Kurt wakes up to find a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water next to his bed, and three messages on his phone.
Blaine: Call me when you’re up to it.
Dave: I hope you’re feeling as good today as you did last night.
Dave: P.S. Blaine loved this picture so I thought I’d send it to you.
The photo is from Scandals. Kurt doesn’t often like to look at pictures of himself, but Blaine’s right: this one is good. His face is glowing with soft colored light of the movie screen, and somehow he has a smile on his face even as he sips his Long Island iced tea through a straw. He’s just noticed the camera and is looking at it sidelong in a way that looks like both invitation and challenge. He’s vivacious. He’s radiant.
Looking at the photo, Kurt feels a tenderness toward himself that he doesn’t often experience, like he’s getting a glimpse of himself through Blaine’s eyes. Although, of course, it’s Dave who took the picture.
Kurt doesn’t dwell on what that might mean.
He calls Blaine.
“Hi sweetie. Thanks for taking care of me last night.”
“Dave and Finn did most of the work,” Blaine answers. Kurt can picture him, scrunching his shoulders and looking down at his feet like he often does when Kurt compliments him, as if the joy of being praised were too overwhelming to bear. The image makes Kurt’s stomach flutter in delight.
“You helped,” Kurt says.
“As much as I could,” Blaine says. “How are you feeling?”
“A bit of a headache, but I just took an Advil.” Kurt scoots down to the foot of his bed to peer into his vanity mirror. “I’m a little dark under the eyes and my mouth feels like I was sucking on cotton batting all night, but otherwise … not bad. It’s not like the time I drank two bottles of Chablis and puked on Miss Pillsbury’s shoes. Still don’t think I’ll be making a regular habit of getting snockered, though.”
“I kind of … lose my reserve.”
“You don’t think you would have dueted with the drag queen if you’d been sober?”
“Dave told you about that?”
Blaine hums happily. “ Yup. And he sent me pictures.”
“I can only assume I look stunning in them.”
Kurt blushes. He feels almost as giddy as he did last night. “No, I think I would have done that sober. At least, I hope so. But there are other things I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have if I’d, you know, had all my wits about me.” Kurt flops onto his stomach and grabs the corner of the top sheet to twist it around his index finger.
Kurt bites his lip. “It’s really embarrassing.”
“It can’t be that bad, Kurt. I mean, you didn’t play spin-the-bottle with Rachel and accidentally start making out with her, did you?”
Kurt snorts. “No.”
“Although if you had, and you’d enjoyed it – I wouldn’t judge.”
Kurt covers his face with his hand. “Oh my god. Have you had fantasies about me and Rachel?”
“No-o,” Blaine says in a singsong. “I’ve never thought about you with a girl.” Blaine lowers his voice. “I mean, my fantasies, they’re about – I mean, I like watching you, but mostly they’re about you being turned on, and feeling good, and knowing how hot you are. So they wouldn’t really work with girls, since you’re not turned on by girls.” Blaine pauses. “Wait, are you turned on by girls? We’ve never actually talked about this. I didn’t mean to assume –”
Kurt shakes his head. He has the urge to bury his face in his pillow, but then Blaine wouldn’t be able to hear him. “No. I’m not turned on by girls. I mean, it was nice making out with Brittany that one time, but mostly because I was imagining that she was a boy.”
“Okay. Well, my point is – whatever you did that you think is embarrassing, it’s okay.”
“You don’t even know what I did yet.”
Blaine was silent for a moment. “But I know that I love you. So you don’t need to be afraid to tell me. But you also don’t have to tell me, if you’re not comfortable.”
Kurt bites his lower lip. “No, I want to tell you. I told Dave about –” He lowers his voice. “About my muscle magazines.”
“You did not!” Blaine says in the same tone of voice he had when Kurt told him he was a finalist for NYADA.
“I did. And I also told him –” Kurt closes his eyes. “OhmygodI’msoembarrassed.”
“Kurt, it’s okay.”
Kurt shakes his head. “No it’s not. Because I also told him that, um, that we look at them together sometimes. Which is – I’m sorry, Blaine, I know that’s private, you must think I’m –”
“You’re really hot.”
“Um, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”
“Well, it’s the one you get.”
It’s a good answer, but not one that Kurt knows how to respond to, so he abruptly changes the subject to whether he should make crepes or waffles for his family this morning.
Blaine votes for waffles with strawberry-cardamom conserve, then says, “So, does Dave want to borrow it?”
“What? The waffle iron?”
“No, honey. Your vintage muscle magazine collection.”
Kurt turns as red as a jar of strawberry conserve. “Oh my god, Blaine, I didn’t ask him that. He was very gentlemanly and changed the subject.”
Blaine sighs loudly. “That’s too bad.”
Kurt: Thank you for the photo. Blaine’s right, I look fabulous.
Dave: How are you feeling?
Kurt: Surprisingly functional. Unlike last night. Sorry about that. You didn’t sign up to babysit.
Dave: It was fine. I had fun.
Kurt: I did, too, thanks to excellent company.
Kurt: Sorry I got kind of personal, though.
Kurt: I shouldn’t have pressured you about dating. It’s not any of my business.
Dave: It’s okay. I just think maybe I’m not ready to date right now.
Dave: I’m not even out.
Dave: I should probably wait until I have more to offer.
Kurt: You have plenty to offer. You’re a tree.
Kurt: But I get what you mean. Waiting can be a good thing.
* * *
Blaine: Happy Valentine’s Day!
Dave: Did you mean to send that to Kurt?
Blaine: No. I’m allowed to wish my best friend a Happy Valentine’s Day, aren’t I?
Dave: I don’t know. Have you found me a hot boyfriend in Cincinnati?
No. But I have news that’s almost as good!
Blaine: I’m coming back to Lima today! Shhh. I haven’t told Kurt.
Blaine: I’m going to surprise him at this Valentine’s party the New Directions are having at Breadstix.
Blaine: Want to come?
Dave: I’m not really popular among the New Directions.
Blaine: Well, it’s actually a party for all of McKinley.
Dave: Um, I think that’s even worse.
Blaine: We could do something after? I don’t want you to be all alone on Valentine’s Day. It’s my favorite holiday.
It’s okay. I’m not really into Valentine’s Day. Anyway, I have a big test tomorrow so I can’t go out tonight.
Dave: Glad you’re coming back though.
Dave: Does that mean we’re on for tutoring on Thursday?
* * *
Dave might be into Valentine’s Day if he had someone to celebrate it with, but he doesn’t – and unlike Blaine, he doesn’t think best friends really count. It’s easy enough for Blaine to say because Blaine already has someone to dote on and kiss. If Blaine goes into the drugstore and sees a heart-shaped box of chocolates that he likes, he can buy it because he has someone to give it to.
