Happy Holidays Reremouse!
Title: (does anybody know) how to hold my heart
Author/Artist: to be revealed January 3rd, 2012
Warnings: brief mention of suicide.
Word Count: 10,886
Summary: Kurt and Blaine, early adventures in trusting each other.
Notes: Happy holidays, reremouse! I’d like to apologize in advance for this fic, I hope you like it! A huge thanks to J and N for the beta reading, and title comes from Hold My Heart by Sara Bareilles.
On Thursday night, Blaine says, “Trust me,” and it makes Kurt’s head spin. It’s the night before Sectionals, and Kurt’s nervous but he’s trying his best not to let it show. They’re still so new at this, being boyfriends, and sometimes Kurt catches Blaine watching him and it strikes him that he has a boyfriend, Blaine is his boyfriend, and it’s terrifying. Blaine, having now finished practicing his choreography, settles down on the couch and reaches for Kurt’s hand.
“Trust me,” Blaine repeats, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “We are going to be so amazing at this.” His enthusiasm is contagious, and Kurt finds himself smiling.
“I hope so,” he says. Blaine is running a soothing thumb over his hands, tracing concentric circles. Kurt thinks about how summer will be this year – in his mind he can vaguely see Blaine in the middle of the garage – Blaine doesn’t really fit in at the garage, with his too-neat hair and his neatly-pressed pants, but Kurt imagines him with elbow grease smeared on his cheek and shirt sleeves pushed up under his armpits as he attempts an oil change. It sends a jolt of fluttery feelings through Kurt, makes him wonder if he’s thinking too much too soon.
“It will.” Blaine’s always had that note of conviction. Kurt wonders what it would take for it to break and hopes, selfishly, that he’ll never hear it broken. “Trust me.”
That’s the third time he’s said it now. Kurt, by nature, doesn’t trust. If you’ve had a life like Kurt Hummel’s, you wouldn’t, either.
He says, “I do,” anyway, and he does – or at least, he thinks he does, for now.
Blaine turns his head to kiss him, their mouths slotting together a little clumsily. It’s funny, this hesitance – they’d fit so well unconsciously the first time they kissed, and Kurt remembers the blush of Blaine’s neck. He supposes it’s because they’re both too aware, too conscious, perhaps a little too afraid that they’ll screw it up somehow.
Blaine eases away and for a fleeting moment Kurt just wants to grip onto his forearms and keep him there, wants to lose himself in the feel of Blaine, the heat of his skin beneath the fabric of his dress shirt. Kurt almost jerks away, but catches himself at the last moment. His fingers are still curled tight against Blaine’s arm anyhow, and he breathes through his mouth as he relaxes them.
Kurt raises his eyes to meet Blaine’s but he’s distracted by the way Blaine pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites.
“We seem to be doing things backwards,” Kurt says, without further explanation because he knows Blaine gets it, and Blaine laughs. His eyes crinkle at the corners, Kurt notices for the millionth time.
Before their cue Blaine presses his fingers into Kurt’s shoulders reassuringly and tells him they’ll be amazing.
He grabs Blaine’s hand just as Blaine steps onto the stage, their hands hidden by the curtain, and Blaine squeezes back.
They don’t win, for an awful moment all Kurt can think is you lied to me, but then Blaine’s resting his head on Kurt’s shoulder and his breath tickles by Kurt’s ear. The second-place trophy is in Wes’s hands, and it’s quite impressive of its own right – Wes seems to think so, anyway, with the way his fingers ghost up and down like he’s imagining himself polishing it.
“Sorry,” Blaine says. “You were amazing.”
“So were you,” Kurt replies, and yes, of course Blaine was, of course he was. Kurt buries dreams of touring New York with Blaine, pushes champagne kisses out of his mind. Postpones, he tells himself.
“Do you still trust me?” Blaine says.
Kurt’s eyes flickers to Blaine’s mouth and he wants nothing more than to kiss him up against the wall in a crowded hallway.
“When have I not?” Kurt says, makes a joke out of it and says, “Even with the Gap Attack.”
“Even with the Gap Attack,” Blaine echoes, even though the mention of it makes him visibly blanch, and he shakes himself a little, still bouncing on the balls of his feet from performance energy. “You’re amazing.”
Kurt wonders if he’ll ever get used to hearing Blaine say that. Ahead, Wes is signaling for them to gather. “You still owe me dinner, Blaine Warbler.”
It’s terrifying in actuality, having a boyfriend. There are things to think about – protocols, things they can and cannot say, things they can and cannot do, boundaries and hoping that the other is on the same page. Kurt does his worrying at night in bed, buries his face in his pillow to smother the giggles, cups his hands over his mouth to muffle his voice, and then he remembers all over again – Blaine’s slept in this bed.
It might be a little silly and it’s probably not something he would confess to Blaine, but Kurt thinks he’s allowed this, anyhow.
“We got each other out of all this,” Blaine says. “That beats a lousy trophy, don’t you think?”
He holds out his hand, and Kurt wonders if he knows, wonders if he’ll ever tell him – hands are so important, hands are the most important.
Blaine has a scar on the inside of his palm, a fine white line that runs diagonally. He likes to curl his fingers to hide it, Kurt’s noticed, like he’s guarding a terrible secret.
“Battle wound,” Blaine says in lieu of an explanation when Kurt kisses the line of it all the way down to his wrist.
Blaine attempts secrecy when he plans their first date. Kurt appreciates it, perhaps more than he’ll let Blaine know. Blaine’s terrible at keeping secrets but it doesn’t really matter.
“What do you think about Italian?” Blaine says, voice warm over the phone.
“It’s good,” Kurt says.
Blaine hums. “French?”
“That’s good too.”
“Not really my thing,” Kurt says. “Might be Finn’s, though.”
“Well I’m not taking Finn out,” Blaine says. A pause. “I just gave it away, didn’t I?”
Kurt’s attempts to bite back his giggles fail miserably. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear a word.”
Blaine chuckles. “Sorry I’m terrible at this.” In his mind’s eye Kurt can see Blaine flopped out on his bed, an arm over his eyes. Blaine lets out a noise of frustration. “Italian’s good?”
“It’s all good,” Kurt assures him. “Thank you.”
“I’m really bad at this, aren’t I?”
Kurt pretends to mull it over. “You’re fine,” he says. “Kind of perfect, actually.”
Friday night he orders Chinese food in takeaway cartons and drives to Blaine’s house because Blaine’s parents are in Columbus. It’s not doing anything to calm his pre-first-date nerves, but he’s got about twenty-four hours to pace. Blaine’s promised to pick him up at six on Saturday – Kurt might ask him if they can push it earlier, just in case Blaine does something awful with his color coordination. He has faith in Blaine, though – or, at very least, faith that Blaine surpasses Rachel Berry.
Blaine takes a while to answer the door, hair disheveled. “Kurt?”
“I’d hoped you’d be able to recognize me by now,” Kurt says, but there’s no bite to it. He holds up the bags of food. “I brought food –” Kurt stops short, horrified. “Sorry, I didn’t even think to ask if you’ve eaten – I just figured… God, I am terrible at this.” If his hands were free Kurt would bury his face in them.
Blaine steps aside to let him in. “I haven’t. I was just about to order a pizza but you rang.” He grins and rakes a hand through his hair. “Thank God you rang.”
