Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/346920.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Blaine_Anderson/Kurt_Hummel, Quinn_Fabray/Finn_Hudson, Santana_Lopez/
      Brittany_S._Pierce, Rachel_Berry/Noah_Puckerman, Rachel_Berry/Jesse_St.
      James
  Character:
      Kurt_Hummel, Blaine_Anderson, Finn_Hudson, Artie_Abrams, Rachel_Berry,
      Noah_Puckerman, Carole_Hudson-Hummel, Quinn_Fabray, Jesse_St._James,
      Mercedes_Jones, Santana_Lopez, Brittany_S._Pierce
  Additional Tags:
      AU, period_fic
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-02-26 Words: 35074
****** My Heart Can Never Be Still ******
by fleurdelisee
Summary
     Blaine gets admitted into a religious institution meant to cure young
     men from their homosexuality. There he meets Kurt, who's been there
     for months and whose assimilation has been going swimmingly –
     until he meets Blaine.
Notes
     Known for two months as ‘1940s!AU’, I finally managed
     to finish it. Written for this prompt. Title from Dust Bowl Dance by
     Mumford and Sons. Mistakes are my own and totally intentional,
     obviously, I’m testing your grammar skills. Ahem.
     Okay, let’s get a few things straight because my insecurities
     want me to talk about them:
     1) I am not a historian; I didn’t research this as much as I
     could have. This takes place in the 1940s, let’s say roughly
     1943-ish. The dialogues might be slightly too modern for the era but
     I relied heavily on the Online_Etymology_Dictionary to try and make
     sure the words used, at least, were contemporary to the setting.
     2) Since it covers religion pretty heavily, I feel the need to
     specify that no, this isn’t purely my opinion and yes, I am
     aware that it’s not necessarily as extreme as I depicted it.
     Also, Wikipedia told me I’m allowed to use
     ‘convent’ even though it’s a school for boys so
     don’t hit me. One last thing: my search history is now
     permanently weird and if Google is tracking me, it’s probably
     confused as hell by my search queries.
     3) I multi-ship Rachel. This isn’t much of a disclaimer as it
     is an observation. I regret nothing.
     4) There’s not much smut for a glee_kink_meme fill but ah,
     yeah, I have no excuse for this except they had too many feels I had
     to deal with.
     5) The pacing, it is odd. I tried fixing it, I really did. That
     didn’t work too well.
Maybe kissing the milk boy behind the general store was a bad idea.
Alright. It was a terrible idea. The worst Blaine has ever had, if he’s
honest; bad enough to convince his father to send him to a Catholic school-cum-
convent. Blaine is not completely stupid – yet, he’s stupid
enough to kiss boys in broad daylight – and he knows what people say
about Our Lady of Martyrs School For Boys. He knows what kinds of boys are sent
there and what happens to them. He’s heard the men in his family whisper
about it enough as he was growing up, heard the snickers and the comments about
how his father should put him on the list before it’s too late.
Apparently, it’s too late now.
The silence in the car on the way to the institution weighs down on Blaine but
it’s nothing new. Ever since they were caught by the baker’s
daughter, Blaine’s father hasn’t said a word to him. It was his
mother who told him where they were sending him, his mother who helped him pack
and his mother, again, whom he felt he was letting down in all of this.
The scenery changes around them until the forest has completely taken over.
It’s almost an hour before they reach the small village where Our Lady
of Martyrs is located. It’s a tiny, desolate village, the kind that
actually has to change the sign telling how many inhabitants they have when
someone dies: 1,042 people as they drive by it and Blaine suspects
that’s counting the boys in the school. Underneath it, smaller, another
figure tells them how many of their men were sent to fight abroad. Blaine
wonders if their number was withdrawn from the total count of inhabitants and
thinks that if it hasn’t, no matter how many of them manage to survive
and come back in one piece, the village is bound to see its population
dwindling down to naught very soon.
The school is located right next to the church, which is small and made of
white wood. Blaine can almost smell the heady scent of incense that certainly
is embedded in the wood of the walls. The school itself is an austere building
made of sharp angles and steep gables. It looks like an orphanage or a mental
institution; in all honesty, it’s probably a bit of both. The boys sent
there are better off forgotten by their parents and they certainly need fixing.
A shiver runs down his spine as he looks at the windows; as a cloud passes in
front of the sun, they look like tens of glassy eyes casting looks around
without actually seeing anything.
The church and school both face the central place of the village, where a plain
fountain has been placed to lighten up the gloomy atmosphere of what surrounds
it. Its single jet of water only makes everything look more miserable and
soulless.
“Isn’t this a lovely little town!” his mother exclaims
from the front seat, turning around to smile at Blaine. “You’re
going to have a good time here, sweetheart, I can tell. Who knows what mischief
you and your classmates will get up to in those streets!”
Next to her, Blaine’s father huffs and clears his throat. Well of
course, he doesn’t want Blaine to get into any sort of mischief with
boys and he needed to remind everyone, just in case they were starting to enjoy
themselves too much. This isn’t a time for rejoicing, as he makes a
point to remind his wife.
Blaine’s father stops the car in the small courtyard of the school and
Blaine gets out, clutching his small suitcase tightly with both hands. His
parents start towards the school and Blaine follows them. If the weather
outside is hot and stifling like an early September day is wont to be, the
inside of the school feels like the inside of a oven. They are ushered down a
long corridor with bare white walls by a man Blaine dislikes at first sight.
The reality of his situation is starting to dawn on him and he feels his throat
tighten with the urge to cry. Blaine’s mother’s heels click
against the hardwood floor and he focuses on the sound to ground himself and
try to control how his head is spinning. He won’t give his father the
satisfaction to cry in front of him.
He doesn’t pay much attention to the meeting with Father James, which
earns him a slap behind the head from his father.
“As I was saying,” the religious man says in a calm, measured
voice once he has Blaine’s attention. “Mr. Anderson will receive
an excellent education here, beyond academia. Our institution’s main
goal is to instill good values in our students and to ensure they grow up to be
hard-working, well-respected men. Obviously, your son has to understand that in
order to achieve this, there will be rules he has to follow closely lest
punishments will be administered, starting now. It is customary for our
institution to forbid students who come in for a situation similar to
Blaine’s to join extracurricular activities, such as choir or reading
groups. Understood?”
Blaine nods stiffly, his eyes going from the man’s serene face to the
crucifix hanging on the wall behind him. He swallows thickly, the knot in his
throat now painful.
“Now, Brother Benjamin will show Mr. Anderson to his dormitory. He will
be given twenty minutes to unpack and then will be escorted to his classroom,
where he will join his classmates. A schedule and his textbooks have already
been placed in his room. He is expected to follow his classmates’ lead
to know which behaviour to adopt at all times. We will finish filling the
paperwork in the meantime. I recommend you say your goodbyes, now.”
The goodbyes are brief, to say the least, and before Blaine knows it,
he’s walking into a classroom filled with boys wearing the same uniform
than he changed into before leaving his dorm room. Scratchy gray trousers made
of wool, a white dress shirt, a navy blazer and a matching tie. He is told to
sit at one of the empty desks and to try to keep up by a severe Brother with a
wheezing voice.
Blaine catches the boy sitting to his left glancing at him a few times and he
risks a smile the next time he does. Their eyes meet and Blaine’s
stomach swoops at the sight of the boy’s almost impossibly blue eyes.
The boy nods at him and then turns back to the blackboard. Blaine lets his eyes
linger on him and the more he takes in his profile, the worse he feels. This is
exactly why he’s been sent here and within an hour, he’s already
gushing over another boy. It’s obvious he deserves everything
he’ll be put through.
He tries to catch him after the class ends but the boy runs off as soon as the
bell rings. Blaine follows the crowd of boys as they walk down the hallway in
silence and waits for all of them to sit down before going to the only empty
desk.
By the time this other lesson ends, he realises none of the boys have said a
single word since he arrived. His mind then goes to those friaries which made
vows of silence and he wonders if that’s what he was put in, and what
he’s supposed to do if he can’t even talk, let alone sing, and
the knot in his throat is back.
“Can I help you?” a Brother asks him and Blaine realises
he’s standing in the middle of the dormitories floor without moving.
“Hum—yes—er. What am I supposed to do? I
don’t—I’m new here.”
The Brother smiles at him and Blaine relaxes. He’s allowed to talk, if
only some of the time.
“You are to put your books in your room and proceeds to the refectory.
It’s lunch time. You are advised to sit with your classmates. Hurry up
or you won’t get anything to eat before dinner.”
Blaine nods and swiftly goes to his room to throw his books on his bed before
walking out again. He spots a few boys he remembers seeing in his classes and
follows them down the narrow hallways and steep staircases.
They enter a large room with high ceilings filled with tables seating about
five boys each. Blaine looks around nervously and sees that none of them have
food, no plates even, and figures they’ll have someone walking around
serving them. With that in mind, Blaine makes his way to a table with only one
person sitting at it. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the boy from
his first lesson.
“Is this seat taken?” Blaine asks, trying to hide his nerves as
he points to the chair in front of the boy. The boy looks at him with curious
eyes and shakes his head. Blaine sits down and gives him a small smile, which
the boy returns. “I’m Blaine Anderson. I’m new
here.”
“I figured. You better keep your voice down,” he says in a
whisper and Blaine realises the only conversations around him are carried in
hushed voices. “Kurt Hummel,” he adds, extending his hand over
the table to shake Blaine’s.
His skin is soft and so pale the contrast with his own is startling,
and—no. Blaine stiffens as he lets go of Kurt’s hand and he
glances at the large crucifix hanging behind the main table, which is placed
perpendicularly to the others, and where many Brothers and Father James are
seated. These thoughts are wrong. This is what landed him there in the first
place. He can’t go and fall for another boy, even if he’s
breathtakingly beautiful. Blaine should not even notice that.
When he looks back at Kurt, the boy has his head bowed down and a blush on his
face. Feeling Blaine’s eyes on him, he looks up and frowns.
“You’re here for the same reason than I, I assume.”
Blaine holds his eyes and nods slowly. “I think it’s safe to say
I am.”
Kurt’s frown intensifies. “Then you have to stop looking at me
this way, Blaine. You shouldn’t even have talked to me. This is
wrong,” he whispers animatedly, leaning slightly forward as he
emphasises ‘wrong.’ “We are wrong, Blaine, so very wrong.
We are wretched creatures if we give in to those sinful instincts. The only
thing that awaits us is the fires of Hell if we dare let those thoughts fill
our minds. We—you will have to go to confession. Tonight. I know what
you are thinking and I won’t let you contaminate me again with those
wicked—I won’t let you.”
Blaine watches as Kurt finishes his spiel by crossing himself and muttering a
prayer under his breath. Blaine lets out a shaky breath and clears his throat,
averting his eyes when Kurt looks up.
“You mean not all of us here are—that?” Blaine risks
asking.
Kurt glares at him. “Obviously not. What would the odds be? No, you have
your delinquents, your street urchins, your orphans—all sorts of very
lovely boys. God have mercy on us all,” Kurt says darkly and
there’s so much self-loathing in his voice that Blaine winces.
“Some of us are even more than just one of those. You still have
parents?”
Blaine nods and is stopped from returning the question when a boy in a
wheelchair nears them. Kurt moves a chair away so he can get closer to the
table and once he’s in place, he flashes a large smile to Blaine. His
eyes look huge behind his thick glasses and Blaine smiles back, already liking
him.
“New kid?” the boy asks Kurt, who only nods stiffly and busies
himself scratching a dark spot on the tabletop with the nail of his thumb.
“I’m Artie Abrams.”
Blaine shakes his hand. “Blaine Anderson.”
“I see you met our very own ray of sunshine, Kurt Hummel,” Artie
teases, smirking when Kurt huffs. “Don’t mind him. He’s a
righteous pain in the—”
“Artie!” Kurt hisses.
“Alright, alright, don’t have a hissy fit. Kurt’s our
favourite pillar-biter, he is,” Artie replies, still smirking.
“How dare you!” Kurt snaps, his face glowing with anger and
embarrassment. “Do you know what awaits liars? You
should—”
“Mr. Hummel, I must ask you to keep your voice down,” a Brother
asks as he walks between the tables. “Your meals are about to be served
and you wouldn’t want to be asked to leave the refectory without eating,
would you?”
“Sorry, Brother Joseph,” Kurt whispers sheepishly.
Artie looks at Blaine in a way that says ‘you’ve seen nothing
yet’ and Blaine shrugs in an equivocal way. He doesn’t want to
get on either boy’s wrong side yet so he prefers to stay neutral.
“Anyway, what brings you among us?” Artie asks lightly before
quietly cheering when boys who don’t look more than twelve enter the
room pushing carts covered in plates of food.
Blaine looks at them in confusion, wondering what they did to get sent to
kitchen chores. Artie follows his puzzled gaze and lets out a joyless laugh.
“Orphans,” Artie explains. “They have no parents to pay
for their stay here so they work instead. Like Kurt and I, except we’re
not in the kitchen. I help with the laundry, Kurt with sewing.”
“You’re orphans?” Blaine asks the both of them though his
eyes remain on Kurt.
“He is, I’m not,” Artie says. “Why am I working,
then? Easy. What’s the use of a cripple on a farm, I ask you. When I
lost the use of my legs, I became a burden to my family. All I could do what
sit around the house and read books. A waste of food, I tell you, and with food
so hard to come by, they registered me here as an orphan so I would get a good
education without costing them a dime.” Artie shrugs as he finishes his
explanation but the look on his face says he doesn’t feel as lightly
about the matter as he pretends to. “It’s supposed to be a secret
but everyone knows. I’m not the only one. They don’t really mind,
the Brothers, as long as I work for free.”
“You should be grateful for what your parents and this institution offer
you, Artie, instead of complaining about your situation,” Kurt says
coldly before sweetly thanking the young boy giving him his plate.
“Alas, gratefulness is but the expectation of further favours, my dear
Kurt, and I refuse to be indebted to anyone. By complaining, I ensure that no
one gives me more than what I worked for, that way I know I owed everything I
get.”
Blaine nods in agreement when Artie glances at him and then looks down at his
plate as the entire refectory says grace. The food looks decent but he
doesn’t expect it to taste very good. The first bite confirms his
prediction. It tastes bland and dull, and there’s no salt or pepper to
be seen on the table so Blaine resigns himself to endure the meal.
“What about you, Kurt? What happened to your parents?” Blaine
asks to fill the silence.
“They’re dead,” Kurt answers primly without looking at
Blaine.
“Obviously… How?”
“Very tactful,” Artie mutters with a smirk.
“I do not wish to talk about it with a complete stranger, Blaine
Anderson,” Kurt replies before sticking his nose up – Blaine
would not have believed someone Kurt’s age would do something as
childish if he hadn’t seen it himself – and ignoring both Artie
and Blaine for the rest of the meal.
The afternoon goes by before Blaine knows it and the three lessons leave way
to—well, Blaine doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do,
now. He’s sitting on his bed, his dorm room door opened just like
everyone else’s, and staring at the wall. He didn’t get homework
and he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to wander around the school.
He doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to leave his room to go to
the bathroom without asking for permission.
He gets his answer when Artie wheels himself in his room, a stack of sheets on
his knees.
“I knew you’d be confused about what you’re supposed to
do. Here’s the list of work we’re supposed to do at night. We had
to copy it down at the beginning of the year, so I figured you wouldn’t
have a copy. We’re expected to hand in the entire week worth of
exercises on Friday so I imagine you have to do the same, even though
it’s Wednesday.”
Artie starts wheeling himself backwards out of the room but stops abruptly.
“If you have any questions, I’m four doors to the right of yours.
I’m working in the laundry room after dinner until nine, but otherwise
I’m always there.” He starts again and stops. “And Kurt
wanted me to tell you that confession is in the village church from seven to
nine. He said you needed to go.”
Blaine lets out a shaky breath and thanks Artie. He’s dying to know more
about Kurt but doesn’t dare ask yet. Artie’s allegiance to Kurt
is certainly strong and pushing too much might make him go to Kurt and tell all
about Blaine being nosey, which would cause Kurt to have another fit.
Besides, showing too much interest in Kurt is very wrong and exactly why he
will be first in line at confession tonight.
To busy himself until then, Blaine starts copying down the lengthy list of work
he’s expected to do every week. He now knows what he will do to fill his
free time. It’s obvious they intentionally make sure he doesn’t
get any. Hopefully he won’t have any time left to think about what
he’s not supposed to think about.
Kurt is nowhere to be found at dinner and Artie explains that Kurt often does
that. “He starves himself when he thinks he acted wrong. He got angry at
me during lunch so he’s punishing himself.” Artie half-shrugs and
gives Blaine a sad smile. “This kid is messed up. I don’t know
what happened to him before he came here but he’s—passionate, and
not necessarily in a good way.”
Blaine nods but doesn’t push for more information. The less he thinks
about Kurt as anything more than a classmate, the better he will be.
He leaves for the church as soon as he’s done eating. The church is
empty when he enters and he takes his time to look around. It’s far from
the one in Westerville, with its elaborately carved Way of the Cross and
statuesque organ. This one as very simplistic wooden carvings and the pulpit is
simply a book-holder in the middle of a raised platform.
Noises coming from behind his back make Blaine turn around in time to see Kurt
leave the confessional. Their eyes meet and Kurt inhales sharply before
hurrying out of the building, crossing himself as he goes. Blaine swallows and
looks around before walking towards the confessional.
Blaine stops in front of it, suddenly frozen. He feels nauseous and like his
stomach has turned to lead. In that instant, he knows he can’t go in and
confess. Before anyone catches him there, Blaine hurries out of the church and
stops in the central place, heaving like he ran a marathon. Staggering, he sits
on the ledge of the fountain and takes his head in his hands to try and steady
himself.
“You didn’t do it.” Blaine’s head snaps up to see
Kurt sitting a few feet away from him.
“No,” Blaine mutters, looking down again.
Kurt huffs and the rustling of fabric tells Blaine he scooted closer.
“Coward,” Kurt sneers.
“Yeah, I am,” Blaine says with a sigh.
“I go every day,” Kurt tells him haughtily. Blaine looks up and
sees he’s staring off in the distance.
“You can’t possibly commit mortal sins every day, Kurt.”
Kurt huffs. “Don’t be silly. I confess venial sins as
well.”
“Like getting angry at Artie?”
“Exactly.”
“He had it coming,” Blaine notes.
“It doesn’t change a thing,” Kurt replies. Their eyes meet
and Kurt quickly turns his gaze away.
Blaine hums but drops the subject. His nausea is receding and his head has
stopped spinning. “What happened to your parents, Kurt?” he asks.
Kurt shakes his head but smiles. “How did you get here, Blaine?”
he asks back and his tone has an amused tint to it that Blaine is surprised to
hear from the boy. It’s unexpected and makes Blaine feel terrible
because he likes it way too much.
Blaine smirks at him. “I was caught kissing the milk boy behind the
general store.”
Kurt gasps and pales. “You acted on it?!” he hisses, his eyes
darting around in sheer panic. “You are—thinking it is bad enough
but acting on it is boldly defying everything! How—and you look so calm
about it, too! How can you—don’t you even feel guilty about
it?”
“Kurt, calm down,” Blaine says hurriedly.
“How do you expect me to calm down when you are even more wretched than
I thought?” His voice has gone shrill. “And you won’t even
confess! Next thing we know, you’ll tell me you enjoyed it?” Kurt
is once more red in the face and his eyes are wide with panic.
“Hey, hey, you need to breathe, Kurt, or you’ll work yourself
into fits.” Blaine reaches forward to rub his back but Kurt flinches.
“Don’t touch me, you heathen.”
“Give me time.” “It’s my first day, here.
I—I know what I did was bad, I’m aware of that. But confessing
would be—I’m not ready to face the consequences, yet. Yes,
I’m a coward. I need time.” Blaine shakes his head. “I
don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Obviously,” Kurt deadpans.
“I need guidance.”
“Still stating the obvious, I see.” Kurt looks up to the sky,
which is darkening by the minute, and gets up. “I better go back
inside.”
“What happened to your parents, Kurt?” Blaine asks again,
tentatively teasing.
“Confess and maybe I’ll tell you,” Kurt shouts back over
his shoulder as he walks quickly towards the entrance of the school.
Blaine bites his lip hard when he catches himself thinking that he really likes
that odd kid.
---
A month later, Blaine is still unable to confess. Whenever he gets near the
confessional, he starts feeling physically sick and has to run outside, finding
himself breathing in the crisp October air like he spent hours underwater.
Despite the many sermons he heard telling him in barely veiled words that his
very being is wrong, he still can’t face the punishment that unavoidably
awaits him the day he decides to step inside the confessional.
His internal struggle is nothing compared to Kurt’s, though. If Blaine
is torn between his cowardice and his conscience telling him he ought to be
absolved of the horrible things he’s done, Kurt seems to be caught
between hating and befriending Blaine and it makes Blaine think that perhaps,
the boy doesn’t truly hate him.
It only gets worse with time. Blaine finds himself teasing or being downright
flirty with Kurt more and more and surprisingly, Kurt is receptive, sometimes,
and will give Blaine covert smiles and light brushes of his hand on his arms or
hands that he pairs with furtive glances, even as he tells Blaine to leave him
alone. Then, the next day, he’ll act aloof and cold like they
don’t even know each other. It’s slowly driving Blaine insane.
On the days Kurt is nice to him, though, they can spend hours walking around
town or on the school grounds, discussing without ever running out of topics.
Sometimes, when the mood is right, they even end up almost flirting and those
are Blaine’s favourite days. These are days when Kurt lets their hands
brush, laughs louder and smiles wider. Blaine is terrified of the things
Kurt’s eyes and smiles do and say to him on those days.
“Kurt tells me you still haven’t confessed,” Artie says as
they walk through the village.
It’s a cold yet sunny Saturday afternoon in late October and
they’ve just walked out of a funeral ceremony for soldiers who died
recently. Five empty coffins for five boys barely older than Blaine, killed in
Poland, or Germany, or France; Blaine has lost count. It’s the third
ceremony he attends since he arrived.
“I haven’t, no,” Blaine replies lightly, hoping Artie
won’t push further.
“It’s really upsetting him that you don’t. I have half a
mind to stop going just to bother him but even I do it at least once a
month.”
“What’s wrong with him, anyway?” Blaine asks, more sharply
than he intended.
“What do you mean?”
“One minute he’s friendly and the next he’s ignoring
me.”
Artie purses his lips and looks away from Blaine. “The Puckermans used
to live there,” he says, pointing a house to their right.
“Who?” Blaine doesn’t even try to hide his annoyance at
Artie’s intentional avoidance.
