartment to abuse me and ruin my carpet. And you threw fucking celery at my head. I’m not rewarding that behavior.”
“Suit yourself,” Eric said with a shrug. “Just thought I’d offer. You just give off an air of ‘haven’t had sex in too long’. How many months we talking?”
“Seven,” Blaine said with a scowl, looking into his coffee mug and blushing slightly.
“You haven’t had sex since you broke up with Kurt?” Eric asked incredulously. When Blaine didn’t say anything, Eric whistled. “That is so sad. You haven’t even had a ‘suddenly single and hating it’ one night stand. You, sir, are pitiful.”
Blaine sighed despondently into his coffee. So maybe it was pitiful, but Blaine had some silly romantic hopes that Kurt would all of a sudden come to his senses and say he was wrong about all of it and beg for them to give it another go. And when that happened, Blaine didn’t want any other person in between them. But now Kurt had gone and put someone there- this handsome stranger with too white teeth that Blaine wanted to punch in the face. Repeatedly.
“Blaine, my friend,” Eric said, settling a had on one of Blaine’s knees and squeezing it tightly. “I am going to have to fuck you for your own good. Again.”
“Fat chance,” Blaine snorted.
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Eric smirked, raising one eyebrow dangerously.
“The dickhead should stop referring to me as a lady if he wants to get laid, methinks,” Blaine shot back.
“So you’re open to the possibility, then,” Eric replied, smirk growing.
Blaine sighed and closed his eyes. “Were you this much of a dick when we were living together?”
“Worse, probably,” Eric said good-naturedly.
“I can’t believe I ever let you put your dick inside me,” Blaine pouted, curling his hands around his mug and giving it sad puppy dog eyes.
Eric laughed. “You loved it, Anderson. Don’t front.”
“Cocky son of a bitch,” Blaine muttered darkly, sipping his coffee and hating that bantering with Eric was making his intense pain seem--less. God, he wanted to punch the bastard.
“Drink your coffee, kitten,” Eric almost purred, once again leaning over to press a kiss to Blaine’s forehead. “I’m going out for reinforcements.”
Before Blaine could begin to wonder what that entailed, Eric had breezed out of his (very broken) front door. With nothing else to do, Blaine finished his coffee and stared despondently out of the window for awhile. And then he picked up his guitar and wrote a truly tragic bit of music that consisted mostly of the line ‘You left me’ sung in different arrangements over minor chords.
Eric came back during a run through of the chorus and grimaced like he had smelled a skunk. “Oh good God, Blaine. If that is what your fancy school is teaching you about song writing, you need to run away from that place. Quickly. Hideous. That is hideous.” Blaine changed the words to ‘I hate you, go and die’ which made Eric laugh and drop into a faux swoon. “Be still my heart,” he fluttered, closing the door as best he could. He pulled something out of his pocket and waggled it in Blaine’s direction. “Reinforcements.”
Blaine narrowed his eyes, going back and forth from Eric to the bag a few times. “I am not getting high with you.”
An hour later, Blaine was on his back on the floor, counting the cracks in his ceiling and giggling. “Pass it back, man,” he said between laughs.
“The joint or the bag of Cheetos?”
“The joint, duh,” Blaine said rolling his eyes. Eric passed it off and Blaine sucked in a lungful of smoke before passing it back. “He just has the perfect eyes,” Blaine said dreamily as he exhaled. “You could see for miles in them. Like…the whole universe is in there. In his face. His insanely gorgeous face.”
“Oh God, please stop,” Eric moaned. He was sprawled halfway across Blaine’s stomach and he turned his face so his sharp nose was poking uncomfortably into Blaine’s ribs.
“People aren’t supposed to be perfect like that, are they?” Blaine continued, not hearing Eric or not caring. “Even his dick is perfect. How is that possible? They aren’t even really nice looking but his is just--”
Eric made a strangled sound and pushed his face further into Blaine’s stomach as if that would make his ears close up. “I don’t want to hear you wax poetical about your ex-boyfriend’s dick, Anderson. Please don’t. For the love of all that is holy.”
