Secrets. Part 3. Settling in the Knowledge
Settling in the Knowledge by judearaya
When Blaine lets himself into his room that night, it’s with a smile so big it hurts his face. It’s late, later then he’d usually be coming in. Thankfully his roommate, Tom, is still down at dinner, and, for the moment, Blaine has the room to himself. Still smiling, Blaine busies himself with changing out of his uniform, pulling out comfortable fleece pants and a long sleeved Dalton t-shirt. His movements are just short of mechanical; his mind so far from this room, still wrapped up in him. In Kurt.
The way Kurt had tasted, like coffee and surprise; Kurt’s lips which were impossibly soft, softer even than he’d allowed himself to imagine, wracked with guilt and shame. But now; Blaine’s smile, if possible, is even bigger. Because now he can imagine. Better - he can experience. Now it’s allowed, Kurt is his boyfriend; a thought which makes Blaine feel almost too warm, tingling and thrumming, skin trembling and too sensitive.
A glance at the clock tells Blaine that Tom will be back soon; for a moment Blaine stands, biting his lip and debating with himself. Giving in, he grabs a fresh pair of boxers and his towel, shuffling into their en suite bathroom to start up the shower. He needs a few minutes alone, just a few, to relive those moments with Kurt in the commons room. His skin still feels thin, stretched and exposed, his body so aware of its own nerve endings, sparking desperately with the ghosting memory of Kurt’s tentative fingers trailing along his jaw, over his lips, along his neck. Blaine is turned on and inside out and undone by his newly acquired knowledge, of Kurt’s body - long and thin and so much stronger than he lets on, of Kurt’s smell which is delicious and tempting and heady.
Blaine steps into the shower, closing his eyes against the spray, hand already on his aching cock. He’s been desperately hard for hours now, ever since that first kiss. There is some part of himself, the part that is struggling to change gears, that still feels guilty. That wants to chastise him for this, for the fantasy of Kurt’s mouth, which had been soft and tentative at the crook of his jaw, behind his ear. Only now, alone in the shower, fingers trembling and squeezing at the head of his dick, Kurt’s lips are there. Stretched thin and pink and so hotwetright, sucking him down.
He leans against the cool wall of the shower, feeling his too hot skin begin to settle, cock throbbing in time with his hands movements. I can do this, he tells himself. It’s allowed, he’s my boyfriend. It as if his mind is waiting for permission, the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place, because at the admission a jolt of lust, hard and aching, bolts through him. Blaine groans quietly, turning his face into the cold wall, hand now moving desperately over his erection. He wants to take his time, to make it last, but knows he’ll never manage that. His last thought before seizing up, before clenching around his release, is that it’s ok. He can do this as much as he wants now, the image of his fingers around Kurt’s cock, or god, even his lips; Kurt’s face, what it will look like just then, at that moment- anything he wants, really. Because it is allowed now. He’s safe in these thoughts now.
He is safe.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It’s late by the time Kurt makes it home- past dinner. Not that he minds; he’ll gladly be late for every meal if he has reasons as good as these. He’s still floating somewhere three feet above his body, amazed and bewildered and not quite sure that any of what had transpired was…well, real. He’d at least had the presence of mind to let his Dad know he’d be late, citing practicing for his duet as an excuse.
Thankfully, his father assumes the incessant smile on his face is due to the solo he’s been granted, and doesn’t ask too many questions. Kurt wants to tell his father about Blaine, but just not now. Not before he’s sure. Not before he’s had time to think and relive and settle into the knowledge that Blaine is his. His boyfriend, his best friend, his Blaine.
Kurt eats the dinner Burt saved for him in the semi dark of the kitchen, standing over the counter and talking to his father absently, somewhat silent, still thinking about Blaine. By the time he finishes, his father is wearing a sort of amused expression that Kurt can’t quite place. Not in the mood for guessing games, Kurt shrugs it off, wishing his father goodnight before taking his messenger bag up to his room. The house around him is quiet, his room still. Diligently, Kurt pulls out his books, reminding himself that he has an essay for American History that needs finishing, not to mention he has at least two chapters of reading due for his English class.