“The Puckermans. Noah, their son, he used to deliver food from the
grocers when I worked in the kitchen a few years ago. They had to flee last
year.”
“What happened?” Blaine asks but he already knows the answer.
It’s making his stomach knot.
“They were Jewish,” Artie says in a low voice. “People
tolerated them before, but you know how it is. In a small town like this, with
a friary on the grounds, religion is everything. That’s what’s
wrong with Kurt.”
Blaine squints at Artie. “I’m not sure I’m
following.”
“Well, you better try to understand. Kurt is worrying himself sick over
you.” With that, Artie quickly wheels himself away from Blaine and back
to school.
Later that night, Blaine spends ten minutes pacing his room before he makes up
his mind, cursing himself for acting like such a fool for something as banal as
talking to Kurt, his friend. Grabbing the bundle of clothes he’d made
earlier that evening, he leaves his room and walks down the hall towards
Kurt’s. Knocking lightly on the doorframe, he peaks his head inside
hesitantly.
“Hey, Kurt, are you busy?”
Kurt looks up from his schoolwork with a start and frowns when he sees Blaine.
“Yes.”
It’s a bad day and Blaine’s face falls. He shouldn’t
expect much when Kurt is in that sort of mood.
“Oh, well,” Blaine steps inside the room anyway, earning himself
a heavy sigh from Kurt. “I was wondering if you could repair some of my
things? Most of my socks have holes in them now and there’s a tear in
one of my shirts. I know that’s your job here, so I figured I’d
ask.”
Kurt rolls his eyes but pushes his chair away from his desk and gets up to
cross the small room. He pulls Blaine’s clothes out of his hands and
makes sure to not meet his eyes. “Come back in an hour, I should be
done.”
“Do you mind if I stay?”
Kurt sighs and rolls his eyes before sitting down again and putting his
textbooks away, replacing them with Blaine’s clothes. He opens one of
the drawers and takes out needles and thread. Blaine watches in silence for a
moment as Kurt nimbly starts sewing his socks.
“It’s really warm in your room, do you mind if I open the window
a bit?” Blaine asks after several minutes in silence.
“If you want to kill me, you are free to do so,” Kurt snaps.
“What do you mean?”
“My mother died of tuberculosis. It’s only a matter of time
before I have it, too. So, sure, if you want me to get consumption, go on and
open the damn window.”
Blaine’s eyes widen at the same time than Kurt’s back tenses.
“Kurt Hummel, did you just curse?” Blaine drawls, a smirk on his
lips.
Dropping his needle and Blaine’s sock, Kurt crosses himself before
putting his hands together and muttering a prayer under his breath. Then,
turning towards Blaine, he sniffles. Blaine feels his stomach knot up when he
sees Kurt’s eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“You are a foul person, Blaine Anderson. I don’t know what I did
to you so that you would find amusement in my misery. You have caused me
nothing but trouble since you arrived and I wish you would—” Kurt
stops talking and shakes his head, pressing his lips together until they
disappear. “I have to—I’ll be right back.”
He gets up and leaves his room. Blaine follows right after him instinctively,
almost running down the hallway to keep up with Kurt’s long strides.
Kurt ignores him until he enters what looks like a storage room. The door
closes heavily behind them and Kurt lets out a frustrated groan.
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” he snaps, stalking through
the aisles formed by the shelves, Blaine on his heels. “What have I done
for you to harass me like you do?”
“Kurt, if you want us to talk, you’ll have to stop running away
from me. Let me at least apologise. My conduct has been despicable.”
Blaine winces at his own words. He sounds like his father.
“I’m not running away from you, I need white thread to fix your
clothes and didn’t have any in my room.”
“You know what I mean.”
Kurt’s shoulders slump and he stops at once. Blaine catches up with him
and goes to stand in front of him. Kurt keeps his head bowed down and Blaine
doesn’t try to meet his gaze. He hates forcing himself on Kurt that way
but he needs answers.
“Every time you talk to me, I have to confess,” Kurt says
quietly. “I was doing so well. I thought I was cured, but then you had
to come and—” Kurt shakes his head and his voice breaks into a
sob. “You have no idea what I go through whenever I confess
that.”
“And you expect me to go and suffer through the same things than you
do?” Blaine chuckles dryly.
“You’re living a lie! As long as you don’t confess,
you’ll be treated as any other student in this school while I remain a
pariah. It isn’t fair that you get the privileges of being just another
normal student while I endure the whispers from my classmates and the
chastising from the clergy!”
“And this is why we can’t be friends?”
“This is why I shouldn’t even talk to you, Blaine,” Kurt
says coldly. He raises his chin in defiance after grabbing what he came for.
“It was great, but I think we ought to stop this acquaintance.”
Kurt tries to walk around Blaine but he blocks his way, their bodies inches
from each other. Their eyes meet and they hold still as seconds pass. Something
warm churns in Blaine’s stomach. His breath picks up and his heart
starts thumping in his ears as they continue to gaze into each other’s
eyes. Kurt is as flustered as Blaine, he can feel his warm breath against his
lips and knows Kurt can feel his, but when Blaine almost involuntarily leans
forward, Kurt dashes out of the room.
Blaine doesn’t sleep well that night. He tosses and turns without being
able to fall asleep for hours and when he finally does, it’s to wake up
soon after when thoughts of Kurt occupy his dreams; he’s kissing him
feverishly, their flushed skins pressed together as they cling to each other
and make noises he can still hear ringing in his ears after he wakes up.
With horror, he realises he’s hard in his pajamas and he lies motionless
for long minutes, willing it to go away as angry tears fill his eyes. It
isn’t the first time it happens to him but never before had it been so
clearly caused by thoughts of a boy.
Kurt is right. They are wrong. They are so very wrong and he needs to be cured.
He has no other choice. First thing tomorrow, he’ll go confess and
endure whatever he deserves to go through. No more thoughtless flirting and
teasing with Kurt.
With that resolution in mind, he slips his hand inside his pants, letting the
images from his dream fill his mind once more as he bites his lips to stifle
the sobs and moans that threaten to escape.
---
Kurt is in trouble. He hasn’t been this much in trouble since the first
time he realised he did not only like Finn Hudson as a friend.
Except, this time, instead of being a tall guy who would too soon turn into his
brother, it’s a short boy who follows him around like a puppy. And he
looks like a puppy, too, and seriously, how is Kurt supposed to hate a puppy?
Kurt can’t get him out of his head. He occupies his thoughts night and
day – oh and the nights are when it’s really bad because
Kurt’s imagination is his worst enemy. It’s become so bad that he
stopped confessing: at that point, they’d probably excommunicate him.
That’s how filthy his mind has become.
Say, for example, they’re in English class. They’ll be allowed
time to read a chapter of whatever they are reading right now – it might
be A Tale of Two Cities but Kurt really hasn’t been paying attention in
the past weeks and for all he knows, it’s War and Peace – and
he’ll find himself covertly looking at Blaine the whole time.
He’ll watch the way he rubs the corner of the pages with his thumb as he
reads, he’ll follow the curve of his neck longingly, he’ll marvel
at the length of his eyelashes, the shape of his nose, the broadness of his
shoulders and how they stretch the fabric of his blazer and before he knows it,
he will be squirming uncomfortably in his seat and cursing himself under his
breath.
So, obviously, he’s mean. He has to keep Blaine away lest he does
something they will both bitterly regret, and it usually works until Blaine
says something that can be interpreted as flirtatious and Kurt melts, gives in,
and flirt right back.
Yet, his fit in the storage room the week before seems to have calmed Blaine
and Kurt hates that he misses the attention. He misses their conversations and
how easy it was to talk to Blaine and he misses that he had someone who
understood his life.
But it’s for the best, right? No more interactions with Blaine means no
need to monitor everything he says and does.
Maybe if he repeats it often enough, he’ll believe it but, so far,
it’s not working.
Trying to push thoughts of Blaine and everything that’s wrong about the
friendship he longs for away, Kurt enters the shower room and groans in
frustration when he hears a few showerheads. He hates showering when
he’s not alone but curfew is in twenty minutes and he hates doing it in
the morning even more than he dislikes the tension his presence causes.
Quickly stripping off his clothes, he wraps a towel around his waist and picks
up his shampoo and soap before heading for the showerhead he always picks: the
farthest away from the door, next to the back wall, so he can face the corner
and pretend he’s alone if he’s not.
He’s almost there when he notices Blaine. It takes him so much by
surprise that he lets out a yelp he barely manages to stifle. Not letting his
eyes linger on Blaine’s back – definitely not, no, of course not,
he is not looking – Kurt hurries away and focuses on washing himself.
With a metallic squeak, a boy shuts the water and Kurt chances a glance over
his shoulder. With him gone, he’s alone with Blaine.
It doesn’t take long before his eyes drift towards Blaine. He’s
two showerheads away from him and hasn’t noticed Kurt or if he has,
he’s playing innocent really well. Kurt follows the curve of his back
with his eyes and his breath quickens as he looks at Blaine’s round,
naked ass. He continues to look down and takes in the muscular thighs with a
shaky sigh. Kurt closes his eyes and wills himself to look away before
curiosity gets the best of him and he oversteps too many of his own boundaries.
“Kurt?”
Kurt falters and steadies himself against the wall before opening his eyes. He
needs to calm down, he’s too nervous for something as banal as showering
near Blaine. “Blaine?” he asks innocently.
“Look at me, Kurt,” Blaine says hesitantly.
“Blaine, don’t be silly,” Kurt snaps. “This is not
the place.”
“I know it’s wrong,” Blaine groans and the sound goes
straight to Kurt’s groin. “I confessed, you know.”
“Do we really have to discuss this here?” Kurt asks in a small
voice.
“I just—I know what you said, and I respect that, but we have to
talk. I need it.”
“I certainly won’t talk to you when we’re both naked! And
to be honest, there is nothing to talk about, Blaine. We—we are in the
same situation, I offered you guidance, you followed it, that’s it!
There’s nothing else to be done! You do whatever it is you have to do to
absolve yourself of sins and avoid them in the future, and I do the same. Each
to his own.”
Kurt wonders if Blaine can tell how little he believes in his words or the
effect his voice has on him.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me there’s nothing more to talk
about.” Blaine’s voice sounds too close and Kurt risks opening
his eyes. He’s standing a foot away from Kurt.
Kurt finally meets Blaine’s eyes and he gulps at the fire he sees
burning in them. He has to know. There’s no way he doesn’t know
the effect he has on Kurt; it’s near impossible that his rapid heartbeat
can’t be heard echoing around the room and if Blaine doesn’t
notice the way Kurt can’t seem to tear his eyes away from him,
he’s probably blind. Having Blaine so close after a week of complete
deprivation – and yes, it does feel like an addiction, which is very
saddening, Kurt is fully aware of it – seems to set something in motion
in his head and before he knows it, he’s nodding.
“Come to my room after curfew. Don’t get caught.” His
voice comes out breathy and low.
Blushing at both his words and voice’s betrayal, Kurt turns the water
off, grabs his things and stalks out of the room. He only notices he
hasn’t even washed after he’s put on his pajamas and thrown
himself on his bed to groan into his pillow. It’s too late, now, and
he’ll have to do it in the morning.
Half an hour passes before his dorm room opens and closes quickly. He
hasn’t moved from his prostrated position on his bed. He feels the
mattress shifting and pulls his legs to his chest so Blaine can sit down.
“Kurt,” he whispers and Kurt hums in acknowledgement. “I
never meant for any of this to happen.”
“Me neither.”
“What do they do when you confess this?”
Kurt huffs. “What did they do?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Me neither.”
Blaine is quiet for a while and Kurt risks a glance at him. He’s sitting
with his back against the wall and he’s staring at the ceiling. Kurt
shifts to continue looking at Blaine. The moonlight is barely lighting him up
but Kurt doesn’t need much light anymore to guess Blaine’s
features, he knows them by heart already.
“Do you really think we’ll go to Hell for what we are?”
Kurt is about to answer when Blaine talks again. “I know you talk like a
Bible fanatic but I have a feeling you really aren’t. Well, either a
feeling or a really strong wish. And it makes me sad to think about what they
must have done to turn you into one.”
“You have the luxury to look normal,” Kurt begins softly.
“I don’t have that chance. I’m a poor orphaned boy who
looks and sounds like a girl. I’m an easy target.”
Blaine inhales sharply and shifts closer to Kurt. “Did
they—”
“No,” Kurt says strongly. “No, they haven’t. But
I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“For the record, I think you’re handsome. But, ah—”
Blaine clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, looking away from
Kurt. “Do you really think we’ll go to Hell?”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Blaine answers so strongly that Kurt lifts himself on an elbow to look at him.
“No?”
Blaine shakes his head. “I know what they say. I listen to their sermons
and what everyone says but I—I don’t see why the fact that I
happened to fall for someone I shouldn’t like makes me a bad person and
why because of this, no matter what I’ll do for the rest of my life,
I’m damned.”
“You fell for me?” Kurt hears himself whisper and he puts his
hand over his mouth immediately.
Blaine chuckles and clears his throat again. “Did I say that out
loud?”
“You did,” Kurt breathes out, blushing.
Blaine chuckles nervously again. Kurt pushes himself up into a sitting
position, his back against the headboard. He starts mindlessly scratching his
nails against the cotton of his pants and worrying his lip between his teeth as
he feels Blaine’s eyes on him. Somewhere in the distance, Kurt hears a
clock ticking, the steady rhythm almost lost under the sound of Blaine’s
breath.
“I think you’re handsome, too,” Kurt says quietly,
bashfully. “And I don’t really hate you, not really.”
“I know. It was really obvious.” Blaine almost sounds smug, then,
so Kurt extends a leg to kick his thigh. “Hey! Don’t hit me! You
know it was.”
“Well, you didn’t make it hard to hide with all your flirting and
your smiles.”
“So we were flirting.”
Kurt doesn’t answer right away. In that instant, he’s terrified.
It’s scarier than hearing his father tell him Mommy won’t be
coming home tonight because she’s sick, and then won’t come back
home ever again. It’s scarier than being pulled out of class to be told
his father was found dead after a heart attack. It’s scarier than
sitting at his parents’ funerals, scarier than confessing to a cold-
voiced priest that he’s homosexual. It’s trusting that Blaine
won’t let him down and won’t run away.
Kurt breathes in shakily. “I really hope we were.”
Silence stretches between them, pulling at Kurt’s nerves and making him
regret his honesty.
“Can I kiss you?” Blaine’s voice is steady despite how
he’s wringing his hands nervously in his lap.
“Yes.” Kurt gulps and bites his lip while frowning, fully aware
that this is the point of no return.
For a moment, Kurt thinks Blaine hasn’t heard him but then he’s
moving forward and putting his hand on Kurt’s cheek as he kneels before
him. Kurt can feel his panting breath on his face and he shivers.
“Are you sure?” Blaine whispers.
Kurt nods stiffly before closing the gap between their lips. He sighs sharply
through his nose and reaches up to cling to Blaine’s arms as the other
boy presses his lips more firmly against his. Kurt kisses him back, the slide
of lips dizzying and intoxicating until he can’t breathe anymore and has
to pull away.
He falls back against the wall and closes his eyes before touching his lips
with the tip of his fingers. “I can’t believe—” he
begins but his voice breaks.
Blaine shifts so he can hold Kurt’s head between his hands and kisses
him again. Kurt kisses him back and pulls him closer. Kurt lets out a whimper
when he feels Blaine’s tongue against his lips and he parts them,
gripping Blaine’s sides when he licks into his mouth before sucking
briefly on his bottom lip.
He tries the same on Blaine and it causes him to pull away with a gasp.
“What are we doing?” Blaine asks nervously, moving away from Kurt
with wide eyes. “Seriously. What are we thinking? That we’ll be
fine? You—you know better than me what they’re capable of and
we’re—we’re kissing on your bed. In your dorm room. Inside
a Catholic school, where I’ve been sent exactly because I kissed a
boy,” Blaine whispers animatedly while gesticulating wildly. Kurt had
hoped his mind would have taken a bit longer to catch up with his actions.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what to
think. I’m panicking, too. But—I know we can’t confess
this. They’d keep us apart if they knew,” Kurt replies, moving
away from Blaine and curling up against the headboard of his bed once more.
“Wouldn’t that be better?”
Kurt leans forward and kisses the corner of Blaine’s lips. “Do
you really mean this? Because we can stay away from each other, but if they
keep us away, God knows what horrifying ways they’ll find.”
“You’re saying we can’t repeat this?”
Kurt bites his tongue so he doesn’t speak his mind. Blaine is right.
“We shouldn’t, no. It’s too dangerous. And it’s
wrong,” he adds automatically but without conviction.
Blaine surprises Kurt by kissing him again. “So very wrong,” he
mutters against his lips before kissing them again.
“Yes,” Kurt breathes out, his eyes closing and his hands tangling
in Blaine’s hair. “So wrong.”
This time Blaine doesn’t hesitate to slip his tongue in Kurt’s
mouth, making him arch his back and whimper. Blaine moves his lips to his jaw,
where he starts kissing down to his neck. Kurt wraps his arms tightly around
Blaine’s shoulders and moves his head to expose more of his neck, which
Blaine immediately covers with kisses.
Kurt opens his eyes briefly and his eyes fall on the crucifix hanging over his
bed. Tensing up but not pushing Blaine away, he moves his gaze to try to focus
on something that won’t bring up guilt, only to focus on his rosary. He
gasps and pushes Blaine away hurriedly.
“Stop, stop,” he hisses, pushing until Blaine unwraps his arms
from around him and moves back. “Go. Leave my room. Now.”
“But Kurt—”
“I shouldn’t have let you in. This is wrong. We can’t do
this. Go before we get caught!”
Kurt gets off his bed and starts pushing Blaine towards the door until he
collides with it. Kurt holds him against it and kisses him again, pulling away
as soon as Blaine tries to kiss him back.
“Out!” he finally hisses and nearly slams the door when Blaine is
out. Kurt leans his forehead against it and finally lets his mind take over,
panic and fright washing over him like a tide.
---
Blaine can’t say he’s slept in the past week. He’s haunted
by the memories of that night in Kurt’s room whenever he closes his
eyes. He’s on the edge and even Artie noticed that something is up. He
gave up asking what’s wrong when Blaine snapped at him to mind his own
business two days earlier.
He hasn’t confessed since that night and that, too, is gnawing away at
his mind. Kurt probably hasn’t, either, because he still looks alright.
They haven’t talked since. In fact, Kurt barely acknowledges him.
It’s not the other way around, as much as Blaine wishes he could get the
boy out of his mind. Maybe he found it hard to focus his attention on something
else than Kurt before, but now it’s like he can’t think of
anything else.
It’s dinner time a week exactly after their terrible mistake when Kurt
talks to him. Well, he talks to both Artie and Blaine, but Blaine counts this
as a victory.
Kurt walks oddly slowly as he enters the refectory and that detail alone
worries Blaine. He’s watched Kurt’s every move enough to know his
demeanour and this is uncharacteristic of him. He winces as he sits down and
keeps his back ramrod straight instead of leaning against the back of his
chair.
“Hey, Kurt!” Artie greets him lightly.
“Hi,” Kurt answers tightly before swallowing. From up close, his
eyes look bloodshot.
“Are you alright?” Blaine asks cautiously.
Kurt purses his lips and shakes his head. Tears begin pooling in his eyes and
Blaine has a hard time not reaching for Kurt’s hand.
“Did you know they still use flogging nowadays?” Kurt chokes out
before letting out a self-deprecating laugh and wiping his eyes angrily.
“Because I found out firsthand.”
Artie whistles. “Whatever you did, Kurt, I never imagined you’d
have the guts to do anything to earn a punishment like this. I’m almost
impressed.”
“Shut up, Artie,” Blaine snaps before he can help it.
“Yeah, you know what? You two are boring lately. Whatever is going on,
you better sort it out. Tell me when you have, because I need a break,
alright?” With that, Artie rolls away from them and joins some of their
classmates at another table.
“You confessed it?” Blaine breathes out.
“What choice did I have?” Kurt hisses.
“Did you—”
“No, I didn’t give them your name, Blaine, but they probably know
anyway. They’re not idiots. They know about your—your issues, and
they know we’re friends.”
“I don’t want to get flogged,” Blaine whines, more to
himself than to Kurt.
“Unless you confess, they have nothing against you but assumptions.
You’re safe.”
They stop talking as they are handed their meals and Kurt seems resolute to
stay mute.
“When did they do it?” Blaine finally asks when he can’t
stand the silence anymore.
“Just now. My shirt is surely ruined.”
“Let me take care of your wounds.”
“What? No!” Kurt snaps. “Don’t you think
you’ve done enough, already? Look, just leave me alone, okay?
You’ve caused me enough problems. Please.”
Kurt pushes his peas around his plate with his fork for a second or two before
roughly pushing his plate away and leaving the refectory. Blaine stares after
him, numb with confusion and shock.
He stares at Kurt from a distance in the following days. The other boy seems
decided to never talk to Blaine again, which he can live with. Maybe.
“You fought with Kurt, didn’t you?” Artie asks in a hushed
voice as they’re walking back from Mass one very cold Sunday morning.
“What makes you say this?” Blaine asks lightly, frowning in mock-
confusion at him.
“Only my legs are crippled, Blaine. Don’t think I’m an
idiot,” Artie snaps.
Blaine sighs and looks around. They’re standing in the central place,
the village slowly leaving the church around them and going back to their
Sunday leisure activities. He catches sight of Kurt, who tightens his scarf
around his neck and hurries back towards the school. When he looks back at
Artie, he sees he followed Blaine’s gaze and is now frowning.
“You could say that. We didn’t exactly fight, but it’s
clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
Artie squints at Blaine with a pensive look for a while and Blaine shifts
uncomfortably under his gaze. “Are you—wait. No. You can’t
be, can you?”
“I’m what?” Blaine asks sharply.
Artie leans forward and Blaine bends down to listen. “Are you like Kurt?
You know—that?” he whispers.
Blaine’s eyes widen and he jerks backwards. “What makes you think
that?”
“You never told me why you were here. Why would parents send a nice,
clever, and well-behaved boy like you in a place like this if there
wasn’t something that needs fixing in him, you tell me.”
Blaine groans and sighs. He takes hold of the handles of Artie’s chair
and pushes him through the village until he finds a quiet corner. Once there,
he leans against the wall of the building behind which they hid and rubs his
hands over his face.
“Okay, so, what if I am like Kurt?”
When Blaine looks at Artie, he’s grinning. “Well, he likes you.
