Where I post some things that I write.

Thanks to everyone who followed! I'll try to have more stuff up soon, but it's just a matter of getting my bazillion ideas down in a coherent Word document, which is harder than it sounds.

Wed, 16 Nov 2011 17:37:00 +1100

The Alcoholic Rebellion of Blaine Anderson

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 22:53:00 +1100

Rating: PG13

Pairings: Kurt/Blaine

Spoilers (if any): Up to and including 3x05

Warnings (if any): Underage drinking.

Word Count: 3000+

Summary: Five times Blaine Anderson tried a different drink and the five different feelings they gave him.

First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.
-Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald
Vodka.

It’s usually the tequila that makes people slutty. He’s tried the tequila that Brittany is drinking. He’s pretty sure it would just make him black out.

He’s sure he’ll be safe with vodka. The one useful thing his father has told him is not to mix his alcohol. So he sticks to vodka and various types of soda. It’s awesome and delicious and barely tastes like alcohol at all.

Blaine’s not really sheltered, per se. He’s grown up too fast – a clear result of a Sadie Hawkins dance gone wrong, decidedly Country Club parents and a private school mentality. Until tonight, he’s never really let himself go. And guess what? Maybe he should do it more often, because even though more than half of the people at this party are plastered and hate each other, they all seem to take to him well enough. In this drunken haze of stripping dancers, disco balls and a mint-green grandma nightgown, he’s found a strange kind of acceptance.

And maybe he’s finding out a bit about himself. Like that drinking is way more fun than it sounds, and that he totally wants a karaoke machine.

Also, he really likes kissing. In fact, he loves it. So what if it’s with a girl? Lips are lips. Lips are fucking wonderful. They’re so soft and sexy and they taste amazing.

He hasn’t seen Kurt in a while, but that’s okay, because Kurt’s missed his friends. Blaine has a feeling that if he’d left this group of people behind, he’d miss them too. It’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s all fine because he’s buzzing and he’s kissed someone finally and God, he just loves eighties music.

When he sees Kurt again, he doesn’t notice Kurt’s expression because he’s too busy staring at Kurt’s painted on jeans. Blaine doesn’t live on Mars. He knows Kurt’s attractive. He could be a model one day, with that frosty expression and those legs that stretch for miles.

But he’s never thought of Kurt sexy on an innately subjective and personal level before. As much as it should freak him out, it doesn’t. He’s learning all sorts of things tonight, and he’s quite happy to add Kurt’s ass to the list of things he’s realised he loves.

Blaine’s dozy on the car ride home. He’s got a dopey smile on his face. His hands touch his still-tingling lips and he’s humming along to Kurt’s playlist of showtunes. Kurt’s silence should be icy cold, but to Blaine, it’s just a reason to mumble and hum more because, hey, life’s too short not to express yourself, right?

It’s when he’s lying on Kurt’s bed that everything starts to become problematic. Kurt’s shuffling around nervously, talking about how he wishes he had a couch like in his old basement and why is the world so cruel as to make him sleep on the floor when he’s had a night like he has?

“Hey. Kurt. Hey. Your bed is amaaazing. It feels like a cloud. Am I on cloud nine, Kurt? Is that why your bed is so comfortable and I’m so happy?”

“Well I’m glad you’re happy. I wish I could find a spot on my floor that will make my back as happy as the vodka made you.”

“Your floor? Why would you sleep there? That’s stupid, Kurt. This is a double bed. Just get in with me.”

“I can’t do that, Blaine.”

“Uh yeah. You can. You just have to climb up here, see? And if you don’t, I’ll just fall off this bed and never get back up. Do you really want me doing that, Kurt Hummel? Would you do that to your best friend?”

“No. I’d never intentionally hurt someone who’s so important to me.”

Blaine’s too drunk to hear the bite in Kurt’s tone.

As soon as Kurt’s beside him, Blaine feels warm and safe and stupidly distracted with how pretty Kurt is. His lips are a dark pink; probably from the way he bites his tongue. His muscles are tense and defined. His hair has softened out of its hairspray hold. He looks phenomenal in the lamplight, and Blaine can’t help but inch toward those beautiful lips.

Because he loves lips.

“Blaine. Don’t. If you don’t want to screw this up, just…lie on your side of the bed and stay still.”

“But Kurt, your lips-”

“My lips are yours to take when you’re sober and willing. Just please don’t do this to me tonight. I’ve had enough.”

Kurt’s eyes are glistening and sad and they remind Blaine of that really depressing kitten video he once saw on Youtube, so he smiles softly at Kurt and turns away, passing out before he can hear Kurt’s quiet sobs.

The next day, he remembers as far as the press of female lips that tasted like wine coolers.

Beer.

“I’m sorry for trying to be spontaneous and fun.”

Halfway through a very cold and lonely walk home, Blaine Anderson is sobering up. He’s also coming to terms with how much he really kind of hates himself. There’s a pounding in his head already, and his hands are shaking with emotion.

“Either you can’t tell or you just don’t care.”

It’s always been an ugly drink to him. He’s in high school. He knows that guys usually turn into absolute assholes after a few red cups of cheap beer. To be honest, it conjures up images of beefy guys watching a football game and calling the players fags and pussies. It’s still very much a heterosexual, homophobic drink to him. But he figures maybe it’ll be different in the gay bar. Maybe the blatant acceptance of the place will help.

He was going to limit himself. He really was. He never had any intention of getting beyond tipsy – especially not as the third wheel in a very passive-aggressive sort of night. But hey, he figured he’s not his father and he’s definitely not his brother, so beer probably wouldn’t even affect him similarly anyway. Besides, the last time he’d had too much to drink, he’d just ended up kissing a few people too many. It was a far cry from the violence and screaming realities of his Sadie Hawkins Experience, polluted with the stench of beer and sweat.

It was fun at first. There were awesome purple lights and retro music and actually other gay people in Ohio that even dressed up as drag queens. So okay, Sebastian had been a little awkward but whatever. Hanging out with Rachel in a gay bar would be awkward too so he didn’t think too much of it.

And then Kurt had started dancing and Blaine just wanted to love every single bit of him because his boyfriend is just fucking adorable when he dances. And he swore that the only thing he wanted to do was love Kurt in any and every way he could.

He figured he’d turned into a harmless slutty drunk again.

Until he was proven wrong.

“It’s about us.”

It’s kind of terrifying, the feeling of being absolutely, helplessly angry. He hasn’t had that much to drink – it’s less than when he made the absolutely stellar decision to make out with Rachel Berry – so there’s still a part of him screaming at himself to shut the fuck up and back off because Kurt is right and precious and the only thing in his life that he can say he’s proud of. But his hands still clench and his brows furrow in agitation because he’s frustrated with the border restrictions on his physical relationship. He can’t control it. His body bristles with anger and sexual frustration and he’s forced to make the walk home because if he doesn’t, he’s terrified of what he might say or do.

He’s never, not once, thought he’d be That Guy. He’s made sure that ever since he and Kurt started dating not to do anything to screw this up. And he’s tried so hard. He’s pushed himself with big romantic gestures and prom and with taking things slower than his body wants to all because he absolutely loves Kurt. So much that his heart feels like it’s literally going to shatter with the pressure of it sometimes.

Yet here he is, somewhere just past Lima Heights Adjacent, pretending that Kurt’s not following him in the Navigator and realising that beer makes him into the same asshole as it does all other guys.

His father would be so proud.

Whiskey

So maybe he has a problem by now. There’s a bottle of his father’s finest whiskey sitting in front of him (the man will probably barely notice, for all the time he spends in the cellar) and his tongue itches for the burn of it. His father has always told him never to drink alone – it’s pathetic and weak and it will only end in alcoholism.

But Kurt’s still not picking up his phone and Blaine just wants to forget. Just for a night. Just so he can sleep for a night and not wake up with tears on his face and bags the size of Jupiter under his eyes.

The first taste leaves a blaze in its wake. Blaine has never understood the draw of whiskey. It tastes like lighter fluid probably would and it makes him feel more like his father than he likes. Still, it’s the only alcohol he can get his hands on right now, and if drinking straight whiskey is good for anything, it’s numbing the parts of yourself that you don’t want to think about.

Like his broken heart. Like his stupid, stupid naïveté. Like his inability to not fuck up every good thing ever.

He’s not going to lie and say he thought Sebastian would be content to stay friends. He’s figured that eventually, maybe, the boy would get bored and move on. Or he’d make a pass and Blaine would just tell him no and that would be that. Blaine’s always been prepared to lose Sebastian as a friend. He’s never been prepared to lose Kurt. Not over something so stupid as a rumour.

And yeah, he knows now, because hindsight is always fucking twenty/twenty. He knows he should have just told Sebastian ‘no’ that first day at Dalton. Blaine’s not so oblivious to completely miss the point of being called sex-on-a-stick. But in his haste to befriend another gay guy in Ohio, he’d forgotten that just because a guy’s gay, it doesn’t mean he’s not a douchebag. It doesn’t mean he won’t start a rumour. It doesn’t mean he won’t hurt people.

He hates Sebastian. Not as much as he hates himself. At least Sebastian has been overt. Predictable. Hilariously so, at some points. But Blaine is always going to be that stupid guy. The guy that believes everything’s harmless until it punches you in the face. Sebastian had been harmless, once. That was before he attempted to hurt Kurt Hummel and blew everything up in smoke.

“I would never believe the rumours, Blaine. Do you think I don’t get that he’s as threatening to me as Ke$ha is to Gaga?”

“Then why-?”

“I’m not furious at him! I’m furious at you for continually being friends with someone that has wanted nothing but to hurt me and to tear us apart. I’m angry because he said some incredibly cruel things to me, but you’re still aggravatingly naïve about it. That boy is not your friend, Blaine! He’s an ass, and so are you for sticking by him when your relationship was at stake.”

The burn of the whiskey makes his eyes water. The words in his head shatter his heart, and before he knows it, he’s lying on the couch in a near-vegetative state, willing his mind not to whirl any faster.

His phone rings. Lady Gaga’s voice lets him know it’s Kurt.

He lets the phone ring out. He’ll only fuck everything up anyway.

Wine

Blaine kind of hates wine. It’s boring and it’s bitter and it gives him a headache before his third drink. He’s drinking it out of pure courtesy. And fear. Kind of. His grandmother doesn’t exactly move like a ninja, but she has a glare that would probably shoot laser beams. If Blaine ever said ‘no’ to her, she would probably whack him in the face with a candlestick.

He refuses to get drunk tonight. He might say the word ‘gay’ and end up dead.

It’s extremely hard not to just chug the bottle, though, because the family discussion turns very quickly to Bill O’Reilly. His parents are that bad. They’re far from Fox News junkies, but his grandmother could wave a Nazi Flag along with her Tea Party one and Blaine wouldn’t bat an eyelid in surprise. He kind of wants to tell her about Rachel and her two Jewish, Gay dads, but Blaine’s father has already shot at least seven warning looks in his direction, and the grounding really isn’t worth it.

So instead, he fixes his eyes on his dinner and takes larger gulps of his wine than he should. His grandmother doesn’t notice. She’s barely looked at him once since that time when he was fourteen and he turned up to the Fourth of July dinner in red jeans.

After the butler tops up his fourth glass (he can’t wait for the lecture he’ll get about binge drinking later on), his phone vibrates. Blaine knows it’s Kurt. It’s just past nine o-clock and Kurt’s probably found a reason to hiss at one of the girls on America’s Next Top Model. He knows Blaine is at his grandmother’s, but he’s texting anyway, so that when Blaine gets home in a rage, he can at least have a laugh at Kurt’s bitching.