“You don’t even know, Eric. You don’t. Even. Know,” Blaine said with a ridiculous sincerity, reaching down to pat the top of Eric’s head. “His cock is just so pretty. It’s long and thin, like he is and it tastes…I can’t even describe it. But it just like…it’s everything, you know. I just wanted to suck it all the time. Just the weight of it on my tongue…God. Fuck. It was the best thing ever.”
“I am having sexual thoughts about Kurt Hummel now. I will never, ever forgive you as long as I live,” Eric groaned, punching Blaine half-heartedly in the shoulder and rolling his face along Blaine’s hip as if that would clear it from having unwanted images.
Blaine became aware of three things very quickly. The first was that talking about Kurt’s cock was getting him hard. The second was that Eric’s nose was brushing against his hard on. The third thing was that, fuck, he was going to sleep with Eric. God damn it.
Eric seemed to become aware of Blaine’s erection around the same time Blaine did and after shooting Blaine an amused glance, he nuzzled it, humming lightly.
“That isn’t for you,” Blaine muttered, trying to slap Eric’s head away, no matter how nice that felt. He really didn’t want to give in to Eric. He didn’t want to give the jerk the satisfaction.
“I know. It’s for Kurt’s magical glitter cock. But I’m going to take advantage of it anyway,” Eric said, twisting so he could rest his chin on Blaine’s hip. He started fiddling with the belt of Blaine’s robe.
Blaine half-heartedly pushed his hands away. “I hate you.”
“I know, darling. I hate you too,” Eric replied brightly. Blaine grimaced and continued to try and push Eric away. Eric sighed and grabbed Blaine’s wrists. “Blaine. I can’t suck your dick if you keep hitting me.”
“God, fine,” Blaine huffed, rolling his eyes.
Eric let out a breathy laugh and dropped Blaine’s wrists and went to undo the belt’s knot. “A blow job isn’t torture, Blaine. Chill.”
Blaine shivered a little as Eric pulled the robe open, partly from cold but mostly out of some kind of anticipation. It had really been a long, long time. He groaned louder than he intended to when he felt Eric’s hand slid down his cock. “Fuck,” Blaine muttered, arching into the touch. Just having a hand on him that wasn’t his own felt incredible.
“Chill,” Eric said again, gently, sinking his teeth lightly into Blaine’s hip. He ran the fingers of his free hand through the dark curling hair that trailed down from Blaine’s navel, tugging at it a little, drawing a strangled gasp out of Blaine.
“God damn tease,” Blaine ground out when he felt Eric’s warm breath hit the head of his cock, one hand reaching out to fist in Eric’s hair.
“You wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart,” Eric hummed happily. Blaine was about to retort, but then Eric had to go and be a magnificent bastard and take at least half of Blaine’s length into his mouth without any warning. Blaine threw his head back, thumping it against the carpet hard enough for it to hurt, but not enough for Blaine to care at all. All he could really care about was the wonderful hot wet pressure as Eric sucked. It took every ounce of will power he had not to shove Eric’s head further down on his dick because it had been seven God damn months and he could hardly remember anything feeling this good. Blaine’s fingers tightened in Eric’s hair, tugging at it roughly. Not that Eric seemed to mind. He hummed and wrapped his tongue around the head of Blaine’s cock.
“Holy fucking fuck,” Blaine breathed, unable to keep himself from jerking his hips up, fingers holding onto Eric’s head like his life depended on it. Eric caught Blaine’s eye (which-- hot) and fucking winked. Blaine made some incoherent noise in the back of his throat and closed his eyes because that was the only thing he could think to do to keep from coming right that instant. Luckily, or not, depending on how you look at it, Eric seemed to sense that same thing and tightened his fist around the base of Blaine’s cock to stave off orgasm for a little longer.