You either turned him down, don’t see it, or—” he studies
Blaine’s face, who blushes under the scrutinising gaze. “Or
you—no. I can’t believe it. You guys—”
“We kissed,” Blaine mumbles, agonising with a mix of shame and
embarrassment under Artie’s gaze.
“I knew it! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You have
to share those things with me, I’m your friend!”
“This isn’t an exciting detail of my life, Artie, for
Christ’s sake, it’s a traumatising one!”
“Yes, of course, because Hummel is ugly and it’s a hardship
kissing him.”
“But it’s wrong!” Blaine whines, and to hell with maturity
because this is the first time he voices this with someone who doesn’t
compulsively crosses himself.
“Look, you and Kurt, sometimes I think you’re too impressionable.
You let those sermons and all that completely dictate your behaviour like
it’s God sent.” Blaine stares down at Artie, who shrugs.
“Yeah, it is. Fine. But look how miserable it makes you.”
“But it’s what we’re supposed to do.”
“I was raised on a farm, Blaine. I almost lost my mother because she
gave birth to too many kids, and then we were constantly starved because we had
too many mouths to feed. Yet, having kids is what my parents were supposed to
do. I had to nurse some of my siblings and later see them die because of what
my parents were supposed to do. So don’t go and tell me that everything
we’re taught is right. Sometimes, you have to listen to what feels right
for you, as a person, despite the rest.”
“My father probably disowned me,” Blaine points out, clinging to
anything that could prove Artie wrong. “How is that right for
me?”
“Unless you want to be him, you don’t need him.”
Blaine slips against the wall until he’s crouching on the ground, his
face hidden in his hands. “I can’t do that. I can’t let
him down. He expects me to be cured.”
“Jesus, it’s like talking to Kurt all over again,” Artie
groans in frustration, rolling back and forth.
“Don’t swear.”
“Yeah, I can see why you get along with him. Seriously, Blaine. The only
person you’re letting down right now is yourself. He obviously
doesn’t care about you if he sent you here.”
“But it’s wrong—”
“You’ll tell me you gave a damn about religion before being sent
here? I heard you muttering the wrong prayers at Mass on your first days. Can
you honestly say that what you’re thinking when you kiss Kurt is how
wrong it is?”
Blaine shrugs and looks up at Artie. “What should I do?”
“Endure through the rest of the school year, graduate, and live to kiss
lots of boys.” Artie starts leaving the backstreet and heading towards
the school. “Ah, and by-the-bye, Kurt’s an atheist,” he
calls over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.
Blaine’s eyes widen and he starts after Artie, his shoes slipping on the
snow and causing him to skid as he stops next to him. “What?”
“He never told me or anyone, but it’s obvious, isn’t
it?” Artie says with a smirk that Blaine almost misses in his haste to
go try and find Kurt.
He opens the doors roughly, wincing when the noise reverberates through the
building. He has no idea where to find Kurt so he heads towards his dorm room,
where he’s probably spending his Sunday reading.
He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost trips over Kurt. The
boy is scrubbing the hardwood floor on all fours and he pushes his hair out of
his eyes with his wrist before looking up at Blaine.
“You are ruining my work,” he snaps, eyeing the trail of water
Blaine’s shoes left on the floor.
“And why exactly are you scrubbing the floor?”
“I’m taking on more chores. Because of—you know.
I’m punishing myself by ruining my hands,” Kurt says haughtily
and resumes working.
Blaine looks at Kurt for a moment, at the way the muscles of his back stretch
the starched fabric of his uniform shirt and he licks his lips reflexively.
Kurt’s head is bent down and the nape of his neck glows white in the
sunlight pouring from the tall windows of the hallway. Blaine sees
Kurt’s hands shaking before he realises Kurt is looking at him again.
“What do you want?” Kurt asks in a strained voice.
“To talk to you.”
“You know what can happen when we talk.” Nevertheless, Kurt drops
the brush back in the bucket of water and gets up, wiping his hands on his
pants. “Where do you want to go?”
“Follow me.”
Blaine doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the storage room where he
followed Kurt weeks ago. He opens the door and waits until Kurt is inside
before stepping in, closing the door and pressing his back against it.
Kurt is standing a short distance from him, avoiding his eyes.
“It’s like you’re not even trying to get over me.
Don’t think I can’t see you staring.”
“Maybe I don’t want to,” Blaine replies with bravado,
holding Kurt’s eyes when he glares at him.
“Do you want to see my back? It’s healing quite slowly. You need
a reminder of what happens to boys like us?”
Kurt starts pacing back and forth, disappearing in the shadows and reappearing,
the pale sunlight breaking through the dusty windows making his face look
ghostly. He’s twisting his hands nervously and worrying his bottom lip
between his teeth, a deep crease on his forehead.
“I talked to Artie,” Blaine says casually to fill the silence.
“Great. This is breaking news. You talked to a friend. Can I go
now?” Kurt deadpans, stopping at last and shoving his hands in the
pockets of his slacks.
“He said something—surprising about you.”
“What would that be?” Kurt asks primly, his chin raised.
“He said you’re an atheist.”
Kurt lets out a joyless laugh. “And you believed him? My poor naïve
Blaine.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I hear you ramble on and on about how wrong we
are, but I hear the same words every Sunday morning. Have you ever been honest
with me, Kurt, or was everything always a lie?”
Kurt opens his mouth and closes it. His countenance falls at once and he sighs,
leaning heavily against a shelf. “It’s your fault.”
“What?” Blaine snaps. “How is that my fault? Why is it
always my fault? It takes two to kiss.”
“Why did you insist to be my friend, Blaine? I’ve been nothing
but mean to you ever since we met.”
“Not always. Sometimes, you gave me glimpses of the real Kurt.”
“Yes, and it was a brilliant idea,” Kurt sneers.
“It’s all a game for you, isn’t it? Charm a boy, get him
to kiss you, and then act like you are a victim in all of it? Is that how it
works with you? Because maybe that guy in your hometown didn’t suffer
any consequences for it, but I will. Hell, I already have!”
Kurt pushes past Blaine and goes towards the door.
“Wait!”
Kurt shakes his head and lets his shoulders fall, his arms wrapping
protectively around himself. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know, Kurt. All I know is that when I’m with you,
I don’t feel wrong, or disgusting. I’ve been honest with you. I
was hoping you would do the same.”
“What do you want me to say?” Kurt shouts, making the two of them
jump. “Yes! I’m living a lie!” he continues, lowering his
voice. “I don’t know that I’m an atheist, Blaine, but
I’m not sure I believe in any of this. Why do you think Artie calls me a
pillar-biter? I pretend like I believe to strive through this hell but as soon
as I’m out? You can bet I’m never stepping inside a church
again.”
Blaine blinks a few times in shock. “But—you’re so intense
with religion and how wrong we are. I know you said it was easier to pretend
but you are beyond pretending, Kurt. This is almost obsessive.”
“I’ve convinced myself I believe in all of it. Or I don’t
know. That maybe if I follow their rules I might be cured.”
“So you’re the coward. Not me.”
“You call it cowardice, I call it survival instinct.” Kurt
glances up briefly. “I disgust you, don’t I?”
Blaine swallows and squares his jaw. “You’ve never been more
interesting to me.”
Kurt laughs nervously. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You panicked in my room, the other night. Where do you stand,
now?”
Blaine shrugs. “I don’t know, but I know that you make it feel
like we don’t need fixing and that’s good enough for me.”
Blaine sees it on Kurt’s face the moment he lets go of whatever
restraints he’d forced around his mind. He pushes himself off the door
to take a tentative step forward. “Well, that’s good,”
Kurt whispers, walking closer until Blaine is caught between the door and
Kurt’s body.
“What are you doing?” Blaine asks with a smirk.
“I don’t know. I’m following my instincts for a
change.” Kurt presses his forehead against Blaine’s and breathes
out. “This could have very grave consequences.”
“Not if no one finds out,” Blaine replies in a breath. He wraps
his arms around Kurt’s neck and inches his chin forward until their lips
touch. Kurt kisses him back, his hands going up to rest on Blaine’s
hips.
“What are you suggesting?” Kurt asks against his lips, stroking
Blaine’s hipbones with his thumbs.
“I don’t know. Any ideas?”
“All I know is that I’m tired of fighting. For once, I want to
get what I want.”
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t, then,” Blaine says
before kissing Kurt again, humming when Kurt wraps his arms around his waist.
They kiss until Blaine’s jaw becomes sore and he feels his neck cramp up
from the angle. He pulls away and laughs when Kurt breathes out loudly.
“What?” Kurt asks softly.
“You’re adorable, that’s all.”
Kurt smiles and it goes all the way to his eyes. “So are you,” he
says in a breathy voice before kissing the tip of Blaine’s nose.
“But I’ve got to go, now. Those floors won’t scrub
themselves.” Kurt takes a step back but Blaine keeps his arms around
him. “Blaine,” he scolds playfully.
“Come to my room tonight?”
Kurt studies his face for a moment before smiling. “Okay.”
They kiss one more time and Kurt lingers against Blaine until he pushes him
away with a laugh. “Go! I’ll see you tonight.”
---
Kurt really likes kissing Blaine and he doesn’t have the chance to do it
as often as he wants. They risk going to each other’s room past curfew
every other day but it’s not enough. Kurt needs more and it’s
slowly gnawing at his sanity.
“We need—” Kurt pants. “We need to breathe.”
He rolls off Blaine and tries to calm down. Feeling Blaine’s warm body
next to his makes it almost impossible and Kurt has half a mind to get up and
pace his room for a while before they pass the point of no return. They
haven’t allowed themselves to, yet.
“I don’t want to,” Blaine whispers in his ear, nuzzling
the side of Kurt’s face, his warm breath tickling his skin and making
him squirm. “Please?”
Blaine lets his hand trail down Kurt’s body until he reaches the
waistband of his pants and settles it there, the heel of his palm close to the
base of Kurt’s cock.
“We’ll get caught. B—Blaine, this is too
dangerous,” Kurt stammers when Blaine’s warm lips press on the
side of his neck and suck briefly at his pulse point.
“Not if we’re quiet,” Blaine says against his skin. He
rolls on his side and holds himself up with an elbow so he can unbutton
Kurt’s shirt and make him whine when he presses a kiss to his chest.
Kurt throws his head back, his back arching under Blaine’s white hot
touch on his over-sensitive skin and his eyes fall on the crucifix above his
bed.
“Blaine,” Kurt breathes out, his fingers tangling in
Blaine’s hair. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?” Blaine sits back on his knees and through
the darkness, Kurt can make out that he’s frowning.
“This,” Kurt says quickly before getting up on the bed and taking
the crucifix off the wall. “I can’t do this if Jesus is
watching.” Kurt gets off the bed just as Blaine lets himself fall face
first into the pillow to muffle his laughter. “Stop laughing,
you’ll get us caught!”
Looking around his room, Kurt tries to think of where he could hide the
crucifix, all the while mindlessly tapping it in his left hand. Finally
settling on his socks drawer, he opens it and buries it at the very bottom.
On the bed, Blaine is still laughing and when Kurt climbs back, Blaine turns
his head to look at him with a grin that Kurt can barely make out. He wishes he
could see his face more clearly but it is way beyond their curfew and any light
would attract the night guardian.
“Be quiet!” Kurt hisses playfully before pulling Blaine down with
him and curling up against his side. He smiles when Blaine wraps his arms
around him. Kurt tangles his legs with Blaine’s and moves closer to him,
resting his forehead against his chest. He feels Blaine putting his chin on the
top of his head and Kurt presses a kiss over his heart.
“I’m going to fall asleep,” Blaine says in a thick voice.
Kurt blinks up at him, himself on the edge of sleep. “You should go,
then.”
Blaine nods but makes no move to leave. “What time is it?”
Kurt turns around, grinning when Blaine loops his arms around his waist to pull
him closer, and takes his pocket watch from his nightstand. “It’s
ten to midnight.”
“We still have some time, then,” Blaine mutters, his warm breath
on the back of Kurt’s neck sending a shiver down his spine.
“We do.” Shifting to lie on his back and pulling Blaine above
him, Kurt bites his lip. “We have to be very, very quiet.”
“I’ll try.” Blaine kisses him and when he pulls away, the
noise makes Kurt hold his breath.
“Even this is loud,” he whispers. He sneaks his hands under
Blaine’s pajama top and lightly scratches his nails down his back.
“We can’t make a sound.”
Kurt pushes himself up on his elbows to kiss Blaine, who shifts his weight on
his knees and wraps his arms around Kurt’s back, holding him up and
close to his chest. Kurt whimpers in the kiss and clings to Blaine, who lowers
him back on the mattress and carefully lays his weight over Kurt, kissing him
still.
They start kissing languidly, more tongues mingling than anything else, and it
goes straight to Kurt’s groin. He drags his hands down Blaine’s
back once more and settles them low on his back, pulling Blaine’s hips
down in the process.
Blaine breathes out loudly right when they hear the floor outside of the room
creaking as someone walks by and stops right at the door. Kurt puts his hand
over Blaine’s mouth and holds his own breath, hoping the person standing
outside his room will go away. Blaine is barely breathing above him and he must
be cramping up but moving is too dangerous.
“Is everything alright, Mr. Hummel?”
Kurt’s eyes widen and he looks at Blaine in panic when the doorknob
squeaks. Despite the darkness, Kurt can see that Blaine’s eyes are
almost comically wide.
“Y—yes,” he stammers, his throat dry. “Everything
is fine.”
“I thought I heard laughter and talking.”
“No!” Kurt answers too quickly. Blaine winces. “I was
talking to myself. It helps me think.”
“Have you seen what time it is? Be quiet or I’ll have to report
you to Father James.”
“I’m sorry. I will be,” Kurt says sheepishly.
At last, right when Kurt’s nerves are about to give in and send him into
a hysterical fit, the footsteps start again and grow distant. Kurt waits
another minute before letting out a sigh in relief.
“Oh my god,” Blaine breathes out, sitting on his heels and
rubbing his face with his hands. “That was close.”
Kurt nods, his eyes still on the door. His heart is racing in his chest and he
can hear his blood rushing in his ears. His hands shake as he moves them to
card his fingers through his hair.
“We can’t risk this anymore,” he breathes out, moving his
eyes to Blaine.
Blaine opens his mouth to say something but closes it right after. It
isn’t the first time they almost get caught. There was that one time
Kurt had a coughing fit in Blaine’s room and that time Blaine fell off
Kurt’s bed, or when Kurt almost got caught going back to his room at two
in the morning. They’re playing with fire and they can’t deny it
anymore.
“I know,” Blaine replies, leaning forward to rest his forehead
against Kurt’s shoulder. “I know.”
“This isn’t it,” Kurt says in a rush. “This
isn’t over. We are not over.”
Blaine looks up at Kurt and shakes his head. “No. Definitely not.
We’ll just have to find new ways to—to see each other.”
Blaine nods and kisses Kurt. It’s short and chaste but Kurt finds
himself leaning into it anyway, chasing Blaine’s lips as he moves away.
“I should go.”
Kurt nods and climbs off his bed, Blaine on his heels. Careful not to make the
floor creak, Kurt walks to the door and waits until Blaine is right behind him
to open it. He peaks outside to make sure the corridor is empty. Shutting it
silently, he turns to Blaine.
“You can go. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.”
“Good night, Kurt.” Blaine kisses him again.
Kurt kisses him back and pushes Blaine away with a soft laugh when the boy
tries to lengthen the kiss. “Go! Good night.”
---
Being safe turns out to be incredibly frustrating.
“Why do I feel like I could see you more often before?” Kurt
groans under his breath as they walk down the hallway between their morning
classes.
“Because you could,” Blaine replies, glancing around nervously to
make sure no one is eavesdropping. “I’m scared that if we act
friendly, they’ll suspect something.”
“They already are.” Kurt nods his head towards three Brothers
walking past them and frowning pointedly at Kurt.
“They’re not. They can’t be. They’re upset
we’re talking in the hallway.”
“You’re not exactly subtle in the way to look at me,
Blaine,” Kurt hisses. “If you ruin everything because
of—”
“I would ruin everything? Again, it’s my fault. Sure,
you’re completely innocent in this. After all, I made you shove me into
a broom closet yesterday and forced you to kiss me. You had nothing to do with
it.”
“Blaine!” Kurt glares at him and Blaine returns it before turning
his back to Kurt to enter the classroom.
Kurt sighs with frustration as he sits at his own desk. From across the room,
Blaine is resolutely looking outside the window, undermining Kurt’s
efforts to meet his eyes. His jaw is set and his shoulders look tensed. Kurt
manages to stay focused on the lesson for about five minutes before his eyes
drift back to Blaine.
He inhales sharply when he sees Blaine blatantly looking at him. The look on
Blaine’s face sends Kurt’s heart racing and he has to scratch his
nails on the wool of his trousers to keep a straight face as heat flares up in
his stomach. Kurt holds Blaine’s eyes, lifting his chin in defiance,
until Blaine licks his lips—unconscious or not, it forces Kurt to look
away as a blush creeps up his cheeks and he finds himself breathless.
Blaine grabs Kurt’s wrist on his way out of the classroom after the
lesson. Kurt’s heartbeat picks up again and he stumbles after Blaine,
who almost races down the hallways.
“Wait, wait,” Kurt eventually says. “Take a right at the
next corner. Third door on the left side.”
Blaine nods stiffly and a minute later, he’s groaning in frustration as
the doorknob refuses to turn. “It’s locked,” he says
gruffly before turning to stare at Kurt with an annoyed frown, his hands on his
hips.
“I know,” Kurt says airily as he retrieves a key from the inside
pocket of his blazer. When Blaine’s eyebrows raise in bafflement, Kurt
chuckles. “I was sent there last year to clean up after I confessed
that—” Kurt’s voice falters and he lowers it.
“—that I’d – hum – touched myself.”
His cheeks burn but he forces himself to look at Blaine, who looks dazed and
awed.
“And you kept the key?” Blaine asks after clearing his throat.
“No,” Kurt says as he unlocks the door. “I
‘forgot’ to give it back one night and had my friend Noah craft
me a double. I came here a few times since. It’s quieting.”
“Artie told me about the Puckermans,” Blaine comments.
Kurt can’t stop his face from falling. “Puck, in his own special
way, was a really good friend. Artie and I haven’t heard from him in
months.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Blaine says softly and he strokes
Kurt’s back.
Kurt gives him a tight smile and then opens the door, coughing a little at the
dust it lifts. Looking around briefly, Kurt steps in and pulls Blaine after
him, shutting the door before being pressed against it by Blaine.
“Wait—” Kurt says when Blaine leans in to kiss him.
Fumbling around blindly, Kurt locates the doorknob and turns the lock back on.
“We shouldn’t be disturbed, now.”
“Good,” Blaine growls before pressing his lips to Kurt’s.
Blaine kisses him with insistence, his hands firmly gripping Kurt’s hips
and his body pressing up against Kurt’s. Kurt kisses him back, his arms
looping loosely around Blaine’s neck. He’s already panting when
Blaine decides to move in closer and slip his thigh between Kurt’s. With
a gasp, Kurt rolls his hips down against Blaine’s thigh and sends his
head colliding against the door with a dull thud that makes his skull throb.
Kurt pushes himself off the door and grips Blaine’s shoulders tightly to
stir him towards the stairs. Blaine misses the first step and stumbles
backwards, landing on his ass with a yelp. Kurt follows after him and sits in
his lap, his hands gripping Blaine’s face to kiss him again sloppily.
“What about lunch?” Blaine gasps out, breaking the kiss.
“I don’t care,” Kurt growls before pressing his lips to
Blaine’s jaw, undoing his tie and the top button of his shirt before
tugging it away and pressing his lips to the crook of Blaine’s neck,
kissing and licking and sucking until Blaine keens and slips against the step,
the rough wood making a scraping sound against the fabric of his blazer.
Blaine wraps his hand around the nape of Kurt’s neck and brings his
mouth back to his, kissing him feverishly. “I want you so much,”
Blaine mutters against Kurt’s lips.
Kurt whines and nods, wrapping his arms tightly around Blaine’s
shoulders. Blaine moves his hands from Kurt’s hair to his neck and then
down his chest, where he starts tugging on Kurt’s blazer. Kurt shifts
back to take it off, nearly elbowing Blaine in the eye, and drops it on the
floor behind them. Immediately, Blaine starts unbuttoning his shirt and Kurt
throws his head back, panting. He focuses on the ceiling and tries to regulate
his breathing even as Blaine presses a kiss to his chest and Kurt can feel the
warm heat of it through his undershirt.
Kissing back up to Kurt’s mouth, Blaine grips the back of Kurt’s
thighs and turns them around, kneeling between Kurt’s leg on the step
below and looking up at him with a smirk. Kurt leans back with his elbows on
the step above him and looks down at Blaine with a quirked eyebrow. The sharp
edge of the step is digging in his back, the sensitive skin covering the fading
wounds stinging.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Blaine says and
it’s so earnest that Kurt bursts out laughing. He puts his hand over his
mouth to stifle it and doesn’t miss the spark that appeared in
Blaine’s eyes at the sound.
“That makes two of us.”
Blaine smiles at him sweetly and Kurt returns it, reaching forward to stroke
Blaine’s cheek. Blaine leans into his hand, closing his eyes and turning
his head to kiss his palm.
“You’re beautiful,” Kurt breathes out, blushes, and then
lets out a nervous laugh.
Blaine chuckles and shrugs. “Not as much as you.”
“Aw!” Kurt coos and leans forward to kiss Blaine’s
forehead lingeringly.
When he pulls back, Blaine looks at him again and bites his lip. Before Kurt
can ask him what’s wrong, Blaine’s hands move to his belt and he
undoes it clumsily. Kurt stares at him in shock as Blaine moves on to the
button of his trousers and only manages to squeak in alarm when Blaine tugs the
zipper down.
“Is this okay?” Blaine asks with his eyes riveted to
Kurt’s crotch.
“Yes,” Kurt lets out in a breath and then keens when Blaine
hesitantly presses his hand to Kurt’s crotch.
Blaine begins slowly stroking him through his underwear, his breath as loud and
laboured as Kurt’s. Kurt watches him in silence, his lips parted in awe.
This isn’t the first time they touch each other there, but neither of
them had ever done it this boldly, instead using hesitant touches made by
shaking hands to explore the other’s clothed body in the dark, with
their eyes closed. This is different; it feels more real when he can see
Blaine’s eyes fleeting nervously around, see his cherry-red lips parted
and shining with saliva, see his trembling hands.
