CHAPTER 10: Exclusive

"What's wrong with you?" Tasha's face was incredulous.

"Absolutely nothing, why?" Kurt frowned. He was just getting out of a club with a couple of girls from his work, a last hurrah before he moved on to his new job at a women's magazine next week. The night was warm and humid around them, the pleasant hum of a few drinks in Kurt's veins stirring arousal awake, and he wondered leisurely if it was too late to drop by Blaine's apartment for a surprise quickie.

"Um, Kurt? That guy was seriously cute." Jenna provided, her eyebrow arching.

"And really, really interested." Tasha again. Kurt just shrugged.

"And hello, are you blind or did you seriously miss that napkin with his number that he was trying to pass you as he said goodbye?" Jenna shook her head.

Kurt was a picture of wide-eyed surprise. "Was he? I didn't see it. What a pity."

Oh, of course he'd seen. And yes, the man was handsome, and seemed sweet, and was definitely flirting with him. Kurt danced with him twice, and exchanged a few sentences, a couple of laughs. The chemistry seemed to have been there, too.

A cute, nice guy that made him laugh – he should be all over that, at least as an opportunity to go out on a date, get to know him better. And yet, when it was time to go, Kurt acted all tipsy and tired and sleepy, pretending there was no folded pink napkin with bold black numbers in the guy's hand.

"God, you act as if you don't want a boyfriend at all!" Tasha exclaimed and bumped him on the shoulder with her small hard fist as they stood by the curb, trying to wave down a cab. "I swear, if you start whining about your pathetic single life again, I'm gonna kick your ass."

She would do it, too, he knew. But that wasn't what really drew his attention to what she said.

He put the girls into the first available cab – they both lived in exactly the opposite direction from him – and then set off towards home on foot. It wasn't that far, and he needed to think. A visit at Blaine's would be a bad idea, after all.

What Tasha said, on top of tonight's pick-up fail, had hit him with a sudden realization: he hadn't been looking for a boyfriend, had he? Despite complaining about being alone – because no one knew about Blaine – and speaking loud and often how he just wanted a man who would sweep him off his feet and love him forever, faults and all, he had never started searching or opened himself up to the possibility.

Quite the contrary – if Kurt was being honest, he could think of at least four separate occasions, apart from tonight, where different men flirted with him or expressed interest in asking him out, and he had either ignored or rejected them. And it wasn't even that he'd looked at those guys and consciously decided that he wouldn't date them. He'd just never even considered it, like he wasn't interested on default, like he didn't want to date or find a boyfriend. Like he wasn't single at all.

Tasha was right: what was wrong with him?

By the time he had made it home, showered and got to bed, Kurt had his answer. He'd probably had it before he even started walking, but getting himself to admit it required a little bit of time and that special kind of courage that came from recognizing and accepting where he stood and what he wanted. Nighttime walks through the city that he loved and had chosen as his, and never abandoned even when everything was crumbling around him, tended to do that for him – remind him that it was his life, his rights and his choices. So he let himself choose.

It had been almost six months since he and Blaine had started their little... arrangement, and it had only gotten better the longer it lasted. So much so, in fact, that at this point, Kurt felt absolutely no need to actually look for a boyfriend, as shocking as it was to him to discover.

He used to dream about romantic dates, words of love, thoughtful gestures; about everyday life together with someone, somewhere further down the line, with promises and a future. So it was a surprise to discover that all of his needs seemed to be perfectly satisfied with mind-blowing sex whenever he wanted it, the intimacy of waking up together once or twice a week and Blaine's company in whatever limited capacity he chose. It made Kurt wonder if he was settling for it, pushing away his needs, but he didn't think so. He simply enjoyed the freedom of his single life, now that his libido was no longer in the way. He liked this lack of stress about dates and feelings and getting to know each other. It made him feel independent, a strong single man who could take care of his needs and lead the life he chose to have. He was doing better than he had in years. So why fight it?