But the call of his bed is too much to resist. Kurt settles into his pillows with a happy sigh. Now that there isn’t anyone to judge or see, he lets his face split with a smile, rolling over to bury his face in a pillow. An entirely undignified giggle escapes him and honestly, he could care less. Because tonight Blaine kissed him, oh and kissed and kissed him. Kurt’s lips feel used and a little chapped, but in the most delicious way. He’s well aware of every part of his neck that Blaine’s lips and tentative fingers had touched, and remembering, finds his fingers tracing gentle and slow against his skin. Behind his eyes the image plays; the way their hands fit just right, tangled together when they’d taken a break from kissing, breathing each other in so close. The way his heart had felt, squeezed tight and so happy, a kind of happy that was entirely new to Kurt, when Blaine had asked if he’d be his boyfriend. His boyfriend.
And, oh the kisses that had followed that had been so, so much. In the most terrifying way, almost too much. Long and wet, with his hands behind Blaine’s neck and Blaine’s hands gripping him sure and strong at the waist, the heat of his fingers seeping though Kurt’s uniform sweater and into his skin until he’d felt flushed and turned inside out, trembling all over, turned on and desperately happy.
Remembering this in his bed Kurt finds himself nearly as turned on as he’d been then. He doesn’t want to stop thinking about Blaine, his smell and his fingers and ohmygod the way his tongue had felt, tracing the line of Kurt’s lips, but he has to. He knows he has to stop because he’s so turned on, again. Way too turned on and it feels all kinds of wrong. Wanting to kiss Blaine, his boyfriend, is ok now, it’s allowed, he reasons. But they’ve only just started this thing, whatever this thing between them is.
Kurt swallows, looking guiltily around his room. He’s so wound up- enough to know that he’ll go to bed aching and desperate unless he takes care of it, which he just can’t. Because now knows Blaine’s mouth, the shape and texture of his lips. There is no way he’ll be able to do…that…now, not without picturing Blaine’s lips on his, on his neck, traveling down his body-
Kurt sits abruptly, hugging his knees to his chest, feeling ashamed and dirty. Blaine trusts him, and wanting more, thinking about more than they’ve done- is tantamount to pushing, isn’t it? At least until they’ve been together longer, when they have a better idea of their boundaries, it just feels inappropriate, almost expectant or somehow devious. Fantasizing about Blaine’s fingers, or god, his mouth...there; on him- is just wrong now. Feeling this, thinking these things, makes Kurt feel like one of those guys, those guys who push for more. He feels like some sort of sex crazed pervert and god, Blaine deserves so much more respect than to be fodder for his deviant masturbatory fantasies.
Determined to put these memories, though so sweet and incredible, out of his head, Kurt pulls out his Algebra homework. Because there’s nothing like doing math to cool a boy down, he reasons. Staunchly, he works his way through his homework, late into the night, hoping to exhaust himself into oblivion. Every time his thoughts wander toward Blaine, even the most innocent ones, he has to snap himself out of it, has to remind himself that he isn’t a pervert, remind himself of the trust that Blaine has in him. Because he knows now, can feel that even the memory of Blaine’s hand in his will be too much temptation for his overloaded senses to handle.
At first, Kurt’s plan seems to work, insofar as he is able to go to bed in relative peace. He stares into the dark of his room, counting backwards from 1000, keeping his mind occupied and bored. Exhausted, he finally slips into sleep just past midnight.
But it’s a useless endeavor, in the end, because come morning, Kurt wakes with a gasp, his throbbing, too sensitive skin still pulsing against the sheets, slammed hard into the most delicious and torturous orgasm of his life. Disgusted and overwhelmed, he breathes through it, trying to calm his heart and divest his brain of the images which are too real now, far too real. Because now he knows, knows more and even better. The shape of Blaine’s lips, the taste that lingers just inside them. Knows how his own body vibrates, coming alive at the hint of teeth, edged and hard, against his collarbone. Knows the weight of Blaine’s fingers, soaking heat and wanting through his skin and into his bones.
