Kurt gets his acceptance letter from NYADA, so naturally Blaine and Dave take him back to Scandals for a celebration. They make out at the bar and on the dance floor and at the pool table, and no one bats an eye except for the drag queen who was Kurt’s Satine at sing-along Moulin Rouge! She bats both eyes as she strides up to the pool table, bends over to reveal her cleavage, and says in her gin-and-molasses voice, “I was wondering when this was finally gonna happen. Congratulations, boys.”
“Thank you,” says Blaine, and kisses her hand. Kurt and Dave just blush.
Kurt has a Shirley Temple and pretends to get snockered, missing his pool shots on purpose until his boyfriends insist on helping him. They take turns wrapping their bodies around him and helping him aim his cue, the way Blaine used to when Kurt was first learning pool. It’s nice and warm and they both get hard-ons that snug against his ass.
Despite his fake inebriation, Kurt wins the game. Maybe it’s not fair, the way he’s distracting them both, but they’re both laughing and smiling and kissing him on the cheek and mouth and they don’t seem to mind at all, so he doesn’t feel guilty. He drags them to the dance floor and they start loose and happy, dancing goofily to Duran Duran and ABBA until Madonna’s “4 Minutes” starts.
The song and its thrumming bass always feel like sex to Kurt, turn him on like wildfire. He pulls Blaine and Dave close, lets the music sway his pelvis back and forth between them, straddles Dave’s thigh as Blaine nestles up behind him. Kurt dances against them, his arms around Dave’s shoulders and both of his boyfriends’ hands on his hips, riding his every movement. Blaine kisses the back of Kurt’s neck and Dave kisses Kurt’s mouth, tongues together pushing and pulling and rolling warm steam and the bass line pumps up through his blood, into his cock, into the spot where his ass is pressed against Blaine’s hardness and where his hip is pressed against Dave’s.
“If we keep dancing like this I’m gonna come,” Blaine whispers into Kurt’s ear, loud enough that Dave makes a small, helpless moan into Kurt’s mouth. Fuck you both, Kurt thinks, but he means it in the most romantic way possible.
They end up in the bathroom – in the same stall where Dave almost came in a stranger’s hand – because that’s where Kurt takes them. He’s thought about this before, about stroking Dave off in the dim bathroom lights, about watching him desperate and pink, about Blaine kissing and watching them both – but he thought it was just a fantasy, something to jerk off and fuck to from the safety of his own bed.
It turns out not to be just a fantasy. It’s raw and real, how much he needs them both right now, here in the tight confines of a stall in a cleaner-than-average men’s room of a suburban Ohio gay bar. Kurt is sandwiched between his two boyfriends, their backs pressed against opposite stall walls. They’re in the same position they were on the dance floor, but the movements are more explicit now: Blaine reaching around to unbutton Kurt’s shirt and kiss down his shoulders; Kurt sucking on Dave’s jaw and thrusting his hips forward and forward again until he feels their cocks unmistakably aligned through the denim of their jeans.
Dave makes a gorgeous little choking sound, and Kurt swallows it into his mouth, lips and tongues tangling, and everything feels so good and his knees are weak with desire but he can’t fall, not with both of them holding him up. “Want you,” Kurt moans into Dave’s neck as he works at his fly. “Wanted to do this to you for so long.”
It’s too crowded for Kurt to step back and watch his hands at work. So he goes by feel, fumbling a bit at first because it’s always harder to unbutton someone else’s pants than your own, but soon the button is loose and Dave’s fly falls open and Kurt can feel him, warm and hard, through the fabric of his boxers.
“Oh, god,” Dave whimpers, closing his eyes, the sound vibrating down to Kurt’s hips and coiling in his balls. Blaine muffles his own moan against the back of Kurt’s shoulder, and – oh – Kurt can feel it now, Blaine’s familiar hardness pressed against the cleft of his ass. Kurt’s hole quivers.
With his free hand, Kurt nudges Dave’s jaw until Dave is looking at him again. His eyes are so dark, pupils wide and deep black. The color reminds Kurt of the empty spaces in the universe, how vast they are and incomprehensible.