Blaine was single too, and as far as Kurt knew, in no hurry to change that. He didn't complain about what they had, hadn't since his initial doubts, and there was no indication that he was thinking of ending it any time soon. On the contrary – they seemed to be getting along even better lately. So why change a good thing? Why not just enjoy what they had, as long as it felt like enough? Surely the need to be with someone for real would come eventually, and then Kurt would go and open himself up to new connections and relationships. But until then, it was no use trying against his own desires, or lack of them.

It felt freeing to finally recognize and accept this, felt good to know where he stood. Sighing happily, Kurt curled up in bed, the way he always did when he slept alone, and closed his eyes.

"How many other men have you been with since we got together?" Kurt asked Blaine a few days later.

"We're not together." Blaine mumbled, not opening his eyes. "And are you trying to censor my sex life now? Non-exclusive, remember?"

It was probably supposed to sound sharper, but the post-coital state made it quite an impossible feat, and Blaine all sleepy and mellow like this only made Kurt smile.

"I'm just curious. Come on, indulge me."

Blaine sighed and turned to face Kurt. "Okay. Should I count from the day you forced me to meet you at the bar or later, once you made a habit out of getting into my pants?" Kurt swatted at his arm. Blaine stuck out his tongue at him and then frowned, thinking. "Hm. Can it be an approximation?"

Kurt's eyes widened. He expected–

Blaine chuckled and tapped his nose. "Zero, Kurt, don't make that face. I can barely keep up with you, where would I find the energy to hook up with anyone else?"

"Oh."

Kurt felt his cheeks warm up in an embarrassed blush. It was stupid, they were non-exclusive after all, and really, what if Blaine had even half a dozen other lovers on the side? It wouldn't change anything; Kurt just wouldn't be able to ask his question then, but... No, okay, it would be hard. He really wanted to ask.

"So... in light of this fact. Would you consider... um. Notusingcondomsanymore?"

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that, Kurt."

He took a deep, bracing breath and asked, slower now. "Do you think we could stop using condoms?"

Blaine was looking at him as if Kurt had just told him he wanted to get pregnant. The silence was pressing, heavier with every passing second until Kurt's forced composure snapped, nervous babbling spilling out of his mouth.

"I mean, we're spending a fortune on condoms, Blaine. It's not like I make all that much, and I'm sure you have better use for your money too, and if you're not sleeping with anyone else, and neither am I, we could just... give them up. If you'd... if it's something you would consider. If you do that."

It was hard to decipher the amalgam of emotion on Blaine's face before it closed off, his features becoming hard and distant the way they sometimes had at the beginning of their non-relationship. It was Agent Blaine all of a sudden, the face that Kurt had seen once in the FBI office, a formal picture stuck to a whiteboard – the face that he'd always seen in his nightmares. He inched away on instinct, almost falling off the bed with the comforter clutched tight under his chin, and Blaine's expression softened back in a blink.

"Kurt, what happened to your looking for a boyfriend?" Kurt shrugged and relaxed slightly. He was being silly; it was just Blaine.

"I don't feel like it right now. I like being single. And I thought maybe if we don't have other partners anyway, we could take advantage of that. I'd really love to blow you properly, you know."

He was aiming for lightening the mood, maybe making Blaine gasp a little. Instead, he got a long look, burning with intensity.

"Why would you trust me like this? I could easily go sleep around and you would never know."

Kurt held Blaine's eyes. "Because I don't believe you would."

"Sleep around? Oh, you better believe it, because I did."

"No. Endanger me knowingly. You're not that guy."

It was automatic. He hadn't even thought about it, but as soon as the words left his mouth, Kurt realized it was true. He might not know Blaine all that well but somehow he knew he could trust him with this.

He only saw a flicker of something in those amber eyes, and then Blaine rolled away from him and off the bed.

"I need to think about it."

The text came two nights later, just after three a.m. It was just one word.

Okay.

Kurt opened his bleary eyes, read it, and fell back asleep grinning.

***

Kurt didn't get it – he couldn't get it, not when Blaine was his first and only lover; not when bare meant nothing more to him than naked skin and getting to touch more, taste more. He had no idea what it meant to Blaine.

He didn't know that there had only been two people Blaine had been with this way before, for whom he'd bared himself so entirely.