Kurt looks at his feet, suddenly at a loss of words. “I hope you like Chinese?” he tries. It doesn’t sound right but Blaine seems to relax and sink back into his shoulders. “I may have ordered one of everything on the menu.”
“You are a marvel, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine says like he can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and Kurt feels silly – all he’s done is brought Chinese food over and the amount of sodium in the food would probably take a year or two off Blaine’s life, so really, Blaine shouldn’t be thanking him.
Blaine gestures to the couch like a ringmaster and Kurt follows, not because he’s the lion but because Blaine’s a gentleman, which is the reason Kurt came here tonight. Kurt doesn’t want to feel like Blaine’s leading him anywhere.
(It’d be Finn that’d raised the issue, surprisingly. Finn had said just before dinner, said, “How does it work with guys? Who’s taking who out for the first date?” and then, “Does that mean Blaine’s the dude?”
“We’re both dudes,” Kurt had insisted, fingers pressed and splayed against his temple because he hadn’t needed to hear that from Finn, of all people.
“You should take Blaine out, then.”)
Blaine, bless his soul, doesn’t ask why he’s here. He looks at Kurt like he knows, and Kurt flushes with self-consciousness, stares at his broccoli.
They’re halfway through the movie Blaine absentmindedly put on and between the two of them they’ve finished a considerable amount of food. Blaine yawns, stretching, and Kurt can feel it in his veins and across his skin like an exhale.
“Wes had me help with his fencing,” Blaine says, rolling his shoulders. Kurt imagines Blaine’s muscles shifting into place. Blaine’s fast asleep against his chest by the time the movie ends, and Kurt lets his fingers wander and twine in Blaine’s hair, absently stroking.
Blaine mumbles in his sleep, lips moving hotly against Kurt’s chest – so maybe they do things backwards and jumbled up but they’ll get there in the end, Kurt thinks, hopes. He has to wake Blaine up to leave before curfew, so he brushes his fingers lightly against the curve of Blaine’s neck, splaying his fingers on Blaine’s shoulder. The cotton is thin and Kurt can feel the heat of Blaine’s skin running bone-deep through his fingertips. He shakes Blaine lightly, and Blaine looks like he did the morning after he kissed Rachel Berry, and Kurt’s chest aches.
“Do you have to go?”
Kurt nods. Blaine sighs, smiles and rises, says “I’m glad you came.”
He’s halfway out the door when Blaine grasps at his wrist. “Was this a date?”
“If you want it to be.”
”I do,” Blaine says, quietly serious. Then, jokingly, “So we have date nights now?”
Kurt tenses and Blaine backtracks. “I mean – I didn’t mean to assume –”
“No,” Kurt says, because date nights and it’s still so surreal. “No, we do. We could. Have date nights.”
Blaine relaxes, kisses the inside of Kurt’s wrist, landing slightly off the pulse point. “Good.”
Blaine kisses him, properly this time and longer. “See you tomorrow?”
“You will,” Kurt says, a little breathless. The air is heavy with words they can’t say yet. “Goodnight.”
On the road later, Kurt pulls off to the side and buries his face in his hands, laughing, shaky and relieved.
Blaine rings the doorbell at a quarter to five as per Kurt’s request, and he’s dressed impeccably, save the ridiculous bowtie.
Kurt tugs gently on the bowtie to fix it, anyway.
“Is the bowtie too much?” Blaine asks, sounding somewhat worried.
Quite, Kurt thinks, and it is, but somehow changing any part of Blaine’s ensemble feels like sacrilege, so he says, “It’s great. Trust me on this.”
Kurt’s Dad wants to meet Blaine properly as Kurt’s boyfriend so Kurt hovers awkwardly in the kitchen while Dad shakes Blaine’s hand and tells him things in an undertone. They’ve met before, at Sectionals and then when Blaine woke up in Kurt’s bed and Kurt knows about Blaine visiting the garage.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Dad says, loud enough that Kurt can hear it, and Blaine’s shaking Dad’s hand like life’s an 80’s movie and it’s just perfect.
In the car, Kurt wonders if his hair is too much, or if he’s got too many layers on for just a dinner-and-a-movie Saturday night date. He’s had the outfit planned since freshman year – adapted to clothing seasons, of course – but he’s still nervous.
“You look amazing,” Blaine tells him as they pull out of the driveway. “I’d kiss you, but your Dad’s watching by the window.”
Kurt raises his hand in acknowledgement at Dad, who’s standing with his hands crossed over his chest as he watches them. He’s got a smile on his face, the same one he had when Kurt won the football game.
Kurt tugs at his shirt a little one last time and turns to Blaine. “Where to, Blaine Warbler?”
“Movie, and there’s this Italian restaurant my parents like,” Blaine says. “I think you’ll like it.”
“I think I will.”
After the movie that Kurt spent staring at Blaine and wishing there were less people in the theatre and the dinner that has both of them feeling sorry for the people who eat at Breadstix, Kurt’s pretty sure he could write this off as the perfect first date.
Blaine parks three houses away and grabs his hand over the console. “I had a really good time tonight.”
Kurt’s seen enough movies to know what comes next. “So did I. Thank you for taking me out.”
“Thank you for going out with me.” Blaine laughs, kisses Kurt on the knuckles. “Don’t we sound like we’re in a movie?”
“We do,” Kurt says, grinning. “Honestly, Blaine, I had a fantastic time tonight.”
Blaine’s smile is something Kurt will never get tired of. He leans over and kisses the corner of Blaine’s mouth where it’s quirked up, and Blaine’s hands fly up to keep him there. Kurt moves a little closer, kisses Blaine properly.
“You really are something, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine says when they pull apart.
Kurt laughs, squeezes Blaine’s hand. “And you, Blaine Anderson.”
Dad’s waiting up, sitting on the couch watching a soap opera. He pretends not to notice Kurt coming in, and Kurt’s thankful for that bit of space and time to come down. He grabs a glass of water from the kitchen and joins Dad on the couch.
“You need to work on this blasé thing,” Kurt says. “You don’t like soaps.”
Dad shuts the TV off. “I’m worried about you.”
“You don’t have to be,” Kurt says, and even though he’s mentally defending himself he’s glad Dad cares. Things could’ve been different, Dad could’ve not cared.
“I want trust that boy with you,” Dad says before he goes up the stairs. “And I want to trust you with that boy.” There’s an unspoken warning buried in there, and Kurt knows.
“I do,” he says, admits. “It’s terrifying.”
Dad laughs. “Love always is.”
Kurt narrows his eyes, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s not – not yet.”
Dad pulls his hat off and twirls it in his hands. “Take your time. I hope you had a good night, squirt.”
Kurt looks down at the glass in his hands. He did.
“McKinley’s hosting a benefit,” Kurt says, setting his bag on the floor and settling dramatically down on the couch next to Blaine. “To raise money for New York.”
Blaine raises an eyebrow. “McKinley?” He’s unloosening his tie, his blazer already shucked off and laid over the back of the couch.
“New Directions,” Kurt amends. “Rachel wants to know if we can go.”
Blaine glances at the clock, and Kurt follows his gaze. It’s five minutes past four, Dad won’t be home for awhile. Blaine, seemingly realizing that, slings an arm over Kurt’s shoulder to pull him closer.
“And because it’s Rachel,” says Blaine, “we’re going to say yes, aren’t we?” The way Blaine says we raises a flutter in Kurt’s chest.