Eric gave Blaine one last lingering suck and popped off of Blaine’s dick with a lewd, moist sound that made Blaine moan. “It really has been too long, Blaine. You poor thing.” He kissed the head of Blaine’s dick almost primly.
“Yes, my life is pain and horror,” Blaine muttered. “Weren’t you doing something?”
Eric laughed, the breath ghosting across Blaine’s spit slicked dick and making him jerk. Which just made Eric laugh more. Fucking asshole. “Look who’s all eager now.” Blaine tugged violently at Eric’s hair, and Eric yelped. “You are such a bitch,” Eric said with a fond grin.
“God fucking damn it, Amparo, are you going to blow me or--” Blaine started before his words turned into a long, low moan as Eric’s mouth once more descended on Blaine, wet and messy and perfect. Eric pushed at Blaine’s hip with his free hand, trying to still the occasional erratic thrust that Blaine couldn’t help while Blaine settled for keeping a grip on Eric’s hair and just going along for the ride. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem destined to last for too much longer, because Eric grinned around Blaine’s cock and just went for it. Blaine didn’t know what was better, the feeling of Eric taking Blaine deep into his throat or the sight of it. He was sure he could construct pretty good arguments for both, but he couldn’t think about it for too long. Because, well. Eric’s nose was almost touching his stomach and Blaine could feel a little gust of breath as Eric breathed through his nose. Blaine shuddered and knew he had to be babbling the most inane shit, but he couldn’t even care because holy fuck this was amazing. Eric looked up at him with twinkling eyes like he was the one who was getting his cock sucked and not the other way around. Then the bastard ever so gently scraped his teeth along the top of Blaine’s dick and Blaine couldn’t hold back any longer. He came with something very near a scream, thrusting deeply into Eric’s mouth.
He flopped bonelessly back to the carpet when it was over, drifting pleasantly in the afterglow. Time was passing but he wasn’t sure how much, and just laid there, sprawled out naked in his living room and so blissed out he couldn’t even begin to give a fuck about the fact that he should be returning the favor. Eventually, Eric swam into his line of vision, perched over him on his elbows and grinning impossibly wide. “I fucking rock,” Eric said gleefully, bending down to press a strangely chaste kiss to Blaine’s lips.
“You are a god among men,” Blaine deadpanned, Eric’s smug attitude pretty effectively killing his orgasm high.
“Yep,” Eric agreed happily, nipping at Blaine’s collarbone.
Blaine rolled his eyes and shoved Eric off of him, sitting up wondering where that joint had gotten off to. Eric seemed to read his mind and got it out of the makeshift ashtray (an old Starbucks lid). “You killed my high, you smug asshole.”
“Oh mercy. What a pity.” Eric was still grinning like the cat that ate the canary and it was as infuriating and attractive as ever. “And here I thought you’d like to get a little better acquainted with my asshole.”
“You…what?” Blaine asked, joint hanging off his bottom lip, forgotten.
“Oh nothing,” Eric said, waving the thought away with a hand. He grabbed the lighter and lit the tip of the joint. Blaine sucked on it reflexively, never tearing his eyes away from Eric. “Just thought you might want to fuck me over the kitchen table.” With that Eric shrugged and stood up. Blaine was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open unattractively, but luckily Eric wasn’t paying attention. What he was doing was sauntering toward the kitchen. And taking off his clothes as he went.
“I fucking hate you,” Blaine called after him when he could get his mouth to work again. Most of Blaine (and most of all his dick) wanted to get up and run after Eric, but the stubborn part of Blaine didn’t want to let the bastard win so easily. So he took a few more puffs off the joint and watched through the window as the streetlight flickered on and off in an strange constant kind of pattern.
“Blaine,” Eric called from inside the kitchen. “Hurry your ass up.” Blaine smirked, loving the raw kind of sound to his voice.
“In a minute,” Blaine replied sweetly, sliding back to the floor and focusing on counting the cracks in the ceiling and not how much he wanted to bolt into the kitchen and fuck Eric as hard as he was capable. It was hard not to think about though, how light from the street would be cutting through the blinds and making patterns across Eric’s back as he bent over the table. Blaine shuddered, and bit his lip against a moan.
