We Are All a Little Weird and Life's a Little Weird
Blaine has a boyfriend.
It's... still kind of unbelievable.
Like, he actually has a boyfriend, and it's not one he made up over the course of several coffee dates because he was lonely and clueless, or maybe because he was a little in love with the idea of finally--
Look. It's one thing to say that you're gay, to come out, to wander around jauntily proclaiming your sexuality and proving to everyone that you can be gay and still like football. But... it's another thing to be really gay. Which is a ridiculous thing to think, but there it is. Gay with somebody. Because saying you're gay and then not ever having a boyfriend feels a little like maybe there's the possibility that you're not gay, because you haven't actually tried it, even if you've watched the porn and dreamed about Nathan Fillion and never really saw the point of breasts.
Which makes it sound like being gay is all about the sex stuff, and that's-- he's pretty sure that's offensive. Being gay is more than just what kind of person he wants to make out with.
It just feels like an important part.
Blaine wonders if there's a song that could explain the differences to him.
But. Whatever. Boyfriend. He has one. And it's Kurt. Kurt, who is amazing.
Kurt, who has transferred.
"It's different," Kurt is saying. He's probably sitting at his vanity in his room in Lima while Blaine is stuck here at Dalton, skipping a late-night study session with the other Warblers so he can get a little privacy while he talks. (To his boyfriend.)
(Who is not here.)
"It'd have to be," Blaine says, looking at the ceiling and trying to think happy thoughts so he doesn't end up projecting half the weird things he's thinking into the conversation. His hair feels crumpled against the pillow -- he's growing it out again. It's touching the back of his neck.
"Well, aside from the obvious sartorial improvement," Kurt agrees. Blaine hears a little hum -- Kurt's talking to him while going through his evening moisturizing. It's oddly intimate, and Blaine wishes he could see it. He's never actually watched Kurt do the much-vaunted skincare routine, even though he's been a happy benefactor from it for the most glorious two months of his entire life. He's seen the bottles of lotion, though, and he knows how they smell just from the lingering traces on Kurt's skin in the morning. Skin Blaine got to touch when Kurt pulled up in the parking lot before classes, cradle as they'd kissed hard against the car door until they were both breathless and muttering darkly about this stupid school thing that everyone kept insisting they go to.
Blaine tugs at one of the curls coming down over his eye, lets the slight pull remind him of Kurt. They've got kissing down. Very, very down. Blaine has discovered just how much Kurt likes his hair without gel in it; Kurt has discovered just how much Blaine likes to smooth down Kurt's hair after they've kissed, putting it all back into place, knowing that he's the only one who's allowed to mess it up.
They're also both very aware that they possess dicks that, with relative frequency, get hard in one another's vicinity. Once, Blaine had his uniform jacket off, and he can still remember how hot Kurt's hands had felt through his cotton shirt. And another time, Kurt had gasped, breathy and so entirely like how Blaine had imagined he'd sound if they ever actually had sex that Blaine had nearly died.
But then-- transferring. Not because of them, Kurt had been very clear on that, but for a dozen other reasons, some about McKinley, and facing his own fears, and his dad, and-- other things. Important things, and it made sense, and sometimes Blaine wonders whether maybe he doesn't need Dalton anymore either-- but the important thing, the critical thing, is that Kurt is somewhere else. Instead of conveniently here. Where there is a bed.
Blaine misses the taste of Kurt's mouth. His skin.
And all the other wonderful things he could be doing with his boyfriend right this second if only they'd had enough time to get to them.
"So, when's a good time to visit?" he asks, trying manfully to keep his voice smooth and not at all desperate.
It doesn't work. "Miss me much?" Kurt says, coy and more flirty than he tends to get when they're actually in the same room together. As great as the making out is (and it's really, really great), they've both been... slow with going further. Which was wise of them, except for the part where it was totally awful.
It's a lot easier to think of the things he wants to do with Kurt than it is to actually try them. Or-- it's easier to remember after the fact, or before the fact, that he wants to do more than what they're doing. In the middle of it, though, when it's just him and Kurt and maybe they're lying on Blaine's bed or they're sitting in the backseat of Kurt's Navigator or they're tucked against the wall in the Dalton commissary -- when it's just them, all he can think of is kissing Kurt, hands in his hair, chest to chest, legs tangled together. His mouth. The smell of him. How bright everything looks even when he's got his eyes closed, how everything has to focus down, there, right there, to every place they're touching and every place they aren't.