With a gulp, Kurt hooks his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and
starts pulling them down, his pants following. Blaine leans back and keeps
watching as Kurt pushes his hips off the step to slip his clothes off.
“Wait,” Blaine croaks out. He takes his blazer off and motions
for Kurt to move before putting it on the step. “You’ll get
splinters.”
Kurt bends forward to kiss Blaine briefly before pushing his clothes past his
knees and leaning back on the step. He feels exposed under Blaine’s
unwavering eyes and shifts with unease, throwing his head back to look at the
ceiling.
“Kurt, oh my god,” Blaine lets out, his voice breaking.
“Oh my god.” Blaine wraps his hand around Kurt’s cock and
squeezes tentatively, repeating ‘oh my god’ again when Kurt
moans. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Is this okay?”
Kurt rolls his eyes fondly. “Yes,” he says in an exasperated
sigh, his breath catching when Blaine moves his hand up and down once.
“This is very okay.”
Blaine nods stiffly and starts stroking Kurt’s cock faster. He flicks
his thumb over the head experimentally and Kurt has to bite his lip to stifle a
moan, his hips bucking up into the tight circle of Blaine’s fist.
Blaine grows bolder as minutes pass, twisting his hand and pressing his thumb
under the head of Kurt’s cock or in the slit, almost too rough and quick
and he keeps this up until Kurt is keening and squirming, trying to find
something to hold on to. He grips the edge of the step and spreads his legs
wider, moaning when Blaine speeds up his hand and then stops abruptly to lap
tentatively at a bead of precome.
“Oh shit,” Kurt groans.
“Blaine—don’t—” he warns when Blaine does it
again.
Blaine moves back to grin smugly at Kurt just as he starts coming, his knuckles
turning white as he clenches his hands around the step, his eyes rolling back
and his mouth opening around breathless moans while waves of pleasure course
through his body, making him shake.
Blaine is too taken aback to do anything but hold Kurt’s cock steady as
it pulses in his hand, painting his fingers with white streaks.
Kurt falls back against the step, wincing as it digs under his ribs. He closes
his eyes and lets go of the step to rub his face. He feels like his limbs are
made of cotton balls and there are still tremors coursing through his body
every now and then.
Kurt lowers his hands to look at Blaine and as soon as their eyes meet, Blaine
is leaning over him and kissing him, one hand tangling in his hair and the
other holding him up.
“Oh my god, Kurt,” he groans against his lips, shifting to press
closer and inadvertently brushing his erection against Kurt’s bare hip.
“I never thought I would love it so much—it was—you know
how we’re both here because we like boys, but I never really realised
that I liked—you were completely a man and I loved it so much, Kurt, so
much, oh my god,” Blaine rambles, covering Kurt’s face in kisses
and rolling his hips against Kurt’s, seeking friction through his layers
of clothes.
“Blaine,” Kurt says with a laugh. “Calm down, or
you’ll—”
Blaine tenses against Kurt before he can finish his sentence. He buries his
face against Kurt’s shoulder and shakes through his orgasm, his hand in
Kurt’s hair pulling until it stings in a way that shoots straight
through Kurt and makes his cock twitch painfully.
When he collapses on top of him, Kurt winces again and shifts. When he
can’t find a comfortable position, he abandons and wraps his arms around
Blaine, stroking his back soothingly while he pants against Kurt’s neck.
Kurt strokes Blaine’s hair soothingly, clicking his tongue when he looks
down to see the gel utterly ruined, curls pointing in every direction. Blaine
eventually looks up and they grin at each other.
“This is really uncomfortable,” Kurt says after a while.
“Oh, sorry.” Blaine leans back on his knees and then gets up.
“Oh my god, look at you. You look so debauched.”
Kurt turns a deep shade of red when Blaine starts looking him up and down, his
eyes lingering on Kurt’s dick. “Why don’t you help me up
instead of making me uncomfortable?”
Blaine gives him a cheeky grin and then holds out his right hand. Kurt eyes it
with a quirked eyebrow until Blaine realises his mistake and blushes.
“Oh, huh. Sorry.”
He wipes his hand on the back of his shirt and offers Kurt his hand again. Kurt
takes it and let’s Blaine pull him up. He swiftly pulls his pants up
while Blaine dusts their blazers.
“How do I look?” Blaine asks after he’s buttoned his
blazer.
Kurt looks at him appraisingly, the light pouring from the lucarne up in the
attic putting golden hues in Blaine’s eyes. “Handsome.”
Blaine smiles smugly so Kurt adds: “and disheveled. You need to go to
your room and fix your hair.”
“So do you.”
“I wonder why,” Kurt asks coyly. “I guess it has to do
with how you nearly pulled it out.”
“You liked it,” Blaine teases, smirking.
“Maybe.”
They both grin and Blaine heads for the door. Kurt follows after him and pushes
it close as soon as Blaine opened it. Wrapping his arms around Blaine’s
waist, Kurt presses his body against his back and buries his face in his neck.
Blaine presses back into him, sighing deeply. “Let’s go.”
Blaine opens the door again and steps out. Just as Kurt is about to follow him,
Blaine slams the door shut. Kurt jumps back, narrowly avoiding getting his nose
broken by it.
“Mr. Anderson, what are you doing here?”
“I—huh. I was fetching something for
Bro—Brother—” Blaine stammers out and Kurt slowly turns
the lock, holding his breath when it clicks in position.
“Do not lie to me, Mr. Anderson,” Father James snaps. “How
did you get in there?” There’s a moment of silence.
“Who’s in there? Who was there with you?”
“No—no one, I swear!” Blaine replies too quickly.
“Open this door.”
“I can’t—”
“Open this door immediately, Mr. Anderson.”
“I don’t have the key! I locked it from the inside when I left, I
don’t—”
“If you think this is all a game, Mr. Anderson, I have a thing or two to
teach you. As for the student who’s hiding in there, I recommend you
step out right now if you want to avoid severe punishment.”
“There’s no one there, Father,” Blaine repeats. His voice
is small and pleading and Kurt has half a mind to step outside and take part of
the blame.
He’s actually about to unlock the door and step outside when someone
starts turning the knob aggressively. “Open this door!”
“There’s no one, I told you!”
“Mr. Anderson, you will go find Brother Peter. He has the key to the
attic and will settle this misunderstanding once and for all, unless your
friend wants to step outside and share the punishment with you.” A
pause. “Nothing? You found yourself a cowardly friend, Mr. Anderson. Now
go to the refectory and come back with Brother Peter. I will wait here.”
Kurt listens to Blaine’s footsteps fade away and he backs away from the
door, putting his hand over his mouth to muffle his terrified breathing. He
starts climbing the stairs as silently as he can and looks around for somewhere
to hide, his vision almost blurred by his panic. Taking a steadying breath,
Kurt starts pacing the room. Nothing will do; all he finds are boxes of books
and broken chairs and he knows there’s nothing, he cleaned that place
himself.
Heading further among the rafters, Kurt once again feels panic overcoming him
when he hears the door opening in the distance. Biting down on his fist to
stifle his whine, Kurt takes a sharp turn right and sees a broken refectory
table, the exact one that was broken when Noah Puckerman was caught stealing
and banned from the premises. The table top is resting against the back wall
and there’s just enough space behind its angled surface for Kurt to
crawl behind. Climbing over a box and nearly scattering its content everywhere,
Kurt dives behind it just as he hears footsteps reaching the top of the stairs.
“I told you there was no one,” Blaine says in a nervous voice.
“I would suggest you keep quiet, Mr. Anderson,” Father James
replies coldly. “Now is not the time for hide and seek, young man. I am
out of patience.”
“Father,” Brother Peter says calmly. “I think Mr. Anderson
is telling the truth. There is no one here.”
“I’m not ready to believe this, I know Mr. Anderson’s
leanings and he’s been acting a little too brazenly, lately. Alright,
then, maybe he will tell us how he acquired a key to this door and we’ll
work from there?”
“I—” Blaine’s voice falters. Kurt has no idea how
he’ll get out of this one without dragging Kurt down with him. He should
probably step out and take the blame. Kurt starts crawling backwards when
Blaine talks again. “I found it in my room. In—in one of the
drawers. I dropped it the other day and the key fell out. The previous occupant
must have left it there.”
“And you thought you’d go around and try to find which door it
unlocked? Curiosity is a reprehensible trait, Mr. Anderson, and a sin when put
to bad use.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Give me that key, now, so there is no repeat of today.”
It’s over. Blaine won’t have any key to give them. Kurt has no
choice, now. Reaching into the pocket of his blazer, Kurt fumbles in it to
retrieve the key and then leave his hideout. His heart quickens when he
can’t find it. Before he even has time to panic about it, Blaine speaks
up.
“Yes, of course. Here it is.”
“Very well. You’ll come with me to my office where we’ll
find a punishment suitable for your shameless lies and disregard of school
regulations. As for your friend, he can count himself lucky this time.”
“There’s no one else here, Father,” Blaine says, his voice
growing distant as they head for the stairs.
“Yes, of course. And you’ll tell me the red mark on your neck is
a mosquito bite you miraculously got in the middle of December, I
imagine?”
---
Blaine disappears for the entire afternoon and by the time Kurt goes to the
refectory for dinner, his anxiety is getting the best of him.
“Did someone put worms in your trousers, Hummel?” Artie asks,
breaking the silence.
“No, no, I just—” Kurt trails off and glances towards the
door again.
“Where’s Blaine? I can’t believe he’s skipping a
meal, especially when we’re treated with mystery meat. No, wait.”
Artie takes a bite and makes a pensive face. “I think it’s pork.
What do you think?”
“I don’t know where’s Blaine,” Kurt snaps, using
his fork to push his green peas around his plate.
“You guys are fighting again?”
“No. Definitely not.” Kurt can’t help a small smile from
appearing on his face.
“Oh, I see,” Artie drawls, smirking. “Where is he,
then?”
“I don’t know, I told you, do you even listen to me when I
talk?” Kurt sneers, glaring at Artie.
“Calm down, jeez.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and goes back to digging trenches in his mashed potatoes.
His stomach is knotted and his throat feels tight.
“You have to eat something, you know,” Artie tells him after a
while. “You missed lunch. You’ll pass out before the
night.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, re-enacting the last war with your vegetables is not going to
help you find Blaine,” Artie comments when Kurt starts lining up his
peas in the potato trenches.
“No, but it helps me stay calm.”
“What happened, Kurt?”
Kurt sighs and drops his fork to rub his eyes. “I don’t want to
talk about it, Artie, please. Maybe later, once I know he’s
safe.”
Artie nods and gracefully steers the conversation to another topic. “Are
you staying here for Christmas?”
“Are you?”
“No. I’m going to spend a few days with my family. I guess Blaine
is doing the same?”
“He hasn’t told me anything about it. I was hoping Carole would
contact me, but—” Kurt trails off. He reaches across the table
and steals Artie’s spoon to start pouring his gravy into the trenches,
overflowing them and drowning the pea-soldiers.
“She still might. I thought you told me once she was settled with a
steady job, she’d invite you over.”
Kurt shrugs and uses his fork to destroy the battlefield. He hands his plate
back to the kid walking around to clean the tables and sighs.
“I’ll go back to my room, if you don’t mind skipping our
evening walk.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Kurt slowly walks down the hallways back to his room. A snowstorm has been
raging outside since the middle of the afternoon, its strong winds making the
windows rattle and the corridors chilly. Kurt wraps his arms around himself,
stroking the sleeves of Blaine’s blazer to warm up. He figured out
Blaine accidentally interchanged their blazers when he was dusting them,
unknowingly saving his own life in the process.
Blaine has to be alright. He has to. Kurt cannot fathom the possibility that
they might have expelled him; for one, it would be admitting defeat and Kurt
knows they never would. The alternative isn’t much brighter; Kurt knows
firsthand what they’re willing to do to cure them and Blaine has put
himself in a very dangerous position.
It’s half an hour to curfew when Kurt hears unusual noises coming from
the hallway. Putting down the sock he’s been trying to fix all evening
without success, Kurt gets up and walks to stand in his doorway.
Blaine is being pulled by the arm by Father James, the man’s grip vice-
like. He’s being escorted to his room while the priest loudly admonishes
him with a sermon even more violent than what they’re used to at Sunday
Mass. The students of the entire floor are peaking out of their rooms. Kurt
meets Artie’s eyes and the boy mouths ‘shit’. Kurt nods at
him and looks back at the scene. Blaine’s face is blank but when his
eyes finally fall on Kurt, he shakes his head and his eyes fill with water.
Father James notices and follows Blaine’s gaze to Kurt. His face
contorts in an ugly mask of satisfaction, his eyes narrowing in on Kurt.
Shoving Blaine in his room and slamming the door shut, the man crosses the
hallway, headed for Kurt’s room.
Kurt takes several steps back as the man enters his room and shuts the door
behind him. He keeps backing up until he painfully hits his dresser. He grips
the edge of it as Father James gets near enough for Kurt to smell the stale
odour of cognac on his breath.
“Your friend is loyal, he never said your name, no matter what I did to
him,” the man sneers.
“I don’t know what—” Kurt begins, stopping abruptly
when Father James slaps his cheek.
“Do not lie to me, you ungrateful brat!” He slaps him again and
Kurt wills himself to keep a straight face. “Don’t think I
didn’t have a clue who you were talking about when you confessed that
you kissed one of the students. I knew you meant Blaine Anderson. Who else
could it be? He was sent here exactly because he had the same disease than
you.”
Kurt inhales sharply when Father James grabs the front of his shirt and pulls
him closer. “This is no longer a matter of Nature’s law, Kurt.
The problem with boys like you and Mr. Anderson is that you’re in dire
need of a good beating to put your spirits straight. You think you’re so
clever when you defy authority and I bet you brag about it to your friends like
you’ve accomplished something worthy. You’ll never do anything
good with your life, Mr. Hummel, I can guarantee you that. But I do wonder what
I might find out if I questioned Mr. Abrams—”
“Leave Artie out of this!” Kurt replies before he can stop it. It
earns him another slap and this one brings tears to his eyes.
“Shut up! You are not to speak unless asked. Understood?” Kurt
nods jerkily. The edge of his dresser is digging in his thighs as he tries to
inch away from Father James. “I asked you a question, Kurt.” He
slaps him again and Kurt can’t hold back a whimper this time.
“Yes, Father.”
Gripping Kurt’s wrist tightly, the priest roughly pulls him forward and
through the room to throw him down on his bed. Kurt bounces on the mattress and
then sits up, scooting to curl up with his back against the corner of the room.
It looks like Father James is about to lean in to pull Kurt out of that
position when he freezes, his eyes fixed on a point above Kurt’s head.
“Where’s your crucifix, Kurt?” he asks, too calmly.
Kurt’s blood turns cold as he realises he never hung it back after that
one night with Blaine. “I asked you a question.”
“In my socks drawer,” Kurt answers in a barely audible voice.
“And what exactly is it doing there?”
Years of being a snarky kid bring the answer ‘taking a vacation’
to Kurt’s mind but saying this would probably send him to the morgue
before he realises what happened.
“I think I know. Shall I answer for you? You were being inappropriate on
this bed with Mr. Anderson, couldn’t bear to be reminded of the ignominy
of your actions and thus you removed a sacred ornament in hopes it would
relieve you of your guilt. Is that it, Kurt? Don’t bother lying,
I’ve been told a lot of unusual noises have been coming from yours and
Blaine’s rooms in the past weeks. Did you seriously think no one would
notice? That no other student before you had tried to mess around behind our
backs? Your impudence is disgusting, Kurt. It’s a good thing your father
is dead because your behaviour would have sent him straight to the
grave.”
“Don’t talk about my father!” Kurt shouts.
Father James grips him by the hair and pulls his head back roughly.
“Silence! Do you want another flogging? If this is what you’re
after, trust me, it’ll be my pleasure to give you another one. What will
it take for you to take us seriously? When we took you in, many of us said
there was nothing to do with you but I told them I would break you.” The
priest lets go of his hair, sending Kurt’s head against the wall.
“I guess the only thing I managed to get out of you is hypocrisy.
I’ll fix this.”
Father James heads towards the door and Kurt lets out a breath in relief. He
stops with his hand on the doorknob. “I advise you stay away from Mr.
Anderson, lest we think you’re once again going against us. Don’t
even think about paying him a visit tonight. You are under close watch from now
on. Good night, Mr. Hummel.”
Kurt waits until the door clicks shut and he hears a key turning in the lock to
let out his held back sobs. He crawls towards his pillow and grips it tightly,
burying his face in it to muffle the sounds as he cries harder than he has
since the night of his father’s funerals.
The next morning finds him pale and sickly looking. His eyes are bloodshot and
rimmed red from sleeplessness, his cheeks are swollen and painful and
he’s pretty sure the dark circles under his eyes are not only there
because he barely slept.
Artie is surprisingly quiet during breakfast, barely talking beyond his usual
greeting, but Kurt has other things to worry about. Blaine is sitting at
another table, his back to Artie and Kurt, and the brief glimpse of him Kurt
had when he entered the refectory made his stomach twist up with guilt.
Kurt eats despite not being hungry. He feels light-headed and dizzy and knows
it’s because he hasn’t eaten in the past twenty-four hours but
every bite is hard to swallow. More than once, he catches Brothers looking his
way, watching him as if they expect Kurt to get up and do something stupid
right under their nose.
“Are you okay?”
Artie’s voice makes Kurt jump and drop his spoon with a loud clunk.
Wiping the gruel he sent flying on the table so he doesn’t have to look
at Artie, Kurt shrugs.
“Yeah. I am.”
“You should put some ice on those bruises. I can try to sneak some out
of the kitchen for you, if you want.”
“I think it’d be a good idea if I stopped going against the
rules, now,” Kurt says coldly. “Besides, they’re not
bruises, they’re just a sign I haven’t really slept last night.
Insomnia.”
Artie hums skeptically. “And the ones around your wrist?”
Kurt reflexively pulls the sleeve of his blazer down. “They found out
for Blaine and I,” Kurt says in a breath. “He—he only had
to look at me and they knew. I don’t even—” Kurt closes
his eyes and breathes deeply. “Can you try to find out if he’s
alright? I can’t talk to him, it’s too dangerous.”
Artie nods. “Yes, of course.”
“But be careful. They suspect you might know things we’re not
saying.”
Artie frowns. “Wait, you and Blaine are more than just
acquaintances?” he asks before winking at Kurt.
“Just be careful.”
“Don’t worry about me, Hummel.”
Kurt doesn’t hear from Artie until the next day. He eats lunch and
dinner alone and spends his evening catching up on the work and sewing he
didn’t do the night before, grateful that it requires his full
attention. After another mostly sleepless night, he’s awakened by Artie
not long after he finally managed to sleep.
“Hey Kurt, wake up, I don’t have much time.”
Kurt blinks up at Artie, his eyes dry and his vision blurry. There’s a
constant pressure behind his eyeballs and his whole brain is throbbing.
“Wha—”
“Blaine is fine. Bruised and upset, but fine. He wants to talk to you
but he’s not sure if you want to ever see him again.”
Kurt groans and buries his face in his pillow for a second.
“Idiot,” he mutters. Looking up again, he rolls his eyes.
“Of course I want to see him again. I was sure he didn’t want to
see me again.”
Artie scrunches up his nose. “You’re so in love. Ew.
Anyway,” he continues after Kurt punches his arm. “Any
idea?”
“What for?” Kurt asks around a yawn. “What time is
it?”
“Fifteen to six. I didn’t want to get caught coming here, you
can’t say I’m not a good friend. So think, Kurt.”
Kurt rubs his eyes, yawning again. “I don’t know. Didn’t
he have any idea?”
“No, he was too busy panicking because he was convinced you hated
him.”
“Aw,” Kurt coos, smiling softly.
Artie rolls his eyes and makes kissing noises until Kurt swings his arm to try
and hit him. With a laugh, he rolls out of Kurt’s reach. “Focus,
Hummel.”
“Right. Are you on cleaning duty tonight? We could both accidentally
bring our dirty laundry to you at the same time?”
“Tonight is a bad idea. We have a new kid working with us so he’s
being supervised. Maybe next week, once he can work on his own.”
“A whole week?”
“Unless you have a better idea, I’m afraid so.”
“This will have to do,” Kurt says with a sigh.
“It’s only a week, Kurt,” Artie says reassuringly before
leaving the room.
---
This is the longest week of Blaine’s life. Seeing Kurt every day but not
being allowed to talk to him when all he needs is to be reassured that they are
not horrors, despite what everyone seems to think is slowly gnawing at his
mind. More than once he considered throwing caution to the wind and walking up
to Kurt but he doesn’t want to put Kurt in more trouble than he already
has with a glance.
It’s hot and uncomfortably humid when Blaine enters the laundry room.
Artie immediately makes his way towards him, a stern look on his face. Without
a word, he motions for Blaine to follow him. Blaine holds the handful of shirts
he brought as a pretence to his chest and follows Artie through the room,
smiling tightly every time he sees a familiar face.
Finally reaching a door at the back of the room, Artie stops. “Give me
that.”
Blaine gives Artie his shirts then enters the room quickly. The smell of
detergent and bleach hits Blaine like a wave and he rubs his nose with the back
of his hand as he tries to adjust to the darkness of the room. There’s a
small window at the top of the wall to his left and the only light it lets in
is the orange glow of the streetlamp.
He finally finds Kurt, sitting on an upturned bucket a few feet away from him.
Without a word, Kurt gets up and walks to him, pulling Blaine into a tight hug.
“You’re alright,” Kurt whispers when Blaine hugs him back.
“I was so worried.”
“Of course I am and I’m so sorry, Kurt.”
“Shut up,” Kurt mutters against his neck, tightening the embrace.
“I’m the only one to blame.”
Blaine pulls out of the hug to hold Kurt by the shoulders. “No,
you’re not. But neither am I. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
Kurt gives him a small smile. “Why did you apologise, then?”
“For worrying you.”
Kurt clicks his tongue and coos before wrapping his arms around Blaine’s
shoulders once more, stepping closer and kissing him lingeringly.
“Don’t apologise because I care about you. It’s not your
fault,” Kurt remarks coyly before kissing Blaine again, this time with
more insistence.
Blaine kisses him back, scraping his tongue on Kurt’s teeth and
relishing the pleased hum Kurt lets out.
“I love you,” Blaine breathes out when they pull away.
Kurt’s breathe hitches and he lets out a small chuckle. “I love
you, too.” He scratches the back of Blaine’s neck and rests his
forehead against Blaine’s.
Blaine feels serene for the first time in months as Kurt holds him close. He
feels safe and loved and all the things he made a cross on when he first
started disappointing his parents with everything he did.