And still, he can’t go to the fucking gas station after school without being bombarded by silver cupids, tiny stuffed animals holding red hearts, lilies and roses, mushy greeting cards and gigantic heart-shaped lollipops. He stops to the supermarket to see what they have in terms of “Welcome back and glad you have both eyes” balloons for Blaine, but of course the balloons are in the floral section, and Dave gets sidelined by the flowers. He stands in front of the tulips for way longer than a sane person should, considering the different colors – purple for royalty, yellow for hopeless love, variegated for enchanting eyes – and feels like the worst best bro-friend ever, because every single one of them reminds him of Kurt.
Dave buys a box of chocolates, goes home, and bites into each of them until he finds one with butterscotch filling. He throws the rest into the trash.
* * *
After “Love Shack,” Kurt steals Blaine’s hat and leads a chase through the restaurant and kitchen and parking lot, and it doesn’t end until Blaine’s lying down on the far back seat of the Navigator and Kurt’s kneeling on the floor next to him, pressing kisses to his belly through the white fabric of his shirt.
“Kurt, it’s kind of cold in here,” Blaine says, but it’s a weak protest because he’s also lifting his hips off the seat to make it easier for Kurt to pull his pants down.
“Won’t be for long,” Kurt says, tugging the waist of Blaine’s briefs down beneath his balls. “God, you’re gorgeous. It’s been way too long since I’ve had you in my mouth.”
Blaine starts to let out a scandalized, “Kur–” but it’s interrupted by the overwhelming sensation of Kurt’s tongue teasing at the tip of his cock. Yes, it’s been way too long. Kurt is absolutely right, and his judgment should never be questioned.
And it’s only fair that, after he comes, Blaine evens the score by taking Kurt’s cock into his own mouth. He’s missed this: Kurt filling him, making every nerve in his tongue and cheeks and the roof of his mouth sing at the contact. He opens his throat and sinks further over Kurt until the finely trimmed thatch of hair around Kurt’s cock kisses the tip of his nose. It's incomprehensible, how good this feels.
Kurt’s so close already. He murmurs Blaine’s name over and over, cants his hips and holds onto the back of Blaine’s head and fucks fast and needy into Blaine's mouth and Blaine takes it and tries to take more and keeps taking until Kurt pulses hot into his throat with a stifled cry.
“Oh my god, Blaine,” Kurt mutters when he catches his breath.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear,” Blaine says, curling his head in Kurt’s lap.
Kurt strokes Blaine’s hair, smoothing the misplaced strands back into place. “You can say that again.”
Blaine smiles. “Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”
“Oh my god, you’re such a dork.” Kurt slides down from the seat to squeeze himself next to Blaine on the Navigator’s floor. He kisses Blaine’s cheek. “And I love you so much.”
Blaine rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder and laces their fingers together. “The feeling is mutual.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” Kurt kisses the top of Blaine’s head. “Our first of many.”
* * *
The morning after Blaine gets back, he sees Señor Martinez in the flesh for the first time. It’s just a glance in the hallway as Señor Martinez disappears into the faculty break room, but he recognizes him instantly. The sight of him in his ass-hugging dark blue jeans and burgundy v-neck makes Blaine want to pull Kurt into the janitor’s closet and give him his second blowjob in 12 hours.
Blaine runs to Kurt’s locker, even though it means he won’t have time to drop off his heavy-as-a-backpack-full-of-bricks geometry book before his next class. The sacrifice is worth it, though, because Kurt is there, looking into the mirror on his door and giving his coiffure a quick mist of hairspray.
Kurt’s cheeks turn a little pinker as soon as he sees Blaine, and he smiles coyly. “It’s nice to see you here, stranger.”
Blaine steps as close as Kurt will normally allow in public and takes his hand. “It’s nice to be back.” He leans in closer and whispers into Kurt’s ear, “I just saw Señor Martinez.”
Kurt turns to face Blaine and bats his eyelashes becomingly. “Yes?” he says in a hushed voice. “And what did you think?”
Blaine whispers again into Kurt’s ear, this time so quietly he can barely hear the words himself. “Everything we talked about? I want it twice as much now.”
Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand as hard as he does sometimes when he’s on the verge of orgasm. “Yeah, but it would get him fired. And I think he might be straight, anyway.”
Blaine shrugs. “A guy can dream. Anyway, it’s fun to think about, even if it could never happen.”
Kurt sucks his lower lip into his mouth. “It certainly is.”
* * *
After glee rehearsal, they go to Blaine’s house. His parents won’t be home for a couple of hours; unlike last night, when the only private space they had was Kurt’s car, they can do anything they want to each other now.
To both their surprise, they don’t say much. They talked about Señor Martinez the whole way over here, but now they’re mostly silent. Kurt peels off Blaine's shirt and pants, then strips off his clothes, eyes locked on Blaine's. They’re both trembling with want; it feels like years since they’ve been completely naked together.
Kurt looks up and down Blaine’s body – at his peaked nipples and the indent of his navel and his proud, flushed cock. The gorgeous reality of Blaine’s body hits him like a shock.
"You're so – " he starts, but the words don't come, so instead he leads Blaine to the bed and begins to cover his body with small, slow kisses. Blaine shivers when Kurt runs the flat of his tongue along the crease of his hip, so he does it again and again until Blaine's gasps crescendo into moans.
"Oh, Kurt, I missed you so much."
Kurt takes Blaine's cock between his lips, sucks slow and lazy for a while before moving down to Blaine's balls, pulling them one at a time into his mouth with a gentle swirl of his tongue. They feel wonderful in his mouth, and like a gift, for Blaine to be trusting him with this most tender part of himself.
Blaine starts to babble, and Kurt would, too, if his mouth weren’t full; Blaine is so hot and lovely like this. Kurt licks and hums as he coaxes Blaine’s legs apart with his hands, dragging his lips down the sultry interior of Blaine thighs toward his tawny pink hole and begins to kiss it – first gently with his lips, then hungrily lapping at the smooth skin with the flat of his tongue, and Blaine rocks against Kurt's mouth and begs for more. So Kurt keeps giving to him: soft dry kisses and slobbery wet licks and everything in between; and Kurt's nose rocks against the soft skin beneath Blaine's balls, rich with the smell of soap and sweat and the faint scent of musk, and when Kurt's eyes open all he sees are Blaine's skin and hair and the bounce of his heavy cock against his stomach.