And then the bell rings, or Jeff starts singing loudly in the hallway, or Burt flashes the porch lights to the grim and meaningful staccato beat of I know exactly how far you can go in the back of a car, and I want you to know that I know.
And it's a minute after that, when he's smoothing Kurt's hair and humming ballads under his breath, that he remembers that he had been totally planning on doing something after they started kissing. Something hopefully involving hips, and cocks, and maybe even bare skin below the neck.
But then Kurt transfers, and the tiny moments they'd carved out for themselves are even smaller now, and there's less time, and there's longer intervals of nothing in between, and he doesn't want to waste the time he has trying new things when he basically doesn't want to ever, ever stop kissing Kurt Hummel.
"Yeah," he says, lower than he meant, more real than he meant, "I do."
Kurt takes a surprised breath, low and sudden. It's still tough for Blaine to be real without prompting, to just feel things, say things, do things because he wants to and not because the imaginary Blaine in his head thinks he should. It's getting easier, though. The part where it makes Kurt melt like ice cream against whatever part of Blaine is nearest to him is a huge incentive.
It... he's not sure it makes him feel good, being real, but it makes him... worthy? Like this is something he can give Kurt. And give to himself, though he feels weird about thinking of it like that, like it's some self-serving thing. But Kurt, though... Kurt loves him. The real him. And it's bad enough that they hardly get to see each other these days as it is, but it'd be worse if Kurt never got to see the real him at all. So in the end, it doesn't matter how uncomfortable being real makes him, how hard it is. He wants this. Partly because it's probably a much more mentally healthy way to be, but also because-- this is something he can do. For the guy he loves.
"I miss you too," Kurt says softly. Blaine hears rustling, the creak of a bed. Kurt's voice is closer, somehow, when he says, "I wish I was with you."
Blaine laughs, just a little. "You wouldn't be impressed," he says. "The stuff I sleep in is, like, dumpster-dive fabulous compared to you."
"You? You probably wear some very masculine T-shirt and pants combination," Kurt says, letting Blaine off the hook a little. Sometimes real is... too real. "Which, correct, is not as amazing as my sleepwear, but I break out in hives in the presence of Hanes and heathered gray. It's my cross to bear."
"Tragic," Blaine says. He tugs at his hair again. He used to do it all the time back at his old high school -- he wonders if he's picking up the habit again, or if he really is just reaching for a sense memory. Who knows. "Actually," he says, "I'm wearing an old camp shirt. Pink, I'll have you know, with green lettering."
"Oh my god," Kurt says. "I had no idea your despair over my return to Lima had sunk you so low."
Blaine snorts. "I wish I could say that that was it, but this is definitely all me," he says. "It's an old shirt. I like how soft old cotton shirts feel, you know? You can't buy that in a store. It takes years of patient effort and lapsed dignity."
"And what do you do to complete the ensemble, hm?" Kurt sounds sleepy and pleased. It's nice, talking to him like this. Not as nice as kissing (or the many, many other things they could maybe someday do) but... it's these kinds of things that made him fall in love with Kurt in the first place. Talking, sharing stories, just being with one another. With every other change that's happened, he thinks that he's most glad that this stayed the same.
"Me? Just boxers," Blaine says.
And then, just like that, there is a sudden silence at the other end of the line.
Like, Kurt's not even breathing.
"Really," Kurt says. And there's something in his voice. Something that is very not like the Kurt who's his best friend, but is so like the Kurt who, one time, pushed him up against a bookcase and kissed him because he could.
And Blaine's not gonna lie, not even to himself -- just hearing Kurt like this makes his own breathing stutter, and there's that buzz, like there's something under his skin that's aching, hot, and he wants Kurt's hands, wants him to press the ache away.
It's still so new, this feeling, this knowing that he could, theoretically, have this, that it almost scares him. He's suddenly grateful that Kurt's an hour and a half away, that he doesn't have to decide now, right now, what he wants and how he wants it and what, if anything, Kurt thinks about the entire matter. He can just... he can just feel this. Feel what it means to want somebody and know that he'll have them someday.
Kurt is silent for another moment, and then he says, slowly, almost tentatively, "I did not know this about myself half a minute ago, but. Um. I am having a mental picture here that is just..." There's a shy laugh, almost nervous. "Good," he finishes. "Very-- good."
"Yeah?" Blaine says. He blinks down at himself, tries to see what Kurt might be seeing, and he-- maybe can see it? "Break it down for me," he says, and this is where the conversation officially turns, when it stops being best friends talking and starts being... this new thing. This new, wonderful thing.