When Kurt leans in to kiss Blaine again, his cheeks are wet with tears. Blaine
breaks the kiss and takes a step back, studying Kurt’s face as best he
can in the dim light.
“Are you crying?” he asks softly.
Kurt hums nervously and wipes his cheeks roughly. Blaine gently replaces
Kurt’s hand with his and strokes his thumb across Kurt’s cheek
before leaning in to kiss the salty skin. “What’s wrong?”
he asks, his lips ghosting over Kurt’s skin.
“Nothing. Nothing is wrong, Blaine. I’m scared, that’s
all. And I’m happy. All at once.” Kurt lets out a derisive laugh.
“What are you scared of?” Blaine strokes the side of
Kurt’s head, smiling when the boy leans into his touch and puts his hand
over Blaine’s.
“Of what’s going to happen to us. We’ll get killed if we
step out of line again.”
“Don’t be silly,” Blaine replies tensely.
“Am I? Don’t tell me this isn’t something you’ve
considered after last week.”
Kurt is right. “We’ll figure something out,” Blaine says,
trying to comfort Kurt despite the ice cold weight in his stomach.
“I might have an idea,” Kurt breathes out shakily and walks away
from Blaine to the end of the room before coming back, twisting his hands.
“We run away,” he says quickly in a hushed voice.
“What?!”
“You heard me, Blaine. In a few days, most of the students go back to
their families for Christmas. We leave, too, but we never come back.”
“This is completely mad,” Blaine replies. He laughs and shakes
his head, looking at Kurt like he has lost his mind. “Where would we
stay?” He can’t help asking. Even if it’s mad, if
there’s a silver lining somewhere, he has to reach for it.
“I have a house. Well, it’s not mine until I’m eighteen
but that’s in May, Blaine. In five months, I own a house, and in the
meantime, we can still live there. My father’s wife won’t turn us
down.”
“What about my parents?”
“What about them? Would they really care if you disappeared?”
“Ah, yes?”
“Really?” Kurt deadpans. “Are you telling me your father
would worry about something else than the money he lost when he put you in this
school? If you write to him and explain that you’ve decided to—to
take care of yourself without his help, wouldn’t it be enough?”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” Blaine leans against the door and
shakes his head. “You’ve really thought about everything,
haven’t you?”
Kurt shrugs, smirking. “Maybe. But yes, before you ask, I’m aware
this is the worst idea ever.”
Blaine rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, causing Kurt to chuckle.
“So, we’re sort of eloping?”
“Sort of.” Kurt’s face breaks into a grin and he claps his
hands. “I can’t believe you’re on board.”
“I can’t believe we’re running away,” Blaine says,
laughing in disbelief.
His disbelief fades away when he finds himself sitting on a train to Lima four
days later, a letter explaining – lying, blatantly lying – to his
parents why he won’t join them for Christmas this year. Kurt is sitting
across from him and for the first time, he looks completely calm as he watches
the countryside through the window.
“Do you think Artie will ever forgive us?” Blaine asks.
They didn’t dare share their plan with Artie and so had to pretend they
would see him soon when they parted earlier that day.
“In time, he will. I don’t think he’ll blame us for doing
it. He would leave, too, if he could.”
Blaine nods and shifts his gaze from Kurt’s face to the snow-covered
fields scrolling by.
“Who’s the woman we’re going to live with? All you ever
told me was that she was your father’s wife.”
“Her name is Carole Hudson. Well, Hummel, now. She and my father got
married last fall, before his heart attack. She—What’s wrong,
Blaine?”
Blaine realises his surprise must have shown on his face and he tries to shake
it off. “It’s just—you never told me what happened to your
father.”
Kurt’s face falls and he clears his throat. “Oh. Well, yes, he
died of a heart attack last year. He was—Carole wanted to take care of
me but my father’s brother refused, saying I shouldn’t be a
burden to anyone. That’s why I was sent away.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it, Kurt.” Blaine leans forward to
squeeze Kurt’s hand briefly.
“I don’t like talking about it, that’s why I didn’t
tell you earlier. We—ah, we were really close, it’d only been me
and him after my mother died. It happened so quickly, sometimes I don’t
believe it. It’s—I’m alone, now.”
“You’re not alone anymore.”
Kurt gives Blaine a teary smile before taking in a long, shuddery breath.
“But let’s not talk about sad things, now. It’s almost
Christmas and we’re free.”
“And together,” Blaine adds.
“Yes,” Kurt replies with a smile that lights up his eyes.
The train arrives in Lima in late afternoon. The sun is setting as they start
walking from the train station to Kurt’s house; he promised Blaine would
take them less than half an hour. It started snowing not long after they left
and snowflakes as big as feathers soon filled the air and glistened in the glow
of the streetlamps. All around them, people are hurrying back home from work,
oblivious to their surroundings or the two boys apparently unable to keep their
hands to each other. Sometimes catching themselves, they try to make it look
like strictly friendly touches, but anyone paying attention would notice how
fingers will linger on cheeks or shoulders.
“It’s like even the weather is celebrating our freedom,”
Kurt comments before sticking his tongue out to catch a particularly large
snowflake. “Oh, let’s walk through this park! I used to play here
with—” he pauses and a shadow passes on his face.
“—with a friend. Rachel, her name was.” He shoves his
suitcase in Blaine’s hand and starts running.
Blaine follows him, wincing only briefly as he sinks ankle deep in the
untouched snow covering the park. Wet feet are the least of his worry when Kurt
is standing with his arms outstretched and his face to the sky, looking
completely blissful.
It’s like the whole world has been muffled, leaving only the sound of
Kurt’s delighted cries for Blaine to hear. Everything is quiet in the
way that makes you feel like taking a very long walk outside or bundle up by a
fire with a book and a blanket. Blaine feels peaceful for the first time in
months.
When Kurt looks at Blaine as he walks up to him, there are several snowflakes
stuck to his eyelashes and his cheeks have taken a rosy tint that Blaine can
see despite the flimsy orange light of the streetlamps. Kurt grins before
scrunching up his face and bending down.
“Oh no,” Blaine says hurriedly when Kurt starts making a
snowball. “Kurt—”
Kurt throws it at him, shrieking with laughter when Blaine drops their
suitcases and starts running after him. Kurt outruns him from the start and
after a few minutes of chasing Kurt through the deserted park, wet and out of
breath, Blaine calls out that he surrenders.
Kurt saunters back to him, a large smile on his face. His hair is stuck to his
forehead by a mix of sweat and melted snow and he’s panting but
he’s positively beaming. Blaine pulls him closer by the lapels of his
coat and plants a kiss on his lips, Kurt’s heaving breath hot and humid
against his cheek.
“We’re in the middle of a park,” Kurt mumbles after
pulling away just enough to articulate.
“No one is paying attention to us.”
Nonetheless, Kurt pulls away and cups Blaine’s cheek with a damp gloved
hand. After a few moments of staring into Blaine’s eyes, Kurt wraps his
hand around Blaine’s arm and drags him along; first to grab their
suitcases and cross the park, then along residential streets until he stops in
front of a two-story house. Blaine expects Kurt to walk up to the door and ring
the bell but he stays motionless, staring at it with a frown on his face.
“Kurt?”
“What if they don’t want to see me?”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“They never wrote to me in the year I’ve been away.”
“Maybe they didn’t know what to say and we’re afraid they
would upset you?” Blaine strokes Kurt’s back soothingly, giving
him a tentative smile. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to
have you back, Kurt.”
Kurt bites his lip and nods. With a deep breath, he walks up the stairs leading
to the front door. Blaine follows him and squeezes his shoulder briefly when
Kurt hesitates to ring the bell.
When he finally does, it takes a few seconds and then a gorgeous blonde girl is
opening the door. She pales when she sees Kurt standing on the porch and she
brings a hand to her heart.
“Oh my god, Carole! Finn! Come here!” she calls over her shoulder
before pulling Kurt into a hug that Kurt returns, dropping his suitcase.
“Kurt, I can’t believe it,” she says into his shoulder.
“Quinn, what’s wrong?” a tall guy asks as he appears next
to the girl. His eyes widen when he sees Kurt and he breaks into a grin.
“Kurt!” he cries happily. “Quinn, let him in,
you’ll both freeze to death.”
Quinn lets go of Kurt and steps back, making way for Kurt and Blaine to enter
the house. Blaine stays behind, not sure what to do since no one has been
paying attention to him.
“What’s all that yelling for?” a woman asks, peaking into
the lobby. Her eyes fill with water as soon as she sees Kurt. “Oh Lord,
Kurt, honey, are you trying to kill me?” Pushing her way to Kurt, she
wraps him into a tight hug. Kurt hugs her back and melts against her, letting
out an unexpected sob that prompts her to rub his back. “You should have
warned us you were coming! You can’t surprise me like this!”
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says in a strained voice, moving out of
her embrace and wiping his eyes. He backs away and nearly walks into Blaine,
who puts his hand on his back to stop him. Kurt turns to smile at him and steps
aside to pull him forward with a hand on the small of his back. “Quinn,
Finn, Carole, this is my friend, Blaine Anderson. Blaine, this is Carole, Finn,
and Quinn.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Blaine,” Carole says warmly,
shaking Blaine’s extended hand. “Finn, don’t stand there
uselessly, take their coats and luggage!”
They shed their damp coats and scarves, handing them to Finn along with their
suitcases. With them in hands, he disappears down the hallway with Quinn.
Kurt’s arm wraps around Blaine’s waist and he’s holding
him just this side of too tightly and too close to his side. Blaine feels his
heart clenching with panic when Carole’s eyes flicker between them; he
can practically see the cogs turning in her head as she puts the pieces
together. Blaine tries to move away but Kurt tightens his arm, squeezing his
hip reassuringly.
“Why don’t you boys go change out of those dreary uniforms? We
were about to have dinner, we’ll wait for you.” Turning to Kurt,
Carole bites her lip, some of her cheerfulness dissolving. “You and I
need to talk, but not tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course,” Kurt says lightly though he tenses at her words.
“But hum—I didn’t even ask—I hope we’re not
coming at a wrong time?”
“Now you’re just being silly, Kurt. You are always welcome in
your house. Go change and come have dinner.” The warmth is back in her
voice and she pats Kurt’s cheek before going back to the kitchen,
calling out something to Finn or Quinn that Blaine can’t quite make out.
“Well, that went better than I expected,” Kurt says breezily,
lifting his eyebrows as he looks at Blaine. He lets go of Blaine’s waist
and takes a few steps out of the hall, looking around. “It feels weird
to be back here.”
“I can imagine.” Blaine closes the distance between them and puts
his hand on the small of Kurt’s back. “Should we go
change?”
Kurt’s eyes linger around him for a second or two before he focuses on
Blaine. “Yeah. Follow me.” He grabs the suitcases Finn left at
the bottom of the staircase and motions for Blaine to follow him.
They go up a steep staircase, the steps creaking under their feet, and then
Kurt stops in front of one of the closed doors. “I haven’t been
there in so long,” Kurt says, mostly to himself. Then, turning to Blaine
and shrugging, he opens the door. “It isn’t much, but
here’s my room.”
Blaine looks around while Kurt sifts around for clothes by opening and closing
drawers loudly, rambling about how they’re probably going to be
incredibly wrinkled. It’s small and crowded despite only being filled
with a single bed, a dresser and a desk but the large window hung with sheer
white curtains surely fills the room with sunlight during the day.
There’s a picture on the dresser with three people on it; Blaine
can’t make out their faces from the distance but he’s ready to
bet it’s Kurt and his parents. In the corner opposite the door,
there’s a record player on a plain wooden chair, a pile of records
neatly piled on the ground next to it. Blaine starts walking towards it to see
what Kurt likes to listen to when Kurt steps in front of him, holding a pair of
pants and a knitted sweater close to his chest.
“I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can—” He stops
and bites his lip. As he looks around the room, his face falls.
“It’s almost as bad as our dorm rooms, I know. We’re
not—we’re not anything impressive.”
“Hey,” Blaine says, putting his hands on Kurt’s shoulders
and squeezing. “Stop this. I love your house. I love your room.
I’m sure I’ll your family.”
“They’re not my family.”
“That’s not the feeling I got when they saw you at the
door.”
Kurt smiles tightly and shrugs. Blaine rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss him,
pressing his lips insistently against Kurt’s until he feels him
relaxing. Kurt kisses Blaine back and sighs through his nose before stepping
away.
Carole, Quinn and Finn are already sitting at the table when they enter the
kitchen. Carole smiles and instructs them to sit as she gets up to fill plates.
Blaine’s mouth waters as the smell reaches him and he eyes the steaming
cup of tea Quinn puts down in front of him with eager anticipation.
After Quinn says grace, Kurt pressing his socked foot against Blaine’s
the whole time, Blaine digs in and lets out a hum of satisfaction. When Carole
laughs, he apologises sheepishly.
“Don’t feel bad, sweetheart. I didn’t know I was such a
good cook,” Carole says with a smirk.
“It’s just—I missed real food, that’s all.”
“And let’s be honest, everything beats the mystery meat we were
served,” Kurt adds. He bursts out laughing when Carole gasps.
“But it’s true that you’re really good, you know you are,
Carole.”
“I learned from the best.” She winks at Kurt, whose cheeks turn
pink.
Blaine doesn’t participate a lot in the conversations. It’s
satisfying enough to just watch Kurt interact with people as freely and happily
as he is. At one point, Finn says something that makes Kurt laugh until
he’s breathless and has to wipe his eyes and Blaine falls in love all
over again as he watches Kurt coughing and choking from laughing too hard while
blaming Finn for nearly killing him.
After dinner, Carole and Quinn usher the boys out of the kitchen to the living
room so they can wash the dishes. Finn disappears towards the back of the house
while Kurt sits on one of the couches, nodding his head to invite Blaine to
join him.
Blaine sits down and Kurt smiles brightly at him, his eyes crinkling adorably.
He pulls his legs up and shifts so he’s sitting with his back against
the arm rest, his toes slipping under Blaine’s thigh.
“Cold!” Blaine hisses, causing Kurt to smirk mischievously,
taking Blaine’s hand in his and bringing it to his lips. He presses a
kiss to the back of it before turning it around and pressing his lips to
Blaine’s palm, looking at Blaine through his eyelashes the whole time.
Finn comes back, then, a pile of logs in his hands. Kurt drops Blaine’s
hand just as Finn glances at them, his eyes lingering on Kurt’s feet
tucked under Blaine’s thigh. Finn bites his lip and frowns slightly
before heading for the fireplace, where he kneels down and starts working.
Blaine pushes Kurt’s knee playfully when Kurt wiggles his toes. Kurt
grabs his wrist and pulls him closer, glancing briefly at Finn, whose head is
deep in the fireplace, and pecks Blaine’s nose. Blaine feels a thrill go
through his body and he reaches forward to stroke Kurt’s cheek. Kurt
closes his eyes and smiles, and Blaine can’t resist the urge to stroke
his lips with his thumb. Kurt kisses it, the pressure of his lips feather-
light.
Finn hits his head against the top of the fireplace and swears loudly. From the
kitchen, both Quinn and Carole say his name at the same time and Finn mumbles
an apology while rubbing his skull. The moment is broken and Kurt leans back
against the armrest, his eyes lingering on Blaine before he turns his attention
to Finn’s struggle.
“Do you need help?” Blaine eventually offers.
“No, I’m fine. The—the thing was stuck, but now
it’s not. Thanks, though.”
Finn starts piling the logs he brought in the fireplace while the sound of
plates being put away and soft singing can be heard coming from the kitchen.
Carole laughs and Blaine feels warmth filling him at the sound. Kurt looks
shaken but he snaps out of it quickly.
“Finn,” Kurt drawls, twisting his upper body to look at the boy.
“Quinn Fabray, huh?”
Finn shrugs, keeping his back to them. “Ah, yeah. Well, it’s
almost Quinn Hudson, now.”
“No way,” Kurt gasps and Blaine is surprised to see he looks
upset. “What about Rachel?”
Finn’s shoulders slump and he sighs heavily. “Don’t make
me say it, Kurt. You know why I—why I’m with Quinn, now.”
“I want to hear it coming from you,” Kurt says coldly and crosses
his arms over his chest. Blaine strokes his leg a few times until Kurt wiggles
his toes and pokes his tongue out at him, a frown returning on his face as soon
as he brings his attention back to Finn.
“She’s Jewish, Kurt. I can’t marry a Jew, you know that.
People would talk.”
Kurt groans and lets his head fall back, uncrossing his arms to rub his face.
“You are impossible, Finn. Seriously. Sometimes I swear I could punch
you.”
“Fighting already, boys?” Carole says as she enters the room, a
plate of cookies in her hands. She seems nonplussed by the argument going on
between her son and Kurt and she even winks when she sees Blaine looking at
her.
“Your son is an idiot, Carole,” Kurt deadpans, reaching the plate
as Carole walk past him. He grabs two cookies and hands one to Blaine.
“You don’t say,” she replies lightly, laughing when Finn
huffs in protest. “What has he done, this time?”
“Rachel Berry,” is all Kurt says but the name cuts through the
light mood of the room instantly. Blaine squirms uncomfortably as he feels
everyone around him tensing. He really wants to be somewhere else now instead
of intruding on a clearly very private conversation. As the thought crosses his
mind, Kurt brushes his hand on Blaine’s shoulder briefly and smiles
softly when Blaine looks at him. He moves his toes again until Blaine smiles
back.
“We shouldn’t talk about those things,” Quinn says
quietly, her brows furrowed and her eyes fixed on the hearth. Compared to how
lively she was earlier, it now seems like every emotion has been drained out of
her, weariness slipping through the cracks of a composure her upbringing
imposed on her. “There are too many horrible things right now to dwell
on them, especially this close to Christmas.”
“You seem to think I haven’t lived my share of terrible
things,” Kurt says darkly, his eyes narrowing on the fire.
“You’ve been coddled in that boarding school of yours for too
long, Kurt. What do you know about hardship?”
“Yes, keep thinking that, Quinnie,” Kurt deadpans with a wry
smile. “But you would know what coddling feels like, wouldn’t
you? Do you still have a nanny? Ah, wait, you must call her your maid now that
you’re all grown up.”
“I see that they didn’t manage to put some manners into you,
Kurt,” Quinn replies icily, her hands clenching in the woollen skirt of
her grey dress. “What I meant to say is that while you were out there
being treated like a child, some of us had to grow up beyond our years.
Don’t parade around acting like you had it hard. You try living in the
real world during wartime: that’s hard.”
“That’s some elaborate thoughts you have there, Quinn,”
Kurt says flippantly, the hint of a cruel smile on his face. “Was it
your personal teacher who put them there or did you for once stop worrying
about the colour of your spring/summer wardrobe and had consideration for
people that aren’t you?”
“I think you’re confusing me and you, Kurt. We all know why you
were sent to that school.”
Kurt turns livid at her words, his jaw clenching and his chin jutting out
defiantly. “You should leave, now,” he says in a low voice, his
eyes finally moving from the hearth to rest on her.
“I’m not taking orders from you.” Quinn lets out a dry
laugh and smiles wryly.
“You are in my house, Quinn. You will take orders from me.”
“This isn’t your house. This was your father’s, and now
it’s Carole’s. Sorry to shatter your illusions.”
“This house is mine in five months, Quinn.” Kurt glances at
Carole, who has been listening to the argument with an amused smile. She nods
reassuringly to Kurt when he says this and his assurance, which had wavered
after that claim, comes back at once with his shoulders squaring and his
eyebrows rising.
“Yes, and then you’ll be conscripted. This is why Finn and I are
getting married. If only you could get married—” she drawls and
pointedly looks at Blaine and Kurt, a mean smirk twisting her harmonious
features when Kurt’s face falls and he flinches away from Blaine under
her scrutinizing eyes.
Under Quinn’s gaze, Blaine becomes hyperconscious of the intangible
force that seems to draw him and Kurt together, almost like a lifeline tying
them together. Kurt is not looking at him, his eyes focused on a point
somewhere to Quinn’s left, but Blaine can feel his dismay as harshly as
if it were his own.
“I knew it,” Quinn says under her breath. “Your leanings
were made painfully obvious when you turned down Brittany. The nerve you have
to come here and bring your—”
“Quinn.” Carole’s voice resonates with authority when she
speaks. “If you have nothing nice to say, you should leave. This is
Kurt’s house as much as it’s mine and Finn’s, and you will
treat him with the same respect as you do us.” She pauses and looks
between Kurt and Blaine while Blaine watches Kurt holding her gaze, not daring
to look at her himself. “When Burt died, I promised to take care of his
son, Quinn,” Carole continues. “And I intend to keep my word.
Nothing will change that.”
Quinn presses her lips together until they’re a thin white line and
stays silent, her shoulders slumped. The silence stretches until Finn clears
his throat and gets up, announcing that he will accompany Quinn home. He knocks
over the cookie plate in his haste, spilling crumbs all over the floor. He
apologises hurriedly and bends down to start picking them up.
“Don’t bother,” Kurt says, getting up to kneel on the
floor and picking the crumbs from between the threads of the carpet.
Blaine joins him, bumping his shoulder against Kurt’s, who barely shrugs
and remains broody.
“I’m going to bed, boys. Kurt, Blaine can sleep in the guest
room. You’ll just have to change the sheets, okay? Good night.”
They wish her a good night and as she leaves the room, Blaine hears the front
door opening then shutting. Kurt, having finished cleaning the crumbs, moves to
a sitting position and leans against the side of the couch, his eyes closing as
he groans.
“I’m sorry you had to see this,” he lets out sullenly.
“Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”
Kurt hums and rubs his eyes. “Welcome home, Kurt! Here, have a spoiled
brat’s fit to celebrate!” he says in a mocking voice before
laughing dryly.
Blaine scoots closer to Kurt and tries to wrap his arms around him but Kurt
shrugs out of the embrace and gets up, dropping the crumbs he was holding in
his hand on the plate and grabbing it before turning towards the kitchen.
“Kurt—”
“Let’s go to bed,” Kurt says and he smiles at Blaine but
they both know it’s fake.
Blaine follows Kurt in the kitchen and stops him from going away after he puts
the dirty plate in the sink with one hand resting on the edge of the counter on
each side of Kurt’s waist. Kurt straightens himself to his full height
and glares down at Blaine.
“Let me go,” Kurt says coldly.
“You really don’t have to be ashamed.”
“I’m not ashamed,” Kurt replies curtly, dismissing
Blaine’s comment with a wry chuckle.
“It’s okay. I wouldn’t want you to meet my parents,
either.”