But he’s not raging at all. He used to get so worked up about his family’s right-wing views. He used to scream and cry and lie awake at night tossing and turning. He used to hope one day they would change. But he’s long realised that it’s not going to happen.

Instead, he just dreams of New York. Of Broadway. Flashing lights. Billboards. Yellow taxis. And most of all, walking down the street hand-in-hand with the love of his life. Kisses in Central Park. A surprise date outside Tiffany’s. He can’t wait for all of it. And maybe it’s the wine, but he’s never seen his future clearer than right now in this insipid dining room. He’s never had a daydream so clear, so almost tangible. In all the times he’s contemplated getting away from his family, he’s never believed it more than now.

When his grandmother snaps at him to put his phone away, he just nods politely and apologises for Harvard being so rude and emailing him during family time.

Champagne

Kurt tries to refuse Carole’s clandestine gift.

“It’s really very sweet, Carole, but we’re just not into drinking.”

And it would have been fine with Blaine if they remained alcohol-less upon moving into their shared apartment in New York. Blaine’s sworn off drinking because frankly, he feels like an asshole every time he does it. Kurt is still reeling from BambiGate.

Except that’s a hundred dollar bottle of fine champagne, and Carole’s face is falling rapidly in a very heartbreaking way.

“Don’t mind him, Carole. He’ll get over puking on Ms Pillsbury’s shoes as soon as we’ve moved states.” Blaine winks and put a hand to the bottle. “Thankyou, really. We’re very grateful.”

“It’s no problem, boys.” She says, tearing up. “Just hide it before Burt gets in. I’ll tell him the hundred dollars went towards those last-season designer shoes that actually cost me forty dollars in the thrift store.”

And that’s how Kurt and Blaine end up giggling like a pair of twelve year olds on their new red sofa (which surprisingly well-priced for being Kurt’s choice).

“I love you like I love America’s Next Top Model.”

“I love you like I love the Bee Gees.”

“I love you like I love movie posters from the Fifties.”

“I love you like I love PB and J sandwiches.”

“Blaine…”

“What? My mom used to make them all the time when I was a kid. When I taste them now, it’s like being pulled into a really, really tight warm hug where I was just little Blaine. With no labels.”

And there’s enough in that justification for Kurt to smile that way he does just before his eyes overflow with tears of love.

“Well then. I love you like I love baking. Especially my lemon cupcakes. I love you like I love my lemon cupcakes!”

“Kiiiinky.”

They laugh some more, knocking the empty bottle over and tipping their celebratory pizza dangerously close to the edge of the table.

“I think I’ve finally found an alcoholic drink that I like on you.” Kurt says, an appraising eye sweeping over Blaine. It makes him blush and stutter like an awkward teenager. “Champagne seems to make you happy. It’s a good look.”

“Yeah, well,” Blaine leans towards Kurt’s ear, his mouth just a breath away from Kurt’s rapidly flushing skin. “New York’s a good look on you.” He licks the outer shell of Kurt’s ear playfully, ducking backwards to avoid a particularly vicious whack from a shaggy throw pillow.

“I think I need more champagne to deal with you. Have we got any more?”

They make their way through a four-dollar bottle that Puck gifted them (along with six boxes of condoms and a ridiculous rainbow dildo that neither of them quite knew was sanitary for actual use). The drink is hardly as smooth as the bottle Carole gave them, and its bitterness makes Kurt’s lips pucker in distaste, but they both like the high they’re floating on too much to stop drinking.

After another round of verbal competition (“I love you like I love hats”, “I love you like I love scarves and you can never repeat that to anybody because oh my God I’ve been denying Finn that level of love for years”), Blaine settles back into his seat properly and stares at Kurt like he does a lot.

You know the stare. The one where he’s looking at his entire world and he just wants to love.

“It’s not the champagne that makes me happy, Kurt.”

“Hmm?”

“The champagne makes me stupid. You make me happy. You and your heart and your hands and your eyes and your co-”

“I think I know where this is going.”

“Do you? Because the champagne is kind of ridding me of control. Slowly. And your legs Kurt, Oh my God.”

Kurt turns to him with possibly the sexiest expression that Blaine’s ever seen ever on anyone. “So I think our bed’s kind of missed us. And we never really got to put it to full use with all those Hummel-Hudsons around.”

“Are you propositioning sex? Please be propositioning sex.”

“Just get into the bedroom, Blaine, and I’ll show you.”

—-Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.
-Ernest Hemingway

The Progress To Square Two

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:47:07 +1100

Rating: R
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Warnings: Awkwardness and too many emotions.
Word Count: 5000
Summary: Kurt and Blaine love that they have an honest relationship. It just gets awkward when they have to talk about sex. Fill for this prompt at the K_B prompt post.

‘Kurt…ungh…I’m trying to-‘

‘Blaine,’ and oh, Blaine is so conflicted at the feeling of Kurt’s lips moving away. Can he not just be attached to them forever and still be productive? ‘We only have thirteen more minutes of practice time left and I would really like to use that productively by perfecting that tongue thing you like.’

‘Kurt…’ It takes all of the will in Blaine’s shuddering body to grip Kurt firmly by the shoulders and push him back gently until they’re both sitting in their respective chairs, panting and flushed with pleasure.

‘Fine.’ Kurt huffs, but there’s a captivating twinkle in his expression. ‘But this better not take long.’

‘I promise it won’t take more than a few minutes. I just…since we’re dating now, I know there’s so much more potential for us to screw this up, and that terrifies me Kurt. More than you could possibly imagine.’

‘Blaine, if you don’t want this…’ Kurt’s voice has taken on that awful terse tone that always makes Blaine shrink back into himself like a rose that’s been trampled on.

‘No. I wouldn’t…please don’t think so little of me. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t want to do this. I’m in, Kurt. I’m in this for the long haul and this is actually what I stopped to talk about, because if you keep thinking that I’m deceiving you in some way, this is never going to work.’

‘I-’ Kurt sighs and deflates. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I’m so sorry.’

Blaine smiles, taking Kurt’s hand. ‘It’s okay. I just think we’re both a little inexperienced and insecure and that’s okay. Because this is new, even if we’re not. So I thought maybe it would be a good idea to set down some rules.’

And even though this is a serious conversation, the kind that makes his pulse reverberate around his body, Kurt cannot deny himself the opportunity for wit.

‘Rules? Oh my God, Blaine. I know you’re a stickler for tradition, but you’re starting to remind me of Wes, and that is just not sexy at all.’

Blaine lets out a small, nervous chuckle. ‘It’s not…I’m not proposing a list, Kurt. I only actually want one rule. And it’s so, so important to me. It’s the only thing I will ever demand of you. I…I just…’

Kurt’s expression softens with the myriad of emotions Blaine is feeling. ‘Blaine, it’s okay. I was only teasing. You can tell me. I’ll be serious.’

‘Good. Okay. The only thing I will ever stipulate about this relationship is that we’re totally honest with each other. I know it doesn’t sound new. We’ve had such an open and honest friendship – sometimes too honest. And I know it’s hurt sometimes, but that’s what’s gotten us where we are now. Look at us, Kurt. We’re strong. We know each other so well. We don’t have any secrets. I don’t want that to change. If there’s something you want to tell me, or there’s something you’re not ready for, I need you to come out and say it. And I’ll do the same. I want us to be able to talk. I don’t want to end up in a few years secretly resenting each other and hiding affairs behind our backs because we don’t know each other anymore.’

Blaine shakes and lets out a heavy breath. It tugs at Kurt’s everything to see him like this. Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand, trying to give the solid type of comfort that Kurt has always felt when someone held his hand.

‘Blaine. As much as I doubt that we’ll end up like your parents, I promise you…I’ll always be honest. It means a lot to me too.’

‘I mean it, Kurt. Even if it’s just something stupid like if you hate the way that I touch your face or something. Because even if it’s something small, it can turn in to something huge and I just don’t want something like that to happen. I don’t want to screw this up. I want to be in your life forever, Kurt. Even if it’s only as friends ten years down the track, because this hasn’t worked out. But the only way that’s going to happen is if we’re honest. It might hurt sometimes, but it will hurt less than deceiving each other.’

Kurt’s vision blurs because he can see them in several years time, living together in college, eating dinner at mediocre Breadstix-esque restaraunts once a month because that’s all they can afford. He can see them being friends above all else, and the tightness of his heart and lungs that he can feel right now is making him gasp for breath.

‘Of course. Always, Blaine. I want us to last too. I want…I want so much. I just…oh, Blaine.’

They find themselves intertwined, Kurt winding his beautiful body around the shuddering mess that is Blaine’s. Blaine closes his eyes in relief and bliss as Kurt soaks his school shirt through with tears. Neither of them has ever felt so utterly close to anyone before. Not once has either of them had this urge to melt into someone else’s body and become one with them. It’s terrifying. It’s absolutely earth-shattering.

‘Thankyou, Kurt. I promise I’ll do right by you. I’ll try so hard to be the guy that you deserve.’

Kurt laughs, because really, Blaine cannot be real. Surely he’s a figment of Kurt imagination brought about by too many fifties films.

‘Blaine Warbler. When have I ever given off the impression that I would settle for anyone that didn’t deserve me? Please. Give me some credit. Not just anyone can handle this level of fabulous.’

They laugh, and their lovely moment is over. As their lips meet over and over and over again, they know they’re not sad about it ending. Because the rarity of a moment like that just makes it all the more incredible. And they’ll have more of them, because how could a love like theirs not?

—-

It’s nearing the end of summer. The time when you feel sweaty just from breathing, and not having a body covered in sweat just seems like the most absurd thing in the world. It’s raining outside and it’s humid. It’s the worst of all days. It’s sticky and miserable and the boys intertwined on the couch are curled together purely out of love, because nothing else would permit anyone else’s skin touching either of them.

‘I hate this. There’s a reason I like winter and it’s not just because of the scarves.’

‘Aw come on. Summer’s not that bad. School’s out, you don’t have to worry about work, and everyone’s so much happier.’

‘Oh summer’s fine. When it’s actually sunny and not humid and when I have an umbrella to stop me from ending up like a sundried tomato.’

Blaine cups his hand against Kurt’s neck and strokes a thumb against his jaw. ‘But we can do this all day.’ He leans in and gives Kurt a long, slow kiss that oozes sex appeal. Blaine does that thing where he exhales against Kurt’s cheek as if kissing Kurt is a relief akin to a starving man in a desert finally getting food and water. It’s the thing Kurt loves most about their relationship. Every touch, every kiss feels like the first time. It’s enthralling, and it makes him breathless.

‘That’s true. Although I’m only this close to you right now because I love you and the things you can do with your mouth.’

Blaine laughs. ‘Well how about to compensate, I show you some other things I can do with my mouth. Because I can think of a lot we haven’t got to yet.’

And all Kurt can really do at this point is freeze because even though he doesn’t know much about sex, he hangs around New Directions too much to not know anything about innuendo. And Blaine knows about sex, so he has to know what that meant, and does that mean he’s ready? Is that some sort of hint? Kurt can’t imagine it not being a hint. It was so blatant.

‘Um.’

‘Shit.’ Blaine backs away from Kurt, and the shock absence of him makes Kurt shake his head in dizziness. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry Kurt. I didn’t mean…I mean, what? It just slipped out and that was not the way it was supposed to go at all, and I swear I wasn’t really thinking about that, I just-‘

‘Blaine, it’s fine.’

‘What?’ Blaine looks a mixture of confused and distraught.

‘It’s fine. I mean…we should talk about it, definitely. But I’m not offended or anything. God knows I’ve heard lines much worse than that from Santana.’

There’s an awkward silence that speaks volumes because Santana isn’t the one that you’re dating. You aren’t expected to eventually have sex with her.

‘Blaine?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Remember when you asked me to always be honest?’