“Speak for yourself and your inability to refuse Rachel,” Kurt says, and Blaine looks a little wounded. Kurt soothes it with a kiss that lands clumsily on Blaine’s jaw line. “I’m sorry.”
Blaine’s fisted his hands in Kurt’s shirt, and Kurt should be annoyed by the creases, but Blaine’s head is tilted in a way that makes Kurt want to kiss his way down Blaine’s throat. Blaine watches him with his eyes downcast and it strikes Kurt then that Blaine is new to this too.
“I really want to kiss you,” Kurt says, and Blaine makes a little noise that has the line of his throat bobbing and he nods, a frantic little jerk.
So Kurt does, he kisses the line of Blaine’s jaw and makes his way up to Blaine’s earlobe, pulling it between his teeth. Blaine’s hands are curling even tighter in the back of Kurt’s shirt, pulling the fabric taut against Kurt’s skin.
Kurt’s finally worked up the courage to plant his mouth lower when there’s the sound of a key in the lock and they jump apart. Blaine drops his blazer back onto his lap and Kurt wishes he had one right now, but his is upstairs, hung properly on a hanger like it should be. He settles for crossing his legs instead.
It’s Carole, and Kurt could hit himself for forgetting that she comes home early on Thursdays. Carole deposits her bag by the door and joins them, settling onto the armchair.
Blaine, ever polite, asks her about her day. Kurt’s too busy watching Blaine’s fingers to listen. Blaine’s tracing his jaw absently where Kurt’s kissed it, nails raking lightly against the already-red skin. Kurt hopes Carol doesn’t notice, and he hopes she goes upstairs to take a nice, long shower so he can finish what he’s started.
“How was your day?” Carole asks, and clearly, Blaine doesn’t have the same concerns as Kurt. If the fact that hadn’t been made apparent during the Trainwreck Extravaganza, it certainly has now, because Blaine is actually telling Carole in extreme detail about the things that happened in Dalton today.
“I’m going to – shower,” Kurt says, all thoughts of kissing Blaine’s neck having long flown out the window.
Blaine brushes a kiss against his knuckles as he leaves, barely pausing his conversation with Carole, and Kurt can feel her smile.
Blaine says, “Aw, you miss them,” and Kurt’s about to say that he really, really does, and he might even hint about wanting to come back, just to test the waters and see how Blaine feels about it, but he’s interrupted by Karofsky.
Kurt should’ve known it wouldn’t go this smoothly, and Karofsky’s being a dick and he’s so sick of this, you know, but then Blaine’s fighting back. Kurt’s about to break up the shoving when Santana cuts in, and he’s glad for another person here, even if it is Santana.
Kurt’s tired of slinging snide comments at Karofsky because it never makes a difference, but he says it anyway, calls Karofsky a coward like it’ll actually hurt Karofsky.
“The truth about what?” Santana says, and Karofsky’s eyes flicker.
It’s turned into a Santana-Karofsky fight now, and soon enough he’s gone.
“We could’ve handled that,” Blaine says, although Kurt’s not quite sure if he’s right.
After the benefit they sit in Blaine’s car in McKinley’s parking lot and Blaine is twitching in his seat, glancing around furtively. Kurt’s sure there’s a story behind that and he wants to know, but he won’t push. All in good time, really.
“What are you thinking about?” Blaine asks, and by that Kurt knows he means what have you been thinking about these few weeks and it might be quite terrible that Kurt’s been hiding this for awhile.
“I want to go back,” Kurt says in a rush of breath. He’s not quite sure if Blaine hears him, but he goes on. “To McKinley.”
Blaine grips his hand. “I know.”
Kurt waits, because Blaine seems to have more to say.
“I don’t – I don’t think you should. You know what Karofsky will do to you.”
Kurt smiles weakly and considers pulling his hand away from Blaine’s but decides against it. It’s a nice touch, somewhat of a comfort. “Guess you can’t have it all.” He sighs, squeezes Blaine’s hand. “I’ve got you, though. That’s more than enough.”
Blaine kisses him and Kurt feels like Blaine thinks he’s lying and Kurt isn’t even sure if he really is lying and he’s just trying his best not to be selfish.
Sunday night finds Blaine’s head in Kurt’s lap and Kurt’s fingers tangled in his curls. It’s a lazy afternoon, they’re both dropping off to sleep and the house is otherwise empty. Finn’s gone out to Puck’s even though he’s not supposed to.
“I don’t want you to stay just for me,” Blaine says suddenly, and Kurt jolts a little. “At Dalton, I mean.”
“I’m not.” Kurt knows he sounds testy, and he regrets it. It sounds too defensive, too dismissive. “You’re a big part of why I’m staying,” he says, honestly, because this is what good relationships are built on, honesty and trust. “But you’re not the only reason.”
Blaine bites his lip. “That’s good, I think.”
Kurt shrugs, his fingers rethreading themselves in Blaine’s hair.
“I want you to go back, you’d be happier if you went back, I think, but I just want you to be safe, you know,” Blaine says, his hand coming up to circle Kurt’s wrist. It’s an anchor, holding hands, it’s like a sign that says I’m serious, I really am, please listen.
So Kurt says, “I know,” and loves Blaine for it.
The fight – the real first fight as boyfriends, happens on a Thursday, in one of Dalton’s English classrooms, and Blaine looks so wounded Kurt wants to apologize and promise him he’ll never do things like that again.
It starts with Blaine finding Kurt’s application form, the one that he’ll have to fill up if he decides to transfer back to McKinley. He’s filled them up just in case, and he’s been hoarding these for awhile, and he’s almost relieved that Blaine’s found them, because it makes telling easier, but it screws everything up anyway.
“You could’ve told me,” Blaine says, hands gripping his satchel tightly. Kurt wonders if it’ll leave marks in the leather and hates himself, hates the way Blaine’s holding his stupid satchel like it’s some sort of weapon or a defense against Kurt.
“I didn’t know how to.”
Blaine frowns deeper. “You don’t trust me.”
“It’s not that – Of course I trust you.”
“I told you I’d be fine with it, I told you I’m all for you going – I don’t want to let you go but it’s going to make you happy, being back there with your friends, and I know that, and I wouldn’t have objected. I thought you’d trust me enough to be honest with me, Kurt.”
Kurt wants to throw something in frustration. “I am being honest with you.” He sighs. He wants to reach out and touch Blaine, make sure that Blaine still wants him even after all this. “I filled them up on Sunday,” he says. “After you left, I filled them up just in case there was any way I could go back.”
Blaine looks torn, his mouth pulling at awkward angles. “I didn’t – it’s not safe for you to go back there. I know how much it means to you, and I just don’t want you to get hurt. I care, Kurt. I really, honestly, fucking care and it would kill me if anything ever happened to you.”
They stand in silence for awhile, eyes locked and standing with their feet apart and hands loose at their sides. I’m open, I’m bare.
“I know,” Kurt says, and tentatively moves in closer to Blaine. “I’m sorry.”
Blaine buries his face where Kurt’s neck meets his shoulder and breathes, all Kurt can do is hold him closer and apologize over and over until the word starts to stop making sense, but the shame and the guilt is still there.
A couple of days later he meets up with Santana, Mercedes and Tina at the Lima Bean with Blaine, and they do a decent job of not talking about Nationals until Mercedes brings it up.