“I’m not ashamed of you!” Kurt says and finally,
there’s emotion in his voice as his face falls and his glare melts. Kurt
grabs Blaine’s face and rests his forehead against his.
“I’m embarrassed by Quinn’s reaction, but it has nothing
to do with you.” Kurt lets his fingertips stroke Blaine’s neck
for a while before he tenses. “Wait, are you ashamed of me? Is that why
you don’t want your parents to meet me?”
“No! It’s because of them. They’d be awful to you, Kurt.
That’s why.”
Kurt leans back and smiles sadly. “I wish you’d met my
dad.”
“Me too. It sounds like he was a great man.”
Kurt nods. “The greatest.”
Words failing him when he sees Kurt’s eyes shining with unshed tears,
Blaine kisses Kurt softly to try and wipe the sadness off his features.
Kurt’s eyes flutter shut and he exhales contentedly as Blaine presses
light kisses on his lips until Kurt giggles and pushes him away.
From the other end of the house, the front door slams shut and Kurt groans, an
expression of sadness mixed with anger growing back on his face. Blaine steps
back when Finn enters the kitchen, looking cross. He doesn’t do it fast
enough, though, and Finn pointedly avoids looking at Blaine.
“Your fiancée has serious issues,” Kurt snaps in a strangled
voice that betrays the fact that he’s still holding back tears.
“Why did you have to mention Rachel in front of her, Kurt? Nothing would
have happened if you’d kept your mouth shut!”
“How was I supposed to know? It’s not my problem if you spent the
last two years between Quinn and Rachel and that she’s still uptight
about it!”
Finn’s eyes narrow. “You’ve been gone too long to have a
say in what any of us do, Kurt.”
“No, the real problem here is that I actually have insight into the
situation but you refuse to hear what I have to say because it is not what you
want to hear.”
“Never mind. I’m going to bed. Some of us are working early
tomorrow. Not everyone has the luxury to go to school.”
Finn leaves the room and Kurt waits to hear Finn climbing up the stairs to rub
his face with both hands roughly. Moving them away, his eyes fall on Blaine and
his chin starts trembling as his eyes fill with water.
Blaine steps forward and hesitantly touches Kurt’s arm. Kurt takes in a
deep, shaky breath and forces a smile before wiping his eyes quickly.
“I’ll go prepare your bed.”
Blaine gives Kurt a few minutes before he joins him, busying himself with
washing the few glasses and dishes strewn in the sink. When he finally climbs
upstairs, he orients his steps towards the sliver of light coming from the door
to his right, which Kurt left ajar, and pushes it open slowly.
“Hey,” Blaine says. He hesitates in the doorway when he sees Kurt
sitting on the bed, folded sheets placed in his lap.
“Hey,” Kurt replies quickly, wiping his eyes and sniffling before
looking up. This time, he doesn’t try to force a smile.
Blaine crosses the room and sits next to Kurt. “Are you—”
“No. I’m not. Everything is wrong.”
Kurt doesn’t struggle when Blaine pulls him closer. He shifts and curls
up into Blaine’s side, the sheets slipping off his legs to the floor.
Blaine holds him tighter, his heart swelling at the sudden vulnerability Kurt
shows.
“What do you mean?” Blaine asks against the top of Kurt’s
head after planting a kiss there.
“This isn’t how I imagined coming home would be like.”
Kurt shrugs and tightens his arms around Blaine’s waist.
“I’d hoped—I wished that nothing would have changed and
that—that I wouldn’t miss my father so much but it’s like
all I can see is how he’s not there.”
“But it’s better than what we left behind,” Blaine tells
Kurt hesitantly. He has no idea how to act around Kurt when he’s on the
verge of tears and he’s afraid it won’t take much for Kurt to
push him away like he did earlier.
“I know,” Kurt whines. “But it’s obvious they
don’t want me here.”
“Of course they want you here. You guys only need to remember how it is
to live all together. Give it a few days.” Another kiss to the top of
Kurt’s head. “And besides, I’m there.”
“I’m so glad you’re there,” Kurt mutters. He
straightens up and cups Blaine’s cheek, looking him in the eyes.
“Whatever they say about us, that doesn’t change anything for
me.”
Blaine feels a pressure behind his eyes and he blinks away the unexpected tears
caused by Kurt’s earnestness. “Thank you,” Blaine says
through the painful knot in his throat. He clears his throat and laughs
shakily.
“Were you worried about it?” Kurt asks and frowns, shifting to
sit on his legs and turn to face Blaine. “Because I meant it when I said
I love you.”
Blaine tries to swallow but his throat is too tight. He grabs Kurt’s
hands and holds them tightly, which makes Kurt smile softly at him. “I
love you, too,” he chokes out. “And I know you meant it.”
Blaine brings Kurt’s hands up and kisses his knuckles.
“Then what worries you?”
Blaine looks up to meet Kurt’s eyes. In the dim light of the bedside
lamps, they look dark blue and are filled with so much fondness and adoration
as he looks at Blaine that he finds it hard to hold his gaze. Kurt squeezes his
hands and shakes them lightly until Blaine smiles.
“I guess I—I was afraid that I pushed you into this,”
Blaine lets out with a dismissive shrug.
“What?” Kurt asks in genuine surprise.
“Well, I kept insisting when you pushed me away. I insisted a lot when
I—Kurt?” Blaine frowns at Kurt as he giggles, his eyes crinkling,
and all traces of sadness gone.
“Sorry, it’s just—Do you honestly think I ever did it
honestly? It was half-hearted attempts to keep you away. I wanted to want to
push you away.”
Blaine surges forward to kiss Kurt, humming when Kurt’s hands leave his
to hold Blaine’s jaw. Keeping Blaine’s head in place with firm
hands, Kurt presses kiss after kiss on Blaine’s lips, sometimes
lingering and sucking on Blaine’s lips and sometimes hard enough to
bruise, until Blaine groans low in his throat and gently moves away.
Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck and presses his face close,
nuzzling Blaine’s cheek. “Tomorrow, we’re alone.”
Kurt trails his hand from Blaine’s shoulder down his arm and tangles his
fingers with Blaine’s. “And I want—” Kurt trails
off and presses his lips to the corner of Blaine’s mouth.
Blaine closes his eyes and smiles, tilting his head forward to catch
Kurt’s lips in another kiss. Kurt plays with Blaine’s fingers
mindlessly as they exchange light kisses that are nothing more than brushes of
lips.
“I want you,” Kurt eventually says. “Like that time in the
stairs. And more.”
“Yes,” Blaine breathes out. He pulls away to nod at Kurt.
“Yes, me too. I want it, too.”
Kurt’s face breaks into a grin that’s only shadowed by the
nervousness in his eyes, which wander over Blaine’s face.
“Okay,” Kurt finally whispers. “We should sleep,
now.” With one last kiss to Blaine’s lips, he untangles himself
from Blaine and scoots off the bed, picking the sheets from the floor.
They make the bed quickly and Kurt leaves Blaine alone to change in his
pajamas. When he comes back, he’s wearing his as well and he sits on the
edge of the bed, looking down at Blaine with a smile.
“Good night,” Kurt says before pulling the covers up to
Blaine’s chin and kissing his forehead.
“Are you really putting me to bed?”
“Shut up, I thought it would be nice. I won’t do it
again.” Kurt huffs and his ears turn pink.
“I don’t mind. I think it’s adorable,” Blaine says
with a smirk.
Kurt slaps Blaine’s shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Good night,
Blaine.”
With one last kiss, Kurt leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
---
Kurt wakes up to the smell of toasted bread and coffee, which quickly reminds
him of where he is, dissipating the confusing he awoke to. He can hear the
sound of utensils hitting the porcelain plates and he nuzzles his pillow with a
sleepy smile, pulling the heavy covers further up his body.
For the first time in over a year, he doesn’t have to be out of bed at a
specific time and he fully intends to enjoy this new freedom by staying under
his covers until the time has two digits, at least.
Kurt doesn’t go back to sleep but he doesn’t mind, the sounds of
Carole and Finn getting ready for their day of work making him feel warm and
safe. There’s something inherently comforting in domesticity and
routines; the world might be tearing itself apart, Kurt might be an orphan
running away from a strict religious school with a clandestine male lover but
he knows that downstairs, Finn is eating his usual two eggs-with-three-toasts
and drinking a large glass of orange juice as he always has, every morning, no
matter what. Carole is reading the newspaper while sipping on a cup of coffee
– milk, no sugar – and eating a bowl of oatmeal. She’ll
comment on noteworthy news and Finn will hum and nod even though he’s
not listening: he’s only waiting to get the sports section.
The Hudsons’ routine existed before they met Kurt and Burt and remained
the same after the two Hummels came and went in their lives. Regularity in a
world of uncertainty is what Kurt clings to. The sun will rise and set, the
seasons will come and go, and no one and nothing will make Finn Hudson eat
something else than two-eggs-and-three-slices-toasts in the morning.
Eventually, Kurt hears the front door opening and closing before silence falls
over the house. Less than a minute later, the floorboards of the hallway creak
and Blaine pushes his bedroom’s door opened hesitantly.
“Good morning,” Kurt greets him from the cocoon he built with his
covers, his head barely peeking out from underneath.
“Hey,” Blaine says, his smile radiant as he steps into the room
and closes the door. “Can I join you? You look comfortable.”
Kurt nods and stretches, letting out a sound akin to a purr.
“It’s a single bed, though.”
“So?”
Blaine walks closer to the bed and then waggles his eyebrows at Kurt until he
scoots back and holds the covers up, inviting Blaine in. Blaine climbs on the
bed and slips under the covers, laughing when Kurt swiftly puts them back down
over the two of them and curls up into his side.
Blaine shifts to his side and wraps his arm around Kurt’s waist as he
tangles their legs together. Kurt sighs happily and scoots closer, his arm
mirroring Blaine’s. Their noses are pressed together and Blaine lets out
a small laugh when he tries to look at Kurt and his eyes cross.
“Are you sleepy?” Blaine whispers.
“Not really.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I’m not leaving this bed before ten o’clock,” Kurt
says sternly.
“But I don’t know where the food is,” Blaine replies in a
whine. “And it’s only seven thirty!”
“Who said I would let you leave my bed?”
Blaine grins. “You can keep me in your bed forever, if you want to. I
could be your kept boy and you could feed me grapes and wine and I’d be
a happy man. I could read you novels and poetry. We’d never have to
leave your room ever again.”
“People would talk,” Kurt says pensively, smiling.
“‘Have you heard? Kurt Hummel is keeping a boy in his bed and all
they do all day is read Shakespeare sonnets and eat fruits. Such
debauchery!’”.
“If your definition of poetry is Shakespeare sonnets, I have a lot to
teach you. One more reason to keep me here forever.”
“I don’t need reasons to keep you forever,” Kurt says and
then, realising his words, hides his face in his pillow. “Ugh, this was
so tacky,” he groans with his voice muffled.
“But I appreciate the sentiment and reciprocate it.”
“Oh, my boyfriend is using fancy words this morning,” Kurt
drawls.
Blaine stops stroking Kurt’s back and stares at him, the hint of a smile
on his lips. “Boyfriend?” Kurt shrugs one shoulder. “I
like the sound of that,” Blaine adds, leaning in to press a kiss to
Kurt’s nose.
“I like you,” Kurt replies in a coy voice before pushing at
Blaine until he lies on his back. Kurt curls up into his side and rests his
head on Blaine’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.
They stay like that for a long time, relishing in the calm and serenity of the
moment. For the first time since they met, they don’t have to be afraid
to be together, they can only be without worrying about anything.
Kurt can feel his eyes getting heavy a few times but he fights sleep with all
his might. He doesn’t want to waste a minute of the time he has alone
with Blaine sleeping. Nevertheless, he’s drifting to sleep and
Blaine’s slow and steady strokes on his back are not helping.
“Oh, god, sorry,” Blaine mutters when his stomach rumbles loudly.
“I don’t want to get up,” Kurt whines as he pushes himself
up into a sitting position. “It’s not even nine yet.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve!” Blaine says cheerfully as he
sits up, too. “And we, hum, we have plans for later today,
right?”
Blaine’s words shoot straight to Kurt’s groin, making him tighten
his fingers in the sheets involuntarily. “We do,” he replies in a
low voice before clearing his throat. “Breakfast?”
Kurt gets a kick out of preparing breakfast. He feels like he’s playing
pretend because imagining that this will be his life from now on is still
surreal. He can’t wrap his mind around the fact that he is now living
with Blaine – and Finn and Carole but they hardly matter at the moment
– and that he’ll never have to go back to that dreadful school.
Blaine plays right along, acting like a self-important husband as he reads the
newspaper and sips on his cup of coffee while sitting at the small kitchen
table. He even calls Kurt ‘honey’ and ‘darling’,
which never fails to make Kurt flush with pleasure, although if Blaine asks,
he’ll say it’s because of the heat of the stove that his face is
glowing.
“Thank you, dear,” Blaine says warmly as Kurt puts a plate of
scrambled eggs in front of him.
“Don’t get used to this. I am not playing housewife all the
time,” Kurt says sharply as he sits down next to him.
Blaine bursts out laughing and presses a kiss to Kurt’s cheek.
“Trust me, you do not want to see me behind a stove.”
“Funny, I was just thinking that I’d love to see this,”
Kurt replies coyly. “I could teach you, if you want.” And Kurt
grins because they can do this, now; they can talk about a future together.
“I’d love that.” Blaine’s voice is warm and soft
and Kurt’s skin buzzes with happiness and love. He takes a bite of his
scrambled eggs and lets out a groan that sends an entirely different kind of
shiver down Kurt’s spine. “Oh my god, you have to explain to me
how you made eggs taste this good.”
Kurt giggles and blushes at Blaine’s words. He tries to hide it by
staring down at his plate and drinking coffee but when he looks up, Blaine is
smiling smugly. “Oh, stop it,” Kurt grunts, rolling his eyes.
“Make me.”
Kurt narrows his eyes before surging forward and pressing his lips to
Blaine’s, who lets out a surprised squeal and leans back under
Kurt’s momentum. Kurt grips Blaine’s shoulder when he feels him
topple backwards, which brings him flush against his chest.
Blaine kisses back hard and lets out a whimper from the back of his throat when
Kurt sucks lightly on his top lip. The sound makes Kurt breathe out loudly and
he laps at Blaine’s lip. When Blaine keeps his lips resolutely closed,
Kurt licks again, this time with more insistence. He kisses Blaine wetly and
sucks on his lip again, determined to make the boy part his lips because he
feels like his skin is on fire and he needs Blaine to do it.
Blaine pushes at him until Kurt breaks the kiss, licking his lips and pressing
them tightly together. “We haven’t brushed our teeth. It’s
really gross.” Blaine’s voice is breathy and unusually low.
Kurt lets his hand drag down Blaine’s arm, the muscles shifting under
his touch when Blaine brings his hand to Kurt’s waist and squeezes it.
Blaine’s hand is warm and his grip almost hurts and Kurt’s skin
is tingling all over from that single point of contact. Kurt keeps staring at
the buttons of Blaine’s pajama shirt, at the triangle of skin visible
thanks to the first button behind undone, and he licks his lips again.
“I—hum,” Kurt stammers to a stop when he realises Blaine
is staring at his lips. Shaking his head slightly, he shifts his gaze to the
clock on the wall behind Blaine so he isn’t distracted by
Blaine’s body. “I’m not really hungry. I’ll go take
a shower, alright? You finish eating and then you can shower, if you want to.
Just leave the plate in the sink, I’ll deal with it later.”
Blaine blinks and seems to surface from deep within his thoughts at
Kurt’s words. “Y—yeah, sure. You do that,” he says
slowly, his eyes still locked on Kurt’s lips.
Kurt hurries through his shower – he’s half-hard but if
everything goes as planned, something will be done about it soon enough
– and he nearly breaks his toothbrush with how hard he brushes his teeth
when he gets out. He doesn’t bother doing anything to his hair and puts
on a simple white undershirt and trousers. Hopefully, it’ll speed up
things once Blaine is ready.
Shouting down the stairs to Blaine that the shower is available, Kurt goes to
his room and picks up a book at random. He sits on his bed and tries to read it
but his mind keeps wandering to the bathroom ever since he heard the water turn
on.
Closing the book with a sigh, Kurt considers pacing the room back and forth
until Blaine is ready. He feels like there’s an electric current running
under his skin, making him thrum and vibrate. He’s nervous, too; so
nervous that he’s shaking. He might have already done something like
that with Blaine before but it was spontaneous, leaving no room for his nerves
to kick in. This time, though, he’s had hours to think about it, hours
to invent thousands of scenarios and hours to anticipate it in a hazy state of
aroused frenzy.
Abandoning all hopes to stay calmly in his room, Kurt crosses the hallway and
enters the guestroom. He’ll wait for Blaine there and it’ll only
make it happen sooner.
The bed is unmade, which occupies him for a few minutes. He’s placing
the pillows back in place when he hears Blaine clearing his throat. With a
start, Kurt spins around and he sees Blaine standing in the doorway and only
wearing a towel around his waist. His wet hair is already starting to curl,
droplets keep falling from the tip of the dark strands and Kurt wants nothing
more than lick him.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to bring clothes with me. I’ll
just—” Blaine lets out bashfully, entering the room and heading
for his suitcase. He’s not looking at Kurt and it’s for the best
because he’s unashamedly staring with his mouth hanging open.
“You don’t need clothes for what I have in mind,” Kurt
says in a breathy voice. He has no idea where that boldness comes from but,
judging from the way Blaine’s eyes have visibly darkened when he looks
at Kurt, it’s appreciated.
“Oh shit,” Blaine lets out in a groan before walking up to Kurt
and taking his face in his hands. “I’m going to kiss you, now.
But if you don’t mean what you’ve just said, you should stop me
before I start because I won’t be able to stop.”
Kurt rolls his eyes despite his heart beating at an alarming pace. Putting his
hands on Blaine’s waist, he slips the tips of his fingers under the
towel. Blaine takes in a shuddering breath as goose bumps appear on his skin.
Blaine drops his hands from Kurt’s face and settles them on his biceps,
looking at Kurt in a mix of awe and anticipation when Kurt takes a step closer;
he’s close enough now for the droplets of water still covering
Blaine’s skin to wet the fabric of his shirt every time he breathes in.
He can feel Blaine’s erection against his thigh and his breath hitches.
“What are you waiting for,” Kurt breathes out, his lips ghosting
over Blaine’s. “Kiss me.”
Blaine’s fingers dig into Kurt’s flesh before he leans up to meet
Kurt’s lips. Kurt immediately pulls Blaine’s upper lip into his
mouth, sucking on it until Blaine growls and tightens his grip. Letting go,
Kurt licks into Blaine’s mouth and briefly rubs his tongue against his
palate before giving Blaine a chaste kiss and pulling away.
Blaine’s eyes remain closed and he looks like Kurt’s arms are
probably the only thing keeping him up at the moment. “Bed?” Kurt
mouths against Blaine’s lips, kissing him again.
Blaine gulps before nodding and pushing Kurt backwards. Kurt lets out a chuckle
when the back of his knees hit the side of the mattress and he heavily sits
down on it, Blaine now looking down at him, his hands still on Kurt’s
arms.
Kurt looks away from Blaine’s face and sets his eyes on Blaine’s
naked chest. He reaches a shaking hand up and presses it over Blaine’s
heart, shaking his head when Blaine puts his own hand over Kurt’s.
Obediently, Blaine moves it off and Kurt starts dragging his hands down,
teasing fingertips skating across the warm skin. He has to work hard to ignore
the fading bruises darkening Blaine’s skin; he feels guilty despite
knowing it wasn’t his fault. He doesn’t dare try to figure out
what was done to Blaine that dreadful afternoon to make him talk, but Kurt
hopes the brownish-yellow bruise he spotted near Blaine’s ribs is the
worst mark he has.
Kurt tentatively rubs at Blaine’s hardened nipples with two fingers,
eliciting a small moan from Blaine. Pinching them between his forefingers and
thumbs, Kurt tugs on them with fascination, letting go all at once when
Blaine’s hips jerk forward and Blaine whines.
“Shh,” Kurt hushes him kindly, moving his hands away and
downward.
He presses the heel of his palms into Blaine’s stomach, the flesh firm
under his touch, and so warm it’s almost uncomfortable. He trails down
to Blaine’s navel, which he teases lightly with his thumb, before
settling on his jutting hipbones, fingers back near the top of the towel. Now
that Kurt’s eyes have followed his hands down, he can see
Blaine’s erection tenting the towel and he licks his lips, hands going
up and down Blaine’s sides, raising goose bumps in their wake.
Kurt closes his eyes and leans forward, breathing out a puff of warm air
against Blaine’s stomach. He twitches and his fingers flex against
Kurt’s arms but he doesn’t make a sound. Kurt smiles fondly
before kissing Blaine’s heated skin. After a tender first kiss, Kurt
trails wet and sucking kisses across Blaine’s belly, licking his navel
lightly when he reaches it.
Blaine moans at that and his hands settle into Kurt’s hair, pulling him
away. Kurt looks up and his smile disappears when he sees the look on
Blaine’s face. He barely has time to brace himself before Blaine is
pushing him on his back and climbing on the bed to straddle Kurt’s hips,
holding himself up over Kurt on all fours. The front flap of the towel is
hanging down, resting against Kurt’s thighs.
Kurt reaches down to it while Blaine dives down to kiss his neck with
increasingly desperate hums. Kurt settles his hands on Blaine’s hips and
deliberately pulls lightly on the towel, making Blaine sit back on his heels in
a blink.
“I want to take it off,” Kurt says, his erection now definitely
on the wrong side of uncomfortable in the confines of his pants.
Blaine nods jerkily and climbs off Kurt, walking on his knees across the bed
until he can lie down against the pillows. Kurt sits up watches Blaine get
comfortable, smiling at the way his fingers start drumming nervously on his
stomach when he realises Kurt is staring.
“Good?”
“Yes. Do what you want,” Blaine replies earnestly and Kurt
can’t hold back the whine that escapes his throat.
Scooting across the bed until he’s sitting on his knees by
Blaine’s hips, Kurt directs his shaking fingers to the towel once more,
this time heading for the place where Blaine tucked it in. With one last glance
to confirm it’s okay, Kurt pulls the fabric away while biting his lips,
his heart hammering in his chest and his entire body tingling.
Blaine squirms to help Kurt take the towel from under him and then it gets
thrown to the ground to be forgotten completely. And Kurt stares; he stares
because this is better than anything he could have ever imagined and
it’s going to take a few seconds for his mind to wrap around the sight.