His first boyfriend, back in high school. They'd never used protection for oral sex – being each other's firsts, they hadn't even thought about it – but other than that, going bare was more incidental than a conscious decision – those few times when there had been no condoms at hand as an opportunity arose, and they were young and horny and desperate, and the knowledge of the inevitable mess and embarrassed fumbling afterwards was not enough to stop them.

The second one, a few years later, was Ethan. And with him, it was all about choice. It was another step in their road of intimacy, another thing they grew towards, another layer to strip in order to get closer, the closest possible. The last layer. They'd discovered so many things together, likes and preferences and a few kinks, and it was all so, so precious.

Until it was all cheapened by the hundreds of encounters that came next, dozens of men Blaine didn't care to remember, anonymous bodies that made him feel for a bit, that did things to him – things he had discovered with Ethan; things that weren't special or sacred anymore, afterwards.

Except this. Never this.

So Kurt's request, while reasonable and innocent in its intent, shook Blaine to the core. Long after Kurt went home that day, Blaine paced the apartment, unable to focus on anything, teetering on the verge of panic. Or tears.

Not because Kurt asked.

Because he was seriously considering it.

He was considering getting absolutely bare and completely vulnerable in front of the man he should build a fucking fort of defenses against, instead.

No. He should be honest with himself, if no one else. That wasn't true.

He didn't consider it. He was ready to say yes the moment Kurt asked. He only took the few days trying to talk himself out of it. And he failed.

That was the scariest part.

He knew how it affected him, how much more it meant to him than simply baring more skin – so much more than trust, even. This was the closest he'd let himself be with another person – the closest he could be, body and mind. Emotions. Soul. And he wanted this with Kurt.

What was wrong with him?

What wasn't wrong with him?

Kurt's lips wrapped around his dick with nothing in between was a shock, hot and eager, and so wet – Blaine had forgotten the feeling, the slippery slide of tongue over bare skin. It made his eyes roll back in his head.

They hadn't even made it to the bedroom. Kurt was down on his knees as soon as the door closed, pulling at the waistband of Blaine's pants and moaning loudly with the first taste of skin where before there had always been latex. He sucked Blaine off with utter abandon, face flushed and hand working in his own pants, and the only thing that kept Blaine from coming embarrassingly fast was the small voice at the back of his head telling him that this was a mistake.

No, it's a blowjob. It's only a blowjob, it doesn't mean anything, doesn't change a thing, he told himself, and pushed the doubts away, deep into the dark corner of his mind where they belonged. They went easily, and he could focus on the perfect tight heat of Kurt's mouth and his wicked tongue exploring every millimeter of Blaine's bare cock.

It didn't work so easily half an hour later, after Kurt had gotten out of the shower all steam-pinked and fresh, a young Adonis with a sultry smile and a hard, gorgeous cock, only to spread out on Blaine's bed with a murmured "Fuck me now."

And Blaine couldn't say no, of course he couldn't, he'd never been able to refuse this beautiful boy anything, ever since he'd first seen him, collared and terrified on a brothel floor.

"Are you sure?" He asked instead. "It's going to be a mess."

"I'm sure. I want it messy and real, I want to feel you. Please?" Kurt smiled sweetly, a picture of innocence, spreading his legs wide, and Blaine groaned. Kurt's hole was already a glistening, wet pink, and he was sliding his own fingers inside, two at once, with such ease–

God, he'd been fingering himself in the shower, getting ready, like he couldn't wait. No, Blaine couldn't refuse him. Nor did he want to.

Sinking into Kurt, slow and endless, felt like a first time – except not like their first time which Blaine was doing his very best not to remember. Kurt seemed tighter than ever, so hot around him now that there were no barriers between them, and his eyes were huge and shocked, high keening escaping his lips with every centimeter taken in. He didn't even wait to adjust, his hips rocking instantly, legs wrapping tighter around Blaine's waist.

"Oh, it's so different, so much better, I can feel you everywhere, Blaine, god–"

The flush high on Kurt's cheeks, his face awed, delighted, fingers digging into Blaine's skin, spurring him to go harder, faster, here god yes don't stop – he was the very picture of eagerness. He knew exactly what he wanted, and Blaine was only happy to give it to him.