Kurt sucks on one finger and then slides it into Blaine, quivers himself at the fierceness with which Blaine grasps him.
“Oh, god. Please fuck me, Kurt. I – I need you.” So Kurt does.
It's sweet and hungry and overwhelming, to sink into Blaine like this, to watch Blaine’s eyes go wide with surprised pleasure. “Oh my god, Kurt. I wish – I wish I could tell you how good it feels when you’re – when you’re inside me.”
Kurt kisses Blaine’s plump lips. “That’s okay. You always show me.”
Blaine pulls Kurt's tongue into his mouth and Kurt drags his fingers along Blaine’s cock, and it's like a circuit has closed and the charge is cycling through them, from Kurt's cock through Blaine's hips and up his spine to his mouth and into Kurt, down Kurt's arm and hand and spine and cock and back into Blaine, an infinite circle of yes.
Kurt rocks his hips minutely, a slow sweet dance as he watches Blaine unwind. Blaine’s mouth is hanging open and his eyelashes are fluttering and he makes these sweet, gasping breaths with each of Kurt’s movements, and his cock is almost as satiny smooth against Kurt’s fingers as the inside of him is against Kurt’s sheathed cock.
Blaine angles his hips up, wraps his legs high around Kurt’s back, and pulls him in closer, tighter, and it’s so good and so hot and Kurt feels like he’s going to die a very happy death but instead he moans, desperate and hungry, and starts thrusting hard, and Blaine starts thrusting back and making the sweetest, most wanton sounds.
Kurt can’t stop moving. He wants to feel Blaine come around him and on him, wants Blaine to make that sound he makes when he comes. Blaine is quaking, gasping, his back arching, his moans so shaky they sound close to sobs, and that's the final straw for Kurt, the thing that makes him thrust deeper than he thought possible into Blaine's ass, the thing that makes him come so hard he can no longer see Blaine's face, just a pure shock of white against his eyelids.
Blaine bites into Kurt's shoulder to muffle his gasp. He comes hard around Kurt's cock and spills out over Kurt's hand, and Kurt uses the wetness to stroke Blaine through it, all the while muttering Blaine's name over and over like an invocation.
Kurt feels lost inside Blaine, and it’s the sweetest, sweetest thing.
* * *
It’s not Blaine’s fault that Dave sat alone at home on Valentine’s evening watching The Walking Dead, but Dave is nonetheless annoyed at him. Every text message he sends is just so … happy. Dave imagines it’s because Blaine has been holed up in Kurt’s bedroom ever since he got back from Cincinnati, looking at muscle magazines and doing … well, other stuff.
And maybe Dave’s a little annoyed at Kurt, too, for crossing so many lines he didn’t even mean to cross. He knows it’s not fair to be annoyed with him, that Kurt has no idea how Dave feels; and that Kurt was supremely drunk; and that Kurt apologized; and that, even sober, Kurt thinks he’s a tree– actually, maybe that’s the worst part of all of it. Because, for a moment, Dave felt absolutely loved; but he can never be loved in the way he wants to be.
Still, it’s not the fault of Kurt or Blaine that Dave is ticked off with them both right now. So he tries to do what a friend would do. On the way to Blaine’s house on Thursday, he stops at the supermarket for Blaine’s balloons and a clearance bag of Sweethearts candy.
Dave is going to be an awesome bro-friend if it kills him.
Blaine throws himself around Dave as soon as Dave walks in the door. "Balloons! For me? You’re so sweet. And I missed you so much.”
Dave grudge immediately starts to melt. “I missed you, too, bro.” He pats Blaine softly on the back.
Blaine gives Dave a hearty squeeze before he lets go, stepping back to admire the balloons. “Oh my gosh! You even found one with a math joke on it!” He squeezes Dave’s arm. “I can't believe how much I missed talking with you about geometry. It's pathetic."
"No,” Dave smiles. “You’re finally getting that geometry is awesome.”
To his surprise, Kurt steps out of the kitchen. He hadn’t realized Kurt would be here. “Look, I’m sober!” Kurt says with a flourish and a half curtsy, half bow. He’s as radiant as always, in tight jeans and a gray gingham shirt and the red vest he wore on Saturday. “I can even fasten my own seatbelt if I want to. It’s like a whole new world.” His eyes sparkle as they did on Saturday night.
Dave stares at him. He knows he should say something. So he stammers, “I’m glad to hear that,” and looks down at his feet. Then he remembers he’s still holding the balloons and hands them to Blaine.
Blaine beams. “These are so great. They’re like Aladdin’s magic carpet,” he says, and at first Dave wonders where that came from, but then Blaine starts singing “A whole new world – a dazzling place I never knew. But when I'm way up here, it's crystal clear” from Aladdin and lets the balloons go. They float up to the ceiling, spreading out from the center of the bouquet with light bounces.
“I always thought it would be cool to have a magic carpet,” Dave says.
Kurt looks at the two of them with fondness. Well, no: he looks at Blaine that way, but it lingers long enough when he switches back to Dave that it feels like a little of it is directed at him. Dave starts to blush.
Kurt leads the way into the kitchen; Dave sets the bag of candy hearts next to it. “They were on clearance,” he says, and tries to sound cool about it.
“I love Sweethearts,” says Blaine, diving toward the bag. “They’re like eating clumps of pure sugar.”
Kurt grabs a handful as soon as it’s open. “Sugar is the food of the gods," he says, reading the message on one before popping it into his mouth. He scrunches his eyebrows as he chews. “Or is it cheesecake?”
Blaine grabs a bowl and pours the rest of the Sweethearts into it. “Well, cheesecake couldn’t exist without sugar, so –”
“Sugar wins!” Kurt says. He grabs another heart from the pile in his left hand and reads it, smiling. He looks up at Dave and hands it to him. “This one’s perfect for you, monsieur.”
It says YOU ROCK.
* * *
“Dave seemed pretty happy today,” Blaine says after their friend heads home for the evening. Kurt is still there, helping gather ingredients for dinner.
Kurt kisses Blaine’s cheek. “Of course he was. He was glad to see you.”
“I think he was glad to see you, too.”
Kurt looks studiously at the head of romaine he’s disassembling. “Anyone worth his salt is always happy to see me.”
“That’s true,” Blaine says. “Or maybe he was hoping that you’d brought your collection of vintage muscle mags.”
Kurt swats Blaine’s arm with a lettuce leaf. “I’m pretty sure he wants to forget all about my collection of vintage muscle mags.”
“I hope not.” Blaine smiles. “The world would be such a sad place without them.”
Kurt doesn’t respond, just rolls his eyes.