Blaine’s cock is resting against his belly, fully hard and already
leaking precome, making the flushed dark red head shine. There’s a vein
running down the length that catches Kurt’s attention and his fingers
flex in his lap with the urge to trace it.
“Can I?” he asks shyly, hesitantly moving his hand towards
Blaine’s cock.
Blaine lets out a strangled noise that Kurt interprets as a yes and then
he’s covering his dick with his hand, his wrist almost touching his
balls while his fingertips are splayed up the length. Kurt can feel
Blaine’s pulse through the thick vein he is growing obsessive of and he
moves his hand down until he can drag his index finger down it, all the while
staring in awe.
Blaine is panting and letting out small noises while Kurt keeps rubbing up and
down that vein, first with his index finger then with his thumb, pressing down
tentatively right under the head. Blaine groans and pushes his hips up so Kurt
repeats his action, this time rubbing the spot with his thumb.
“Oh, god,” Blaine says brokenly. “Please—can
you—more?”
Kurt closes his finger around Blaine’s cock and gives a tentative
stroke. Blaine sighs and closes his eyes, a small smile appearing on his lips.
Encouraged, Kurt begins moving his hand up and down Blaine’s length,
mimicking what he did the very few times he tried it on himself.
With his free hand, Kurt draws patterns up Blaine’s chest, fingertips
ghosting over his flesh, over nipples which he rubs more firmly for a second or
two before moving away, all the way up to Blaine’s head. Kurt brushes
his index on Blaine’s lips, tracing his smile. Blaine kisses his finger,
barely moving his lips, and Kurt moves his hand to cup Blaine’s cheek.
His thumb strokes Blaine’s cheekbones and then his eyelashes, which
finally causes Blaine to flutter his eyes open.
“Is this good?” Kurt asks and as he hesitates, the rhythm of his
hand turns sloppy and irregular so he lets go all at once.
Blaine protests and pouts. “It was! Why did you stop?”
“I wasn’t sure—” Kurt stops abruptly when Blaine
wraps his fingers around Kurt’s wrist and tugs him forward, getting up
on one elbow to kiss him.
It’s sloppy and intense, Blaine feverishly covering Kurt’s lips
with licks and kisses that make his mind reel. Kurt whines when Blaine runs his
hand down his side, pressing hard into his flesh and then squeezing his hip
tight enough to hurt. Kurt melts into Blaine’s body, shifting to
straddle his thigh while Blaine keeps pressing down on the small of his back,
only stopping when Kurt is lying half on top of him.
Blaine hisses when Kurt moves and his thigh presses against his cock, the
scratchy wool of his trousers dragging on the sensitive skin.
“Sit up,” Blaine says in a low voice, pushing Kurt off him and
sitting up at the same time. Without a word, he grips the hem of Kurt’s
white shirt and starts pulling it off.
The tables have turned and it’s Blaine’s turn to be bold and
forward. He pushes Kurt with a hand on his shoulder so he lies down before
working his trousers open and Kurt gasps when Blaine grabs his cock and starts
stroking it quickly. His hips buck up and he curls his toes in the comforter,
trying to deal with the sudden onslaught of sensations.
“Blaine—” he begins, only to stop and gasp again when
Blaine rubs his thumb under the head of his cock, mirroring Kurt’s
earlier actions. “Blaine, slow down,” he manages to choke out
before keening in a high voice as Blaine cups his balls with his free hands.
Blaine ignores him, instead bending down and licking over his right nipple and
wrapping his mouth around it when Kurt whines brokenly. He gives a tentative
suck to the sensitive nub, at the same time twisting his wrist on the upstroke,
and all Kurt can do is push his fingers in Blaine’s hair and grip the
curls tightly, breathless moans leaving his mouth.
“Blaine, please,” Kurt tries again, whimpering as he feels his
entire body tensing. “Blaine!” he says with more force and he
tugs on Blaine’s hair until he lifts his head and looks at Kurt.
“Slow down.”
Blaine closes his eyes and nods. With one last kiss to Kurt’s chest, he
moves up until he can lie on his side next to Kurt, one arm under his head.
Kurt mirrors his position and smiles in the way he knows makes him look twelve
years old but never fails to make Blaine smile back.
“I don’t want it to be over too soon,” Kurt breathes out,
his fingers going back to Blaine’s hair to softly stroke it, fingers
brushing along the shell of his ear from time to time.
“I can’t help it. Not when I’m with you. I love everything
about you.”
Kurt lifts an eyebrow and smirks, feeling coy. He moves closer to Blaine and
pushes his knee between Blaine’s. “What do you love most?”
he asks coquettishly.
Blaine reacts predictably to Kurt’s question, blushing and looking away.
“It’s hard to say,” he finally says in a scratchy voice.
Kurt pouts, which makes Blaine laugh. “Your lips. I really love your
lips.”
“Really?” Kurt says dryly, the sparkle in his eyes and the blush
on his cheeks contrasting with his words. “I didn’t think you
were this shallow. I thought you loved my charming personality best.”
“That, too. Even though you were really rude with me the first time we
met.”
Kurt groans and closes his eyes in a frown. “I’m sorry about
that.”
“It’s okay,” Blaine says, leaning in for a brief kiss.
“I love your eyes, too. It’s the first thing I noticed. I love
your skin.”
“My skin?” Kurt quirks his eyebrow.
“Yes,” Blaine breathes out, letting go of Kurt’s hand to
squeeze his hip. “It’s soft and pale and perfect, and I love how
easily I can leave marks.” They both look down at Kurt’s hip,
where five red spots have appeared after Blaine squeezed once more. “And
I love the contrast with my own.”
Blaine drags his hand up and down Kurt’s side, sending shivers all over
Kurt’s body. Kurt rolls forward until he can kiss Blaine, his hand
holding the back of Blaine’s head while Blaine’s hand moves to
press on the small of Kurt’s back, pulling him closer before rolling
them around and straddling Kurt’s thigh.
“Also,” Blaine says with a kiss to Kurt’s jaw. “I
love that you’re taller and bigger than me.” He groans and nips
at the base of Kurt’s jaw, making him keen. “I really love
it.”
“I love that you exist,” Kurt says when Blaine starts kissing and
sucking down his neck. “I love that I met you. I love loving
you.”
Blaine nods against Kurt’s skin while he keeps kissing down his chest.
Blaine’s feather-like strokes and warm kisses make Kurt tremble and
whine. Kurt breathes out sharply and bucks up his hips when Blaine bites
lightly on his hipbone, his broad hands stopping their up and down strokes to
hold his waist tightly. A few more kisses across Kurt’s stomach make him
squirm – “It tickles, Blaine!” – then Blaine makes
him moan loudly with a bold lick up from the base to the head of his cock.
Without further warning, Blaine takes Kurt in his mouth and experimentally
sucks on the head. Kurt’s hips buck up again and it pushes his cock
farther into Blaine’s mouth, the tip dragging against Blaine’s
palate and his tongue pressing on the underside as Blaine jerks back in
surprise.
“Sorry!” Kurt says breathlessly, covering his face with his
hands.
Wrapping a hand around Kurt’s cock and keeping the other on his hip,
Blaine takes him in his mouth once more, this time sinking his head lower and
dragging his lips back up once. “Is this good?” he asks, licking
the tip when Kurt doesn’t reply immediately.
“Yes, yes,” Kurt breathes out. He keeps his eyes tightly closed;
the sight of Blaine in that moment would probably be enough to send him over
the edge.
Blaine’s mouth is back on him before he can brace himself and he moans,
his hands flying to rest on Blaine’s head, gripping his hair tightly.
Blaine starts moving his head up and down and it feels good – amazing,
incredible, mind-blowing – but then he presses his tongue on the
underside of Kurt’s cock and the roughness of it as he drags along the
sensitive skin makes Kurt gasp.
“Oh, that’s great,” he growls, fingers tightening in
Blaine’s hair.
“Yeah?”
Kurt can’t stop himself pushing Blaine’s head down when he stops
to talk and it makes Blaine chuckle, the vibrations reverberating through
Kurt’s body in an exquisite way, his toes curling with pleasure.
That’s the moment Blaine chooses to tentatively suck as he moves his
head down.
Kurt lets out a broken moan and digs his fingernails in Blaine’s scalp,
his legs falling further apart. Blaine does it again, slowly building a rhythm
of licking and sucking that sends Kurt’s mind spiralling. For the second
time, Kurt feels like he’s on the edge so he pulls on Blaine’s
hair until he lifts it.
“Is something wrong?” he asks with a scratchy voice.
“Too much,” Kurt says through his laboured breath.
“C’mere.”
Blaine grins and crawls on all fours to go lie on his side next to Kurt. Kurt
turns on his side and kisses Blaine slowly, a shiver shaking him when he tastes
something sharp and foreign on Blaine’s tongue. With one more suck on
Kurt’s tongue, Blaine pulls away and rests his forehead against
Kurt’s.
“How did it feel?” Blaine asks.
“I’ll show you.”
Blaine lets out a strangled noise as Kurt leaves his side to swiftly move down
his body, planting kisses here and there until he’s kneeling between
Blaine’s legs. Hesitantly, Kurt takes Blaine’s cock in his hand.
Bending forward, Kurt presses his tongue to the slit, remembering how good it
had felt when Blaine did the same.
Blaine lets out a surprised gasp and then grins. His confidence boosted, Kurt
takes Blaine in his mouth as deeply as he can before pulling back and licking
the tip once more. Once more in his mouth and on the upstroke, he presses his
tongue underneath, letting it drag along Blaine’s shaft and pressing it
under the head. Getting the hang of it, Kurt starts building a rhythm, no
longer taking Blaine’s cock out of his mouth every time, and after a few
times, he tries sucking like Blaine did.
Blaine groans and grips the sheets, his legs wrapping around Kurt’s
shoulders and his heels digging in his flesh. Kurt keeps going, quickening the
pace when Blaine starts moaning and groaning loudly and in his enthusiasm, he
lets his teeth drag on Blaine’s skin.
Blaine hisses and squirms away, dropping his legs from around Kurt’s
shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks, panicked.
“Teeth,” Blaine says. Kurt doesn’t have the time to worry
he hurt Blaine because Blaine is grabbing his arms tightly and pulling him up,
crashing their mouths together as soon as Kurt is precariously holding himself
up over him.
Blaine pushes his thigh between Kurt’s and pulls him down with a hand on
his back. Kurt lets his legs slide down the bed until he’s lying on top
of Blaine, his erection pressed between his stomach and Blaine’s hip. He
can feel Blaine’s against his own hip and he rocks forward tentatively.
Both boys moan at the friction and Blaine pushes his hips up to meet
Kurt’s, his leg hooking over Kurt’s and pulling him further down.
Still kissing, they begin rocking their hips together, the friction making Kurt
whine and keen into Blaine’s mouth while he strokes Kurt’s back,
nails digging in every time the angle and pressure is just right.
Kurt’s thighs are sore from the constant strain and he’s
trembling all over; his lips and jaw ache from kissing Blaine too hard and he
can feel the skin of his back burning where Blaine scratched his nails. Their
sweat-slicked bodies stick and slide together and Kurt is so hot he feels like
he’s about to catch on fire and that’s when he feels his entire
body tightening seconds before he comes, breaking the kiss and gasping out
curse words and Blaine’s name.
Blaine strengthen his hold on Kurt’s back to keep him close while he
keeps pushing his hips up against Kurt’s and soon after, Kurt can feel
the warmth of his come between their bodies, Blaine tensing and trembling
underneath him. Kurt kisses him softly when he relaxes back against the
mattress and then he rolls off, feeling blissful and sated.
“I’m going to need another shower,” Blaine says after long
minutes of silence during which they tried to catch their breath.
Kurt bursts out laughing, giggling so hard he ends up coughing. It takes him a
while to calm down but when he does, he gives Blaine a large grin. “Me
too.”
Blaine’s eyes light up and he rolls off the bed, extending his hand for
Kurt. He doesn’t seem self-conscious at all, despite the drying come
covering his stomach and his sweaty skin, or the fact that he’s
completely naked. Kurt, on the other hand, feels awkward now that his mind is
not fogged up with lust and he reflexively covers himself with a pillow when he
sits up.
“Ah, come on, Kurt! I’ve had it in my mouth. Don’t be
shy.”
“Do you have to be so crass?” Kurt asks, scrunching up his nose.
“Come on, I want to shower with you.”
Kurt hesitates one more second before taking his hand and letting Blaine guide
him to the bathroom. Kurt is thrilled when he realises that he’s walking
naked through his house with another boy and when he reaches the bathroom,
he’s grinning wickedly.
“So, I never got to finish that thing,” Kurt says as he closes
the door behind them.
“What thing?” Blaine asks nonchalantly. It’s clear he
missed Kurt’s intent. Kurt rolls his eyes.
“You know…” Kurt drawls, leaning against the counter and
downright leering at Blaine.
“No?” With that, Blaine bends forward to start the water and Kurt
loses his train of thought at the sight of Blaine’s naked ass. He takes
a few steps forward and stands behind Blaine, debating whether it would be
creepy to reach out and grope it.
Kurt does it anyway, causing Blaine to yelp and straighten up.
“Okay?” Kurt breathes in his ear before licking the lobe.
Blaine clears his throat. “Y—yeah,” he rasps out.
Kurt adds a second hand and starts massaging the plump cheeks. His thumbs meet
at the top of the cleft and Kurt leans forward to press a kiss to
Blaine’s shoulder before dragging his thumbs down the crack of
Blaine’s ass, pressing them in and spreading the cheeks apart until he
reaches the crease of his thighs.
Blaine is breathing hard, his knuckles turning white from gripping the shower
curtain. Kurt moves his right hand off Blaine’s ass and reaches between
his legs, his fingertips brushing against Blaine’s balls while his left
arm wraps around Blaine’s shoulders possessively. Blaine lets go of the
shower curtain to hold Kurt’s arm with both hands when Kurt starts
dragging his fingers back along Blaine’s perineum, pressing in until he
feels Blaine’s hole.
Pressing even more, Kurt pushes the tip of his middle finger against the ring
of muscles. It’s like an electric current runs through Blaine and he
jerks away, turning around and looking at Kurt with wide eyes.
“Too much?” Kurt asks sheepishly.
“Yeah.” Blaine’s voice shakes and he clears his throat as
he rubs the back of his neck.
He’s half-hard nonetheless and Kurt is getting there, too, so he grabs
Blaine’s shoulders and stirs him into the bathtub, following after him
and turning on the showerhead before crashing their mouths together.
The shower only ends because they run out of hot water. Kurt comes twice, once
almost in Blaine’s mouth and the next time all over Blaine’s back
after they blushingly decided to try Kurt’s dick between Blaine’s
ass cheeks, which started awkwardly but ended up with both boys moaning loudly
and coming almost at the same time. Blaine looks like he wants to keep going
after they washed up but then the water turns icy cold and ruins the mood for
good.
They spend the rest of the day by the fire in the living room, reading books or
watching the snow fall while drinking cup after cup of tea and hot chocolate.
They don’t need to talk or sit close to one another; being in the same
room is enough and the brief glances and smiles they exchange from time to time
are worth a thousand kisses. The radio is dimly playing Christmas songs in the
background.
Carole and Finn come home sometime after five o’clock, exhausted by
their day of work but smiling at the prospect of a day off in the middle of the
week. They all give Carole a hand with cooking – Finn grumbles that
it’s a woman’s job until Kurt stares him down – and eat in
a cheery atmosphere.
“Why don’t you boys go in the living room while Kurt and I do the
dishes?” Carole offers once they’ve all but licked their plates
clean.
Kurt feels a weight drop in his stomach and he watches Blaine and Finn leave
while he gathers the dirty plates to bring them by the sink. Once he’s
there, Carole hands him a towel and fills the sink, humming quietly to herself,
which only worsen Kurt’s apprehension.
“Don’t you have something to tell me?” she asks lightly,
the tension in her shoulders betraying her real state of mind.
“I don’t know, do I?” Kurt asks just as lightly, smiling
innocently when she looks at him.
“Kurt, you may only have been my son for a year and lived away for more
than half of that time, but I know when my sons lie to me.”
Kurt swallows back a gasp, his breath nonetheless hitching. Clearing his
throat, he grabs the plate Carole hands him and focuses on drying it so his
voice doesn’t fail him. “I’m not going back there,”
he says in a low voice.
“Isn’t that a bit overdramatic? It can’t be that bad,
honey.”
Kurt shakes his head, swallowing hard. “And neither is Blaine.
We—they—” Kurt clears his throat again. “Did you
know the worst part of flogging isn’t the whipping itself but the weeks
it takes to heal?”
Carole’s reaction is Kurt’s undoing. She drops the glass
she’d been washing in the sink, splashing water all over the counter and
her apron, to hug Kurt tightly. “Oh, sweetheart. I thought it was for
the best, sending you there, that it would keep you safe while you recovered
from your dad’s death. I never thought—”
“It’s not your fault, Carole. You couldn’t change my
uncles’ minds. They would have found a way to send me away no matter
what. But—” Kurt pauses and breathes in deeply.
“They’re going to kill us if we go back,” Kurt chokes out
into her shoulder. “I’m so scared. Not for me, but for Blaine. I
don’t want him to get hurt because of me. He’s too
good—he’s—I can’t let that happen to him, Carole. I
can’t let them turn him into me.”
“Why would they hurt Blaine?” Carole asks, stepping back to hold
Kurt by his shoulders.
Kurt wipes his eyes and nose quickly then stares at her. “You know
why.”
Carole smiles sadly and nods. “Of course I do,” she says and
tightens her fingers around Kurt’s shoulders. “But I don’t
love you any less for it.”
“Thank you,” he replies, barely any sound leaving his tight
throat. He takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes again.
“What about Blaine’s parents?”
“They don’t care. He says they will, but who willingly sends
their son there if they care about him?” Kurt says darkly, mindlessly
wiping the counter with his towel.
“Do they know he’s here?”
“He wrote to them saying he wouldn’t come over for
Christmas.” Kurt shrugs.
“But they’ll notice when he doesn’t go back to
school.”
“I think as long as he’s not a burden for his father, he
won’t care.”
Carole nods and goes back to the sink. “I’ll pretend this sounds
logical for Christmas’ sake. I’ll be a responsible adult on the
26th.” Carole winks and flicks suds at Kurt, who gasps indignantly and
elbows her.
Before they leave the kitchen, Carole stops Kurt and hugs him again, rocking
them sideways until Kurt laughs and kisses her cheek.
They spend the hours leading to Christmas High Mass listening to
Carole’s embarrassing stories about Finn with the radio playing in the
background. Kurt hasn’t listened to the radio in years and only now does
he realise how much he missed music.
The three boys make Carole laugh until she cries when they start singing along
to Adeste Fideles; well, Finn and Blaine sing it while Kurt tries to get Blaine
off the furniture and it only makes Carole laugh harder when Blaine ignores
Kurt, using his shoulder as support as he moves from the couch to the coffee
table. He eventually joins Carole’s laughter, unable to resist the faces
Blaine and Finn make.
Blaine collapses on the couch after the song, breathless and wiping away tears
of laughter, and if Kurt leans into his side in a less than subtle way,
he’ll blame the eggnog and the quantity of rum he spotted Finn pouring
in it.
Later, when the alcohol has made them feel lazy and careless, Kurt and Blaine
sing over Baby It’s Cold Outside in an overtly flirty way and Kurt feels
his heart expand at the way Carole looks at them, eyes fond, acceptance obvious
in every smiles and laughs she lets out.
At eleven o’clock, the Fabrays ring the doorbell and Carole invites them
in for a drink. Kurt and Blaine escape the soon-to-be family reunion and head
for their rooms to change.
“Mass,” Blaine says with a sigh when he walks into Kurt’s
room without knocking, dropping on his bed and holding a pillow to his chest.
Kurt hums, holding two vests in front of him while looking in the mirror as he
tries to decide which one to wear. “Which one?”
“The black one,” Blaine answers before sighing again and throwing
himself on his back, making the bed bounce under his weight.
“I am getting the feeling you’re unhappy about something,”
Kurt says with a smirk as he puts the vest on and then starts looking for a
tie.
“It’s just. Mass. Christmas Mass.”
“What about Mass, Blaine? You went every Sunday without a problem for
months.” Kurt hums to get Blaine’s attention to the two bow ties
he’s holding.
“Red. And I know I have, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
Kurt shrugs. “What else is there to do on Christmas Eve?”
“Drink eggnog and cuddle by the fireplace?”
“Ah, but then you would miss all the gossip on the people in this
parish,” Kurt says as he climbs on the bed and pulls Blaine upwards,
clicking his tongue as he takes in the way Blaine tied his bow tie. “Did
you do it with your eyes closed?”
“How can you have gossip on people you haven’t seen in a
year?” Blaine asks, pushing his chin up to let Kurt tie his bow tie
right.
“I don’t, but my friend Brittany does.”
“I’ve heard her name before.” Blaine looks down at Kurt,
his head still bent back causing his eyes to cross adorably.
“Quinn mentioned her last night. I was expected to fall in love and
marry her, but that was never going to happen. She’s in love with her
maid.”
“No way.”
“It’s Lima’s worst-kept secret. Well, that and my taste in
lovers. Shh,” Kurt says, mockingly hushing Blaine with a finger on his
lips.
“Well, I personally quite enjoy your choice,” Blaine replies with
a smirk.
“Do you, now?” Kurt crawls closer, loosely wrapping his arms
around Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine sits up on his knees and his hands
immediately go to Kurt’s waist, holding him tightly.
“Yeah.” Blaine’s voice is nothing more than a breath,
which ghosts over Kurt’s lips in a very pleasant way. He then closes the
gap, pressing their lips together firmly.
Kurt parts his lips into the kiss and tightens his arms to bring Blaine closer,
eyes fluttering shut and heartbeat quickening almost instantly. Blaine lets out
a tiny whimper when Kurt scratches the nape of his neck and darts his tongue
out to lick his upper lip.
It’s with reluctance that Kurt pulls away, groaning that he has to be a
good guest before sauntering out of the room. He might not be happy about it,
but if he fakes it hard enough, maybe he’ll be able to play the part.
Plastering a smile on his face, he enters the living room and greets the
Fabrays, exchanging pleasantries like his mother taught him years ago, before
his manners got roughened from living alone with his father and he had to teach
himself from watching the adults around him.
Quinn grabs Kurt’s arm when they step outside, stopping him at the
bottom of the stairs. Blaine glances at the pair of them and Kurt shrugs,
motioning him to go with the others. Quinn only starts walking when
they’re out of earshot of everyone else, keeping her pace slow and her
eyes cast down.