Blaine can barely refrain from closing his eyes in dread, but he doesn’t want to discourage The Honesty Policy, so he attempts a look of concern, but it probably fails because he’s so worried that Kurt is going to break things off now.

‘Yeah, Kurt. I remember.’

‘Well, in the spirit of all honesty, I just want you to know that I’m learning, okay? And I might not be ready for all of it, but I can be ready for a bit more if you are.’

‘Oh Kurt…’

Really, by the enamoured and elated look on Blaine’s face, Kurt thinks that this whole honesty thing might just be the best thing ever. It’s like Blaine’s seeing him for the first time (again – and he can’t get enough of that). He really wants nothing more than to actually talk about this because he wants to feel that closeness that they always do whenever they talk about the ‘us’ in their relationship.

But he doesn’t get to, because his dad is walking in and that would just be way too awkward to be thinking about sex with Blaine while his dad is in the room. And Burt’s looking at both of them with a shrew sort of scepticism, and Kurt thinks he might just be about to sit down with both of them with some pamphlets and toast, and so Kurt changes the subject to whatever mindless football game Finn had mentioned at school.

And the mood is ruined. Because football is not sexy at all.

—-

They don’t talk about it for weeks. Every time they try, they’re interrupted and they don’t get to spend a lot of time alone together anyway. Kurt even tried bringing it up over the phone once, but Blaine had refused. Technology didn’t give him honest facial expressions and bodily reactions. And he wants to make sure Kurt isn’t cringing or crying or shaking when the conversation takes place.

So they wait.

They wait until a sunny afternoon in August when they’re wrapped around each other, lying peacefully in Kurt’s bed.

‘We should talk.’

‘Blaine, nothing good ever comes from those words.’

Blaine sighs and absentmindedly plays with a lock of Kurt’s hair. ‘Sorry. But we should. I know we’re not adults, but we’re mature enough to have a real conversation about how far we should go. I mean, I’m confused. You’re probably confused. If we keep not talking it’ll get awkward and I-‘

‘I know. You don’t want to screw this up.’ Kurt sighs and moves into a sitting position opposite Blaine, crossing his legs and taking his boyfriend’s hand.

Handholding is something they do a lot of. Especially when they’re nervous.

‘So…’ Kurt says. ‘How long have you been thinking of us having sex?’

Blaine splutters. ‘Kurt!’

‘What? I said I’d gotten a bit more comfortable. And there’s no point considering it if we can’t even say the word.’

Really, Kurt’s just glad Blaine hasn’t cottoned on to the false bravado in his voice. He has no idea what he’s going to do when it gets to saying things like ‘handjobs’ and ‘blowjobs’ because he’s never attempted saying that out loud before.

‘Sorry. You just took me by surprise.’ Blaine smiles. ‘Um…this is probably going to sound a bit perverted, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.’

‘How long is a while?’

‘Pretty much since we started dating.’

‘That’s-‘

‘Five months. I know. Please don’t take that in a horrible way. I’m a teenage boy. I think about these things. It doesn’t mean I’ve always been ready for that step, you know? I mean, if you’d have asked me to have sex two weeks after we started going out, I wouldn’t have said yes. I wanted to take it slow. It was good for us, I think.’

‘I know. Just…five months. Wow.’

‘Yeah. Have you thought about it?’

‘Um, a bit…yeah. I mean, not as long as you. Sorry.’

Blaine looked bewildered. ‘Sorry? Kurt, never apologise for that. I knew coming into this that you had certain, um, ideasabout sex and intimacy, and that’s okay. I’ll still love you whether you think about sex or not.’

It’s stupid, but Blaine’s little speech relaxes Kurt. Consciously, he’d never admit to needing to be reassured, but it’s a weight off his shoulders. He looks down, a rosy blush staining his cheeks. ‘Thankyou.’

Blaine tips Kurt’s chin up with a finger. ‘You said…you said you were ready for more. I need to know what that means, Kurt. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries. I want to make sure we’re on the same page here.’

‘I um…’ Kurt is sure he’s never blushed so hard. ‘Maybe hands? I want to see and feel things but I don’t know if I could, um, use my…mouth yet.’ Kurt wonders how Blaine can look so calm and reassuring. If Kurt were to discuss this with anyone else, he’s sure that they’d laugh at him. But his boyfriend looks like he has the patience of a thousand saints and it makes Kurt want to hug him and never let go. ‘It just seems…I’m not ready for that.’

‘Can I ask why? It’s completely fine that you’re not ready for it and it’s not something I’d jump into either-‘

‘You wouldn’t jump into anything, Blaine. I have a feeling you have a step-by-step list to losing your virginity. No spontaneity allowed.’ And yeah, it sounds catty, but Kurt’s eyes are twinkling and Blaine can’t help but laugh.

‘Not quite. I do have a list of things I want us to do though.’ It’s the first time Kurt’s seen Blaine blush all afternoon. ‘Is that weird?’

Well, Kurt can’t very well tease Blaine about that when he’s got a box under the very bed they’re sitting on, filled with wedding colour schemes and floral arrangements.

‘No, it’s not. What’s on it?’

‘I’ll tell you if you tell me why you’re apprehensive about oral sex. I promise I’ll never push you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, but if it’s something you want to ask questions about…’

The old Kurt would have jumped down Blaine’s throat (and no that was not meant to be a blowjob pun) at the suggestion that Kurt was somehow uneducated about sex and needed serious amounts of help, but he can’t do that now. Not with Blaine looking so earnest, and not with the niggling thoughts at the back of his mind that are telling him that yeah, he knows the mechanics, but he doesn’t get the why.

‘It just…why? I mean I know it must feel good. Puck talks about it all the time – how it’s better than actually having a…well, I don’t really want to repeat it. But in those movies it just seems like it’s very one-sided. It looksuncomfortable. Why would anyone want to choke on a penis?’

And wow, if Blaine hasn’t laughed at that, then Kurt’s fairly sure that he’s got the best boyfriend in the world.

‘I’m getting the feeling you might have watched a pretty hardcore movie, Kurt. Look, the internet is filled with things that aren’t exactly conventional. And that’s okay if you’re into it. I’ll never judge someone for their preferences during sex, but if it’s not your thing, then it can be pretty confronting.’

‘It wasn’t like, a really kinky fetish thing. It was just…rough. I don’t…I don’t want that to be my first time. I don’t want to spend five minutes coughing because I’ve choked on you or something.’

‘Hey,’ Blaine interlaces their fingers and gives Kurt a quick peck on the lips. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that. Our first time won’t be like that. Yeah, some guys like giving head. They like the way it feels. But even though I haven’t done it, whenever I think of doing it, I don’t think of the act itself. I just want to make you feel good. There are so many ways to have sex, and choking is something that doesn’t have to happen if you don’t want it to.’ Blaine gives a wry smile and continued.

‘I’d say most people don’t enjoy choking on penises. If we did it, and you went down on me, I’d let you take it at your own pace. You could just take the tip of me if you wanted. You could take as much or as little as you felt comfortable with, but I would never force your head down or shove myself down your throat unless it was something that you really, reallywanted. And you don’t, so that’s okay.’

Kurt can feel the burn of his face and the prickling behind his eyes. He’s so inexperienced and there’s so much he just doesn’t know. It’s just overwhelming and he knows that no one else would put up with this, with a boy who didn’t even understand the concept of a blowjob.

‘Kurt, are you alright?’

He sniffs, willing his tears backwards. ‘Yes, Blaine. Thank you.’

‘Maybe we should give it a rest for now. You look…overwhelmed.’

‘I am. It’s more than I thought it would be. There’s so much that leaflets don’t say and I’m…I’m really nervous, Blaine.’

‘It’s okay. I’m nervous too. I’ve never done any of this. We could start doing it now and I could be horrendous and you’ll never let me touch you again.’

Kurt laughs. ‘You’ll be way better than me at least.’

‘Hey! Don’t sell yourself short. You have no idea what you do to me when you kiss me, Kurt. You’re so sexy. I don’t think I’ve made that clear enough. Every time you touch me, it feels incredible. Even when you’re just holding my hand.’

‘Blaine…’

‘This isn’t going to turn out good because we’ve got good technique. Yeah, it’s probably going to be awkward and weird. But it’s also going to be amazing because we’re in love and all we want to do is make each other feel that. I just want to be close to you. As close as I can physically be.’

Kurt kisses him then, and there are no more words for hours. And by the time they do exchange words, Kurt knows what it feels like to feel Blaine’s bare chest and hands against him. It’s a half-naked jumble of limbs, and it’s awkward, but Kurt’s never felt so connected to another person.

He’s never felt so in love.

—-

A week later they’re lying naked on soiled sheets, sweat and come between their bodies. Kurt has discovered that handjobs are phenomenal.

Blaine’s still dazed and preoccupied with the way Kurt’s face looks when he comes undone.

—-

It’s a rainy Saturday, unseasonably cold. The two boys have two mugs of hot cocoa between them and a worn copy of Vogue.

‘We should talk.’

‘Kurt, nothing good ever comes from those words.’

‘Oh touché, Blaine Warbler.’

Blaine laughs and pokes Kurt in the side. ‘What would you like to talk about, Mr Hummel?’

They both scramble their way to sit against the headboard. They end up with their knees and fingertips touching.

‘You said you had a list of things you wanted us to do…’

‘Kurt, are you asking me to talk dirty to you?’

Kurt blushes. Blaine winks and laughs. It’s all very coquettish, but not.

‘I just…we only talked about me last time. I want to know what you want.’

‘Okay. As long as you tell me the things that you want to do too. And if there’s anything that you don’t want to do, tell me. These are all just fantasies, okay?’ Blaine pauses. ‘Actually, we should take it in turns.’

‘Oh alright. But you start.’

Blaine squeezes Kurt’s knee before clearing his throat. ‘After we used our hands the other day, I keep thinking about fingering.’

‘Oh.’ Kurt stiffens, his eyes widened almost comically. His voice squeaks on the reply. ‘Really?’

‘Really. Is that something you’ve thought about?’

‘Um…wow. Sort of. I mean, I’ve wondered what it’s like, to feel something up there. I’ve never done it myself, because every time I try, I get really tense and it just doesn’t work. But if it was your hands doing it instead, I wouldn’t be opposed to a new experience.’

‘Kurt, as much as I would love that one day, I’m going to be completely honest here.’

‘Never!’

Blaine laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. ‘Usually, I think about your fingers in me.’

There’s a few beats of silence where the air buzzes with anticipation and teenage nerves.

‘Was that too much?’ Blaine’s face has taken on that adorable ‘boy-in-the-principal’s-office’ look and Kurt can’t stand that. It makes him feel like a monster.

‘No, no. Not at all. I mean, I asked for this conversation and you’re being honest. Actually, if we’re both being truthful, that kind of turns me on.’

‘Yeah?’ Blaine’s voice is breathy and husky and just the way Kurt’s wanted to hear it sound forever.

‘We should get off this topic before I end up getting you off.’

Blaine laughs, a dark undercurrent running through it. ‘Well it’s your turn now. I want to know what you think about.’

Kurt thinks for a minute. There’s a myriad of things he wants to discover with Blaine. He could easily say that he wants them to bring their mouths into the equation, but Kurt’s still squeamish about it for whatever reason. He wonders what he did to make the fates hate him so much – bringing him into the world a gay guy who doesn’t want to suck cock.

He sighs. It’s not the time to bring it up. Not when Blaine’s eyelids are heavy and their hearts are beating loudly in the space between them. So he goes for describing something that Blaine will most likely find disappointingly bland, even if it’s something Kurt’s been thinking about since they’d started making out.