“Kurt –” Dave’s voice is quivering, and his hands and Blaine’s hands are clenching, tight and loose, on Kurt’s hips. “God, Kurt.”
“Kiss me,” Kurt says.
Dave does. He kisses delicious heat and desire into Kurt’s mouth, kisses until Kurt’s dizzy with it. Kurt reaches into Dave’s boxers and takes hold of Dave’s cock and – oh – Dave makes that sound again. Kurt echoes it back into Dave’s mouth with each delicate stroke of skin against skin.
Dave is warm and seductively solid in his hand; Kurt lets himself just explore at first, see with his fingers what he can’t with his eyes. He trails down to the soft thatch of hair, heavier than his own and sparser than Blaine’s, and then up up up to the head. Dave has no foreskin, and Kurt almost has a moment of panic wondering what he’s supposed to do, he’s gotten so accustomed to playing with Blaine’s – and then he reminds himself that he doesn’t have one either and he’s been playing with that for years.
It will all be just fine.
And apparently what Kurt’s doing is just fine. Dave moans loudly as Kurt drags the pad of his thumb through the slick bead at the tip of his cock, forgetting where they are and the need to stay under the muffled dance music pumping through the closed bathroom door. “Oh my god, sorry,” Dave whispers, “It just –” Kurt drags his damp thumb again over Dave slit, circles it over and around the head. Dave clenches his teeth and swallows another groan. “You feel so good.”
“Good,” Kurt whispers back, and Blaine makes his own soft grunts into Kurt’s ear as he rubs his cock up and down the cleft of Kurt’s ass. “You feel good, too.”
Dave kisses Kurt, tonguing desperately into Kurt’s mouth, and Blaine breathes warm little groans and kisses against Kurt’s ear, and Kurt strokes Dave in earnest now, up and down his shaft in long movements that become faster with each repetition, faster and faster as Dave’s kisses become hungrier and Blaine’s do, too – faster with each firm swell, and Dave starts thrusting his hips, fucking himself through Kurt’s hand.
“Oh god Kurt, I can’t, I have to, let me –” Dave head drops back against the stall wall, his eyes wide open and staring, his mouth twisting in what looks both like ecstasy and despair.
“Do it, Dave.” Kurt moves his hand eagerly, squeezing and stroking every inch of Dave’s heat, oh he wants to see –
Dave’s eyes close and his teeth clench and his cheeks turn fiery red and he spills out over Kurt’s hand, hot and thick and everything about him is so beautiful that Kurt stops breathing, can’t speak at all, can’t even remember what words are or what they’re used for.
But Blaine says what needs to be said, “Oh, Dave, you’re gorgeous,” and Kurt kisses Dave, kisses him and strokes him through it, strokes as Dave’s cock pumps out another spurt of wetness onto Kurt’s hand, and another.
“So hot,” murmurs Blaine, “so hot,” as Dave collapses against the stall wall, panting and eyes fluttering. Kurt kisses Dave’s face as he comes down, and Blaine kisses Kurt’s, and as Dave’s breath slows Kurt starts to remember language again.
“Thank you,” Kurt whispers when he finally pulls his hand away from Dave’s cock.
Dave chuckles quietly. “I think that’s supposed to be my line.”
Blaine hums happily over Kurt’s shoulder. “No, it’s definitely mine.”
Kurt reaches into his pocket for a kerchief to wipe his hand, realizing as he pulls it out that it’s the worst possible choice to use as a jizz cloth: Dave’s Webelo scarf. “Oops,” he whispers.
Dave smiles, the fading sex-blush returning to his cheeks. “It’s okay. You can use it. It would be kind of … nice, actually.”
Kurt can’t help but kiss him again. Then he wipes his hand on the kerchief and folds it back into his pocket with the crest sticking jauntily out. “Perfect,” he says, craning in the tight space to see the back of his own ass.
Blaine smoothes his hand over it and smiles. “It is.”
“Um, so …” Dave says, zipping himself back into his pants. “What about you? You didn’t …” He clears his throat, furrows his brow. “Did either of you, um … you know?”
Kurt wraps his arms around Dave’s shoulders as Blaine snugs his erection against Kurt’s ass. He presses his own hard-on against Dave’s thigh. “Almost, but not quite.”