Blaine sets down the block of parmesan he’s been grating and sidles up to Kurt, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Sometimes I think about you looking at them by yourself when you first got them.”
The rim of Kurt’s ear turns bright red; Blaine nibbles at it. “Do you, now?”
“Uh huh. I think about you staring at all those bodies and all those bulges, and I think about how you probably licked your lips the way you sometimes do when you get turned on, and you wondered what it would feel like to touch all that skin.”
Kurt sets the rest of the lettuce on the counter and wraps his hands around Blaine’s forearms. “Um, that’s pretty accurate,” he says, pressing closer to Blaine and blinking slowly.
“And then you wondered what it would feel like if they touched you.” Blaine kisses Kurt’s neck, runs a hand from Kurt’s belly down over his bulge, strokes it teasingly through the fabric. It’s at that lovely stage between soft and hard; with each stroke Blaine can feel it grow a little fuller.
Kurt slumps his head against Blaine’s as he presses himself into Blaine’s hand. “Also pretty accurate.”
“And then I think you turned off the lights and stripped off your clothes and touched yourself,” Blaine whispers.
Kurt inhales sharply.
“I think you imagined your hands were his hands. I think you did this first –” Blaine strokes his hands over Kurt’s chest, broadly at first, then focusing on Kurt’s nipples, teasing them into hard, tight peaks through the fabric of his shirt. He kisses Kurt’s neck, whispers into his ear, “And then, when you couldn’t stand it, you did this.” Blaine unbuttons Kurt’s fly and reaches into his briefs, circling his upright cock with his hand.
Kurt closes his eyes and shifts his hips slowly, urging his cock through the ring of Blaine’s hand. “That’s … that’s all amazingly accurate considering that you’ve never actually seen me masturbate.”
Blaine kisses the edge of Kurt’s ear. “I’d like to, though.”
Kurt spins around and kisses Blaine hard. “We have at least 20 minutes before either of your parents get home, right?”
Kurt grabs Blaine’s hand and drags him toward the stairs. “Good.”
They don’t bother with their shirts when they get to Blaine’s room, just their pants. Kurt presses Blaine up against the closed door and owns his mouth with his tongue, strokes Blaine’s satin-smooth cock as fast Blaine is stroking his. The desire runs through them like a wayward current, and they don’t try to hold it back; it runs through their mouths and their hearts and their hips and soon there is a moan and that sweet swelling pulse and one hand goes slick with come, and then another, and they watch each other’s faces as they work each other through it.
They slump to the floor, Kurt resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “I had no idea,” he says with a satisfied sigh.
Blaine nuzzles against the top of Kurt’s head. “No idea what?”
“How much of a voyeur you are.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
Kurt turns his head and bites Blaine playfully on the shoulder. “And I –” he says, then hesitates, burying his face into Blaine’s shoulder. “I had no idea how much that would turn me on.” He looks up and kisses Blaine’s cheek, blinks at him bashfully. “I – I really like it.”
Blaine smiles and squeezes Kurt’s hand (the one that’s not covered in come). “I’m glad. It turns me on to see you turned on.”
“I kind of gathered.” Kurt looks down at their joined hands. "Blaine, can I ask you something?"
Kurt looks into Blaine’s eyes. "Are the fantasies about watching me – is any of it about you not being good enough for me? Because you are. You're so much more than I could ever have hoped for."
Blaine shakes his head. "No. I know there are a lot of things where I worry about not being good enough, but this isn't one of them. When I think about you touching yourself or being with another guy, I just feel happy. Because you're happy and because I get to see your body in a different way than when it's us together.” He squeezes Kurt’s hand. “And it’s just … I don’t know. It’s hot and I get to love you without it being about me."
Kurt kisses Blaine’s forehead. "Because I need you to know that you're so much better than enough."
"You are, too, Kurt."
"I want you to always remember that you matter. You matter so much, Blaine."
Blaine nods. “I know. I always remember that when I’m with you.”
They look at each other for a moment, seeing without needing to say anything. They feel safe, and content.
Then Kurt starts to squirm against the floor. “You really need a more comfortable carpet. It feels awful against my ass and it’s really distracting me from staring at you for the rest of the day.”
Blaine hums. “I suppose we should put our pants back on, anyway. You know – parents.”
Kurt pushes himself up from the floor and pulls Blaine up. “Probably should wash the come off our hands, too.”
Blaine smirks. “It’s such a shame. It would be a lovely souvenir.”
Kurt bursts out laughing.
* * *
Kurt goes to Blaine’s on Saturday afternoon before they head to Scandals. The ostensible reason for the visit is so that Kurt can teach Blaine how to make bowties, but they only get as far as selecting fabric from Mrs. Anderson’s scrap pile before both parents leave for a squash game at the club. (Kurt becomes attached to a green silk herringbone, and Blaine finds a light cotton fabric with tiny kittens the size of polka dots; Kurt almost rejects it out of hand as something Rachel would wear, but then he looks at the way Blaine’s face is lit up and remembers the picture of the old family cat above Blaine’s desk – the one that died the summer before they met – and he kisses Blaine on the cheek and tells him it's perfect.)
As soon as the front door closes, Kurt abandons the kitten fabric on the cutting table. "So," he says. "What you said on Thursday – I keep thinking about it."
Blaine furrows his eyebrows. “What did I say?”
"Um, it was about –" Kurt stops. This is harder to say than he expected. "About, um – About watching me? When I’m by myself."
Blaine smiles meekly. “I remember.”
“And I guess, I was thinking –” He bites his lower lip. “It doesn’t have to be just a fantasy, like the other thing is.
“Oh.” Blaine’s eyes are wide and seem to be changing color by the second, lighter and then darker, gold and then chocolate. His lips are trembling, and there's a fine tremble in his arms, too.
It makes Kurt feel weak and strong at the same time. It makes him want to give everything to Blaine. “I could – I could do that for you.”
Blaine’s silent for a moment. "I don't want you to do this for me."
Kurt looks down at the cutting table. There’s the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. “Oh,” he says. “Just fantasy, then?”
Blaine shakes his head. "No, I – I’d love to watch you.”
Kurt looks up, eyes sparkling with hope, but eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“I mean, what I want, when I think about it – I want you to be doing it for you. Not for me. Because it feels so good that you can't stop yourself. I want to watch you when you're not thinking about making me feel – things.”
“Oh,” Kurt says inaudibly, tugging unconsciously at his collar. "But – you're not a distraction, Blaine."