“Quinn—”
“I owe you an apology.” She looks up at Kurt, her green eyes
darkened by a frown.
“It’s okay, Quinn.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not. I feel terrible. I’ve
always respected you, Kurt, but I didn’t act the part last night.
I’m sorry.”
“Don’t fret it, Quinn. I’ve heard worse.” Kurt
lifts his chin unconsciously, his defence mechanisms kicking in despite
himself. “I’ve thought worse of myself. This isn’t
something I chose, you know.” He can’t keep the bitterness out of
his voice as he gives her a sardonic smile.
The only sounds coming between them for a while after that are the creaking of
snow under their feet and the voices and laughter of other families. The
streets are filled with merry voices and cheers as the neighbourhood makes its
way towards the church for High Mass and Kurt wonders how many families will be
mourning, soon. He wonders how many smiles are faked to try and ignore the
horrible anxiety and terror that must occupy their thoughts at all time. How
many of those kids will end up fatherless before New Year, how many more before
Easter? Maybe both his parents dying from sickness wasn’t so bad, after
all. He got to say goodbye.
“Never mind what the facts are, I shouldn’t have said those
things to you. And it’s even worse that I did it in front of your
family.”
Kurt swallows and blinks back tears before clearing his throat. He’s not
thinking about his orphan state on Christmas Eve, not when a boy he loves
probably too much is only a few paces ahead of him.
Speaking of Blaine, “I’m most upset that you said it in front of
Blaine,” Kurt tells her coldly.
“You really love him, don’t you?”
“I love him like you miss Rachel,” Kurt answers and Quinn nods. A
few seconds later, she’s sniffling and holding Kurt’s arm
tighter.
“Well, well, well, if that isn’t Kurt Hummel.”
Kurt’s head whips around when he hears Santana’s drawling voice
and he grins when he sees Brittany and her walking towards them.
Quinn has to let go of Kurt’s arm when Brittany lurches forward to hug
him, the sheer force of the embrace threatening to send them both to the
ground. When she lets go, she takes his arm and then greets Quinn, who only
raises her eyebrows in acknowledgement.
Kurt pats her arm and she mumbles something about Finn before walking away.
When she walks past Blaine, he stops and looks back at Kurt, Brittany and
Santana, waiting for them to catch up with him.
“Who’s that?” Brittany asks excitedly when she notices
Blaine.
“A friend,” Kurt drawls, smirking and taking Santana’s
arm, despite the annoyed click of her tongue.
“A friend like Santana is my friend?”
“Something like that.”
“I doubt it,” Santana replies.
“Try me.” Kurt puts his chin up, smirking as he looks down his
nose at Santana’s changing expression. She goes from frowning to
smirking, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
“Good for you, Hummel. Good for you. I didn’t know you had it in
you.”
And maybe it’s the rum still clouding his mind or the genuine acceptance
of Santana and Brittany, but Kurt doesn’t censor himself. “Not
quite yet, no.”
Santana throws her head back and cackles, earning herself a confused look when
they reach Blaine.
The introductions are awkward and it’s like Santana is trying to make
Blaine uncomfortable at all costs. Within two minutes, he’s blushing and
pushing his hands deep inside the pockets of his coat, his head bowed down to
look at his feet.
“Santana, give him a break,” Kurt scolds with a smile.
“Blaine isn’t accustomed to your brand of crazy, yet.”
“Oh!” Brittany’s cry cuts whatever snarky reply Santana
was about to spit. “Oh my god, Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury came
together!”
And this starts a string of gossip that only ends when they part at the
entrance of the church. Kurt finds out all about Miss Pillsbury and Mr.
Schuester’s not-so-secret relationship, about how the Evans’ sons
has been seen with the Fabrays’ maid on more than one occasion; Brittany
lowers her voice as they walk by the Mottas, whispering about the rumour that
Mr. Motta is part of a mafia and then pouts when she tells them that the
Flanagans are about to get deported to Ireland. When she runs out of fresh
gossip, she starts catching Blaine up with everything that ever happened in
Lima, only faltering when she gets to Quinn and Rachel.
“Ah, that one is complicated,” Kurt cuts in, glancing nervously
at Quinn and Finn, who are only a few steps ahead of them. “Let’s
not rehash old stories.”
“That’s what we’ve been doing for the last fifteen
minutes,” Santana replies dryly. She narrows her eyes at Kurt. “I
don’t see why it’s different for those two.”
Kurt wants to reply that none of the other people have disappeared without
leaving a trace; he wants to snap at Santana that she knows how damaging that
kind of gossip is, they’ve both lived it firsthand, and they should show
some solidarity. He wants to tell her all that, but the only thing that comes
out is: “Santana, it’s Christmas Eve. Show some humanity.”
Santana rolls her eyes and lets go of Kurt’s arm, crossing her arms over
her chest and squaring her shoulders.
“Come on, Santana,” Brittany says hurriedly. “We have to
get inside. I don’t want to miss the beginning, whenever I stop paying
attention I don’t understand what they say. I think it’s God
punishment for not listening.” Turning to Blaine, she explains:
“I always fall asleep when we have to pray.”
Watching them go, Blaine feebly says ‘that would be because it’s
in Latin?’ and Kurt laughs it off with a shrug.
“That’s Brittany for you.”
“Do you have friends that are not crazy?”
“Do you include yourself in this?”
“Would it change the answer?”
“No.”
Blaine laughs and pushes at Kurt’s shoulder playfully, and they both
know that this uncommon gesture is for show. Kurt laughs – it’s
forced and it sounds fake to his own ears – and then he turns on his
heels to face the church.
It’s a tall and imposing building, looming over its surroundings, like
an ever-present reminder that they are being watched framed in ridiculously out
of place Victorian architecture. Kurt always found it tasteless and used to
openly mock it back when his life wasn’t upside down, but now as he
stands at the entrance, mockery is the last thing on his mind.
“First time going in there since my father’s funerals,”
Kurt says lightly, punctuating his words with a chuckle.
Blaine frowns and brushes his hand on Kurt’s shoulder, fingers flexing
against the wool of his coat briefly before returning to his side.
Memories flood his mind as Kurt walks in, taking his breath away like a punch
to the stomach. Nothing has changed, the only difference between the funerals
and now the pitiful Nativity scene. Kurt nearly bursts out laughing when the
baby starts crying loudly when Finn approaches but a glance to the altar is
enough to make his breath short once more.
“I thought I was over it,” Kurt whispers to Blaine, leaning in as
much as he dares while they make their way to an empty pew, following Carole
and the Fabrays. “But I’m not.”
“We can leave, if you need to. You only have to ask and we’re out
of here.”
Kurt looks at Blaine before he slides down the pew and his eyes are open and
earnest, boring into Kurt’s and making him feel like Blaine knows and
understands better than himself what he’s thinking and feeling right
now. Blaine smiles when Kurt’s eyes linger and Kurt returns it, mouthing
‘thank you.’
The seconds stretch and then it’s too much, they’ve stared too
long and Kurt is hyperaware of the whispers coming from behind him as he moves
down the pew to sit next to Finn. He chances a glance over his shoulder when he
hears his name pronounced barely above a breath and sees the woman living two
houses down from him animatedly conversing with the seamstress he used to go to
for his school uniform, two women who have known him for as long as he can
remember.
“Calumny is a sin, you know,” Kurt tells them without a greeting.
“That’s why we’re only talking about things that are
true,” his neighbour replies curtly, her eyebrows rising. Kurt never
liked her, as a child he would cry whenever his mother asked her to look over
him for an hour or two while she ran errands, and he can’t stop his
polite smile from turning into a sneer before he turns her back to them. Blaine
touches his knee and Kurt squeezes his hand briefly.
The church is already too warm before the ceremony begins, and with the number
of candles lit up all around them, the temperature is only bound to rise
higher. It was warm at his father’s funerals, too, but all Kurt can
remember is how cold he felt for weeks after Burt died.
Kurt is itching to hold Blaine’s hand five minutes into Mass. He needs
Blaine’s warm hand as an anchor so he can get through it without losing
his mind. He can feel the glances, can see people craning their necks around to
catch a glimpse of the Hummel boy, back from the dead and there with a date. It
was foolish to assume that showing up at Christmas High Mass with Blaine
– a boy no one has ever seen before – wouldn’t draw
attention, and even if Kurt wants to ignore them and pay attention to the
ceremony, whenever he sees the altar he can see his father’s coffin in
his mind.
His brows furrow when he thinks of all those times his father would mutter
comments during High Mass to try and entertain Kurt, always the same ones, and
every cue in the sermon is like a spike driven through his heart. Kurt takes a
shuddering breath and closes his eyes. He won’t let himself cry in front
of those people. He readjusts his bow tie and pulls on the collar of his shirt.
“Are you okay?” Blaine asks in a breath as the rustle of people
moving to kneel down covers their conversation.
Kurt shakes his head. “I can’t do this, Blaine.”
“Do you want to leave?”
Kurt licks his lips and frowns, staring at the back of the pew in front of him.
The kneeler is making his joints ache and there’s sweat rolling down the
back of his neck. The smell of incense is too strong and the priest droning in
Latin in front is the same who officiated the funerals and this is when he
snaps and nods.
“Okay, yes. Let’s get you out of here,” Blaine whispers in
a soothing voice.
There’s a beat as they wait for people to get back up and then
he’s politely asking Carole to move, hand around Kurt’s wrist to
drag him out in the aisle and then down towards the door, their footsteps loud
and all eyes on them and then Kurt is standing outside in the crisp night air
and he inhales sharply in a shuddery sob.
Blaine lets him cry for a few minutes before he comes closer, his movement
betrayed by the creaking of the snow under his feet. He drapes Kurt’s
coat over his shoulders and then grips them, stroking up and down in silence as
Kurt tries to calm down enough to be able to speak.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt finally chokes out, wiping his nose with
the back of his hand, a childish thing he hasn’t done in years, before
turning on his heels to face Blaine. “I don’t know what just
happened.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Kurt.”
Kurt shrugs and rolls his eyes, putting on his coat and wrapping his scarf
around his neck when a shiver shakes him. “It’s not like
it’s the first Christmas without him. Last year was hard but I
wasn’t here and this is just—it’s torture, Blaine.
It’d take the physical punishments you caused me a thousand times over
this.” Blaine winces and Kurt’s eyes widen as he realises what
he’s just said. “No, oh god, not like that, I’m so
sorry.”
“I know what you meant,” Blaine says dismissively, stepping
forward to tentatively lay his hand on Kurt’s arm. “Want to go
home?”
Kurt nods, wiping his eyes quickly, the tears already crystallising in his
eyelashes because of the cold. Blaine takes his hand and starts walking,
pulling Kurt along until their steps synchronise.
They don’t talk and Kurt appreciates Blaine’s silence. It stopped
snowing but everything around them is covered in a thick layer that’s
ankle-deep where they’re walking in the middle of a quiet residential
street. Their footsteps are muffled and everything is eerie, like
they’re the only two persons awake in the world.
Blaine is the one who turns on the lights when they enter the house after
stubbing his toe into a wall.
“No, leave them off. I’ll guide you to your room,” Kurt
says feebly. Crying gave him a headache and all he wants now is go to bed and
wake up in January.
Kurt grabs Blaine’s hand and makes his way upstairs slowly, his eyes
adjusting to the darkness halfway there.
“I’ll find my way, now. Thanks,” Blaine whispers before
pulling him into a hug. “You’re going to be fine?”
Kurt nods and promises he’ll be alright and then Blaine is gone, leaving
Kurt alone in his room. He lasts ten minutes in bed before he’s
scrambling across the hallway and into the guest room, entering without
knocking.
Blaine sits up immediately and turns on the bedside lamp. “What’s
wrong?”
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Kurt inwardly groans at how small
his voice sounds. “I can’t—not tonight. Please.”
Blaine blinks sleepily and nods, rubbing at his eyes and scooting to the other
side of the bed. “Of course.” He holds the covers up, inviting
Kurt, and he climbs in quickly, shutting the light before lying down.
“Thank you,” Kurt whispers, feeling Blaine press his chest to his
back and wrap his arm around his chest.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He nuzzles behind Kurt’s
ear before pressing a kiss there and cuddling closer.
Kurt shrugs and covers Blaine’s hand with his, pushing his fingers
between Blaine’s and tightening. “I thought it’d be nice
to come back here but all I can see is how he’s not there. He was my
entire world and then one day he wasn’t there anymore and I was left to
try and figure out what I was supposed to do next. But instead of finding a way
to live, I think I just stopped and let life happen around me, you
know?”
Blaine hums and presses a kiss to the back of Kurt’s head, tangling
their legs and pulling him even closer.
“I never believed in anything but in my father and I, and what we had,
so when I didn’t have that anymore, I had nothing.”
“And religion was a good alternative.”
“Not a good one, but it was there. It was offered to me and it was so
easy to just hang on to this thread instead of drifting in nothingness. Coming
back here, I have to face what I hid from. It’s like all my emotions
want to happen at once and I don’t know how to deal with it. I’m
sorry that all I’ve been doing since we arrived here is cry. It must be
terrible for you.”
Blaine either shakes his head no or nuzzles the back of Kurt’s head, he
can’t tell, and Kurt sighs again.
“I’m terrified of my parents’ reaction,” Blaine
murmurs after a while. “They won’t be happy. I—ah. I
pretended like it was not a big deal to run away with you because I wanted to
but my parents—”
“They can’t do anything to you.” Kurt feels a weight
settle in his stomach when he realises how egocentric he’s been.
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“Dragging you into this. It was selfish of me.”
“No, Kurt, you didn’t drag me into anything. I followed you
willingly. And I heard you talk with Carole earlier.” Kurt blushes and
turns his face into the pillow even though Blaine can’t see him.
“You really did this so I wouldn’t get hurt?”
Kurt shrugs and presses his lips together. “You’re all I have.
Literally.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“I know.”
“I love you,” Blaine says against the skin of his neck.
Kurt smiles and brings Blaine’s hand up to kiss his knuckles.
“Love you, too.”
Kurt drifts in and out of sleep until the front door slams shut. Behind him,
Blaine is fast asleep, his breath deep and loud. Kurt smiles at the sound while
he listens to the bits of conversation he can hear through the floor. The
voices eventually get nearer until they come from right outside the room.
Kurt keeps his eyes closed and tries to stay motionless when Carole peaks in.
The light from the hallway is pouring in the room and he has a hard time not
squinting against it.
“Mom?” Finn asks too loudly. “Is something wrong?”
“Quiet, Finn. Let them sleep,” Carole hisses. The door creaks as
she pulls it close.
“Wait, them?”
Kurt waits for the click of the door shutting close but it doesn’t come
so he risks opening one eye to peak through his eyelashes. Finn and Carole are
standing in the doorway, watching the bed. Carole is smiling but Finn is
frowning, a mix of confusion and unease on his face.
“Go to bed, Finn,” Carole says tiredly before closing the door
and walking away.
Finn keeps talking but Kurt can’t quite make out the words as he starts
falling asleep again, pressing back against Blaine and feeling him tighten his
arm around his waist.
---
Christmas is a mess through which Kurt and Blaine navigate with the help of
spiked eggnog and red wine. Every minute of it is tinted with unease and
discomfort, from Finn nearly walking in on Kurt and Blaine making out to tell
them breakfast is ready, to Mr. Fabray’s alcoholic mother spilling the
bowl of punch all over Quinn’s sister’s white dress and her
husband making distasteful comments every time he’s in the same room
than Kurt.
“That’s where you went,” Blaine says with relief when he
reaches the second floor of the Fabrays’ house and finds Kurt sitting on
the top stair, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
“Sorry I abandoned you down there. I couldn’t stand it
anymore.”
“I can’t blame you. He’s a jerk,” Blaine says
through a sigh as he sits down next to Kurt.
“It’s not just him. It’s everything. I want today to
end.” Kurt leans into Blaine’s side, resting his head on his
shoulder.
“It’s not every day you hear someone who wants Christmas to be
over.”
Kurt shrugs and straightens up before reaching behind his back and retrieving a
glass of wine. He takes a long sip and stares at the burgundy liquid in the
delicate crystal glass. “This can’t be my life.” Blaine
hums, prompting Kurt on. “I can’t do mundane interactions. I
can’t pretend to like people I hate. I mean, I can and I’m good
at it, but I don’t want to do it.”
“You don’t have to. Nothing keeps you in Ohio.”
“But where would I go?”
“Anywhere you want.” Blaine bites his lip, hesitates.
“Anywhere we want.”
Kurt looks away from his glass to grin at Blaine. “We could go to
California. To Hollywood.”
“We could.” Blaine pushes his leg against Kurt’s and Kurt
scoots closer until they’re pressed from hip to ankle.
“Or New York.”
Blaine looks at Kurt, then, because his voice has changed. There’s a
different tone to his voice, like hope maybe, or longing.
“Or New York,” Blaine repeats, nodding. A smile grows on his face
as he starts properly thinking about it. “New York sounds good.”
They spend the next hour making plans in hushed, excited voices, like children
planning to misbehave. In that moment, their future seems bright and promising,
and they don’t care that soon people will start looking for them and
there’ll be barely disguised disapproval and disgust to find them
together.
Hurtful comments will be made, which will lead to a fight with Finn and more
tears from Kurt. Blaine will hold him close as he cries into his neck while
they hide in the kitchen, the door guarded by a plump maid who keeps glancing
at Kurt like she wishes she could comfort him.
Roles will be reversed a few days later after Carole sternly ordered Blaine to
call his parents and they show up on their doorstep, requesting to talk to
their son in private. The conversation will last for too long, exhaust the
three Andersons and will go in circles until the forced calm will snap and
everything will fall apart. It’ll be the last time Blaine ever sees his
parents and he’ll spend the evening between crying and panicking as it
sinks in that he’s now an orphan, his father claiming he only has one
son now before storming out of the house, his mother looking at Blaine one last
time with teary eyes as she follows her husband.
Kurt will hold Blaine through it, whispering soothing words in his ears and
promising Blaine that their life will be a thousand times the Andersons’
and that his father will regret disowning him when he sees what his son has
become. It will take Blaine a few days to start smiling again and many months
to fully recover.
No, in that moment, nothing matters as they build dreams in common over a
shared glass of wine, daring to hope for a brighter future that seemed
impossible days earlier.
---
“Oh my god, Rachel, get out of the kitchen!” Kurt growls and
slaps her with the back of the wooden spoon when she once again tries to steal
a slice of cucumber. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, go bother
Jesse and leave me alone.”
“It’s Puck this week!” Puck yells from the living room and
Kurt rolls his eyes. It’s a good thing he stopped trying to keep up
weeks ago.
It’s been a year and a half since they first discussed going to New York
and Blaine was disowned by his parents. Things seemed to unfold all at once
after that, a letter from Rachel arriving in mid-February inviting them to join
her because she was about to move to a bigger apartment and wanted to save on
the rent by splitting. They found out months later that it was Quinn who wrote
to Rachel about them through their almost weekly correspondence.
Three months later, they were stepping into their new apartment for the first
time, Blaine pushing past them to claim the room with the best view –
incidentally, it’s also the smallest so their bed is the only piece of
furniture that fits in – and Kurt hasn’t even shut the door that
Rachel is already talking about curtains and carpets.
They were barely settled when Rachel’s lover of the week first came
over, nearly shocking Kurt into a heart attack when he recognised Noah
Puckerman. The sentence ‘of all the Jews in all of New York’ was
pronounced at some point between their first and third bottle of cheap wine and
it was voted the worst sentence to ever be said, ever, and Kurt was ordered to
wash the dishes for the next week to punish him for butchering something out of
Casablanca.
Then, the next week, there was Jesse St. James who moved in for three weeks and
barely did anything, eating their food and complaining about the noise when
they disturbed his nocturnal lifestyle. The cycle started all over again two
months later until Kurt snapped and threatened to drown him in the toilet tank
if he didn’t get his parasitic ass out of his house. Jesse was back a
month later.
They don’t have enough money, every end of the month a struggle to
decide whether they’d rather eat or pay the rent, but they’re
young and free and nothing matters for longer than a day. No one says a thing
about Kurt and Blaine sharing a room, or cuddling on the couch as they listen
to Kurt’s records, or kissing when they think no one is looking. Puck
did make a comment or two at first but it was excused as good-natured until it
actually was, his remarks punctuated with fond eye rolls. As for Jesse, it
would require him to care about something else than himself, so he probably
didn’t even notice, and Rachel calls them ‘my boys’ and
insists to give them one evening alone every week.
Kurt leans against the sink and looks outside the window as he waits for the
chicken to be ready. It’s early in the month, the rent is paid and
Rachel got paid the equivalent of three months’ worth of singing in
cabarets so they’re treating themselves to an actual meal. Blaine ran
out half an hour ago to go buy wine and dessert, and they plan to go out in the
evening to see their friend Tina sing at their favourite bar. With a
disbelieving chuckle that this is his life, Kurt checks on the chicken, a
mouth-watering scent filling the kitchen when he opens the door of the oven.
From the living room, he hears Blaine calling him into the living room
excitedly.
“Hey!” Blaine says cheerfully when Kurt enters, his eyes bright
and his cheeks red with excitement.
“Hi?” Kurt replies curiously, narrowing his eyes and taking the
groceries bag Blaine is holding.
“Blaine has some big news for us but he won’t say what it
is,” Rachel complains, glaring at Blaine.
“I needed Kurt to be here, too. It’s some pretty big news so you
might want to sit down.” Still looking at Blaine like he lost his mind,
Kurt sits on the arm of the couch and raises his eyebrows. Blaine is nearly
vibrating as he looks at them with wide eyes. “Okay, ready? We won! The
war is over! People are celebrating in the streets and the third floor
neighbour told me it’s crazy on Times Square right now!”
The blood drains from Kurt’s face as Blaine’s words sink in,
numbness settling in his limbs. Rachel shrieks and jumps up, running to hug
Blaine. They both start jumping on the spot, talking animatedly while Puck and
Kurt look at each other in silence. A smirk slowly appears on Puck’s
face, which turns into a grin as Rachel pulls him to his feet.
“We have to go!” Rachel exclaims, already looking around the room
for her purse. “Kurt, get the food out of the oven, we’ll eat
when we come back. Come on, boys!”
She skips out of the room, Puck on her heels. Blaine grins as Kurt finally gets
up and walks towards him, wrapping Blaine into a tight hug. He feels dizzy but
his heart is soaring high when he realises that things can only get better,
now.
“Come on,” Kurt says into Blaine’s ear.
“Let’s go make history.”
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