“I’m so proud of you guys,” he says, and it’s just not fair how everything he says sounds so insincere now. He means it, he really does. Blaine turns to look at him and Kurt knows he knows, and tries his best not to flush.
Tina wants to know if there’s any way he can come back. He’s been thinking about it himself, been making up excuses about Dalton tuition being too costly, been thinking of – maybe asking Finn for protection. He’s not going to change who he is though, he’s very, very sure of that.
“I told him I would be all for it if it wasn’t for Karofsky,” Blaine says, and Kurt swallows past the lump in his throat. At that, Santana actually drags her eyes away from Brittany.
“Wait, what did you just say?”
“Kurt needs to be safe,” Blaine explains, and Kurt doesn’t want to deal with this now.
“Okay, can we please change the subject?”
Blaine nudges his ankle with his own and starts talking about Adele.
Warblers’ practice is running late and Kurt won’t make it home in time for dinner, so they pool money to get pizza, which Kurt won’t eat anyway because he’s hit his sodium limit of the day.
Blaine goes with him to meet the pizza guy, sneaking in a couple of kisses before they reach the front gate. It sends a thrill down Kurt’s spine, the slightly off-mark way Blaine’s mouth meets his in the dark.
The delivery guy’s standing with the boxes in his arms, and Kurt feels slightly guilty for not getting here sooner.
Sam shifts from one foot to the other, and he looks like he just really wants to run. “So, um, I brought your pizza.”
Kurt reaches up and accepts the pizzas over the gate with a mouthed thanks. “I wasn’t aware you worked,” he says, to diffuse the tension, and mentally kicks himself. It’s none of his business, and God knows he doesn’t really need to make small talk with Sam, for fear of misunderstandings, anyhow.
“Yeah, well. It’s pretty good money.” Now that his hands are free, Sam runs one through his hair. “Um, so. Enjoy your pizza?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt can see Blaine adding another bill to the wad of cash they pooled.
“Thanks for the pizza, Sam, we’ll see you around,” Blaine says, diplomatic as always as he hands the money over. “Have a good night.”
“Your principal called,” Dad says on Tuesday, and Kurt wonders for a terrified moment if someone caught him and Blaine kissing in the corridors. “The one from McKinley – Figgins, I mean.”
Kurt breathes a sigh of partial relief. “Why? Did I leave something in the lockers? You should tell him not to bother trying to scrub away the graffiti, it won’t work, I’ve tried. Maybe industrial strength acid will work.”
Dad doesn’t look amused. “Actually, Kurt, he wanted us to come in to discuss the possibility of you going back.”
“He said that Karofsky kid wanted to talk to you about things. Apologize and maybe discuss you coming back.”
Kurt frowns, it just doesn’t make sense.
Which, of course, confuses Kurt because it’s not how life works, bullies don’t magically apologize and things don’t just slot into place. There’s a huge part of him that’s clawing at his insides, however, begging him to take the offer and come back.
He gets to speak to Karofsky alone, and he can feel everyone’s eyes burning into them through the layers of Plexiglas.
Everything comes out then, the plot joining like puzzle pieces, and oh, Santana’s scheming. Kurt’s almost thankful for it.
He doesn’t want to blackmail Karofsky but he hints at it, and for a moment he understands the sort of terrible power you have over a person when you know their secrets and they’re afraid of what other people might say about them. It sickens him, but he pulls through.
Dad looks worried when Kurt finally turns to face him. It’s all good, Kurt tries to convey as he smiles.
“I’m going back,” he tells Blaine over coffee. They’re sitting at the same table they did when they fought about Rachel and Blaine’s confusion, and Kurt wonders if it’ll be The Table, italicized and capitalized.
Blaine reaches over the table to hold his hand, and Kurt bites the inside of his cheek in surprise. “I know,” Blaine says. “I knew the moment you called me.”
“You’re not – angry?”
Blaine draws circles on the back of Kurt’s hand with his thumb. “God, no. Of course not.”
“Are we breaking up?”
Blaine holds on a little tighter. “Do you want to?”
Kurt knows it’s going to be hard with the distance, the lack of opportunities to touch Blaine, to turn to him during lunch and discuss Mr. Hemsworth’s new tie. “Do you?”
Blaine looks him dead in the eye. “I – You are too important for me to ever let go of.”
Kurt smiles. “I’m never letting you go,” and he means it.
There are so many things they can’t say yet.
“Good,” Blaine says, and darts a glance around before he presses kisses to Kurt’s knuckles. “Good.”
Blaine comes over Sunday night, flops on Kurt’s bed and watches him pick something out for Monday. Kurt’s planned his outfit since his transfer back was official, but the problem with Kurt is that he can never pick just one. Blaine’s here to solve that.
“I like the top hat,” Blaine offers, chin in his hands propped up by his elbows. “It’s very Dr. Seuss.”
Kurt picks it up and eyes it critically. “I had a jacket to go with that. It’s somewhere in here.”
Blaine watches him the entire time, eyes burning to Kurt’s back, and Kurt’s a little self-conscious but he can’t keep his eyes off Blaine either, the way his muscles shift under his shirt.
Blaine leaves at eleven because he has a curfew, and Kurt kisses him deeper than he ever has, fingers gripping tightly around Blaine’s biceps, and no, it’s not a goodbye.
Blaine and the Warblers sing to him across the courtyard and Kurt’s never thought he would get to have these things, a boyfriend and a serenade, and in some ways it’s a giant fuck you to McKinley and its small-minded population of three hundred.
“I’ll never say goodbye to you,” Kurt says at the end of it all, and Blaine’s holding him closer, palm pressed against his back.
Everything is startlingly the same, just like he left it, and Kurt doesn’t know whether to be amused, comforted or affronted that the graffiti in the boys’ toilet is still there, informing everyone that he’s gay.
He sings, because it’s tradition, because he has so much to say and so little words. Blaine likes Sunset Boulevard and Kurt is so glad to be back.
“Thank you,” Kurt says when Blaine picks up the phone that night. “Thank you.”
Blaine releases a breath into the phone. “You’re alright, then?”
“Not a bruise,” Kurt says. He sighs, settles into bed. “I sang that song today.”
“From Sunset Boulevard?”
“Mhm.” Kurt toys with the hem of his shirt. “It’s so surreal, you know. Just – how normal and unchanged everything is. Nothing’s different, except I’m not getting shoved into lockers or forcibly kissed –”
“Don’t joke about that.”
“Sorry.” Kurt bites his lip. “The song fits.”
“Well, I’d be your kept man any day.” Blaine sounds so sleazy; Kurt can almost imagine him waggling his eyebrows.
“I suppose I would make a good Norma,” Kurt says, and Blaine laughs.
“No – you would never fade.”
Kurt wants to reach into the phone and touch him, curl his fingers around Blaine’s wrist and feel his pulse, throbbing and warm – alive.”Blaine?” he says, off-cue.
“I meant it. I’m never saying goodbye to you.”
Blaine’s silent for a moment. “I – me neither.”
Because Blaine has the flu on Saturday night Kurt braves the Andersons and goes over. Blaine lives between Dalton and Lima, and Kurt’s worked out that if Blaine transfers to McKinley, all it’ll take is an extra forty-five minutes. He feels selfish planning, so he shuts that away in the back of his mind.