‘This is probably really tame, but I keep having this dream where you’re lying on top of me and we’re rubbing together. I’m looking right into your eyes, and you’re holding both my hands really tightly. I know it’s not…it’s really simple and tame like I said. But it’s something I can’t get out of my head.’

‘Sometimes simple things are the most effective, Kurt.’

And then Blaine’s on top of him, and they’re looking into each other’s eyes and there’s another moment where Kurt realises the magnitude of their love.

It squeezes all the breath from his lungs.

—-

Two weeks later, their hands are well acquainted with their bodies.

Kurt’s decided he’s not obsessed with asses and dicks. He’s a hands man. And Blaine has magical hands.

—-

‘Do you ever think about sex?’

‘Blaine, we’ve been over this.’

‘No, I mean…sex-sex. Intercourse sex.’ He rolls over from his position as the little spoon to face the ocean-grey coloured eyes of his boyfriend. ‘Making love, Kurt. Do you ever think about it?’

‘I, um…I don’t really know. It kind of freaks me out.’ Blaine’s face falls, and Kurt knows it’s not because he’s in danger of not getting laid. ‘I don’t mean that I don’t want to be connected to you in that way, Blaine. Of course I do. Please never think that.’

‘I know-‘

‘I don’t think you do. I want to do everything with you Blaine. Eventually. I just need to get used to the idea of having your dick in there. And it might take me a while longer.’

‘What makes you think that I’d be topping?’

‘What?’

‘I mean, hypothetically, say if I really, really wanted to bottom. That it’s pretty much all I think about when I think about us having sex, what would you say?’

‘I-I thought…oh never mind.’

‘Kurt.’

He sighs, ashamed but resigned to his lack of real knowledge about sex.

‘I just thought I was meant to bottom. Because I’m…well, you know.’

‘Kurt, I really have no idea what’s going on in your head, I’m sorry.’ Blaine looks endearingly confused. It’s these sorts of expressions that remind Kurt of how utterly oblivious his boyfriend is to things sometimes. And while he would never expect a person to be flawless, Blaine’s cluelessness is something that frustrates Kurt to no end.

‘Um…everyone that I talk to seems to think I take up the role of the ‘girl’ in this relationship. And yes, Blaine, I’m aware of how utterly offensive that is because I’m not a girl and I have no interest in pretending to be one. But I can sort of see their point. I’ll admit that I’m more in touch with my…effeminate side. I’m less concerned about the rigidity of gender labels, and because of that, I just assumed that maybe you would want to top. I mean, Puck said that I’m clearly a bottom and-‘

‘I’m sorry Kurt, but Puck doesn’t know shit about this relationship.’

Kurt’s only ever seen Blaine mad twice in their friendship. And not once, had Kurt ever heard him swear. It takes him aback, but it also makes him smirk because angry Blaine is actually quite amusing (when he’s not mad at Kurt, of course). Blaine would never hurt a fly, but he really likes ranting about justice and morality to people, so he’ll start pacing in three, two-

And it’s started.

‘No one, Kurt, no one has the power to tell you what position you take in your sex life. Not me, not some weak heteronormative concept, and definitely not Puck. Just because you have a couple of gender-neutral sweaters in your closet, it doesn’t mean you’re the ‘girl.’ You’re more of a man than I’ve ever seen. And oh my God, what does it even mean to be manly? It’s like, oh, having a penis obviously isn’t enough anymore. You’ve got to be dominant and act like a-‘

‘Oh my God, Blaine. For the love of…stop.’ Blaine whirls around, looking like an agitated guard dog. It takes everything for Kurt not to snort. ‘Honey, you’ve made your point. Puck’s an idiot. I think we all knew that anyway.’

Blaine sighs and kneels by the bed. ‘I know. It’s just…you’re not a stereotype, Kurt. And if you want to top, I actually think that would be the hottest thing in the world.’

Kurt’s breath rushes out of him, but he can’t seem to take any more air in. He’s just struggling with so much new information. Blaine wants to bottom? Kurt’s going to top? They’re going to have sexual intercourse? He has to wonder what his life has become because honestly, this is surreal.

‘Blaine…I don’t know what I want. I don’t think I’m ready for that. It just seems so far off. There are so many things we still have to try before we get there. Everything’s just going a lot faster than I ever expected and it’s not a bad thing, but I think I need some time to think things over.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Blaine sighs and sits against Kurt’s side. ‘I’m sorry. I promise I’ll calm down. You…you’re all right with what we’re doing now though, aren’t you? It’s not too much?’

‘It’s perfect, Blaine. I’ve never been happier. ‘

‘Honestly?’

‘Honestly.’

—-

In a month, they’re tangled together in the sheets of Blaine’s bed, sweaty and breathless and with tears in their eyes because they just had sex.

Kurt doesn’t know what his emotions are doing. Blaine doesn’t know how to breathe. Neither of them knows anything, really. But it’s okay, because they’ve both realised that they both really like Kurt’s dick in Blaine’s ass, but Kurt also really loves riding Blaine.

‘Kurt…we should-‘

‘Shut up. Less talking, more action Blaine Warbler. If you’re not in my metaphorical pants in three point four seconds, I’ll burn every single one of your hideous blazers.’

‘Ouch. Harsh.’

‘Just being honest.’

Compromise

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:41:00 +1100

Rating: Pg-13
Spoilers (if any): None
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1,500
Summary: Fill for the 1SM. Five times Blaine refuses to drink warm milk made by Kurt, and one time he does.
Authors Notes: For freelancewhales , filling the prompt in the summary.

“Kurt, I know it’s a sentimental thing for you. I get that, I do. But I have a very important policy that states ‘Blaine Anderson does not drink warm milk unless it’s blended with chocolate, artificial flavouring or coffee.”

“Come on Blaine. Just once. If you hate it, I promise I’ll never make you do it again.”

“Was that not the sentiment behind your first drunken experience? And now you’ve been Scarred. For. Life.”

“Blaine. I called my school guidance counsellor Bambi and puked on her shoes. She’s OCD. She still can’t look me in the eye.”

“Yes, but the taste of warm milk could very well make me puke on your shoes. And they’re Armani.”

“Oh stop being such a drama queen. It’s only milk.”

“Warm milk, Kurt. And I don’t like cold milk at the best of times. Look, you just sit there with your flavourless cultures and I’ll be over here with my delicious hot cocoa with extra whipped cream.”

“Oh fine. But mark my words, Blaine Anderson. One day you’ll have a cup of this in your hand and you’ll love it as much as you love publicly serenading your love interests.”

***

“Kurt…nnngh. Kurt.”

“Oh God. The sounds you make…fuck. Blaine.”

“Kurt, really…shit…I mean, fuck. Kurt…the stove…”

“If you can…ungh…mention the stove, I’m clearly doing something, unnngh, wrong.”

“Seriously, Kurt. Just…Christ, it’s burning.”

“Oh God yes, Blaine. I feel it too.”

“No…please just-” Blaine summons a herculean force within him and gently shoves Kurt away from him. “The stove, Kurt. The milk is burning.”

There’s a moment where both of them just sort of stand there and pant at each other, their faces flushed and their shirts askew.

“Oh shit.” Kurt leaps into action as Blaine just stands, breathlessly laughing at his boyfriend whose hair (and demeanour) is unusually ruffled. “Ugh. It’s curdled.”

Blaine wants to laugh at the slightly-disgusted, mostly-sad look on Kurt’s face, but really, it just heightens the urge he has to wrap his arms around the body his boyfriend (his boyfriend…God he loves that.)

“Well…maybe it’s a sign that I’m just not destined to drink warm milk. Ever.”

“Ohhh no, Blaine Anderson. This is just one mishap. You won’t be able to resist me forever.”

Blaine sidles over to Kurt’s side and bumps their hips together. “Well no, I can’t possibly resist you. The milk though, I definitely can.”

“But if I could just…”

“Kurt, babe, that’s curdled. It’s disgusting. I’m not drinking that. And before you offer to make me another glass, I should tell you that there’s precisely twenty-seven minutes till your dad gets home,” Blaine runs his lips softly over the side of Kurt’s neck and mumbles, “And we could be doing at least ten other things that are more pleasant than making warm milk.”

Oh. Well who the hell is Kurt to argue with that?

***

They’re sitting in Kurt’s room shoulders hunched and characters subdued. It’s a quiet, rainy afternoon, and both of them are turning their backs to the world and slumping in defeat, just for the moment.

“I’ll get you some ice for that eye,” Kurt says, and he bolts.

It’s the only sentence he’s uttered since The Mall Incident of 2011, and Blaine’s starting to worry that it’s affecting Kurt in a rather unhealthy way. Blaine finds himself having to be the strong one for both of them (for the second time in their friendship, not that the first time worked out so well), despite the fact that he’s the one that’s been punched in the face by some homophobic nutjob in a mall.

“Okay,” Blaine turns to see Kurt with his hands full, speaking in the midst of harsh breaths. “So I’ve got some ice as well as some fabulous ointment that will help to clear that right up. I also brought some painkillers just in case, and some Disney DVDs because even though they perpetuate ridiculous ideals or perfection and fairly rigid gender roles, you seem to love them despite all their antiquated-“

“Kurt.”

The boy freezes, the unmentioned warm milk in his hands nearly spilling over it’s confines in the mug. Blaine takes the items from him, setting the warm milk on the bedside table and everything else on the bed.

“Come here,” Blaine says, widening his arms in a silent command. A second later, he’s got his arms full of Kurt Hummel and a heart full of pain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Shh, Kurt. You have nothing to apologise for. It happens. It’s not the first time, and it probably won’t be the last.” This doesn’t really stop Kurt’s tears (it actually has the opposite effect, but it needs to be said. “Come on. Let’s sit on this gorgeous comforter and you can tell me all about the qualities of that ointment while I ice my eye.”

They move slowly, but by the time they’re on the bed, Kurt is only sniffling and looking longingly at the warm milk.

“I just…I hate seeing you hurt like this. You walked into the mall like an excited puppy about to get a new toy, and you walked out looking like someone had died. I can’t stand this, Blaine. It’s times like this where…”

“Where what?”

Kurt answers in a whisper, barely audible above the steady noise of the rain. “Where I wish we were straight.”

Blaine feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He can’t be upset with Kurt though, because Blaine’s so been there and thought that exact thing. Plus, Kurt looks like he wants to shrivel up and die. So he sucks it up and puts his hand on Kurt’s knee.

“I’ve thought about that, Kurt. I really have. I used to wish it all the time. But now…now I think of this. These exact moments with you that make my life so worth living. And I can’t wish to give that up or change it in any way. Ican’t. You’re the best thing to ever happen to the world, Kurt Hummel. You’re the best thing to happen to my world.”

Kurt sniffs, wiping daintily at his eyes and nose. His voice sounds rough and shaky when he speaks.

“I want to share every part of my world with you. Always.”

They sit in silence after that, breathing each other in and taking stock of their own lives, knowing this is a defining moment individually and as a duo.

“Please take the warm milk, Blaine. It’ll make you feel better.”

Blaine smiles wryly, deciding against making a far too insensitive joke. “Thanks Kurt, but you need it more than I do.”

***

“I love you. So much, Kurt. You don’t even know.”

Those three words have been the basis of every conversation they’ve had today, and even though David and Wes and the blonde-haired freshmen from the polo team were sick of hearing them, Blaine and Kurt are not.

“I love you too. I’m so ridiculously in love.”

“Mmm…so am I.”

“Prove it.”

“Oh?” Blaine smirks. “Does that mean I get to finish what I started in the library stacks this morning?”

“Yes. I will definitely let you re-prove it to me after you prove it to me the first time.”

“And what do I have to do this time, your highness?”