“I … I’d like you to. If you want to.”
Blaine smiles against Kurt’s shoulder. “How should we go about that?”
“I’m – I’m kind of jello right now.” Dave bites his bottom lip. “You could –” He looks at Kurt. “If it’s okay, Blaine could … show me what you like.”
Kurt’s finds the words “God yes” leaving his mouth without even being conscious of thinking them. He thrusts against Dave’s thigh and kisses him deep and dirty as Blaine pulls his own cock out of his pants and strokes it once, twice before dropping to his knees and squeezes into the tight space between Dave’s and Kurt’s hips. He undoes Kurt’s shorts and without preliminaries takes Kurt’s cock deep into his mouth, up against the slippery-smooth skin of his throat.
Kurt grunts against Dave’s lips and Dave hums back and Blaine begins humming, too, an intense vibration that buzzes past Kurt’s balls and into his hole. Blaine teases Kurt’s head back and forth in sloppy increments, deep and shallow and deeper again, and then deeper still, his fingers digging hungrily into Kurt’s thighs and Dave’s hands clenching and unclenching against Kurt’s ass, following each of Kurt’s thrusts into Blaine.
It’s so good and so much, so many bodies and so much breath and warmth and touch, so many tongues licking and teasing and that’s the final straw for Kurt – that one brilliant realization of the searing softness of each of his boyfriend’s tongues – and he’s coming, coming hard and breathless into Blaine’s throat. He sucks desperately on Dave’s tongue to keep from shouting, fucks desperately into Blaine’s mouth with each pulse of his cock, and Blaine takes it, swallowing and licking and swallowing some more until Kurt collapses sideways against the stall door, and then Blaine is coming, too, his head lolling back against Dave’s hip as he spurts onto the floor.
“Jesus,” whispers Dave. “You guys kind of make me want to go again.”
Blaine giggles and looks up. “You’re awesome, Dave.” He turns his head and winks at Kurt. “You, too.”
I love you both, Kurt thinks, but instead he says, “I never knew semi-public sex could feel so intimate.”
* * *
Kurt and Dave graduate in separate ceremonies the following Sunday. Kurt has his celebration dinner jointly with Finn at a French restaurant halfway to Dayton; it wasn't that hard to get Finn to agree to it once he showed him the reviews on Yelp and explained to him that the French eat steak, too.
Rachel’s out celebrating with her dads, who wanted to have their little girl to themselves this one more time before releasing her into adulthood. But Blaine is there next to Kurt, their hands linked under the table. Kurt wishes that Dave were with them, too, but it’s right for Dave to be with his own family right now. And the fact that they’ll see each other later tonight makes his absence ache less than it did on Kurt’s birthday.
Halfway through the hors d’oeuvres, Blaine nudges Kurt on the thigh. “Hey, that’s a familiar face,” he says, and Kurt looks up. It’s Chandler walking in with four adults and a slightly younger girl who shares his nose but not his sense of style. She’s dressed tastefully enough, but it’s boring and preppy. American Eagle is probably her idea of haute couture.
Kurt had no idea that Chandler would be here tonight, and vice versa; they’ve hardly talked lately except to exchange a couple congratulatory texts when they both got into their schools of choice. Kurt’s been … a little distracted, so to speak. He wonders if he should feel bad about that.
But now that Kurt sees him, it makes sense that Chandler would choose this restaurant. After all, the song that Chandler finally decided on for his audition was from the original French score of Les Miserables, which Chandler began teaching himself at the age of eight. Plus Chandler does have pretty good taste in general – even if it’s not as refined as Kurt’s – and this is the closest Zagat-approved French restaurant to Lima.
As soon as Chandler spots Kurt and Blaine, he makes a beeline over, waving his party alongside him. He shakes the hand of everyone at the table (Carole blushes when he calls her “Mademoiselle”), then introduces the adults as his parents and step-parents and the girl as his sister.
“One day closer to New York!” Chandler enthuses to Kurt as the adults make small talk and Blaine entertains the sister. “I can hardly wait! It’s been torture ever since I got my acceptance letter.” He bounces on his toes. “Don’t you just wish you were there already?”