Mr. Anderson works late and Mrs. Anderson has a book she needs to read for book club. He passes her in the den, and she smiles at him over the pages of A Thousand Splendid Suns.
“I’ve read that,” he says, and for a moment he misses his mother, the way she used to watch him read Peter Pan. “It’s an amazing story.”
Mrs. Anderson sets her book aside and really looks at him properly. It feels like a complete examination and he resists the urge to squirm. “Well,” she says, finally. “I shouldn’t have left it so late then.”
Kurt wonders briefly if there’s a double meaning to that.
“He’s upstairs, dear. Maybe get pizza for dinner?”
Blaine, Kurt has discovered, is an absolute, stereotypical boy when he’s down with a cold. He’s frankly kind of disgusted and endeared at the same time by the sheer amount of used and crumpled up tissues lying on Blaine’s bed.
“I’m coming in,” he announces, leaning lightly against the door frame. Blaine raises his head mock-weakly from the pillow.
“It’s a health hazard.”
Kurt picks his way through the tissues and settles on Blaine’s bed. “I’ve had detention cleaning the boys’ locker room at McKinley. Some of the things I’ve touched could probably cure cancer. Or cause it.”
Blaine sits up. “I really – didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“Lord, have mercy on us all, Blaine Anderson looking less than presentable.”
Blaine laughs, raking a hand through his hair. It looks half-gelled, like Blaine actually tried but gave up halfway. “I’ve been wallowing in self-pity and sorrow for the past eighteen hours, Kurt. Besides, I sort of wanted to uphold the impression that I look how I look twenty-four seven.”
Maybe it’s a little silly, but Kurt understands it. It’s the same way Kurt styles his hair every morning wondering if Blaine will – love him? It might be too early to assume Blaine loves him – if Blaine will still be here with him even if Kurt’s got half of his head shaved bald and a tribal tattoo on his backside.
If he really thinks about it, it’s unfair and presumptuous to think that Blaine is that shallow, of course Blaine isn’t that shallow to dump Kurt over a shaved head and an unfortunate tattoo, and he should trust Blaine more.
So he takes Blaine’s hand and laces their fingers together, saying, dead-serious, “I’d still be here even if you shaved half your head bald and acquired a mysterious, unfortunate tattoo on your butt.”
Blaine blinks a little and squeezes his hand. “Even if I wear a sweater that’s last season?”
“Blaine, honey, you own nothing that is actually in season. Although, that cardigan –”
“I’m always going to be here, you know,” Blaine says, and Kurt doesn’t dare to dream of what will happen when he goes off to New York after graduation. “No matter what.”
“I –” Love you, he wants to say, but it’s too early, isn’t it? “Trust you.”
Blaine’s smile is slow, but so wide. “I trust you too.”
Kurt has a plan, you see, to cleverly linger in the hall, close enough to the front door, a couple of minutes before the pizza is due to arrive. Mrs. Anderson, like Blaine, has a habit of insisting to pay for everything, and Kurt doesn’t want to impose.
So when the doorbell rings, he calls that he’ll get it and hopes Mrs. Anderson doesn’t come bustling out of the den with her wallet at the ready.
Just like he expected, it’s Sam at the door, pizza in hand.
“Hey.” Sam looks somewhat uneasy about seeing him again, but Kurt can deal with that. “Date night?”
Kurt laughs, cheeks coloring. “No – actually, sort of.”
“Lucky you,” Sam says, grinning. “I haven’t been able to take anyone out since –” He hesitates for a moment. “Since my dad lost his job.”
“I’m sorry –”
Sam shrugs. “It’s not all that bad, I guess? Motel’s pretty nice, fits us all pretty okay.” He tugs at his shirt. “Blaine’s here, then?”
Well, it is his house, Kurt thinks. “Shower,” he says, and he flushes at that thought.
“Huh.” Sam rakes a hand through his hair. “I need one, I think. Been wearing the same stuff for a couple of days now. Can’t figure out how to work the motel’s washing machines.”
Kurt bites his lip, hesitating. “If I’m not overstepping, I’ve got some clothes I can give you.”
Sam’s eyes harden for a moment. “I don’t need charity.”
“It’s not charity,” Kurt says. “Take it as a token of appreciation for agreeing to be my duet partner.”
“We never did duet,” Sam says, but he’s more relaxed now. “Thanks, Kurt.”
Kurt realizes then that he hasn’t paid him. He hands Sam the fifty dollar note, smiling. “Mrs. Anderson says keep the change. She’s sort of – you know. Insistent about paying for Blaine and me.”
“Dude,” Sam says. “That’s a huge tip.”
“Mrs. Anderson is a generous woman,” Kurt says, shrugging. “I’ll see you around, Sam.”
“Everyone thinks I’m cheating on you with Sam.” Kurt sighs, flopping down onto his bed. “Yet again they serve to be an indictment of the American education system.” That didn’t come out quite right. “Sorry. I’m just – they don’t trust me.”
Blaine laughs, pulling Kurt closer. “Well, I trust you.”
Kurt settles against Blaine’s chest, sighing. “It should be obvious by now that I wouldn’t date Sam without doing something about his hair.”
“It’s quite a nice head of hair,” Blaine says somewhat absently.
“You’re incapable of not being nice, aren’t you?”
Blaine shrugs, prodding Kurt to sit up so they can kiss.
He holds Blaine’s hand over the Breadstix table and asks about prom. When Blaine hesitates, Kurt’s defense mechanisms kick in and he automatically pulls away. He doesn’t want to pull away, he just does and Blaine’s hands scrabble a little to hold him back but they’re not close enough.
It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, Kurt wants to hit a reset button and start all over again.
Blaine tells him about his old school and the stupid Sadie Hawkins dance. Kurt remembers Blaine regretting running away, and he has a half-formed plan.
“You can do it at mine,” he says, about facing up to bullies. “We can do it together.”
Blaine’s still hesitating, eyes downcast, and Kurt feels so selfish. He backtracks, there’s a movie Blaine’s been talking about that’s opening on prom night, they can go for that instead.
“I’m crazy about you,” Blaine says, and Kurt has a date to the prom.
“Never thought I’d say this, but I don’t want to see another dress for the next twelve hours.” Kurt toes his boots off as he settles on Blaine’s bed.
“Only twelve?” Blaine teases, swirling around in his desk chair to face Kurt. “You’re brave, Kurt Hummel.”
“I’ve still got my prom outfit to worry about,” he confesses, crossing his legs.
“I thought you’d have planned this since middle school,” Blaine says, coming to sit next to Kurt. “I’ve got a tuxedo somewhere.”
Kurt shrugs. “I didn’t think I’d get to go to prom.”
Blaine reaches for his hand. “Well, you do.”
Kurt sobers, turning Blaine’s hand over, palm-up. Blaine’s fingers flutter as if trying to curl, but Kurt holds it open firmly, trailing a finger along the scar that runs down Blaine’s palm.
“Battle wound?” he says, and Blaine looks at it as if it’s the first time he’s seen it.
“After the Sadie Hawkins dance, I told you how those three guys beat the living crap out of Tommy and me, right?”
Tommy. Kurt wonders how he is now, what he looks like.
“Well, Tommy and I didn’t fight back because we knew we wouldn’t stand a chance anyway. Halfway through their torment, Tommy sort of – he went limp and he stopped struggling. I thought he was dead. God, I actually thought he was dead, so I hit the guy who was punching me, I hit him and he backed off, and the other two ran away. I didn’t stop then. I could’ve, but I didn’t. I kept hitting him because it made me feel like I had power for once.”