"That’s not what I mean. Just – the idea of watching you come at your own pace and with your own hands – it would be a different way of seeing you. Without getting so lost in myself. I would see things about you I haven't before, and I think that would be another way to feel closer to you. And –"
"In my other fantasy, I think about that, too. I wonder what it would be like to see your whole body when you come, like if it starts in your cock and moves outward or if it moves from your head to your toes or if it waves up and down your body like –"
Kurt reaches out his hand to take Blaine's trembling fingers. "Let's go upstairs."
"I never used to do this, you know, before you."
Blaine knows, of course. Kurt's told him before, more than a few times, mostly because Blaine likes to hear about it. Because he is the man who turned Kurt Hummel into an anally fixated monster, and he doesn't mind having that designation bestowed on him one bit.
But this is different. Kurt's never shown him before.
Kurt's wet fingers are teasing over the perfect pink lines that radiate out from his hole like the points of a star. Blaine is squatting at the foot of the bed, breathing deep, watching the star quiver under Kurt's touch. He feels that quiver through his body and brain more strongly than if Kurt's fingers were on him.
Kurt's voice is quivering, too, breaking with want. "But you made me curious, the way you lost it when I touched you." He lets out a rough moan, pulls his thighs closer to his chest to spread himself wider.
"It feels so good, Kurt," Blaine says, and he's not sure if he's talking about what it feels like when Kurt's fingers are inside him, or if he's talking about this moment, right now, the way that Kurt's words and body, unfolding before him, make Blaine feel more naked than he's ever felt before.
Kurt wends his index finger in a slow spiral around the star, letting the fingers of the other hand caress his balls and thighs and the base of his cock. "The first time we did it, afterward, I couldn't stop thinking about the noises you made, and how you felt around my fingers. You were hungry for me."
"It's always for you, Kurt."
"And I wanted you to take me inside you again. I wanted to feel you around my fingers. So I – " Kurt bites his lower lip as he presses the tip of his middle finger into the center and Blaine watches it sink, the tip swallowed slowly by that shining star. "I did the next best thing. And it felt – Like you were there around my fingers, but also – I got an idea of what it felt like for you, and why you made those noises, and why you wanted it so much."
Kurt lets out a moan and arches, lifting the small of his back off the bed just for a moment before thrusting his hips up and his finger is swallowed just a little more, until it's halfway there.
"I want you so much, Blaine. Always."
Blaine looks up through Kurt's open thighs at his face, strokes his ankle in reassurance. "I'm right here."
Kurt's eyes are relaxed bright like today's cloudless sky. "I know."
Kurt closes his eyes then, lets out a little gasp and Blaine looks back down at Kurt's hand, his perfect pink ass and oh the finger is all gone now, all inside, wrapped in Kurt's velvet heat and Kurt groans again.
"Fuck, Blaine. I want so much."
"What do you want?" He watches Kurt slide the finger incrementally in and out, watches the star flicker around it.
"I want to feel this forever. This – it feels so good. Inside me. And you." Blaine feels Kurt's eyes on him again and he looks up. "You here. With me. It feels so good, Blaine."
Kurt slides his finger out and then there are two silicone-slick fingers teasing at his hole, two fingers being taken and swallowed, and a sweet glow of perspiration breaks out at the crease of Kurt's hips and on his collarbone. Blaine's cock is tingling and hard but he hardly notices, his body more aware of Kurt's every move and breath than of his own.
The noises out of Kurt's throat are purer than music. Blaine's not sure he'll ever tell Kurt this, but the sounds he makes when he's like this break Blaine's heart open even more than his singing.
The first time he heard Kurt sing "Blackbird," it shattered the locks on Blaine's heart and it opened, crying for Kurt to come inside.
It's like that every time Blaine hears Kurt's intimate cries, but a hundred times more.
Blaine watches Kurt's hand twist and – "Oh, there, right there," Kurt murmurs. Kurt rings his other hand around his cock and begins to stroke slowly, lightly, but soon it's a firm grip and a tugging and Kurt has three fingers inside himself now, not all the way but still stretching him so beautifully, his ass clamped down tight on them as they try to move in and out, but Kurt's not quite letting them go. "Oh, fuck, Blaine, I don't know what to do. It feels so good. I want more and I want to come and I want more and I want – Oh, god, Blaine. Oh god."
Kurt's hips lift off the bed and his eyes shock wide and his mouth twists with the throes of pleasure and his rim quakes and his cock churns and pushes and the come flows warm and thick and unstoppable over his fingers. Blaine looks at Kurt's feet, toes curling and flexing, and everything about Kurt is so gorgeous and strong that Blaine's vision becomes blurry. He can still see the outline of Kurt, though, can touch his hand to Kurt's calf and feel it pulse with the shocks of orgasm. He can kiss the hinge of Kurt's knee, the sweet knuckle of bone at the side.
"You're so beautiful, Kurt," he says, and Kurt continues to pulse and quake, his body wringing every last delight out of the orgasm.
"You – " Kurt starts, and then stops, the word turning into a gasp and then a moan. Blaine brushes his fingers everywhere he can reach – the arches of Kurt's feet, the Achilles' tendons, the full circumference of calves and knees and thighs, the appealing jut of hips, the outside ridges of ribs. Blaine feels the muscles wobble and stiffen and relax and seize up again, amazed that a body can stand all this upheaval.
Finally, finally, Kurt comes down, his muscles watery and weightless, words ready to wash ashore. "You make me feel beautiful, Blaine. It's so beautiful."
Blaine lowers himself next to Kurt then, wraps an arm and a leg over him, kisses his temple and his lips and thinks he will never let go, he can't let go, because his heart has broken open and Kurt has stepped inside, and he'll be inside there always – the electrical pulse that makes Blaine's heart beat.
"Come inside me, Blaine."
"You look exhausted, Kurt.
"I'm not exhausted. Just – content."
Blaine is overflowing with Kurt, waves of joy radiating through his flesh. Maybe later, when Kurt's gone and the magnitude of what has happened strikes him, he'll need to jerk off, need to feel Kurt's pleasure beating out its song through his own body. But right now, he's satisfied. He doesn't need any more. "I'm fine. It's enough to watch you. And lie here with you. Really it is."
"I'm not asking just for you, Blaine. I'm asking for me."
Just those four words, and simply being together is no longer enough for Blaine. Because it's not enough for Kurt.
Blaine is suddenly hyperaware of his own hardness, of Kurt's cock still wet and half-hard against his thigh. He kisses Kurt, at first soft and sweet, like waves lapping the shore. But soon they grow into tidal waves, full of salt and turbulence, surging into Kurt.