He knows these things now, after just one night, just one hour with Blaine. Simple kisses, easy touches, and his brain has taken this new input and absolutely run with it. Run away and twisted and perverted some of the best memories and moments in his life, so that lips trailing along his neck in life became more in his dreams, became lips closed over his cock, wet and hot and-
Rolling over to stare at the ceiling, Kurt bites his lip, struggling with the prickle of tears. All that work, exhausting himself last night, for nothing. And why, why can’t he stop this, why can’t he help himself? Kurt knows he isn’t a bad guy, he’s sure of this, in his heart. His heart that trusts Blaine, that is full of admiration for him, that would never do anything to hurt Blaine, ever.
But his body, his traitorous body, full of wanting and shameless with it, seems insistent on betraying him. Making him something he isn’t. Making him powerless and so, so wrong. Every time Finn or Puck or any of the guys at school have shied away from his touch, have insinuated that his being gay is somehow makes him a predator- don’t these sorts of thought just prove them right? He’s always consoled himself with the knowledge that they are mistaken, that he wants the same things as everyone else- love and companionship and acceptance. Only now he has those things and he’s making it all wrong, thinking these things, and he’s scared. So scared that if he cannot control himself, somehow, everyone else will have been right all along.
Kurt’s alarm goes off suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. With a grimace, he peels himself out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom and trying his best to scrub the guilt from his skin. He has to face Blaine today, and he wants to do it with a clean conscience. Without the memory of his dreams hovering over his skin, lasting images of dream Blaine, tense and gorgeous, spread out and shameless, for him. Naked and aroused, warm skin and wanton touches, receptive and responsive to each light press of Kurt’s lips and fingers. But he can’t, he cannot get through his day, cannot look Blaine in the eye with this dream pressing and curling into him.
Everything that has seemed right, that had felt good in that dream, feels shameful to him now, so, so overwhelming. Right now, all Kurt wants is something simple. He closes his eyes against the too hot spray of the shower, thinking of walking into school and being able to take Blaine’s hand. To hold it as they walk to their morning classes, easy and sure.
And that’s all that he really wants. Right now, just that and nothing more. Just the ability to hold hands with the boy he likes, to show him in simple ways that he cares. Kurt rinses the conditioner from his hair, setting his shoulders. He’ll do it. Somehow he will manage to put the proper face on, he’ll manage to be a good boyfriend. A boyfriend who respects Blaine, one who would never dream of pushing, of violating Blaine’s trust in him with these sorts of predatory thoughts late into the night.
By the time Kurt is dressed and on his way to the car, he’s managed to talk himself around. He’ll do better, he promises himself. He’ll work harder to rid himself of these dreams, of these desires before either of them are ready- especially before Blaine is ready. He’ll be the best boyfriend he can be to Blaine. Because with Blaine, he feels safe, and he wants- no needs Blaine to feel safe with him.
So when Blaine greets him outside the big doors leading into Dalton, a steaming coffee in hand, Kurt can’t help but smile. And he feels it when they looked at each other, when Blaine leans in to kiss him, gentle and a little tentative, on the lips. It’s warmth, and tenderness, and everything just right. Kurt breathes into the cold morning air, eyes light and happy as he looks at Blaine, so close, and everything is better. Settled and good and most of all, relieved. In the wake of that dream, he’s been terrified, scared to see Blaine and feel what he’d felt in his sleep; desperate and preying and wanting, that thrumming of moremoremore pulsing and wrecking through him. Scared that seeing Blaine would be enough to undo him, images of imagined flesh, of fingers and lips everywhere, hands pushing past boundaries his waking brain won’t even let him contemplate yet.
Instead, he experiences a wave of protectiveness and warmth; something dangerously close to love, even if it’s far too soon for words like that. And it might be, but love is such the better option, so much safer than everything else he’s been feeling.
Blaine’s hand is outstretched toward his, smile brighter than the sunrise behind the peaked rooftop above them, and Kurt smiles, winding his fingers through Blaine’s, feeling thankful. Because he know now that he can pack it away, fold his dirty little secrets deep into his self, leaving room for this, for tenderness and almost love. He’s holding Blaine’s hand and it’s all he could ask for, so much more than enough; right then, it’s everything. Kurt exhales, a sharp cloud burst into the breaking morning. He can do this. Blaine won’t ever have to know how much further his imagination has already carried him; he is safe in that at least.
Until Blaine kisses him again, that is, or touches him again, he’ll be fine.