“I felt so sick about it, you know? I was doing what they were doing to me, I wasn’t any better than them. I hit him and I guess I must’ve caught my hand on something, I don’t remember. There was a lot of blood, and I almost got him down, but he tripped me.”
Blaine lifts his hand, stares at the scar.
“For five minutes I was fighting back, and I hated it.”
Kurt runs his fingers over the line.
“This was the first thing that healed,” Blaine says.
Kurt really hadn’t expected Blaine to be on Dad’s side – Blaine, of all people.
So he delivers a speech that has them all shrinking back into their seats and he’s still angry.
Blaine corners him just as he’s about to slam the door of his room closed and resume working on his outfit. He’s debating bedazzling the entire thing just to spite them.
“Can’t talk, Blaine. Busy trying to find sequins to sew on my epic gay outfit.”
He whirls around. “Look, Blaine, I said I’m sorry, and I said I’m going, and I know how you feel and I understand that. I really do. I really want to go to prom in what I’m wearing right now.”
Blaine’s still standing at the door, hands at his sides, and Kurt aches.
“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching over to Blaine. “Let’s just stay home with movies and popcorn, okay?”
Blaine holds his gaze. “No. Kurt, we are going to that prom, and you are going to wear what you want to wear, and I will be the luckiest guy there because my boyfriend looks gorgeous.”
“I’m crazy about you,” Kurt says, and Blaine laughs, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“It really is a nice skirt.”
Kurt lets out a shaky laugh. “It’s a kilt, Blaine. I’ve taught you better than that.”
In the end, it’s not the stupid kilt that matters, and he’s so humiliated. For a moment all he can see are the eyes staring at him, and he feels sick.
Blaine, bless his heart, runs after him, and there are people in the hallway staring.
All these people hate me, he thinks, and he’s just so stupid and naïve to think that people could actually change.
“Do you want to go?”
Kurt is never going to run away.
Blaine kisses him against the lockers, sort of for good measure, and Kurt spends a moment to breathe in the smell of Blaine’s cologne, so he can feel like, at very least, something good has come out of tonight.
“Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton.”
For an awful moment there is no response, but Kurt doesn’t really expect any coming from them.
And then they’re all applauding, and Kurt stares out and the crowd and the hypocritical, awful faces, and thinks about the way Blaine fits against him and it’s not like the crowd won’t have their own version of that, but they’re not, never going to break Kurt’s down.
It’s Blaine who dances with him in the end.
Kurt revels in it, dances with his boyfriend and it’s a giant fuck you to everyone who voted.
“What’s with the crown?”
Dad hasn’t even bothered with pretending to watch a soap this time. Kurt is slightly disappointed, he’d been counting on watching Macy screw her sister’s husband while Blaine told Dad about the crown.
“McKinley made me their queen,” Kurt says, and if it comes out more vicious than he intends, so be it. Dad opens his mouth to say something, but Kurt holds up a hand. “It wasn’t the outfit. God, I wish it was the outfit, it would’ve made more sense. They just – hate me.”
Blaine reaches for his hand and holds it.
“They hate me, Daddy.”
Dad hugs him, and Blaine moves to let go of Kurt’s hand so Kurt can hug Dad better, but Kurt holds on.
“They’re fools,” Dad says. “Absolute fools.”
Kurt pulls away, bites his lip. “Can Blaine stay? Just for tonight.” Dad knows he doesn’t mean on the couch.
“Keep the door open,” Dad says, and Kurt is glad for some semblance of normalcy.
In the morning, Kurt wakes up to Blaine watching him, a half-smile on his face. The crown is still on his bedside table, the tacky plastic crown.
“Want to burn it?” Blaine says, catching his gaze. “Good morning.”
Kurt considers it for a moment. “No,” he says. “We’re going somewhere.”
“She died when I was eight,” Kurt says, and he’s not sure if this is the first time he’s told Blaine. “Cancer, you know. She was mad about it being cancer. She didn’t want to be a cliché.”
Blaine looks like he’s at a loss for words, hands in his lap fiddling with the carnation.
“We’ll need to stop by the florist,” Kurt says. “She liked carnations.”
The carnations from his last visit are still there, dried now but still intact. Kurt switches the bouquet, laying the dried one on its side.
“Do you want me to go?” Blaine says, standing awkwardly by the side. Kurt reaches for his hand, pulls him down.
Blaine laces their fingers together, kisses his cheek. “I will.”
There’s a somber note in his voice, and it’s a big deal, making promises in front of Mom’s grave. Kurt pulls the crown out of his bag and places it next to the vase.
“Hi Mom. Remember how I broke your Prom Queen crown when I was four?” he says. “Have mine.”
Blaine sets his boutonniere next to the crown and lets Kurt cry against his shoulder.
“I’m not going to leave, you know,” Blaine says later.
“You promised in front of my mother you wouldn’t.” Kurt chances a smile. “It’s a pretty big deal, Blaine.”
“I know,” he says, nodding a little to himself. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“I am crazy about you, Blaine Warbler.”
“I am better than Jesse St. James.”
Blaine raises an eyebrow. “Of course you are.”
“He said he wasn’t sure I nailed it.” Kurt huffs. “Of course I nailed it.”
“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine says, reaching out to pull him in. “Stop listening to Jesse. St. James.”
Arranging Coach Sylvester’s sister’s funeral is hard, and yes, it reminds him of Mom. Blaine helps him with the flowers, picking out a dead leaf.
“You’ve been working for three hours,” Blaine says. “Take a break?”
“I’m almost done.” Kurt knows that he said the exact same thing three hours ago. “Just – okay. I’m done.”
Blaine sets his pot of flowers down and walks over to kiss him, hands sliding into Kurt’s hair. Kurt can’t even begin to mind.
“I really like your outfit,” Blaine says before he makes his way down Kurt’s neck. “I really, really like it.”
“At the funeral,” Kurt says, and he doesn’t really need Blaine to answer because it’s good, it’s enough knowing that Blaine’s on the other end of the line no matter how far apart they are. “Mr. Schue read something out and it reminded me of you.”
Kurt can almost see Blaine’s smile. “You know I’ll always be here, right?” he says. “It doesn’t matter if you’re in Dalton or if I’m in New York – I’ll always be here for you.”
“I know,” Blaine says. “You are, quite possibly, the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“I –” Kurt wants to say it, tell Blaine he loves him, but not over the phone. “You, just you,” and it doesn’t even have to make sense.
New York is everything Kurt thought it would be, and more.
He sends Blaine little messages when he’s there, because he’s never free enough to call.
There’s a good coffee place a couple of streets away from Gershwin Theater, he sends just before they hit the stage.
First New York date? Blaine sends back, along with a picture of a lone Lima Bean coffee cup. I ordered a grande nonfat mocha today. Tried to taste what you tasted but only tasted you.
Kurt’s caught completely off-guard when Blaine says it.
He’d been planning it – he’d reach over the table for Blaine’s hand and tell him he loves him, but Blaine beats him to it.
Kurt stares at him for a little while, the way Blaine’s face shifts a little under the scrutiny. I’m open, I’m bare.
“Love you too,” he says, and he can’t get it to sound quite right, but Blaine knows, and that’s the most important thing, that Blaine knows.