“If you loved me at all Blaine, even the smallest bit, you would drink the warm milk I just made.”

“Okay. As long as you prove your love for me by letting me serenade you in the Burberry store tomorrow.”

“Blaine.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Ugh. Fine. You win. You’re such a dirty player, Anderson.” Kurt made a show of pouring the milk down the sink before Blaine had him pressed up against the kitchen counter.

“And you love me for it.”

***

“No.” Blaine’s voice is flat.

“But you’re only meant to drink liquids for at least the first day when you have your wisdom teeth out.”

“I see thousands of other options. No.”

Burt Hummel chuckles as he walks through the living room. “I loved your mom, kid. I really did, but that milk was disgusting.”

“Daaaad!”

Blaine laughs uproariously for the next fifteen minutes.

***

There are two mugs on the (absolutely gorgeous, custom design) coffee table in front of them, both filled with warm milk.

There are two hands intertwined on the couch between two boys. Two simple rings adorn two vastly different, but equally as lovely fingers.

“I’m so happy right now Kurt. You make me like this. So. Fucking. Happy.”

There are two minutes that go by before both mugs are half empty.

Because Blaine is too happy to resist his fiancé’s affinity for warm milk. After all…marriage is all about compromise.

And Kurt’s got to hold up his end of the bargain. And what’s a cup of warm milk when you’re getting a gorgeous man standing at the altar in return?

Touch Me There

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:39:00 +1100

Rating: NC-17
Spoilers (if any): 2x15
Warnings (if any): Angsty.
Word Count: ~2300
Summary: A fic inspired by this prompt from the glee_angst_meme . Kurt attempts to overcome his baby penguin status in the world. He ends up under an iceberg.

Kurt’s never really looked at himself like this before. Sure, there have been days where he agonised over his “pear hips” or the fact that he doesn’t have bulging bicep and ripped abdominals. There have been days where he’s skipped meals, or had nothing but protein shakes to try and change the way he looks, but ultimately, they were just days. A few bad days where his self-esteem took a rare fall.

But looking at himself now, really looking, is kind of making him feel repulsive. He’s the furthest thing from sexy. His arms are too skinny, his chest is hairless with barely any muscle definition, his hips aren’t quite tapered enough. That’s not to mention the other parts of his body – the unexplored parts. The ass that isn’t very appealing and, well, he knows he’s not as small as people would probably expect, but he’s certainly no porn star, and on a body like his, it doesn’t compensate for much.

It’s really no wonder Blaine thinks Kurt has as much sex appeal as a dry sponge. The thought brings a tear to Kurt’s eye and a flush of red across his cheeks. It’s a humiliating thought that a girl could hold more sex appeal over his gay best friend than he does. It’s humiliating thinking that every person he’s ever liked has thought of him, at worst, as some contagious disease at the worst and at best, as the guy who’s really adorable and wonderful, but just frigid and without a shred of sex appeal. To sit in a room and be laughed at because you’re uncomfortable in trying to be some sort of sex siren…it’s awful, and he wants to hate Blaine for it, but he kind of can’t because he knows it’s ridiculous that he can’t even pull off a half decent “sultry” look at sixteen years of age. Isn’t this the time where people are meant to be experimenting sexually? He should be in his room every night, squinting through the harsh glare of a computer screen, panting and moaning through an onslaught of illicit images. He should be lying back on his bed, closing his eyes and holding back moans at vivid and shocking fantasies.

Instead, he lies awake at night, not with fantasies of hands and mouths doing dirty deeds, but with a mirage of roses and chaste kisses and holding hands. Sometimes, when the jocks tell him “the ladies room is next door,” he thinks of those late nights filled with envisaged romance and it tears him up inside. Is that the reason no one can be bothered with him? Because he’s too high maintenance and girly and concerned with emotions, when really…all guys are meant to want harmless sex? Is it too much to ask that he hold hands during a movie, rather than make out and end up dry humping on the couch?

And he’s not going to throw himself around like his dad warned him not to, because at this point it wouldn’t even matter. He could go up to any random gay Dalton boy and proposition him, but he’ll still be awkward and inexperienced and completely unsure of what he’s asking for. So maybe, he figures, it’s time to do some exploration. After all, those pamphlets told him that the first step in a sexually active life was becoming comfortable with his own body.

And hey, he knows he looks ridiculous naked, but he’s going to try and do this anyway, because he’s not going to get what he wants otherwise. He’s not going to be anything else to Blaine but an awkward, seemingly asexual friend. Because he’s not asexual. He’s looked at those muscle magazines and thought of some far from G-rated things, but dreaming and doing are two totally different things.

So he lies down on his bed and tried to remember the tips he read on sex help sites on the Internet. It’s awkward, really. He’s trying to remember written words and illicit visuals, but all he remembers is cringing as he read and watched.

“Make sure you have some extended time and privacy for yourself….Try to move your hips when you masturbate, simulating the thrusting of intercourse…Don’t be afraid to explore the anus, both externally and by using a finger for penetration.”

He tries to get used to the foreign feeling of his expensive sheets on his bare skin. It’s odd, and sort of cold. It makes him shiver in more ways than one.

He starts running his hands up and down over his chest, steadfastly ignoring the awkward bumps and imperfections of what lies underneath his skin. His fingers run over his nipples and it feels weird, but not really in a bad way. He feels like he’s an awkward thirteen year old, but the sensation’s kind of nice, even if it’s a bit clumsy. He avoids the crucial areas for a while. Not just because it apparently builds anticipation. He’s never actively tried to touch himself to get off before, and the idea of touching that part of himself for that purpose kind of freaks him out a little.

In fact, he’s remembering the time when he was twelve and was practicing kissing his pillow. He remembers spending a whole hour agonising on whether or not his mother (wherever she was), would know and be ashamed of him. It’s like that now. He doesn’t believe in a God, but sometimes at night, he swears he hears her voice telling him how proud she is.

And now look at him, with his hand caressing his naked body and his dick (Gaga…that sounds so crude) hardening. It’s not enough to stop him, though. His hips unwillingly buck up into his hands as they stroke just above where his carnal instincts want his fingers most. For a while, it’s all a blur of fingers above the hips combining with the most significant mental struggle Kurt’s ever dealt with.

Really, it’s not healthy to be this freaked out by the idea of touching your own sexual organ. So he tells himself to suck it up. After all, that’s what the goal is here, right? To get sexy. To take that first step on the way to being the boy that anyone wants. No one wants terrified boys who can’t even comprehend touching his own…well, that. And in those movies a first touch equates to maybe a small sigh at the most. As if it’s something that’s barely a bump in the road to actually doing something worthwhile of a moan.

So he does it. And the first touch to his hard shaft is heaven and hell at the same time.

It feels good. It’s meant to. There’s a slow burn inside of him that loves this. And one day, he supposes he’ll do it without the nauseating feeling in his stomach that’s telling him that this is too much too fast. But he ignores the painful feeling in his stomach and chest and focuses on the pleasure that his hand’s giving him. And okay, he’s cringing a bit because he doesn’t have the lube that is suggested everywhere so he’s using his own saliva, but sex is messy, right? And it feels good. So good that he’s afraid it’s going to be over before he can get used to it.

In an attempt to distract himself from that, he moves a hand down, past his balls (and wow, he didn’t think that would be so gross to say in his head) and to his really, really tight hole - the place where eventually, hopefully, someone will want to touch and enter. He’s a bit squeamish at the idea of penetrating his own ass with even a finger, but part of him is intrigued, if only because it distinguishes him a little from the overly-horny jocks that he usually associates with masturbation. It’s a little odd at first, the feeling. Part of him resists it and knows that naturally, that’s an exit point. But then it’s kind of nice. And when he gets to putting a finger in himself, he wonders if he looks desirable, because he really, really wants to. He’s past the point of no return. There’s a finger inside him (which he wouldn’t have even considered twelve hours ago) and a hand on where his body needs it. He’s moaning, and it’s natural, but it sounds so foreign to his own ears.

He wonders if Blaine would find him sexy right now - all adult and wanton and desperate.

Clearly it’s not his brain calling the shots because this feels wickedly good, and the idea of Blaine, while there, is turning into something kind of animalistic, and as his friend would say, it’s all being “sexified.”

And Kurt’s not sure whether he’s ready for the realisation that he visualises Blaine when he’s lying, panting and groaning in his bed, but it’s too late because he’s exploding all over his stomach and his hand and his sheets (which really kind of freaks him out and he should have got a towel). The aftermath is sticky and messy and a lot less hazy than the event.

He can think clearly now, and he can see those streaks of white, and it’s not the blissful oblivion people speak about. The moment is full of him hyperventilating and thinking “Oh Gaga, what have I done?” and there are actual tearsthreatening to fall out of a boneless body and onto his pillow. He doesn’t feel sexy. He feels like he used himself, like he was trying to be an adult in a kid’s body, and it feels really wrong. Part of him says it’s an overreaction, but more of him says that if someone “isn’t ready” for sex with another person, what makes them “ready” for sex with themselves?

His whole body trembles, both from the orgasm and from the terror of realising he’s still an undesirable teenage boy. And as he curls up in a sticky, warm mess, he cries for his lost innocence and things he can’t undo.

The rushing of his pulse in his ears stops the comprehension of noise around him, so he doesn’t notice a gentle knock on the door, or his name being called (once in question and once in concern and dread). In fact, he doesn’t notice anything until there’s a strong but gentle hand on his shoulder and a blanket around him. Oh he wants to flinch away, but his body seems immovable and he hasn’t the energy to even think.

But, of course, his body summons the ability to be completely humiliated when he’s facing Blaine’s soulful and deeply concerned eyes.

“No. No. You can’t be here. Why are you here?” He’s sobbing, and Blaine looks really, really lost.

“Kurt…your dad told me about…oh, you know what? It doesn’t matter. What happened Kurt? Why are you…Christ. Are you alright? Actually, forget that. It’s a stupid question. Look at you.”

“Oh, please don’t. I’d really prefer if you left.”

“It’s alright, Kurt. You’re covered up. I can’t see anything. But I’m not leaving this time because we really need to talk. This is just…what on Earth happened?”

For minutes, Kurt stays silent, wondering how to respond. He wants to kick Blaine out. It’s another humiliating moment for him, and quite frankly, he’s sick of being red faced around Blaine. But Blaine’s half hugging him right now, and as much as he wishes he could, he can’t move away from that rare contact that makes him feel loved and cared for, even if only half of that is true.

“I…the pamphlets said that the first step is, um, getting acquainted with yourself. So I did…that. I can’t…I mean, it felt fine,” he’s blushing. “More than fine. It felt great, actually. But I thought after I did it, while I was doing it, that I’d feel kind of sexy.” He spits out the word in the same tone Karofsky likes to say the word ‘fag.’

“Oh my God. Kurt. You…I…” Blaine can’t finish his sentence. He’s looking at Kurt with the most painful expression ever. It stabs Kurt to the core, and makes him feel worse.

“I just feel used and stupid and worthless.” And then Kurt breaks down while Blaine holds onto him like he’s a life raft in the Pacific.

“Is this about what I told you?” Kurt doesn’t answer and Blaine lets out a choking sob. “I’m so sorry, Kurt. You have no idea. I just wanted you to be educated. I never wanted you to feel like this, like you’re not wonderful and beautiful and sexy.”

“Don’t. Please, just don’t.”

“No…I…one day, Kurt. One day when you’re ready, those feelings will come naturally. I don’t want you to ever think you have to be someone you’re not just because I’m a certain way, or Finn is, or Mercedes wants you to be. You don’t have to push yourself, and I’m so sorry I let this happen. You’re wonderful. Please never think otherwise.”