Because Blaine has totally just asked his boyfriend to describe what he finds sexy about him, as they're both lying in bed, alone, with nothing but a pair of phones and some very thin cotton between them.
Kurt doesn't say anything for a second, and Blaine has the very short, panicked thought that he's somehow gone too far, pushed too hard-- when he hears the shift of pillows on the other end of the line. And then Kurt saying, "It's kind of the whole package."
Blaine makes a noise that he hopes indicates polite inquiry, because he's not sure he can talk.
"I mean," Kurt says, picking his words, dropping them slowly, "I've seen you with your sleeves rolled up. I've seen you out of uniform. I've... I've felt a lot of you, but I've never seen you. And just the idea that you're, you're lying in bed, almost half of you completely-- I mean, without anything..."
"Oh, fuck, Kurt," Blaine breathes out.
"I don't even know how I'm talking right now," Kurt says in a rush. "Because all I'm thinking is, 'Blaine's on the other end of the phone, and he's naked.'"
"Only half," Blaine says, and then wonders why he can't ever manage to shut up.
"It's still more, though," Kurt says. His voice is... not low, never low, but there's this amazing rasp to it, the sound that usually comes right after he's been kissed. Always after he's been kissed, actually, and so this-- this is new, too.
Blaine presses his phone closer and just... breathes out. He would do-- a lot of things, just to hear Kurt sound like this regularly. Not all the time, not so much that it wasn't special any more, but-- to know that he can make this happen. Just from-- just from existing.
And that's it, he's done, he's gone officially insane, because there are words coming out of his mouth that he hasn't planned, hasn't vetted, and there's a part of him that's panicking and hoping the phone will explode in his hand, and another very, very quiet part that's pointing out how the last time he just spilled his guts like this he got a boyfriend out of the deal, so maybe he should chill out because whatever the hell's wrong with him, it's something Kurt definitely seems to appreciate.
"Kurt," Blaine says. "Kurt, I know we don't do this, that we've never done this, that we've never talked about doing anything like this, but I swear to god, I'm going insane over here, and, fuck, I'm telling you right now, I will do anything you ask me to do. Anything at all."
And he gets it, Kurt gets it immediately. Kurt knows him, knows he's not talking about picking up coffees or driving out for visits or finding expensive flowers that only bloom once every thousand years -- Kurt knows. And there's that gasp, that one that Blaine's only heard a couple of times, surprise and sex and god, yes, Kurt knows.
"Take off your shirt," Kurt says, and Blaine almost fucking comes just from that.
"Okay, yeah-- yes," Blaine says, and puts down the phone just long enough to pull the T-shirt over his head, feel it pull against the hair on his chest, rumple the curls on his head. Everything's sensitive -- everything feels like the brush of a fingertip. He picks up the phone again, and his voice is strange. "Done," he says.
Kurt makes a noise. A wonderful noise, like his gasp and his breathing and his saying I love you all mixed into one, and Blaine knows for a fact that it's because Kurt's mental picture just got a whole lot more naked. And it's amazing that he knows that.
Though not as amazing, maybe, as Kurt taking a deep breath and saying, "Tell me." There's almost a stutter there. Almost a break in the words, like he's not sure he's allowed to talk like this. Except he really, really is. "Tell me-- what you look like."
"I--" Blaine closes his eyes, swallows, opens them again. It's uncomfortable, trying to look at himself through someone else's eyes. Maybe... too revealing.
Except-- it's Kurt.
"Darker than you," he says, like he's describing a stranger. In some ways, he is. "Hairy."
"Really," Kurt says. His breath comes in short, shallow.
"Yeah. Compared to you, anyway."
And then Kurt says, "You'd be surprised," which is pretty much the end of any chance Kurt ever had to remain clothed in the future ever.
Which Blaine doesn't say out loud. No. He also doesn't say, Tell me exactly what you mean, right now--
Or The swim team shaves their chests, have you ever been to a swim meet? Positively smashing, old boy, smashing--
Or I need you, everything about you, I need what we're doing and how we're doing it and there's only one way this could possibly be better, one way I can think of, and--
What he says is, "I don't want to be doing this alone."
There's a whisper of uncertain sound-- fabric. "You're not," Kurt says, breath hitching. "I'm. Yeah. I'm unbuttoning my top."
He's not sure he can accurately describe how much he loves Kurt.