He’ll be safe.
When Blaine lets himself into his room that night, it’s with a smile so big it hurts his face. It’s late, later then he’d usually be coming in. Thankfully his roommate, Tom, is still down at dinner, and, for the moment, Blaine has the room to himself. Still smiling, Blaine busies himself with changing out of his uniform, pulling out comfortable fleece pants and a long sleeved Dalton t-shirt. His movements are just short of mechanical; his mind so far from this room, still wrapped up in him. In Kurt.
The way Kurt had tasted, like coffee and surprise; Kurt’s lips which were impossibly soft, softer even than he’d allowed himself to imagine, wracked with guilt and shame. But now; Blaine’s smile, if possible, is even bigger. Because now he can imagine. Better - he can experience. Now it’s allowed, Kurt is his boyfriend; a thought which makes Blaine feel almost too warm, tingling and thrumming, skin trembling and too sensitive.
A glance at the clock tells Blaine that Tom will be back soon; for a moment Blaine stands, biting his lip and debating with himself. Giving in, he grabs a fresh pair of boxers and his towel, shuffling into their en suite bathroom to start up the shower. He needs a few minutes alone, just a few, to relive those moments with Kurt in the commons room. His skin still feels thin, stretched and exposed, his body so aware of its own nerve endings, sparking desperately with the ghosting memory of Kurt’s tentative fingers trailing along his jaw, over his lips, along his neck. Blaine is turned on and inside out and undone by his newly acquired knowledge, of Kurt’s body - long and thin and so much stronger than he lets on, of Kurt’s smell which is delicious and tempting and heady.
Blaine steps into the shower, closing his eyes against the spray, hand already on his aching cock. He’s been desperately hard for hours now, ever since that first kiss. There is some part of himself, the part that is struggling to change gears, that still feels guilty. That wants to chastise him for this, for the fantasy of Kurt’s mouth, which had been soft and tentative at the crook of his jaw, behind his ear. Only now, alone in the shower, fingers trembling and squeezing at the head of his dick, Kurt’s lips are there. Stretched thin and pink and so hotwetright, sucking him down.
He leans against the cool wall of the shower, feeling his too hot skin begin to settle, cock throbbing in time with his hands movements. I can do this, he tells himself. It’s allowed, he’s my boyfriend. It as if his mind is waiting for permission, the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place, because at the admission a jolt of lust, hard and aching, bolts through him. Blaine groans quietly, turning his face into the cold wall, hand now moving desperately over his erection. He wants to take his time, to make it last, but knows he’ll never manage that. His last thought before seizing up, before clenching around his release, is that it’s ok. He can do this as much as he wants now, the image of his fingers around Kurt’s cock, or god, even his lips; Kurt’s face, what it will look like just then, at that moment- anything he wants, really. Because it is allowed now. He’s safe in these thoughts now.
He is safe.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It’s late by the time Kurt makes it home- past dinner. Not that he minds; he’ll gladly be late for every meal if he has reasons as good as these. He’s still floating somewhere three feet above his body, amazed and bewildered and not quite sure that any of what had transpired was…well, real. He’d at least had the presence of mind to let his Dad know he’d be late, citing practicing for his duet as an excuse.
Thankfully, his father assumes the incessant smile on his face is due to the solo he’s been granted, and doesn’t ask too many questions. Kurt wants to tell his father about Blaine, but just not now. Not before he’s sure. Not before he’s had time to think and relive and settle into the knowledge that Blaine is his. His boyfriend, his best friend, his Blaine.
Kurt eats the dinner Burt saved for him in the semi dark of the kitchen, standing over the counter and talking to his father absently, somewhat silent, still thinking about Blaine. By the time he finishes, his father is wearing a sort of amused expression that Kurt can’t quite place. Not in the mood for guessing games, Kurt shrugs it off, wishing his father goodnight before taking his messenger bag up to his room. The house around him is quiet, his room still. Diligently, Kurt pulls out his books, reminding himself that he has an essay for American History that needs finishing, not to mention he has at least two chapters of reading due for his English class.
