CHAPTER 5: The reason

Kurt never saw his client again after that night. The FBI rescue team secured the house within an hour after Matt had left, taking all of them – except for Phillip, who'd been rushed to the nearest hospital – back to the headquarters, where the process of debriefing all of them began. They were provided with medical attention and psychological assistance, and just like that, the horror of captivity and prostitution was over. Once Kurt's family arrived a few hours later, he was ready to be taken back to his apartment, with a list of recommended therapists and a promise that the agents would contact him again soon.

He was exhausted and still sore as he was leaving the FBI headquarters with his dad's arm tight around his shoulders. But at the same time, he was acutely aware just how lucky he'd been in this whole ordeal.

He'd been kidnapped barely four days before (and in a really stupid way – by a slightly older guy he'd gone on a few dates with – his first dates ever, ironically), and his only encounter while in captivity was Matt. Who, as he was told now, was an undercover agent sent in to help take down this whole sick operation.

Most of the other seven boys had spent long months there, being sold and used and humiliated again and again, "servicing" perverted, often cruel guys in ways that made Kurt want to hurl at the mere memory of their stories. He only had his virginity taken by a kind, gentle, very attractive man who did this just to rescue them. It almost felt like nothing to angst about, in comparison.

And yet, in the following weeks back home in Lima where he went to recover, Kurt kept waking up screaming in the dead of the night and his therapy sessions ended with tears or angry fits more often than not. He was told that it was normal, that it would pass with time.

They were right. Between therapy and life going on around him as if nothing bad had happened, he finally began to feel steady on his feet, no longer waiting for someone to pull the rug out from beneath him at any moment. Soon, he felt safe enough to convince his reluctant dad to let him go back to New York. He started with another therapist there and returned to his classes. Months passed, and eventually the lingering threat of hearings was over after Kurt sat in the courtroom to hear the sentences of lifetime imprisonment for his kidnappers. A few weeks after that, he decided that he didn't need therapy anymore. His counselor had some doubts, but he felt ready. He was fine.

His life went on, mostly back to normal. He still had more anxiety than before, avoided strangers and dark places, and would never get in the car with someone he didn't know really well, but those would pass, too.

Now, five years later, he was practically over most of it. Except–

One thing never changed. That was why he'd been thinking about meeting Matt – well, Blaine, he knew now – and what helped him gather the courage to call when taking the phone and entering that number made him tremble like a leaf. That was why he was now hovering by the door of the bar they agreed upon, steeling himself to enter.

Because maybe this could help if nothing else could.

Blaine was already there when Kurt arrived, sitting in a corner booth, nursing a glass of amber liquid with an absent expression. Kurt ordered a Coke, his knees feeling weak and shaky. He rarely drank – alcohol relaxed him, but also had an unfortunate tendency to strengthen his emotions and reactions. It wasn't pretty, sometimes – considering how bitchy and short-tempered he could be even without any help. It definitely wasn't the mood he needed today; he was already emotional enough about this meeting.

It had taken everything in him not to chicken out because frankly, this – what he wanted – was insane. But he felt like he'd exhausted all the other options, and the more he'd analyzed his reactions to the idea, the more he realized that he was nervous, yes, but not afraid of Blaine, despite the past circumstances and all of the painful emotions he evoked in him. If anything, he felt almost... hopeful.

Blaine had noticed him already, and that was it; no turning back. They were here now, in a quiet bar; two grown men this time, equals, without walls or fake names, or anyone forcing them to do anything.

Doing his best to look calm, Kurt made his way to the booth, seating himself opposite the agent. Up close in the flickering light of the candle, Blaine looked tired. His face, just as handsome as Kurt remembered, was different in little ways. He looked... not older, no. More like, weary. Jaded. There was no sign of that openness, the clear display of emotion Kurt was so sure he'd seen back then, something that had made him trust this man, no matter how unwise it had seemed.

Well, he'd probably imagined it anyway. The mind plays curious games when you're in a situation you really want to escape.

There'd been a period, those first months back home, when Kurt had thought about Matt – Blaine – as a hero, a regular knight on a white horse. Sure, he'd done things to Kurt – but it wasn't like he'd had any choice, had he? Not under the circumstances. So for quite some time, in the eye of the storm of his emotions, Kurt had only felt grateful towards Blaine – for saving him; all of them. For being nice and kind, and gentle.