Instead of blurting out a thoughtless, giddy Yes!, Kurt considers the question.Thanks to his talks with Blaine, he’s finally begun to comprehend more clearly all the changes that might go with the move. And even though he’s confident that he and Blaine can do it, that doesn’t mean it won’t be a challenge to learn a new way to have a relationship at the same time as he’s learning a new city, a new school, and a new life.
And then there’s Dave.
“I’m happy I’m going,” Kurt says, reaching under the table to squeeze Blaine’s leg. “But I’m not happy about what I’m leaving behind.”
Blaine turns at Kurt’s touch, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Oh, honey,” he says, laying his hand on the back of Kurt’s. “You’re not leaving me behind. My heart is going with you.”
Chandler claps his hands and squeals in delight. “Oh my god, you two are the most adorable little things I have ever met! You almost make me want to find a love of my own someday. You’ll ruin me, I swear.”
“We have no intention of besmirching the integrity of an avowed bachelor,” Kurt responds, and Blaine covers his mouth and giggles. Kurt has no idea why.
Finn takes the opportunity of Kurt looking in the opposite direction to steal an escargot off Kurt’s plate. By the time Kurt looks back, Finn’s chewing guiltily and not-so-subtly licking butter sauce from his fingertips. “You should have ordered some for yourself if you wanted them,” Kurt hisses.
“But dude, snails sound disgusting. How was I supposed to know that they’d taste like garlic bread but, like, butterier?”
“It’s never too late to develop a taste for the finer things in life,” Chandler says, squeezing Finn’s shoulder, and Finn smiles and nods heartily, either not aware or not really caring that he’s being flirted with. Maybe a little of both. Or maybe enjoying the flattery a little?
Kurt’s heart wells with a pang of pride. His step-brother has grown up so much.
“Well, Kurt Hummel, I should let you and your guests get back to your dinner, and we should get on with ours,” Chandler says, gesturing to his family. “But we should get together again sometime before we head for New York. Be in touch?”
“Sure,” Kurt says, and he means it, although he wonders how he’ll find the time between work, Rachel, fooling around with two boyfriends, and figuring out if this thing with Dave is a summer fling that will subside into friendship in the fall, or something he can hold onto when he leaves for New York in the fall.
Since all of the graduates have family obligations tonight, the official New Directions Graduation and Summer Commencement Extravanganza is scheduled for the next day at Sugar’s mansion. So instead of heading to a graduation party after dinner, Kurt and Blaine pick up Dave and drive down to the river. They find a spot secluded by trees; it’s still light out, so Blaine and Dave decide to take advantage of the sun by teaching Kurt how to skip stones.
Kurt tries to flick his wrist in just the way they do, but for the first dozen or so tries his stones plunk heavily into the water, and after that he only succeeds once every few throws and can’t for the life of him figure out why. He doesn’t get frustrated, though; he loves watching each of them as they throw, their eyes focused and their bodies and hands full of grace.
He pulls them to the blanket to watch the sunset with him, and when the safety of dark surrounds them they tangle together and share lazy kisses and whisper secrets they’ve held too close for too long. When the stars come out, Kurt rests his head on Dave’s chest and Blaine rests his on Kurt’s, and Dave points at the constellations and tells their ancient love stories and everything feels magical and good.
But then Dave names Cancer, and Kurt starts to cry despite having heard the word thousands of times since his mother died.
Blaine squeezes Kurt's hand and Dave pulls him into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Dave whispers. “I wasn’t thinking.”
"It's okay," Kurt says, moving to wipe the tears away from his eyes. "It doesn't usually bother me anymore.” His breath shudders. “It’s not really about her, anyway. It’s about … graduation, I guess. I’ve been waiting for it forever and now that it’s here … I’m realizing that Lima’s not such an awful place to be after all.” He wraps one hand around Blaine’s and one around Dave’s. “In fact, I kind of love it.”
“I didn’t think I’d be sad to graduate either, but I am,” Dave whispers. “I kind of love it here, too.”
Blaine turns and reaches his free hand to cover where Kurt’s and Dave’s are joined. “I kind of love Lima, too. But mostly I love you both.”
* * *