Blaine moves his lips to Kurt's neck and he drags his fingers across Kurt's stomach and cock, stroking through the come that still lingers there. Kurt looks down, watching Blaine's hand gather it up and spread it from Kurt's cock to his own, rubbing it up and down his shaft, a delighted choking sound gurgling from his throat. "Oh, Kurt. Fuck, Kurt. You feel so – "
"Now," Kurt says breathily, pulling Blaine on top of him, guiding Blaine's cock toward the place it has to go.
"I – let me get a condom. I – " Blaine says, but he doesn't move.
Kurt looks into Blaine's eyes steadily, pure blue Pacific. "If you want."
Blaine thinks he might drown in those eyes, or – no, not drown, but become a thing of the sea, not content to walk on land anymore, but to swim and breathe the cool water and live. "No, I don't want. I want – I want you to feel me when I come. I want you to know what you do to me, Kurt."
"I already know that, Blaine." He pulls Blaine down for a soft, lingering kiss. "But I want – I want that, too."
Blaine kisses Kurt again, longer and harder and full of want, his muscles trembling so hard he wonders if they might give out. He feels so weak sometimes in Kurt's presence, but in a marvelous, contradictory way that makes him feel stronger than he ever feels anywhere else.
Kurt murmurs sweetness to him, like the soft lull of waves. The release and clench of his muscles pulls Blaine in, a tidal wave churning.
Inside, Kurt is like a mullein leaf after rain, sensuous and pliant. Blaine breathes, tries to memorize the perfection of it, tries not to get lost in the way his own body feels.
Kurt's eyes are blue and gray and fluttering like two bluejays. He reaches up and cups his hand behind the curve of Blaine's skull, pulls him down and their mouths tug back and forth, mingling like the ocean and the river at tide.
"Oh god Blaine, everything you do. Everything. You make me feel how much you love me."
Blaine's eyes go blurry again but he can hear Kurt's sighs and crescendoing moans, can feel Kurt's breath against his ear and the sinews of his neck against his lips, can grasp Kurt's cock in his hand and feel it swell and grow harder. He can feel the slick grasping warmth of Kurt's perfect ass around him, feel the joy throbbing through it, feel Kurt pull him in, push him out, pull him in again and thrust and twist and shout Blaine's name so loud that Blaine's skull rings – but that's fine, that's fine if Blaine goes deaf now because he'll have that, the memory of his name on Kurt's lips – but, wait, Blaine can still hear, and Kurt is still calling, calling, calling his name over and over, making it sacred.
Blaine moves and stills in response to Kurt's cries, focuses on Kurt's every motion and need and ignores the longing in his balls, and it's so easy, so easy to ignore because of the way that Kurt is unraveling, opening up for Blaine all over again. Until –
"Come for me, Blaine. I need to feel you come inside me."
The tide rumbles between Blaine's ears and Kurt's thighs, a glorious churn of water and silt and sea, and Kurt roars out Blaine's name with the force of the ocean and Blaine spills into him, waves onto the shore.
* * *
When they get to Scandals, Kurt opts for a Long Island iced tea. “They taste really good,” he says when Blaine raises an eyebrow. “Anyway, I’m just going to have the one this time, now that I know what it is.”
Blaine orders a Fanta and they go to their favorite table to wait for Dave.
Kurt looks around for Cher/Satine so he can introduce her to Blaine, but she’s not around tonight. The Duke is, though, and one of the other guys who was checking out Dave last week, so Kurt points them out.
“That one’s too old,” Blaine says, looking at the Duke. “The other guy might be in the ballpark, though.”
Kurt shrugs. “Dave says he’s not interested in dating, anyway.”
“I think he wants to wait until he’s more comfortable with himself.” Kurt takes the first sip of his tea.
“Too bad,” says Blaine. “He’s got a really nice ass. Someone should tap that.”
Kurt’s jaw drops. “Oh my god. I can’t believe you.”
“What? He does. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
Kurt smirks and does that thing with his eyebrows that makes Blaine melt. “So are you telling me you have a thing for your best bro-friend?” He lowers his voice and leans into Blaine’s ear. “Should I start talking about watching you in the bedroom?”
Blaine laughs. “No, it’s not like that. I mean, yes, he has a nice ass, but I don’t personally want to tap it. I mean, all football players have nice asses. It kind of goes with the territory.”
“Ah.” Kurt winks and stirs his drink with his straw. “So that’s why you’ve always been such an enthusiastic athletic supporter.”
Blaine smiles at the Grease reference. “Only part of it. The games are interesting, too.”
They sit in comfortable mostly-silence for a while, watching the other bar patrons. Kurt is three-quarters of the way through his tea when he says, “Blaine?”
“Do you ever –” Kurt stops to look over his shoulders, as if someone might be listening in. He scoots closer to Blaine and whispers. “Do you ever think about me with real people? I mean –” He darts his eyes down toward the table. “People that we know. Other than Señor Martinez.”
This isn’t the best place to be talking about this, but Blaine’s not going to throw away this opportunity. “It started out with Nick," Blaine whispers back.
"Nick?" Kurt raises his eyebrows. It’s surprise, of course, but there’s also something satisfied about it, or even pleased. "Warbler Nick? Really?"
Blaine strums his fingers nervously on the side of his tumbler. "Yeah. I'd have these dreams about walking in on you and Nick making out in the practice room – sometimes it was Jeff – "
Kurt shakes his head. "Wow. That's really kind of hot even though I would never do Jeff."
Kurt wrinkles his nose. "No. I mean, he got the first solo I tried out for, even though I was much better than he was. Also, he needs to work on his hair. Well, and the Warblers in general seem to have gone to the dark side."
“Yeah, well this fantasy started a long time before that happened.”
“Really? How long?”
“Um,” Blaine can feel his face warming. “Before we started dating.”
“But – But I thought you thought I was a baby penguin.”
“I never said that. You did.”
Kurt furrows his eyebrows. “But you didn’t think my sexy faces were convincing, either.”
Blaine shrugs. “They weren’t when you were trying. But you were sexy other times.”
Kurt takes another sip of his tea. “I can’t believe you’ve never told me this.”
Kurt puts his hand on Blaine’s. “No, it’s okay. I just – I’ve been learning a lot about you lately. It’s nice.”
Blaine can’t help but kiss Kurt’s cheek.
“So,” Kurt says coyly, “tell me a little more about these dreams you had about me.”
Blaine looks down at their joined hands. "Well, it started out with dreams about you and Nick, and I couldn't tell at first if maybe they upset me, but then I started to really enjoy them – like, really – and when I woke up I would, um, let my mind supply more details."
"For example?" Kurt says. His voice is low and sweet like maple syrup.