Summer is – well, summer.
It’s full of bodies, sweat, mouths and hands that don’t go beyond the waist.
Blaine buys him coffee and flowers and Kurt sticks the flowers in Blaine’s hair, kisses him until dusk falls.
Blaine tells him, halfway through summer, that he’s miserable at Dalton.
“Everything’s kind of –” Blaine pauses, searches for the words. “Safe.”
Kurt looks up from his copy of Vogue. “Safe is good, isn’t it?”
“It just feels like I’m running away from the real world. I mean, Dalton’s great but it’s not like that in real life.”
Kurt closes his magazine. “Do you want to come to McKinley?”
Blaine considers it for a moment, resting his chin on his knees. “It’s just not fair,” he says. “You being at McKinley and facing all the things you have to face, while I’m living it up at Dalton.”
“You don’t have to fight my battles.”
Blaine lifts his head to look at him. “Anyway, if I leave Dalton, that’s running away, too.”
Kurt shrugs. “Running towards the face of danger, more like.”
“I can’t just bail on the Warblers,” Blaine says, the hint of conviction in his voice stronger than ever.
“I’d like to see you at McKinley,” Kurt says, offhandedly, and lets the conversation die.
By the time school starts again Blaine’s teetering on the edge of transferring, and Kurt’s pushing for McKinley because he’s seen how lonely Blaine gets at Dalton.
So he turns the discussion and makes it about him, because Blaine will never say no to him. It’s a little terrible and Kurt feels so completely, absolutely selfish, but it’s necessary.
Blaine reaches for his hand across the table and Kurt hopes that he’s gotten through.
It’s been the shittiest week, and then Blaine transfers.
“I came here for me,” Blaine assures him, and Kurt trusts him to be honest, but he still feels selfish.
The NYADA applicants meeting is a disaster.
Okay, so maybe he ended the pity party with Rachel but now that she isn’t here to stomp on his toes and remind him to chin up; crying seems like a really good idea.
“You know how sometimes you look at the sky and you think about how small and unimportant you are?” Kurt says, not even bothering to blow his nose. Blaine extricates his arm from under Kurt’s back and reaches for a tissue. Kurt should probably move but Blaine makes a good pillow.
“Go on,” Blaine prompts, handing Kurt the tissue.
“Watching all of those people made me feel like that. Small.” Kurt attempts to lift his arms to blow his nose but gives up halfway. “God, I’m a hypocrite. I told Rachel we were ending this pity party, and here I am, crying into your arms and being generally, woefully pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic. You’re not pathetic,” Blaine says, taking the tissue from Kurt and holding it to his nose. “Blow.” Kurt does, and Blaine crumples the tissue and sets it aside. “You can start now, figuring how to get more credits.” He links their hands. “We’ll figure it out.”
Kurt buries his face in Blaine’s shoulder. “Really?” he mumbles.
“So here’s the thing,” Kurt says. “I’m running for class president.”
Blain grins. “You have my vote.”
“I’m trying out for the school musical.”
“And you’ll be fantastic.”
“This is really happening.”
“It really is.” Blaine kisses him for good measure. “So, campaign ideas?”
So they tell him he’s too gay to play Tony and they ask Blaine to read for Tony instead of the intended Bernado or Officer Krupke, and Kurt isn’t going to lie, it really hurts.
It’s not the first time and Kurt has a sinking feeling that it definitely won’t be the last, but he’s tired of being who he is, he’s tired of being automatically catalogued as gay.
Dad said what Kurt thought he’d say, and it’s true, it’s all true, but fuck, it hurts.
“They asked me to read for Tony,” Blaine says nervously. They’re in the Lima Bean and Kurt thinks that old couple from back when they argued about Blaine’s sexuality crisis might actually be sitting behind them yet again. He’s thankful, however, for Blaine’s honesty.
“I know,” he says, biting his lip. “I was there.”
“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Blaine says immediately. His hands are scrabbling a little against the table, like he’s not sure if he should reach over or not. Kurt makes the decision for him, grabs his hand and holds it.
“I want you to,” Kurt says. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself.”
Blaine hesitates. “You should be Tony.”
“Hey, well,” Kurt says, shrugging. “If you can’t be him, date him.”
He doesn’t watch Blaine read for Tony and he’s not quite sure what hurts more, being there or not being there. Blaine comes out of the auditorium looking torn and Kurt hurries up to talk to him about the inane things.
The florist he gets flowers for Mom from opens early so he drives and gets Blaine a bouquet.
Blaine doesn’t kiss him, which is understandable, it’s not like McKinley’s student body have suddenly decided that carrying rainbow flags is the way to go, but he wishes Blaine would.
Blaine gets Tony, of course he does.
Kurt spends fifteen minutes hating him and Blaine lets him.
They make up later, kissing on the couch because no one’s home, turning horizontal and Blaine brushes his thumbs against Kurt’s chest, murmurs things against his neck.
I’m open, I’m bare.
Kurt finds funds for the musical, because he knows how much it means to Rachel and Blaine, and how much it means to him – even if it isn’t Tony, Officer Krupke is worth putting on his résumé.
Dad helps, because that what Dad does, Dad helps even though he doesn’t have to. They get full funding from Dad’s friends at the Rotary Club.
Dad raises his eyebrows at him later over dinner, says, “I don’t get why you’re doing this.”
“I’m in the musical, Dad.”
“You’re not singing and you’re doing no dancing, kid.”
It kind of hurts, Dad pointing it out like that. Kurt sets his fork down lightly. “It’s Blaine’s first step to fitting in at this school.” He shrugs. “I might not look as straight as Tony is supposed to be, but Blaine does.”
Dad fixes him with a searching look. “You can’t keep doing everything for this kid. I know you said something that made him transfer.”
Kurt feigns nonchalance. “He does everything for me, turnabout’s fair play.” He looks Dad dead in the eye, and this is the first time he’s told Dad. “I’m in love with Blaine.”
Kurt’s been noticing things for a long time now, sort of a gradual shift from wanting to kiss Blaine’s neck to noticing the line of his dick – Kurt can say it without flushing now, it’s an accomplishment – whenever Blaine wears criminally tight pants.
Blaine’s not exactly innocent either. Kurt’s seen Blaine’s eyes trail down to Kurt’s crotch and stay there for awhile when Kurt brings out the skinny jeans.
Googling what should I do if my boyfriend stares at my penis doesn’t help, but it does lead him to a forum where he discovers fetishes involving urine.
It isn’t like he can talk to anyone else about it either. Rachel switches the conversation to Finn if Kurt ever brings up Blaine, and he’s not about to go asking Santana.
Brittany, however, offers an insight.
“It’s because you have unicorn blood and Blaine can sense it.”
Kurt might actually consider that a valid theory.
Dad runs for Congress so he’s out a lot with Carole giving speeches. Kurt’s read one of Dad’s notes and there’s a section about how the Glee club saved his life.
He tears it up and throws it away but it doesn’t matter because Dad doesn’t even bring the notes to his speeches. Blaine’s watching one of Dad’s rallies on YouTube, alternating between French homework and the screen.
Dad mentions the Glee club, and Blaine pauses the video, raising his eyebrows.
Kurt shrugs. “I used to call suicide hotlines and hang up because I wasn’t sure if I needed them. Things were pretty bad for awhile.”