For hours, they lie there, Kurt in the remnants of his attempt at something far beyond him, and Blaine agonising over the situation, but whispering comforting words in his friend’s ear. If he could, he would take everything he’s said in these past couple of days and throw it away, forgotten and irrelevant.

But right now, he can only cry at his friend’s pain and lost innocence. One day, hopefully he’ll convince Kurt that he doesn’t need to try to be sexy, or anyone he’s not. He just needs to be Kurt Hummel, because who he is, is beautiful and needs to be cherished.

Blaine doesn’t deserve him one bit.

Something This Good Can Work

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:36:27 +1100

Rating: R
Spoilers (if any): 2x15 - Sexy
Warnings (if any): Angsty.
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: A fic inspired by this incredible piece of art by the (always wonderful) cacell. Kurt’s not ready, but he so should be, and he hates himself for it.

Kurt kind of hates himself right now. It’s not a new feeling. There are times when he wants to change so many parts of himself. Oh, he’s proud of who he is, and he’d never give up what he stands for. He’d never want to change himself so utterly fundamentally. Just…little things. Like how he sometimes snaps needlessly at people, or how there’s a tiny part of him that still resents Blaine every time he gets a solo.

Or how he’s so afraid of sex that he’s lying completely naked with his gorgeous boyfriend, but he’s fucking crying while Blaine whispers heartbreaking reassurances in his ear.

“I’m sorry. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

Blaine shushes him. “Hey. You don’t need to apologise. Not for this.”

“I just…I’m so-“

“Please don’t finish that sentence. You’re perfect, Kurt.”

Kurt has several replies to that, most of them self-deprecating and designed to cut his already fairly shattered heart.

He remembers months and months ago when he figured out what sex meant. When he figured out everything he was meant to do, and how his dad had told him to not throw himself away. And that’s the thing. He’s really not throwing himself away. This is Blaine. The most incredible boy on the planet. The boy who gives Kurt courage and hope every single day, the boy who’s just always there.

The boy he’s irresistibly, stupidly, completely head-over-Alexander-McQueen-heels in love with.

He’d had it all figured out. Tonight was meant to be wonderful. There are candles and roses and suits and sultry but sweet kisses that make his heart swell far more than it should. There are sheets made of Egyptian cotton with an unbelievable thread count, and there’s an empty house. It has all the makings of a first time. A perfect first time. The first time every girl and gay guy like him could wish for.

It’s perfect, but he’s not.

At first, he’s totally into it. He loves the way Blaine kisses him, like he’s the most precious, beautiful thing in the world. The way Blaine touches him is breathtaking. Soft hands on even softer skin. So gentle, but kind of a little bit desperate. Like he wants to do nothing but worship every inch of Kurt’s pale and satiny flesh. And the noises Blaine makes – those soft moans that make Kurt feel like he’s on top of the world – oh, he loves those sounds.

But then Blaine’s hands drift lower, grip a little bit harder, seem a little more desperate, a little less romance and a little more sex. And Kurt knows that doesn’t mean Blaine wants to use him or anything, but it switches a flick in Kurt’s brain that’s impossible to switch off. One that’s hard to ignore. The one that says he totally just not ready for this. The one that screams at him that everything’s right, but it’s also really wrong.

So when he’s lying naked under Blaine, with both of their hands in untouched places, it’s gorgeous, but it’s also terrifying. And when Blaine tells him that Kurt just needs to say the words and it will end, Kurt can’t help but gasp out “Wait, Blaine…I can’t do this.” It’s followed by an awful noise that sounds halfway between a sob and a hysterical noise asking for help.

Oh, and he wishes Blaine wouldn’t be so wonderful and understanding about it. He kind of wants Blaine to walk out the door and never come back, because then his decision would be validated. Blaine would be just another asshole who screws him over. And that would be fine, because then he’d pick himself up and move on and just be glad he never gave himself over completely (in that way) to a boy that broke his heart.

The thing is, Blaine’s just there. He’s running his hand up and down Kurt’s back, whispering beautiful words in his ear. Words that Kurt both loves and hates to hear. The soft kisses raining down on his shoulder and the heat of Blaine’s breath on his face makes him hate himself. He hates the fact he can’t just give this to Blaine.

And when Blaine asks, “Is…is it me? Am I not…what you want?” it literally feels like a stab to every cell in his body. Ninety-five percent of his body is screaming at him that he’s a selfish, cruel little bitch that doesn’t even deserve Blaine, because anyone worthy of the boy behind him would never make Blaine question himself like that.

“No. No, please…never think or say that again. You’re everything I want, in every way. I’m just not ready. I should be. I so should be. We’ve been dating for seven months. In Finn-land that’s like a lifetime, complete with several break-ups.”

“Hey, look at me.” Kurt turns, complying with the hand that cups his trembling chin. “You’re no one but yourself. So what if Finn or Santana would give it up by the second date? If this isn’t what you want just yet, or ever, you’re free to say no. I would never jeopardise my relationship or friendship with you by forcing you to do something and be someone you’re not.”

Kurt smiles, but it’s fake. His hand clutches at the pillow, emulating the squeeze around his heart.

“Just, Kurt…is there anything I can do? I hate seeing you like this. You have no idea. It breaks my heart.” He pauses. “I mean, you know you’re beautiful right? And you’re so sexy. You don’t even have to try. When your eyes look up at me sometimes, through those eyelashes…Christ, Kurt. You’re perfection. If it’s about that, you have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

“Please, don’t.” Kurt whispers, burying his face in a pillow. Blaine’s hand rakes through Kurt’s hair.

“Is it about that?”

“I don’t know. Yes, maybe? No? I’m just…not ready. And I’m so sorry. I want to. I promise I do. I think about it sometimes. How amazing you’d be. How amazing you are. There’s just…I can’t do it.”

Blaine sighs, but Kurt can tell it’s only in concern.

“Okay. That’s perfectly okay, Kurt.”

“Can you stop saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“Perfect.”

“Oh, Kurt.” Blaine’s head drops onto Kurt’ shoulder and the younger boy feels the scalding heat of Blaine’s tears. It rips at his heart and fills him with self-loathing. “I love you. I’m going to do everything I can to make you love yourself more, but you have to help me. I don’t know what I’m doing. This relationship scares me…it terrifies me. But it’s everything I have. You’re my entire world, Kurt Hummel. Tonight doesn’t change that. I just wish I could do something.”

“You are,” Kurt chokes. “You stopped, and you cared. I promise…one day…”

“Whenever you’re ready, Kurt.”

Kurt’s heart fights between breaking and mending, but Blaine’s hand feels so right against his own, trying to unclench the fist around Kurt’s expensive pillow.

One day. One day he’ll love Blaine as much as that boy deserves. Until then, he’ll just clutch desperately to the hope that he’ll finally get there.

The Search

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:34:00 +1100

Rating: R to be safe
Spoilers (if any): Up to 2x14
Warnings (if any): None.
Word Count: 3,300
Summary: In the search to find themselves, they’re going to end up losing each other. Filling this prompt on the glee_angst_meme. SPOILERS FOR 2x14. Angsty, but not tragic.

Blaine Anderson had been so sure he was gay. Sure, he doesn’t walk around in Marc Jacobs’ new collection or Alexander McQueen boots, but he’s known instinctively from the time he was eight years old and he spent the whole of Dirty Dancing ogling Patrick Swayze rather than Jennifer Grey. Still, he can’t deny that the feeling of Rachel’s lips on his was good. And she smelled better than any of the boys Blaine’s roomed with at Dalton, even with breath that smelled and tasted like wine coolers and hard liquor. He doesn’t know whether it’s because Rachel was his first kiss, or whether it’s because she’s a girl that he’s feeling like this, but he figures he should at least work it out by going on a date with her.

So yes, Blaine’s in the middle of a sexuality crisis. And he supposes it’s a good thing that he and Kurt are mad at each other, because it’s allowing him to have some clarity. Kurt’s been wonderful to him (and yes, he’s starting to realise how awful their fight was and how much he just wants to make up), but the space between them is taking away the voice that’s telling him that he should be totally, one hundred percent gay. If there’s one thing Blaine doesn’t want, it’s to be forced into his sexuality and later on be resentful because of it. And God, staying away from Kurt is going to be hard, because the boy has been a constant source of comfort, Red Vines, fashion and laughter for months now (even after the awkwardness of their coffee trip on Valentine’s Day), but maybe, just maybe, if they never get over this stupid fight, Blaine will be on his own and ready to find himself and his own definition of love.

He can’t figure out whether it’s a good thing or not, but it’s kind of necessary.

It’s after the sixth time he’s cried because of Blaine that he’s totally over feeling like this. He never used to cry. In fact, before the Karofsky incident, he could count the times he’d actually shed tears on one hand. Now, it seems like he’s crying ever other day over something his overly gelled best friend has done, whether it’s been intentional or not. There used to be days where he got tossed in dumpsters after being slushied three times and all he’d say was, “You’ll all be working for me one day.” Sometimes he wonders where that fabulous boy has gone and whether he still exists. Sure, on the outside, he’s still a diva with a prickly demeanour and a mysterious smile. But on the inside he wonders if he’s just become dormant, just another Dalton boy.

He remembers after Blaine compared him to Karofsky, he spent forty minutes in the shower crying and scrubbing at his perfect skin, trying to rid himself of the imprint his tormentor had left on him. He muttered over and over to himself like some mental case, trying to convince himself that “I’m not Karofsky. I’m not.” When he’d emerged, stepping into the swirling steam of the room and the foggy mirror, he saw someone that looked broken and defeated and weak.

And he hates that. He hates the fact that he and Blaine have made up with barely a sharp word from Kurt during Blaine’s (rather pathetic) apology. He hates that he doesn’t bother arguing about Warblers song choices anymore with Blaine. He hates the fact that he spent five hours crying over the GAP performance and he hates that he spent even more time blubbering over this whole Blaine/Rachel situation. Most of all, he hates this robotic, phonyversion of himself.

So he’s decided that Mercedes was right. He was fierce and fabulous long before Blaine came along, and for Gaga’s sake, why should Blaine stop him being fierce and fabulous now? Waiting around for the right guy isn’t going to get him a fashion empire or the lead in a Broadway production. Kurt had admitted his feelings to Blaine. If the older boy didn’t feel the same way, that wasn’t Kurt’s problem. Kurt’s issue now is to return to the strong, independent, utterly divalicious individual that he’d known before Blaine started breaking his heart.

Yes, it was going to be hard getting over his feelings for Blaine, and he’d probably cry a little more, but he was so sick of this constant ache. This is the last time he was going to stick around wishing for a relationship that would never happen. He’s done. He should have been done after Finn. But this time he’s learned his lesson…

No boy is going to hold Kurt Hummel back.

It’s been three weeks of dates with guys and girls. Three weeks of questioning every aspect of himself. Three weeks of going over that kiss with Rachel. Three weeks of internal conflict, confusion, tears and a kind of loneliness he can’t expel. Perhaps it’s the absence of a label to put on himself. Or perhaps it’s the absence of his once best friend.

After all, it’s also been three weeks since he’s had a proper conversation with Kurt Hummel. And it makes him feel kind of awful.

Every time he tells Kurt that he can’t go out to lunch because he’s got extra homework, or turns down a coffee trip because he’s “trying to get rid of his dependence on caffeine,” or tells Kurt that their weekly musical marathon in Blaine’s room is cancelled because he’s too tired, Blaine feels something akin to an axe chiselling away at his heart. Yes, he’s been on five dates in three weeks (none of them that he’s actually kissed), but he feels emptier and lonelier than ever.

It doesn’t help that Kurt seems pretty happy without him.