It was nothing like their first time. Not even one tiny bit.

So why did the memory haunt Blaine's thoughts even as he finally fell over the edge, Kurt desperately urging him to come first so that he could feel it?

"So how do you feel?"

They were taking a shower together, both too tired and too sticky-sweaty to wait, and Kurt seemed fascinated with the come drip-dripping slowly out of him and sliding down his milky-pale thigh.

"Strange." Kurt reached behind himself to dip his fingers into his still open, slick hole and moaned faintly. "Like... completely taken. In a good way," he added when Blaine's eyes widened in alarm.

They slept afterwards, sated and exhausted, and for the first time it was Blaine holding Kurt throughout the night, spooning behind him after Kurt requested it. His own sleep was restless though, his mind refusing to go quiet and peaceful, his dreams broken and unsettling.

He woke up from what felt like the first bit of restful sleep that night, feeling slightly chilled and vaguely turned on. It was still dark in the room, not even dawn, and he was lying on his stomach, with the covers kicked aside. He had just enough time to wonder sleepily where Kurt had gone before a hot, wet tongue tracing up the inside of his thigh to the crack of his ass made him arch into the touch like a cat in heat. Kurt had only done this to him once before, a shy, hesitant try, so now the tongue flicking over his hole, and the moan vibrating right through him were a surprise and a shock.

Languid, luxurious presses of the tongue followed by fingers that were stretching him so slowly it was almost a torture, and every sound, every sensation seemed multiplied in the early morning stillness. Every spark of pleasure felt stronger, spreading through Blaine's body until he was a trembling mess of sweat and want. His eyes still closed, mind slow and dazed, as if half-asleep, he couldn't see his lover, couldn't hear him now except for his harsh breathing, and it could be anyone, anywhere – if not for the feeling of safety, the instinctive, almost casual trust that was never a part of Blaine's one-night encounters.

And if not for that voice that came at last, high and breathless.

"God, Blaine, can I...? I want to fuck you, just like this, please–"

"Yes." He didn't hesitate, paid no attention to his throat tightening around the word. He just wanted. God, he wanted.

The tears came the moment Kurt bottomed out. They were sudden and unexpected, and Blaine couldn't feel more vulnerable if he tried – up on his knees with his ass in the air and his face hidden in a pillow, the cock filling him up so real and hot and bare. And he couldn't stop the tears and couldn't stop the blinding pleasure ripping through him with every snap of Kurt's hips, and most of all, he couldn't stop to feel. The shocking, unwelcome honesty of too little sleep and too many stimuli, of being barely awake and already falling apart with pleasure, made him utterly incapable of holding onto any of his defenses.

He was naked and open, inside and out, and he could do nothing about it.

So he moaned and he felt and he cried, and he hid his face between his outstretched arms because it was too much – too much even for himself, let alone for anyone else to see, to know. Especially Kurt.

Never Kurt.

He came with a strangled cry of Kurt's name that got muffled and distorted by the pillow, and then he lay there, willing himself into composure, blinking his tears and his heart away from his eyes, wiping his secrets from his too-open face before he'd have to turn and face his lover. It was hard. He didn't even remember the last time he'd cried; the last time he'd felt so much.

Because that was it: he felt too much. He cared too much.

He'd done the only thing that could make his heart shatter even more than it already had, impossible as it seemed.

Touch by touch, word by word, moment by moment – he'd fallen in love.

Blaine barely stirred as Kurt cleaned him up, so gently, and pretended to be asleep when Kurt came back to bed and snuggled against him. He was still pretending a few hours later when Kurt kissed him goodbye and quietly let himself out of the apartment to go to work.

And then he got up, threw on the first pair of pants he found and went right to the liquor cabinet that he'd been seriously neglecting for months.

Who cared if it wasn't even eight. He had to silence the feelings, shut down his brain. There was a reason he'd numbed himself all those years.

Too many feelings can kill you. In a messy, ugly way.

He'd rather just drink himself unconscious.