But the call of his bed is too much to resist. Kurt settles into his pillows with a happy sigh. Now that there isn’t anyone to judge or see, he lets his face split with a smile, rolling over to bury his face in a pillow. An entirely undignified giggle escapes him and honestly, he could care less. Because tonight Blaine kissed him, oh and kissed and kissed him. Kurt’s lips feel used and a little chapped, but in the most delicious way. He’s well aware of every part of his neck that Blaine’s lips and tentative fingers had touched, and remembering, finds his fingers tracing gentle and slow against his skin. Behind his eyes the image plays; the way their hands fit just right, tangled together when they’d taken a break from kissing, breathing each other in so close. The way his heart had felt, squeezed tight and so happy, a kind of happy that was entirely new to Kurt, when Blaine had asked if he’d be his boyfriend. His boyfriend.
And, oh the kisses that had followed that had been so, so much. In the most terrifying way, almost too much. Long and wet, with his hands behind Blaine’s neck and Blaine’s hands gripping him sure and strong at the waist, the heat of his fingers seeping though Kurt’s uniform sweater and into his skin until he’d felt flushed and turned inside out, trembling all over, turned on and desperately happy.
Remembering this in his bed Kurt finds himself nearly as turned on as he’d been then. He doesn’t want to stop thinking about Blaine, his smell and his fingers and ohmygod the way his tongue had felt, tracing the line of Kurt’s lips, but he has to. He knows he has to stop because he’s so turned on, again. Way too turned on and it feels all kinds of wrong. Wanting to kiss Blaine, his boyfriend, is ok now, it’s allowed, he reasons. But they’ve only just started this thing, whatever this thing between them is.
Kurt swallows, looking guiltily around his room. He’s so wound up- enough to know that he’ll go to bed aching and desperate unless he takes care of it, which he just can’t. Because now knows Blaine’s mouth, the shape and texture of his lips. There is no way he’ll be able to do…that…now, not without picturing Blaine’s lips on his, on his neck, traveling down his body-
Kurt sits abruptly, hugging his knees to his chest, feeling ashamed and dirty. Blaine trusts him, and wanting more, thinking about more than they’ve done- is tantamount to pushing, isn’t it? At least until they’ve been together longer, when they have a better idea of their boundaries, it just feels inappropriate, almost expectant or somehow devious. Fantasizing about Blaine’s fingers, or god, his mouth...there; on him- is just wrong now. Feeling this, thinking these things, makes Kurt feel like one of those guys, those guys who push for more. He feels like some sort of sex crazed pervert and god, Blaine deserves so much more respect than to be fodder for his deviant masturbatory fantasies.
Determined to put these memories, though so sweet and incredible, out of his head, Kurt pulls out his Algebra homework. Because there’s nothing like doing math to cool a boy down, he reasons. Staunchly, he works his way through his homework, late into the night, hoping to exhaust himself into oblivion. Every time his thoughts wander toward Blaine, even the most innocent ones, he has to snap himself out of it, has to remind himself that he isn’t a pervert, remind himself of the trust that Blaine has in him. Because he knows now, can feel that even the memory of Blaine’s hand in his will be too much temptation for his overloaded senses to handle.
At first, Kurt’s plan seems to work, insofar as he is able to go to bed in relative peace. He stares into the dark of his room, counting backwards from 1000, keeping his mind occupied and bored. Exhausted, he finally slips into sleep just past midnight.
But it’s a useless endeavor, in the end, because come morning, Kurt wakes with a gasp, his throbbing, too sensitive skin still pulsing against the sheets, slammed hard into the most delicious and torturous orgasm of his life. Disgusted and overwhelmed, he breathes through it, trying to calm his heart and divest his brain of the images which are too real now, far too real. Because now he knows, knows more and even better. The shape of Blaine’s lips, the taste that lingers just inside them. Knows how his own body vibrates, coming alive at the hint of teeth, edged and hard, against his collarbone. Knows the weight of Blaine’s fingers, soaking heat and wanting through his skin and into his bones.