The boy seems surrounded by people all the time. He’s strutting around (in that fabulous way Kurt Hummel does), hi-fiving boys in the corridor, laughing with guys from his French class, having lunch with his new friends and flirting with some of them – yes, Blaine can pick up Kurt’s flirty cues now. Even Wes and David (well, more so David, but Wes is just like that) are enamoured with him. He’s seen Kurt help David with what to wear on a date. He’s seen him tutor freshmen in French. He’s seen the boy stand up in the middle of a Warbler’s meeting, begging the council to let them cover what turned out to be a pretty mindblowing version of ‘Born This Way.’

He’s seen Kurt blossom in this new environment, just as Blaine knew he would. It just breaks Blaine’s heart that Kurt managed to do it without him. It physically hurts to realise that he hasn’t been there to see Kurt’s megawatt smile return, or that he isn’t there to help pick out the boy’s daily brooch (a fabulous and subtle addition to his uniform). Most of all, it hurts him to see that Kurt doesn’t need him or want him anymore.

After all, it’s two days since Blaine has realised that he’s well and truly gay. It’s also two days since he’s realised that he wants Kurt back.

“Hey Kurt!”

Kurt’s feeling more fabulous than he’d ever though he would at Dalton. Like, a level of fierce that Tyra Banks would be proud of, and he’d managed to do it all in a rather drab uniform. He has legitimate male friends that aren’t scared of ‘catching the gay’ when they touch him, and don’t worry when he’s in a ten foot radius of shared bathrooms. He’s feeling kind of like a repressed and miserable fifties housewife that has been told she can be whoever she wants to be, even if she wants to be the CEO of a major corporation. It’s utterly empowering, being himself. He loves every second of it. So when he hears Blaine’s first words to him in almost a month, he stiffens, feeling the need to protect his revamped, shiny, 2.0 version of himself from attack.

“Hello Blaine. What can I do for you?”

Blaine looks bewildered at the formality of Kurt’s greeting, but he falls into step beside Kurt after the junior’s French class anyway. “Well, the new issue of Vogue came out today, although you probably know that because you’re subscribed and have the date memorised anyway, but I saw the spread with-“

“Look, Blaine,” Kurt looks around the hallway, looking for some of his friends to save him, but his search was in vain. “I’ve got lunch plans with Jake and Ryan. Sorry, but we never have lunch anymore. After you started cancelling, I just figured I needed to make other plans.” Kurt spotted Ryan and stepped around Blaine. “Have a great time reading Vogue! I’ll see you around.”

When Kurt’s sitting with his own friends at Lima Bean, he can’t help but feel that pang of loneliness. And yes, it’s sort of maybe his fault for trying to get over the boy, but he’s not the one that ignores his friend (well, former friend) in the hallways. It hurts him more than it should. Seriously, he’s strong now, he’s back to that amazing boy he knew before. He supposes the ache will go away in time. Perhaps, like the imprint his mother left on his heart, it will never fade, but he can move on, right? He can deal with another year of seeing Blaine ignore him while the guy dates every person under the sun (except him, of course), and then he’ll be off to New York, being the person he’s always wanted to be, and Blaine will be nothing but a familiar name in his old yearbook.

For some reason, that really makes Kurt want to cry. But he’s done crying over Blaine Anderson.

So when Jake cracks a stupid joke, Kurt laughs with the rest of his new friends and tries to forget about the look on Blaine’s face when he’d faced a Hummel rejection this afternoon. After all, maybe he just made it up in his head, like every other good thing in his life.

It’s been six days, fourteen hours and forty-three minutes since Blaine’s realised what Kurt means to him. And every second of that time, he’s been filled with a unique, excruciating brand of pain. He’s stood in front of Kurt’s door every morning, a shaking hand poised to knock, but he’s such a coward that his planned proposal for a coffee date has yet to exit his mind and into those dainty, perfect ears of Kurt’s.

Every morning, he stands in line, ready to order a medium drip and a grande non-fat mocha before he realises the absence of a body next to him. Every morning, he pulls out eight dollars and forty cents before he realises he doesn’t even need half of it. Every morning, he turns to his side while waiting in line, mouth open and a half-sound coming out before he realises that he’s alone. Every morning, he walks back to school with a coffee in one hand and the other hand cold and empty – searching for its warm and friendly companion.

He thought that Jeremiah’s rejection had been painful, but now all he thinks of is the boy that sat in his room comforting him until two in the morning, calling the GAP employee a string of colourful names. Kurt had told him that night that anyone who let go of Blaine was clearly mentally challenged and had a whole lot of karma coming their way. Blaine wonders when Kurt had stopped fighting for them. He tries to think back to the moment Kurt let him go, but all he can focus on is the way he avoided the countertenor, and the awful feeling that’s plagued him since.

Wes and David have stopped trying to ask him what’s wrong. Blaine has a feeling they know what happened and they can’t forgive him for it. He spends his days with mere acquaintances. People that care enough about him to ask how he is and how his classes are, but don’t know him well enough to ask why there are dark circles under his eyes or why he looks at his morning coffee with sadness. In other words, he spends his days alone. He wants to be bitter about it, and blame the world, but he knows it’s his own fault. He’s pushed away those who mattered.

He can see a day ten years into the future where he runs into Kurt on a New York street and they ask casually about the missed decades of each others lives. He hates that vision.

But he hates himself more.

“We’ve decided that we’re going to try out a duet this year for Regionals.”

Wes’ voice sends ripples of excitement and nervousness through the room. Some are questioning Warbler tradition, some are considering this their chance at a solo and some are throwing song suggestions around. But Kurt and Blaine are sitting on opposite ends of a large couch, quietly contemplating their broken hearts.

“We don’t want to go with anything too flirty.” Says David. “I mean, it’s adorable, but we’re in a pretty conservative competitive circuit here, and polarising the judges is probably not the greatest idea this early on. Maybe at nationals. We’re voting for something heart-wrenching. Something that shows the ladies on the panel that we have sensitive sides.”

So that’s how Kurt and Blaine end up sitting side by side in the middle of the room, trying to still their shaking hands and beating hearts. Blaine can’t bear to compare this to the last time they dueted because his heart kind of wants to tear open at the prospect of flirty smiles and seductive moves. He knows that this will be different and will probably end in tears and screaming, but he needs a cathartic release almost as much as he needs Kurt.

“Don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve lost the only love worth fighting for.”

Every movement of Blaine’s lips signal the biggest effort of his life to keep it together (and that’s saying something, because he’s een through some really awful moments). He can’t, won’t look at Kurt. But he can’t look anywhere else either, because that couch and that fireplace and that desk all have memories with Kurt and bits of his heart attached to them. Like, the window opposite him marks the place they both sat after the Christmas holidays and reconnected over hot cocoa. And that piano is where he once played an original song for Kurt. And the doorframe on the other end of the room hosted a sprig of mistletoe that he and Kurt had both awkwardly and studiously avoided. If he looks he’ll lose it, so he closes his eyes ridiculously tight and sings.

“It’s such a shame. To let you walk away”

There’s deathly silence from the rest of the Warblers. Somehow Kurt expects the awkward coughs and shuffling, but it never comes. David and Wes look spellbound and kind of sad. Thad’s jaw is practically on the floor. Flint’s eyes have widened to the size of Saturn. Kurt’s always wanted to get a speechless reaction from the Warblers for a performance, but this wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind. Because as fabulous as he was, he wasn’t feeling so fabulous singing this.

“…the thought of your kiss, coffee laced intoxicating on her lips.”

No one seems to notice that Blaine gets to school early now. There’s no morning medium drip in his hand, and they can’t pinpoint the day when he stopped turning up with it and did morning revision with an apple in his hand instead. He knows, though. He remembers that day so clearly, when he told the regular barista to keep the change from ten dollars and thanked her for her morning services. Then he just didn’t bother going back anymore. Sure, he misses the caffeine, but not as much as he misses the smell of Kurt next to him as they drank it.

“I’ve got no claim on you now.”

Oh, Kurt so wants to feel a sense of vindictive pleasure at the tone of Blaine’s voice and the way the boy is scrunching his eyes closed like the world would end if he opened them. He wants nothing more than to smirk at his fellow Warbler’s pain (and when did he start referring to Blaine as anything other than a friend?). But as much as he wants to, as much as his inner bitch is telling him to, he just can’t.

Blaine’s changed him. Whether that’s a good thing or not, he really can’t figure out. In some ways he hates it, because he feels so much more vulnerable now. He feels more exposed than when he was trapped in that locker room with Karofsky and more emotionally volatile than Mercedes when she’s PMSing. Right now, he wants to cry and scream and hug and punch at the same time. It’s incredibly aggravating, but on the flip side, he’s never experienced feelings this complex before, and that tells him it’s a good thing because at least he’s learning about life now.

“Is there a chance…a reason to fight?”

Blaine can’t stop dreaming about the proverbial ‘them’ though. Every night he suffers through visions of Kurt leaning over him, a pair of beautiful red lips poised over his own slightly chapped ones, the scent of coffee mingling between them. He dreams of milky, porcelain skin touching every part of him, sliding over his body like white satin. They come together, all fights and apologies forgotten for the purpose of love. It drives him insane. He wakes up, ecstasy and angst warring for dominance inside of him. Every time he moves to relieve the former though, the guilt seems to win, and he draws himself back into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep, dreaming once more of Kurt only to face the morning where Kurt is touching Flint’s hand or David’s arm and not Blaine’s everything.

“Or are we ashes and wine?”

After their duet, the room stands silent before a quick and vigorous applause erupts. Within five minutes, they’re both zoning out from setlist arguments that neither of them could give a damn about. Kurt bows flamboyantly to his adoring audience, but it’s a bit pathetic, because he really couldn’t feel any less fierce and fabulous inside. Blaine sits, pale and bloodshot, on the other end of the couch. He doesn’t hear when David and Wes ask him a question (regardless of how rhetorical it might have been), he doesn’t feel the congratulatory bumps on his shoulder. He doesn’t feel anything but tired and hollow.

But he certainly feels something when Kurt passes him a note that says nothing other than “Coffee?”

His smile has never been so wide.

Reciprocation

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:33:00 +1100

Rating: R to be safe
Spoilers (if any): Up to 2x12.
Warnings (if any): None.
Word Count: 3000
Summary: Filling this prompt over on the glee_angst_meme. Three times someone took advantage of Blaine and one time someone absolutely didn’t.

Blaine Anderson had always been a little bit odd. He was the kid that walked around with a funny shaped stick and called it his wand (because he really was going to go to Hogwarts, there was no doubt about it). He wore mismatched socks and a pair of rather large, “geeky” glasses. His hair never looked brushed, and a lot of the other boys in his class liked dipping the ends of his ridiculously wild curls in the glue tub so that when he got home, he had to spend half an hour in the shower washing it out. He was teased because he would rather watch and talk about movies like ‘Mulan’ or ‘The Little Mermaid’ rather than Power Rangers.

So when the new kid named Oliver Martin befriended him on the first day of third grade, Blaine had never been happier. All those lunchtimes spent under the farthest tree in the playground would be mere memories of a lonely, sad little boy with not one friend to call his own. He beamed at the prospect of actually sitting next to someone in class, having one of those sleepovers that he was never invited to, maybe even being able to play Harry Potter after school at the local park.

And for three weeks, it was going swimmingly. Even Blaine couldn’t have predicted he would be this happy. He’d sat with someone at lunchtime, talked about dragons and wizards and how totally awesome going to Hogwarts would be, heck; Oliver was even carrying around his own wand now. And they played Harry Potter at Blaine’s first ever sleepover, weaving in and out of the Andersons’ marble staircases and getting lost in all the corridors, pretending there was a troll in Blaine’s room…

Having a real friend was just so cool.