"Um, well, you would tell him what to do and then he'd do it, and he'd be – he'd be so eager to do it, whatever it was. And you would – if I was there, in the fantasy – you'd tell us both how it felt, and how well he was doing, and sometimes you'd ask me to come closer so you could squeeze my hand as you came."
Kurt's cheeks and ears and neck are the most delicious shade of pink. His breath is shallow and he's blinking and licking his lips and rubbing his foot against Blaine’s ankle ever-so-gently.
“And I think it’s part of why I was confused about my feelings about you for a while. Because I really liked it, and I thought that if I was in love with you, I should feel jealous.” Blaine shrugs. “I mean, that’s what I’d always believed: that when you fall in love, you want the person all to yourself. So I thought – I thought that I loved you as a friend, and that I thought you were sexy, but that I couldn’t be in love with you because thinking about you with someone else should tear me apart. You know, like in Moulin Rouge.”
“But then you sang ‘Blackbird’ and when you got to the part where it says ‘take these sunken eyes and learn to see,’ it hit me. My love for you didn’t look exactly the way I thought it should, but I was so in love with you, Kurt. And I could see it clearly for the first time.”
Kurt doesn’t answer with words. He just Blaine’s jaw in his hands and looks at him steadily. His eyes are shining and his smile is broad. “I’m so lucky to be loved by you,” he says, and kisses Blaine.
* * *
Dave arrives at Scandals late, and Blaine and Kurt are already there, sitting in their usual place – a small table in the corner that’s meant for two, but where the three of them fit comfortably as long as no one hogs the leg space beneath.
They don’t see him when he walks in. They’re huddled close together, shoulders touching, Blaine whispering something in Kurt’s ear and Kurt smiling – that awesome smile where Kurt’s face scrunches up so brightly that it could light up every major metropolitan area in Ohio. Kurt turns and pecks Blaine on the cheek, and Blaine’s cheeks turn pink and his eyelashes blink slow and dark and sultry, and Kurt kisses him again, but on the lips this time, and it’s … breathtaking. Literally. Dave stops breathing, and the noise of the bar seems to fade into the background, and in that incredible stillness Dave imagines he can hear the sigh that Kurt makes when Blaine raises his fingers to Kurt’s jaw and traces it softly. They smile with each press of their lips together, and sometimes their eyes are closed and sometimes they squint joyfully and sometimes they’re wide, studying the close contours of each other’s faces.
Dave feels a twinge in his heart and pelvis as Blaine’s arm shifts and he rubs his hand slowly up Kurt’s thigh, creeping closer and closer to the jackpot, and Kurt gets more and more lost in the kissing with each inch, his eyes closing and his mouth moving a little more desperately. When Blaine is just about there – Dave can’t actually see Blaine’s hand now, but he can tell by the position of their bodies and their near-franticness that he is so, so close – Kurt bursts out giggling, pushing Blaine’s hand back to his knee and giving Blaine a playful bite on the chin.
They are wrapped in their own cocoon, haunting and lovely and private and safe, and – no, he won’t disturb them. So he walks over to the bar without saying hello first. There will be plenty of time for that when they emerge.
Dave orders his beer, and as he waits, a man he’s seen plenty of times before but never talked to squeezes in next to him and waves to get the bartender’s attention. A beautiful man, tall and older – thirty, maybe – with a chiseled jaw that’s shaved so smooth it’s like marble, and hair that’s chestnut brown like Kurt’s, and fingers that are long like Kurt’s, and eyes and a nose that look nothing like Kurt’s and maybe – maybe they’re just different enough.
Dave leans forward to settle his elbows on the bar, brushing against the beautiful man’s arm as goes.
The man turns. “Hi,” he says. His teeth flash white – brighter than Kurt’s, and squarer, and big and straight like that guy from the vampire movies, but without the fangs.
“Hi,” says Dave.
“Gavin,” the man says, holding out his hand, and Dave takes it. It’s cool and dry and well-manicured, and there’s a platinum ring on his index finger. There are more words after that, although Dave’s not sure how that happens. Words about nothing, really: the weather, and the music pounding from the speakers above them, and what they like to drink. But Gavin is pleasant, not skanky like Sebastian or needy like Jerry; he drops a ten-dollar bill in front of the bartender when she brings Dave his beer, and puts up a hand and shakes his head when Dave tries to say, “Thanks.”
He asks if Dave came with anyone.
“Just some …” Dave starts, searching for the right words. “Some friends, I guess.” His heart squeezes painfully against his ribcage.
They talk some more, with hints and gestures that Dave can only half-comprehend. But he understands enough to know what Gavin is offering, and that it’s something the person he longs for would never offer.
Dave heads to the bathroom first. He waits at the sink, rubbing his hands together under the water – waiting, breathing, counting the seconds and listening for footsteps. His pants get tighter and tighter around his cock, and the water gets so hot it’s almost scalding, but Dave keeps his hands under the stream.
And then Gavin is there, leading him into one of the stalls, pressing him against the sign on the stall divider that says "No Sex In Bathroom." The light directly over the stall is burned out, making it grey and dusky inside, and Dave closes his eyes.
Gavin’s lips are on Dave's lips, his tongue on his tongue, his cock grinding into Dave’s cock through the fabric of their jeans. It’s not electric, and it’s not heaven – but Dave’s body cries out for it, anyway. "What do you want?" Gavin whispers, and Dave answers, "Your hand, just your hand. Please." It comes out, embarrassingly, as a whimper and a plea.
"Shhh, it's okay," Gavin whispers. "Let me take care of you, baby." It’s not Dave's favorite term of endearment, but he can ignore it if he concentrates on the lips against his neck and the hand against his fly; on the unzipping and the oh god of this stranger’s hand squeezing him, pulling him, coaxing sounds out of him that Dave didn't know he could make.
Gavin’s hand is too dry and too rough in its movements, but it doesn’t matter – Dave can’t stop himself from thrusting into it again and again, can’t stop himself from making small choked-off noises of need. Gavin licks too deeply into Dave’s ear and talks way too much – “You’re so good. You’re so hot. Fuck my hand, baby.” – but if Dave shuts those things out and concentrates on the shape of Gavin’s fingers moving on him, it’s suddenly good, and better than good, and then even better than that.
"Oh god,” Dave mutters. “I don't know if I'm going to last."
"Come for me, baby," Gavin says and – okay, Dave could ignore the first few babys, but suddenly he can’t. The only person in his real life who calls him that is his maternal grandmother, and all he can think of now is her, plopped in front of the TV with an ashtray in her lap, trying to smoke herself to death because she gave up on enjoying life years ago.