“What the fuck are you doing out there?” Eric said after some more time had passed, sounding a little more desperate.
“Thinking about you,” Blaine said, figuring the honesty would be enough of a tease.
Blaine heard Eric huff angrily. “You don’t really have to think about it, Blaine. I’m right the fuck in here.” Blaine only hummed in reply, closing his eyes and daring to let his fingers slide teasingly up and down his rapidly hardening dick. Serves the smug bastard right.
“Blaine, would you just get in here and fuck me already?” Eric cried after another lengthy silence sounding angry and turned on and really fucking needy. Which was kind of exactly what Blaine was hoping for. Blaine sprung to his feet and nearly fucking pranced into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite expecting to see Eric bent over the table top with two fingers in his ass, but it was kind of a nice surprise.
“I would have done that for you,” Blaine said as matter of fact as he could, even though his brain was close to fizzling out with how hot the imagery was. Eric turned his head to look at him but didn’t stop pumping his fingers in and out of himself, brow creased in concentration. It was possibly one of the hottest things Blaine had seen in his entire life.
“You were taking your sweet ass time,” Eric said in between short, gasping breaths. “You stupid bitch.”
Blaine would have rolled his eyes if he could get his brain to think of anything but sex at the moment. It wasn’t going to happen. Eric let out a stuttered little moan and Blaine’s dick twitched. Working hard to keep his breathing even to keep himself from getting to excited too quickly, Blaine took the few more steps he needed to so he could wrap his hands solidly around Eric’s hips. He squeezed tightly which made Eric moan again, this time louder and a little needier. Smirking, Blaine pressed himself up against Eric’s ass and bent over him to lick up the line of his spine. Eric’s body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to surge forward to relieve the pressure on his cock or back up against Blaine and tried to do both at the same time. He just about whined, and Blaine couldn’t help but laugh and sink his teeth into Eric’s shoulder.
“You stupid, stupid fuck,” Eric moaned wantonly, and Blaine ground his erection against Eric’s ass. “You are such a-” Eric was cut off when Blaine slid a spit slick finger into Eric to join the two fingers he already had there. “Jesus.”
“Name’s Blaine, actually,” Blaine breathed against Eric’s back, pleased when his eyes caught where Eric had set a bottle of lube, and helpfully, an open condom packet. Eric clearly wanted to say something in response, but Blaine pushed one more finger in and whatever retort Eric had was lost in a deep, guttural groan.
It was a little awkward, but Blaine managed to get the condom on one handed and slicked himself up with some lube without having to stop pumping his fingers in and out of Eric. Who seemed to be falling apart as much as Blaine had earlier, which was delicious to watch. No wonder Eric had been so fucking smug afterward. “You are a prick and will you please just fuck me for the love of God,” Eric burst out suddenly, the words all blending together.
But Blaine got the meaning quick enough. He slid his fingers out and watched as Eric followed suit. Blaine could almost feel his mouth water, just looking at Eric. Just as he imagined, the streetlights were throwing patterns across Eric’s skin and he was panting hotly, gripping the table tightly and pushing his ass out desperately. Blaine wrapped his hands around Eric’s hips again, and Eric’s breath caught in anticipation. That was the only warning he got before Blaine was pushing into him in a slow, steady way, not pausing until he was fully seated.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eric chanted earnestly, shifting ever closer and closer even if he couldn’t get any closer to Blaine than he already was.
“Shut up,” Blaine ground out. While the blow job earlier had helped, Blaine still had seven months of celibacy to get over and he had to concentrate really hard to keep from coming just at the incredible tightness all around him. He laid against Eric’s back and panted hotly against the back of Eric’s neck. Eric nearly whimpered at the sensation.
“Are you going to move anytime soon?” Eric breathed out eventually. Blaine could feel that every muscle in Eric’s back was tense with need. And God, it felt good to be needed like that. He licked up some of the sweat clinging to Eric’s back. Eric made a sound halfway between a sob and a moan. “Dick.”