So when Oliver Martin asked Blaine for two dollars to buy an ice cream from the school cafeteria, Blaine just smiled and handed it over. Because really, what was two dollars when you had a best friend? And when Oliver asked Blaine for half his sandwich the next day because Oliver’s was an egg sandwich (and he really hated those), Blaine just handed it over and spent the rest of lunchtime bonding over their mutual disdain for eggs, broccoli, and tomatoes.

In fact, for the next three weeks, Blaine either paid for Oliver’s lunch, or let him eat half of what was in Blaine’s lunchbox. And when his parents asked where the money went, or why he was so hungry in the afternoons, Blaine just said that he’d stopped off after school for a soda, or that he’d had a really long gym lesson. Sometimes Blaine felt a bit guilty for lying to his parents, but then he remembered that he had a friend, and that everything was better now.

Except for one thing.

When Daniel Sullivan dipped Blaine’s curls in his glue tub, Oliver wouldn’t get angry or sad, he’d just sort of laugh with the rest of the class. Sometimes that made Blaine really, really annoyed, but then he thought that maybe it was just him. Maybe all the normal kids found stuff like that funny.

And when Liam Carson called Blaine a freak in front of his whole gym class, Oliver just passed the ball to Liam, never once looking back at the hurt expression on Blaine’s face.

But worst of all, when Callum Ford shoved Blaine against the bag hooks, causing Blaine to fall onto the linoleum floor of the school corridor with tiny, hook-shaped bruises in his back, Oliver walked right past. He didn’t even spare the fallen boy a look when Blaine whispered his name and a plea for help.

The next day Blaine sat alone for lunch, but still gave Oliver two dollars for an ice cream.

Because really, who says no to a boy that has six mean looking cronies behind him?

When Blaine was thirteen, he was pretty sure (like, 85% sure) that he didn’t really like girls all that much. It’s not like he didn’t talk to them. There was one girl – Lesley King – that really liked talking about books with him. She was really quiet and nice, and didn’t wear makeup or sneer at him in the corridors like the other girls. So it wasn’t like he hated them because of their gender. He just didn’t want to ask any of them to the Westerville Middle School Winter Spectacular. In fact, he was happy not going to the dance, because the new Harry Potter book had just come out, and he’d rather spend his night reading that instead.

But his plan to find out what Harry’s next adventure was would have to wait, because Michelle Jamieson had quite rudely interrupted him while he was in the middle of eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“You’re going to the dance with me.”

“Oh.” He put down his sandwich and looked at her apologetically. “I don’t think that’s right. I don’t know who told you that, but I’m not going to the dance this year. Sorry.”

“No one told me that, stupid. I’m telling you. You’re going to the dance with me, or else.”

“Or else what?” He looked confused, but Michelle just rolled her eyes.

“My dress is apple green. Get a shirt or a tie to match. I’ll meet you outside the school at 6pm.” And then she promptly turned away and marched off.

Despite the initial abrasiveness of the request, a week later, Blaine was kind of excited (in that nervous way) to go to his first dance. He knew how to dance, because his parents had put him to classes since age eight, and he was pretty sure everyone would be impressed by his knowledge. His parents had made an accordingly big deal out of their little boy’s first dance, and made sure his shirt was a lovely shade of apple green that made his eyes pop out and his tan skin look even more brown.

So when was standing outside the gates of his school, he was appropriately excited. He had a flower in his hand and a bounce in his step. For once, he felt like one of the normal boys, having a proper high school experience. He told Michelle how pretty she looked when she got out of the car. He linked arms when they were walking through the playground towards the main hall. He opened doors for her and pulled out her chair. He got her some punch and tried to make polite conversation.

But then, when he was on the way back from getting his second glass of his own punch, she saw Michelle giggling and touching Oliver Martin on the arm while the wretched boy sat in Blaine’s seat. Her cheeks were flushed and he was smiling cockily down in the place just below her neck (where, like other girls, she’d started developing). Blaine watched as the boy with slicked hair and cruel eyes stole away his very first, normal high school experience.

“Um, excuse me Oliver, but I think you’re in my seat, and kind of chatting with my date.”

Oliver smirked as Michelle laughed. “Oh yeah, sorry about that. Feel free to go find another seat, Anderson.”

“But-“

“Blaine, you can’t seriously think I asked you to the dance because I was interested in you?” Michelle looked him up and down with a rather sardonic sneer as he shrunk more and more into himself.

“I-“

“I only asked you to make Oliver jealous. And it worked. So if you’ll excuse us, I have to go and have a dance with a real man.”

“Yeah. Go find someone your own gender to date, you fag.”

It wasn’t the first time Blaine had heard that word, but it was the first time it was directed at him. He couldn’t hold back a tear as he sat down quite unceremoniously in his seat.

He was 100% sure that he didn’t like girls now. Especially not Michelle Jamieson.

When Blaine was sixteen and just a new kid at Dalton Academy, he’d befriended a boy named Jeremy who was older, more confident, and more experienced in every way. He was also gay, and that’s what drew him to Blaine. He showed Blaine the ropes at Dalton and got him settled into the Warblers. He took Blaine for coffee after school, helped him with homework (especially Geometry which was never Blaine’s strong point), listened to his tales of homesickness and culture shock. Jeremy was everything Blaine wanted to be. Everything Blaine was inside, before the bullies had crushed his will to be an individual. Jeremy Myers slowly and surely smashed Blaine’s shell of timidity and got to the sweet, charming, adorkable core of Blaine Anderson.

In a school of zero-tolerance, Blaine was sure he had found a friend.

So when Jeremy started asking him odd questions, like if Blaine had ever watched porn, or been on the relieving end of a handjob, Blaine thought it was a bit strange, but kind of resigned himself to the fact that maybe that’s what all best friends (especially gay ones) talked about. After all, he’d never known a guy that was openly gay. Actually, he’d never even had a best friend, so Blaine definitely wouldn’t know what kinds of things were appropriate to talk about. So he answered a resounding ‘no’ to both those questions and the same to the subsequent ones like:

“Have you ever given a blowjob?”

“Ever fingered somebody?”

“Have you ever even wanked?”

Sure, Blaine was a little uncomfortable discussing things like that, but he was kind of intrigued by the idea (more and more so as time went on). Of course he was. It was natural, and it didn’t hurt that Jeremy was wonderfully attractive. It was this intrigue that made him say yes when Jeremy asked if he wanted to try some of those things, even if, when Jeremy had his hands all over him in untouched places, Blaine felt a little uneasy.

Surely that was to be expected, right? Becoming sexually active was a big thing, so there are meant to be feelings of nervousness and uncertainty, weren’t there?

But Blaine pushed down those feelings, because when Jeremy’s hands were all over Blaine, and his mouth was exploring places undiscovered, it felt so good, like mindblowing, really. And sure it was over quick, but Jeremy said they’d “work on that.” Blaine was totally up for that because having a release after so many years of just nothing, this was heaven. It was a little harder to push down the feelings though, when Jeremy told Blaine to put his mouth on Jeremy’s (probably well-explored) body. Sometimes, Blaine would leave the room feeling kind of dirty, and had to brush his teeth a few times afterwards and scrub at his body in the shower.

And what really made Blaine feel just kind of used, was that Jeremy wasn’t any different towards him in public. Oh sure, he was all smiles and friendly pats on the back, but he never held hands or touched Blaine in the soft and lovely way that he’d seen other couples do. In fact, when Blaine tried to think back through the weeks of intimacy they shared, he couldn’t think of once that Jeremy had kissed him. And when he asked Jeremy why all that was being ignored, he got an incredulous and amused reply of “You didn’t think we were dating or anything, did you?”

Was it too much for Blaine to just want to be wanted? He barely wanted it sexually now. All he wanted was a hug, a brush against the cheek, a palm pressed with a gentle firmness against his, the feeling of warm, soft lips against his own. Would it be too much to ask for soft, rather than quick, fast and dirty? Was it too much to ask not to feel used after the most intimate of acts?

Was it too much to ask to be loved? Even by a friend?

When Blaine was seventeen, he met a boy that reminded him so much of himself. Kurt Hummel sat across the coffee table from him, looking frustrated and angst-ridden, but so very proud. So Blaine, just because it was such aBlaine thing to do, gave Kurt his number, ignoring the warnings from David and Wes that the guy was a spy and Blaine had a history of falling for the most clichéd tricks in the book. But he never listened because he knew as soon as he’d locked eyes with those glasz beauties that this was something. He didn’t know what, but God help him if he didn’t at least take the boy for coffee, because he was entranced by him in a way that no one had ever come close to.

And if this failed, he didn’t know how he would handle it. He knew he’d put his heart on the line as soon as he’d written down that cell number.

Every time Kurt called him for the first couple of weeks, Blaine had realised how huge the potential was for this to fail, and for him to feel used like every other time. The boy called him at two in the morning, unable to sleep because of haunted dreams. Blaine helped Kurt move on from a stolen kiss, a multitude of bruises, and a lifetime of slurs. In fact, Blaine had been so screwed over in life, that he fully expected Kurt to never call him again after every conversation.

So when Kurt transferred, Blaine was even more terrified. What was to stop Kurt from finding a more charming, more handsome, more secure version of him to show him around Dalton? In fact, Blaine was convinced that he’d see Kurt holding hands with a member of the swim team or (even worse), a Warbler in no time. Because Kurt was always stronger than him, and when Kurt bounced back, he would do so with a vengeance and a level of courage that Blaine could never hope to possess.

It would be yet another “Thanks very much for the help, but I don’t need you anymore” moment. And Blaine was ready to break at the prospect.

But month after month went by, and Kurt was still there.

When Blaine was sick, Kurt hadn’t even hesitated to bring warm soup from the kitchens and a mug of honey and lemon tea to Blaine’s door. He played hooky from class, cleaning up the older boy’s room and rubbing his shoulders to relieve him of the tension from being sick. He sat with Blaine watching old classic movies and animated Disney films for hours on end, and never once complained that Blaine was in any way imperfect.

When Blaine had seen Oliver Martin in the regular coffee shop that he and Kurt frequented, Kurt had sat in a booth with him for over two hours while Blaine recalled (and shamefully cried a little bit) at the lonely, sad stories from his youth. Kurt was there to lend tissues, and give the gentle hugs that Blaine craved. In fact, in the hours they were in that booth, Kurt never moved his hand from Blaine’s body, and it was so, so comforting that Blaine cried a bit more at that.

When Jeremiah had turned him down, Kurt had stayed up until two in the morning with Blaine, listening to the older boy go over every single detail with the Gap employee, even though it would have torn Kurt to shreds emotionally. He offered advice and hugs and more tissues (because as confident and dapper as Blaine intended to be, he was always a bit of a crier).

And oh, months later, when Blaine was ready to not screw things up, Kurt took his hand and granted Blaine his first ever kiss. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t hard and it was anything but dirty. Kurt’s soft and pliant lips pressed against his own gently, with the love of five hundred days, and nothing had felt more beautiful to Blaine. Kurt held his hand in corridors, stole kisses when teachers weren’t looking, took him on inexpensive, but beautiful dates that begun, progressed and ended with quiet proclamations of love. He loved Blaine with everything he had, and Blaine loved him just as much. Give and take.

So when Blaine had his hands roaming over Kurt’s lithe, pale, exquisite body, he didn’t feel unsure. And when Kurt let his mouth explore Blaine’s damp and heated skin, Blaine felt nothing but the feeling of being adored and worshiped. He had no doubts, no questions and no reason to leave this bed once they were done discovering each other in the most intimate of ways. He didn’t scrub himself clean afterwards. Instead, he bathed in the soft caresses and lovely words that Kurt bestowed upon him.

Because finally, he knew what it was to be appreciated in return.