He knows these things now, after just one night, just one hour with Blaine. Simple kisses, easy touches, and his brain has taken this new input and absolutely run with it. Run away and twisted and perverted some of the best memories and moments in his life, so that lips trailing along his neck in life became more in his dreams, became lips closed over his cock, wet and hot and-
Rolling over to stare at the ceiling, Kurt bites his lip, struggling with the prickle of tears. All that work, exhausting himself last night, for nothing. And why, why can’t he stop this, why can’t he help himself? Kurt knows he isn’t a bad guy, he’s sure of this, in his heart. His heart that trusts Blaine, that is full of admiration for him, that would never do anything to hurt Blaine, ever.
But his body, his traitorous body, full of wanting and shameless with it, seems insistent on betraying him. Making him something he isn’t. Making him powerless and so, so wrong. Every time Finn or Puck or any of the guys at school have shied away from his touch, have insinuated that his being gay is somehow makes him a predator- don’t these sorts of thought just prove them right? He’s always consoled himself with the knowledge that they are mistaken, that he wants the same things as everyone else- love and companionship and acceptance. Only now he has those things and he’s making it all wrong, thinking these things, and he’s scared. So scared that if he cannot control himself, somehow, everyone else will have been right all along.
Kurt’s alarm goes off suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. With a grimace, he peels himself out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom and trying his best to scrub the guilt from his skin. He has to face Blaine today, and he wants to do it with a clean conscience. Without the memory of his dreams hovering over his skin, lasting images of dream Blaine, tense and gorgeous, spread out and shameless, for him. Naked and aroused, warm skin and wanton touches, receptive and responsive to each light press of Kurt’s lips and fingers. But he can’t, he cannot get through his day, cannot look Blaine in the eye with this dream pressing and curling into him.
Everything that has seemed right, that had felt good in that dream, feels shameful to him now, so, so overwhelming. Right now, all Kurt wants is something simple. He closes his eyes against the too hot spray of the shower, thinking of walking into school and being able to take Blaine’s hand. To hold it as they walk to their morning classes, easy and sure.
And that’s all that he really wants. Right now, just that and nothing more. Just the ability to hold hands with the boy he likes, to show him in simple ways that he cares. Kurt rinses the conditioner from his hair, setting his shoulders. He’ll do it. Somehow he will manage to put the proper face on, he’ll manage to be a good boyfriend. A boyfriend who respects Blaine, one who would never dream of pushing, of violating Blaine’s trust in him with these sorts of predatory thoughts late into the night.
By the time Kurt is dressed and on his way to the car, he’s managed to talk himself around. He’ll do better, he promises himself. He’ll work harder to rid himself of these dreams, of these desires before either of them are ready- especially before Blaine is ready. He’ll be the best boyfriend he can be to Blaine. Because with Blaine, he feels safe, and he wants- no needs Blaine to feel safe with him.
So when Blaine greets him outside the big doors leading into Dalton, a steaming coffee in hand, Kurt can’t help but smile. And he feels it when they looked at each other, when Blaine leans in to kiss him, gentle and a little tentative, on the lips. It’s warmth, and tenderness, and everything just right. Kurt breathes into the cold morning air, eyes light and happy as he looks at Blaine, so close, and everything is better. Settled and good and most of all, relieved. In the wake of that dream, he’s been terrified, scared to see Blaine and feel what he’d felt in his sleep; desperate and preying and wanting, that thrumming of moremoremore pulsing and wrecking through him. Scared that seeing Blaine would be enough to undo him, images of imagined flesh, of fingers and lips everywhere, hands pushing past boundaries his waking brain won’t even let him contemplate yet.
Instead, he experiences a wave of protectiveness and warmth; something dangerously close to love, even if it’s far too soon for words like that. And it might be, but love is such the better option, so much safer than everything else he’s been feeling.
Blaine’s hand is outstretched toward his, smile brighter than the sunrise behind the peaked rooftop above them, and Kurt smiles, winding his fingers through Blaine’s, feeling thankful. Because he know now that he can pack it away, fold his dirty little secrets deep into his self, leaving room for this, for tenderness and almost love. He’s holding Blaine’s hand and it’s all he could ask for, so much more than enough; right then, it’s everything. Kurt exhales, a sharp cloud burst into the breaking morning. He can do this. Blaine won’t ever have to know how much further his imagination has already carried him; he is safe in that at least.
Until Blaine kisses him again, that is, or touches him again, he’ll be fine.
He’ll be safe.