“Eric. Shut up.”
“I will when you actually try fucking me and not just…hanging out back there.” Eric jerked his hips back as if to remind Blaine where the hell he was at the moment.
“Patience is a virtue,” Blaine smirked, tightening his hands on Eric’s hips and pushing himself into a more upright position.
“I will fucking murder you,” Eric muttered darkly, twisting his head to give Blaine the evilest glare he could muster. Eric looked about to launch into another tirade, but Blaine pulled out and thrust back in with a swiftness and power that caught Eric off guard. He arched off the table a little, but Blaine pushed him back down, moving one hand to fit between Eric’s shoulder blades and press him down. Eric’s whole body shuddered and he clenched tightly around Blaine which made Blaine moan in surprise.
Blaine had such nice plans for drawing the whole encounter out, making Eric beg for it even more, but it was all too much- the way Eric looked like some wanton god there in the dim lighting, the muscles in his back rippling. And he was just so tight and hot and Blaine had forgotten how powerful the feelings were when you were inside someone like that. Groaning low in his throat, Blaine forgot plans of sweet torture and set a brutal pace, hard and rough. The table groaned a little with the force of it, and so did Eric, though his groans were louder and they swirled around in Blaine’s head, making him just as high as the weed was.
“Touch me, fuck, so close,” Eric bit out between gasps and moans, rolling as much as he could to meet Blaine’s thrusts with the same intensity they were given with. Blaine grunted in response, not trusting himself to say much of anything else. He slipped his hand off of Eric’s back and under him to wrap around Eric’s neglected cock. “Yes, yes, fuck,” Eric babbled appreciatively. It took three good strokes for Eric to explode. Eric moaned his name, low and utterly wrecked, and Blaine had warm cum on his fingers and that was enough for Blaine to follow him over that edge.
Blaine collapsed against Eric’s back, gasping desperately for breath. For a long time there was nothing but the sound of their shaky breathing. And then Eric elbowed Blaine in the ribs and the afterglow was gone. Blaine made a discontent sound and pulled out, smacking Eric’s ass soundly with one hand as he walked over to find a wash cloth to wipe them off with. “You are scarily good at topping for such a little guy,” Eric said with a breathy laugh.
Well, there went gently cleaning Eric up. Blaine threw the wash cloth in Eric’s face and gave him the finger. “I am not little. I’m fucking awesome,” Blaine said primly. Well, as primly as one could when one was naked in their kitchen and thoroughly fucked out.
“Whatever you say, pumpkin,” Eric replied before tossing the cloth back and padding back out to the living room. Blaine followed him and when Eric arranged himself on the futon, Blaine curled in next to him. “Get away from me. It’s too hot to cuddle,” Eric complained, pushing at Blaine’s shoulder.
“Shut up,” Blaine said again, soft and full of affection, clinging to Eric and throwing a leg over his hip and slipping into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Blaine awoke to the sound of power tools. He jumped up off the futon and was by the front door before he realized- hello, very naked. The two men working on installing a new door did not take that much time to realize there was a naked man in their midst. Blaine gave them a cheery wave and fled into the nearest hiding place. Which was the kitchen.
Blaine gazed at the table a little longingly, before he realized one more thing that was wrong with his morning. “Eric?” Blaine called. There was no answer but the whine of a power drill. “Come on, you fucking dick.” Just power tools.
Then Blaine saw there was a new box sitting next to the sink. Blaine glared at it, as if daring it to do something to him. Nothing happened. It was still there, a lonely iPhone box with a Post-it note on top. Blaine read the note, didn’t know if he should laugh or cry, so he did both.
Next time you want to have a emo freak out, give me a call before you do something stupid. And stop worrying, everyone knows you and Kurt will be sparkly gay special snowflakes forever, so suck it up, be patient and it will all work out.
Oh, and you're welcome for all of that world rocking I did last night.
-Eric