And also, boom, now he's got his own mental picture. Kurt, lying on his back among his pillows. Kurt with the blanket pushed down to his hips, phone in one hand, buttons being unclasped one by one with the other. And then the buttons fall open, and there's that milk-pale skin, with, Jesus, that golden brown hair, hair he usually only ever sees neat and controlled-- that same color, spread over Kurt's body, short and curled and wild and all of it leading down--
"God, I want you so much," Blaine says, and this is the first time he's ever said that, and it's different from loving, it's different from liking, it's different and scary and the truest thing he can think of at the moment, because he literally cannot imagine wanting anything, anyone, more than Kurt.
Kurt says -- immediately, no lag, no questions, just two words, hot and heavy in his ear: "I'm yours."
And that's it; Blaine swears, gives in, pulls down his boxers. "Kurt," he bites out, "if you don't want-- I just-- you should hang up-- I mean-- fuck--"
"Are you going to--" Kurt's voice is hungry, and high, and just as terrified and amazed as everything Blaine's feeling, "fuck, wait for me, wait--"
Blaine's already going through the bedside table, getting the lotion, and it's the work of a second, that's all, to finally get his hand on his cock, twist his wrist to spread the lotion out. Just another second more to get a rhythm going, thoughts of Kurt, Kurt naked, Kurt doing this too, all of it just crashing in his head, all of it just waiting to hit that moment where it all makes absolute perfect sense.
"You," Blaine says, gasping into Kurt's ear, thrusting into the air where Kurt isn't, "I want you, I want you touching me, fucking me, I want everything with you--"
Kurt says, "Oh my god," and his breathing is ragged and rhythmic and he's there, he's doing this too, they're jerking off together on the phone, and this is the hottest thing that has ever happened in Blaine's life. And then Kurt moans, actually moans, he's noisy and Blaine had no idea--
Blaine's so close, so close, and he knows that it'll just take one more thing, one more breath or gasp or swear or moan from Kurt and he'll be done, and that's when Kurt says, "I want to fuck you."
Blaine comes. He thinks he's loud. He can't tell, since he's sort of incredibly dead. The phone is pressed hard enough against his head to hurt, but there's absolutely no goddamn way he's going to let it go while there's still a second left of Kurt fucking his own hand because he's pretending it's Blaine.
Kurt's only a breath behind him, and all it takes, apparently, is for Blaine to say, "Yes," and that's it, that's Kurt over and done with, and while he was noisy before, he's absolutely silent now, nothing but a cut-off breath and then... quiet.
They're both quiet.
It's... it was amazing. Definitely. But-- how--
"I don't know what to say," Blaine says, because he still has not found his mental off-switch.
Kurt's laugh is a little hysterical. "Gee, nice knowing you?"
"I-- what? No. I mean, unless you--?"
"No, absolutely no," Kurt says quickly. The manic edge leaves his voice, and then it's just Kurt again, and he's saying, "I'm not-- okay, I'm embarrassed, but that was... really, really, really good. And something I would definitely be interested in trying again." He hesitates, and the manic makes a brief reappearance. "If you are."
Blaine is not sure he can emphasize enough how interested he is in doing this again, many, many more times. He settles on, "I really am," and hopes he injects enough feeling into the words that Kurt understands it without Blaine having to go into really thorough details.
The line goes quiet again, and Blaine picks up his T-shirt and starts cleaning himself off. The silence is less awkward this time, but there's still something... there. And he's pretty sure he knows what it is. It's just-- talking about it, when they're not in the middle of phone sex or, or whatever it is that they just did-- talking about it without any filters seems impossible, like death from embarrassment is actually a possibility.
Then again, he's just masturbated with his boyfriend over the phone for the first time; maybe there's no such thing as "too embarrassing."
"I meant it," Blaine says finally, words he hadn't exactly planned on saying, but true ones regardless.
Kurt's quiet for a long time, and then he says, "I meant it, too. Just maybe not..."
"Not, like, the exact second we see each other next," Blaine finishes, and yes, yes, that was it, that was the thing. "It's good to know, though," he says. "That you want to."
"Yeah," Kurt says, and it's that happy, sleepy voice again, the best voice. "It'll happen when it happens," he says, "and we both want it to happen, so... it will."
"Yes," Blaine says, and he guesses his voice must be happy and sleepy too, because Kurt makes a quiet, contented sound, and in some distant corner of his mind Blaine thinks, I want to hear that forever.
"I love you," he says instead, not because he's scared, or uncertain, or an idiot, but just because he wants to. And Kurt murmurs a 'love you' back before falling asleep, the line still open, the soft sounds of his breath keeping Blaine company until eventually he, too, goes to sleep.