Blaine crosses the room and settles on the bed next to Kurt. “Are you still –”
“Good,” Blaine says. “Because I love you.”
Blaine’s dancing to Roxy music and all Kurt can focus on is the way Blaine’s muscles shift. So he brings up the sex and doesn’t mean to mention ripping Blaine’s clothes off and getting dirty, but it slips out anyway.
Then Blaine mentions masturbation and it’s like gravity’s shifted. Kurt tugs at his tie, suddenly embarrassed. Blaine thinks of him while he masturbates. Well, that’s perfectly normal information.
“I wanna make sure that you’re comfortable,” Blaine says. “So I can be comfortable.”
Right. Kurt thinks about the educational books and pamphlets he’s brought over in his bag.
“Besides,” Blaine says. “Tearing off all your clothes is sort of a tall order.”
“Because of the layers?”
“Because of the layers.”
Blaine kisses him, and Kurt expands his plans of their first time in his head a little more.
The next time, it’s Blaine that brings up getting wild – and, Kurt hopes, somewhat dirty.
He brings out the bucket list and for some reason, his Taylor Lautner fantasy is number five. Kurt really doesn’t remember putting that there; it must’ve been when he got drunk under April Rhodes’ suggestion.
“It’s hot,” Blaine says, and the way he says it makes Kurt itch under his skin for something more.
Blaine delivers one final sales pitch and Kurt wonders what exactly he means by experiencing all that they can.
“So I thought about what you said,” Kurt says, setting his bag down on the table. Blaine looks up, eyes wide. “And I brought research materials.”
Fifteen minutes later, they’re flipping through the gay equivalent of the Kama Sutra.
“I don’t understand this position,” Blaine says, forehead adorably scrunched. “I have no idea how his leg reaches there.”
Kurt decides not to mention that he can replicate that position perfectly, and that he’s actually tried.
He’s running late and Blaine’s already at the Lima Bean. The first thing Kurt notices is that awful meerkat-faced guy leering at Blaine.
He gets a little possessive; he’s not ashamed to admit that. Meerkat-Face’s name is Sebastian and he’s the male equivalent of Santana, which would be amusing if Sebastian would stop attempting footsie with Blaine under the table and accidentally getting Kurt instead.
Sebastian suggests a gay bar and Kurt thinks about Blaine wanting to do something spontaneous and fun, so he says yes.
Blaine’s dancing with Sebastian so Kurt spends time drinking virgin everything and mentally critiquing outfits, starting with Sebastian, who’s dressed like Finn, and the drag queen who looks like the lovechild of Wonder Woman and Princess Leia.
Karofsky shows up, and Kurt thinks of him as Dave now because they’re two different people. They talk about school – well, at least it’s not the weather – and Kurt watches Blaine dance with Sebastian as the grip on his drink tightens.
Blaine’s grinning at him from across the dance floor, so Kurt gives in and joins him, cutting between Sebastian and Blaine with a shimmy. The shimmy, Kurt remembers Mike saying, is distracting, and he’s counting on that right now.
A couple more beers and three suggestive, sexualized drinks later, Blaine is too drunk to distinguish his drink from Kurt’s. Kurt takes the opportunity to lead him out of the bar – Kurt has a curfew, anyway. Blaine’s parents are in Columbus again, and Kurt feels horrible for leaving Blaine on his own.
Blaine kisses the side of his neck, sloppy and wet, and for a moment Kurt lets himself have this, then he pulls away. Blaine pulls him down onto the backseat, hands on Kurt’s waist running lower.
“Let’s just do it,” Blaine says, and Kurt wants it but not like this, never like this.
He pulls away and yells at Blaine and Blaine’s eyes turn stone cold and hard, and he’s climbing out of the car, throwing his hands in the hair and throwing Kurt’s thoughts back at him.
“I’m sorry if I’m trying to be spontaneous and fun.”
Kurt follows him anyway, a careful five feet away, and Blaine’s resolutely not looking back at him.
They’re both upset and it hurts, and Kurt wants to hit a reset button and go back to the Lima Bean to say no to Sebastian, but it’s too late.
He follows Blaine home anyway, watches Blaine open the front door and slam it.
Blaine avoids him the whole of Thursday.
They’re busy anyway, Kurt tells himself. The last dress rehearsal is running late because the lighting’s messed up, and Blaine’s sitting by the piano with his head in his hands.
Blaine playing Tony is quite possibly the best thing Kurt has ever seen, and he forgets to be angry and hurt, even if just for the performance. Blaine messes up one of his dance moves, and immediately his eyes flicker towards the curtain that Kurt’s behind.
Kurt smiles and hopes it comes out encouraging. Blaine finds his footing again and the show goes on.
Mike, just before his cue, notices. “Your heart might break but the show goes on,” Mike says, and Kurt doesn’t know if he’s supposed to hear it, but Mike rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, briefly.
Kurt watches the Warblers instead.
He finds Blaine in the empty auditorium later, practicing that move he messed up. Kurt’s a little jealous and a terrible part of him is a little glad that Blaine’s screwed up, because it reminds him that Blaine’s human too, and Blaine makes mistakes, and Blaine isn’t necessarily better than him.
Kurt still thinks Blaine is, anyhow, better than him.
So he makes small talk and Blaine laughs a little, tension seeping out from under his skin.
Blaine takes his hand and holds it to his heart and Kurt wonders if it’ll be the last time.
I’m open, I’m bare.
He waits, and Blaine apologizes. Kurt instinctively makes a joke of it because that’s how he copes, and Blaine huffs a laugh. Kurt sobers, he has an apology of his own. I’m open, I’m bare, and Kurt’s a silly romantic.
“It’s not silly,” Blaine says, and kisses him. It’s a little desperate, and Kurt clings on because Blaine takes his breath away.
The way Blaine’s voice cracks when Kurt tells him he’s proud of him reminds Kurt of the day before Sectionals, when he wondered if the note of conviction in Blaine’s voice would ever break, and he holds on for just a moment longer.
Blaine mentions the after party, but Kurt has other plans.
Blaine’s house is cold and quiet, the sort of empty that eats away inside you, and Kurt’s heart aches as he takes in the blank white walls.
“Would you –” Blaine’s floundering, unsure, and Kurt’s no better. “Would you like a glass of water?”
If Kurt could feel past the nervous knot in his gut, he would’ve laughed. He shakes his head and tugs lightly on Blaine’s hand, leading him upstairs.
They’re both holding on to each other like an anchor, fingers laced tightly.
“It’s just us,” Kurt says, reassuring himself more than Blaine, probably. “Just – less clothes and more skin?”
Blaine tugs him closer, wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist and kisses him as they move towards the bed. It’s a little awkward and bumpy, and Kurt’s hands are fumbling at the hem of Blaine’s sweater.
Blaine tugs at Kurt’s vest, scrabbling at the buttons, and he looks up from beneath his eyelashes. “Are you sure?”
I’m open, I’m bare.
On Friday night, Kurt says, “Trust me,” and it makes their heads spin.
Please consider spreading holiday cheer by commenting on and/or reblogging this fanfic! If you rec this fic, please be sure to attribute it to anonymous until the author/artist is revealed on January 3rd, 2011. Don’t forget to check out all of the other amazing works that will be posted throughout December!
Tagged: fic klaine winter 2011 over 10k rating: pg13
Posted on December 28th at 9:11 PM
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