The main door to the men’s bathroom squeals open, letting the noise of the bar pour in. Gavin’s hand goes still, and Dave holds his breath.
“He must be around here somewhere.” It’s Blaine’s voice, concerned and confused, and Dave hears another set of footsteps follow, unmistakably Kurt’s.
“Are you sure you saw him?” Kurt says, the door shuddering shut behind him and fading the music down to a dull roar.
“Yeah. When we were, you know, making out.” Blaine lowers his voice on the last two words. “I looked at the bar for a second and I saw him there and I thought I should go say ‘hi’ to him but then I figured he’d come over to our table and I like kissing you so … I decided to keep kissing you.”
Dave hears pee splashing against a urinal. “Maybe we should text him.”
There’s some kind of movement – a soft sort of ruffling sound – and then Kurt’s voice again: “Why not?”
Blaine whispers, but Dave can hear every word: “I think he’s in here. The guy he was at the bar with – I think I recognize him from the marriage equality protests at the mayor's office, and not from our side. He comes in here all the time. With other guys. And I’m pretty sure it’s not just to pee." There's a pause. "Or share his tracts."
Silence for a moment, followed by Kurt’s familiar incredulity. “I don’t hear anything, Blaine. I think if he were in here doing that, we’d hear him.” Someone turns a tap on, and the water drowns out the next thing that Blaine says. But it becomes obvious from Kurt’s next words: “Oh my god, Blaine, he did not come in here with somebody. Dave is not that kind of guy.”
Blaine’s voice is almost panicky. “But he doesn’t know he matters, like I didn’t know I mattered before I had you, and his first time shouldn't be with some self-hating bigot and – Oh my god, what if they’re not using protection?”
“Dave is not in here losing his virginity. Look, I’ll prove it to you.” Kurt’s footsteps march toward the stalls. And then, right in front of his, come to a sudden, deafening halt.
“Holy shit. Dave?” Dave doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kurt so hesitant. The little bit of blood that was left in Dave’s cock quickly rushes back to his heart. “Dave. Is that really you?”
All this while, Dave and Gavin have been still as statues. But suddenly Gavin lets go of Dave’s soft cock and sighs loudly. "Your friends sure know how to interrupt a good time." He doesn’t even try to whisper. He tucks Dave back into his jeans, zips up his fly, and turns toward the stall door.
To open it.
Fuckfuckfuck. Dave turns his face away from the light.
"Hey, I'm being good to your friend," Dave hears Gavin say. "But if you want to make sure, you're welcome to join us." Dave starts to laugh – he's not sure if it's from amusement or hysteria.
"No, thank you," Blaine says, with the same polite and earnest tone he used on Dave the first time they met and Blaine tried to convince him to come out of the closet. Dave hears him shuffle closer. "But thanks for the offer."
Dave looks. There’s no point in pretending he’s not hear anymore. Blaine's face is as earnest as his voice, which is no big surprise. But Kurt – Kurt is a surprise. His face is as white as a sheet.
"I'm Blaine Anderson. Nice to meet you." Blaine holds his hand out.
"I really don't think you want to shake my hand right now," Gavin nods and puts both hands in his pockets. "But nice to meet you, too. I’m Patrick."
Dave shakes his head with the vigor of a dog shaking water from its ears. “Wait,” he snaps.
All three of them look at Dave, while Dave looks at the guy whose hand was just on his dick. “You told me your name is Gavin.”
Gavin-Patrick shrugs his shoulders. “Did I?”
Gavin-Patrick saunters out of the stall and over to the sink. “Well, it’s not like it matters, does it?” The three boys stare at him as he washes his hands, dries them, and switches the platinum ring from his right index finger to the ring finger of his left hand.
Blaine gasps. “That’s – that’s a wedding ring.”
“No shit, Sherlock."
"It's not right to hide that from people." Blaine's voice is shaking like a pot of water about to boil. "Does your spouse at least know?"
"Right, of course. I tell her everything." The guy laughs nervously. "Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been lovely getting to know you boys, and thank you for ruining my evening.” The door swings shut behind him and Dave sinks to the floor.
“Holy screaming fuck,” are the only words Dave can come up with.
Dave realizes he's been leading Blaine and Kurt in laps around the parking lot for a while, and no one has said a word.
Dave finally breaks the silence. "Sorry," he says. "I'm a little confused right now. I guess I just need my head to clear." He turns to face both of them. Kurt looks fretful and Blaine has that familiar expression of open concern. Dave focuses on Blaine, because it’s easier. "You were right. My first time with a guy shouldn't be like that."
Blaine nods and swallows hard. "No, it shouldn't. That guy was a total asshole.” Blaine scrunches his eyebrows together. “No, wait. Assholes are awesome. That guy is a douchebag.”
“You can say that again,” Kurt mumbles under his breath, but he studiously avoids looking at either of them. His hands are in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the black asphalt beneath them.
Dave scratches the back of his head. “I – I think I should go home now. I’m kind of overwhelmed.”
“Can I give you a hug first?” Blaine says.
“Sure,” Dave says.
Blaine wraps his arms around Dave, squeezing tight. "You deserve better,” Blaine whispers, but Dave hardly hears it because he’s watching Kurt, who’s staring off into the night. He has a look on his face that Dave hasn’t seen in a long time: shocked and simmering with anger.
Dave can only assume it’s over his own whorish behavior. It’s the kind of thing that Kurt would get judgmental about. But he doesn’t need Kurt’s anger right now. He’s annoyed with himself enough as it is already.
* * *
"Are you okay?" Blaine says when they’re almost at the Hummel’s house. Kurt’s been silent for the whole drive, staring out the windshield and moving his lower jaw like he’s chewing something, even though there’s nothing in his mouth.
Kurt startles. "Wh – What?"
“Are you okay? You seem upset.”
Kurt leans his head against the passenger window. “I think I’m just tired. Maybe that Long Island iced tea was a mistake.”
Blaine hesitates. “You’re not upset about Dave?”
“Why would I be upset about that?” Kurt says snippishly.
Blaine drops it. He knows better than to push Kurt when he doesn’t want to talk about something. Sometimes he just needs to let things simmer for a while.
Kurt’s not completely distant, though. When Blaine walks him to his door, Kurt takes his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “I love you, you know.”
Blaine looks around to see if anyone is near. The street is empty. He kisses Kurt’s cheek. “I know.”
“I think I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“It’s okay if you don’t,” Blaine says. “I’ll love you no matter what.”
Kurt drops Blaine’s hand and throws his arms around him in a tight, clinging hug. He kisses Blaine’s ear. “That’s what I needed to hear."