But as time went by and memories slowly lost their sharp edges, Kurt realized that there were other, darker feelings for Blaine in him. Which was okay, his therapist told him – no matter the extenuating circumstances, the man still took something from him, something precious. Kurt should allow himself to feel what he felt.

So he did. There was a lot of anger in him then – rage even, hatred towards the people who'd kidnapped and kept him, who'd made him surrender, sold him like an object without a second thought. It was loud and sharp in his head for a long time, making him snappy and unpleasant as he tried to deal with the fallout of his experience. His ire towards Blaine was just a whisper in comparison. But then the trial came and went, and Kurt got to testify against his captors and see them sentenced to be locked up forever, and this, along with an ugly sobbing fit after he came back from the court that last day, turned out to be enough for most of the anger to burn out.

But not all of it. Some of it remained, only to flare up at the most unfortunate moments, seemingly without a reason. He'd finished his therapy by then, but one night Kurt sat down and methodically analyzed his feelings the way he'd learned to do, and realized that he felt like the justice wasn't complete. Because while the worst fuckers got what they deserved – well, they deserved worse, but torture was sadly illegal – the men who visited the brothel got nothing, because there was no record of their names. They came and chose teenage boys to fuck and degrade like they were nothing, and yet, they remained free and untouched. Including Blaine.

And yes, Kurt knew he was unfair, feeling that Blaine should suffer for what he'd done, but he couldn't help it.

Then again – Kurt wondered viciously a year later, after yet another date ended in a total disaster – was Blaine really such a knight in shining armor? He'd agreed to go undercover, after all, knowing what was going on in that house. Maybe he'd wanted to be in this situation. True, he'd said he only wanted to talk, but please, really? Who would believe that?

Didn't he get off on the fact that Kurt basically begged him to be fucked? Didn't it give him a sick kind of thrill? Because how could he have gotten it up at all, not to mention see Kurt like this and tell him, over and over again, how beautiful he was, how perfect? Why hadn't he told Kurt that there was hope, that out there, people were getting ready to rescue them? Why hadn't he been there with the other agents afterwards, to even check on him?

Because he'd had his fun and he didn't care beyond that, that was why.

True, Blaine had been nice, and had done nothing cruel or disgusting, which was really decent of him, but it didn't make him innocent. He'd gotten his fun, and Kurt was the one who had to suffer through the consequences, including the paralyzing fear of letting any man close, the extent of which he was only starting to discover.

Resentment had been boiling in him that night – being called a freak by your date because you flinch away from an innocent touch tends to do that to people. But even a few days later, when Kurt had decided that he was better off without a guy who was clearly a jerk, some of his anger remained, hot and bitter. When he thought about that night now – and he did, often, those memories were an indelible part of his life – Kurt didn't think of Blaine's hesitation and the stream of apologies, or his tender care after they were done with the worst. He thought of the shame, the pain, the humiliation of it all.

It felt like Blaine was the key that kept some areas of Kurt's life locked from him. He intended to get them back at last.

The silence in the booth was quickly becoming awkward, so Kurt made himself stop staring at the man opposite him and smiled shakily.

"Thanks for coming."

Blaine didn't return the smile. "I promised I would." He paused for a bit, and when Kurt didn't fill the silence, he added. "So, you're working events now."

It wasn't a question, just a conversation opening, Kurt knew, so he took it.

"Yeah, for now. I studied fashion, but somehow clothes started to feel like such a trivial thing to get invested in, after um... everything. I graduated, but then I decided to try other things." He shrugged. "Except sitting in one place makes me anxious. So I... freelance. I catch some odd jobs, here and there. It's not a dream situation, but it suits my needs fine. At least it's not boring," he joked lamely, like he always did when people wondered what someone with his degree was doing as a waiter, or a dog-walker. Blaine just nodded wordlessly, leaving the effort of keeping up the conversation to Kurt. "How about you? Still with the Bureau?"

Blaine drained the contents of his glass, signaling to the bartender to bring him another. "Let's cut the small talk. Kurt, why are we here?"

Kurt feigned innocence. "Um, because you suggested this place?"

Even the irritated frown looked good on Blaine's face, Kurt couldn't help but notice.

"No, why did you want to meet me? Why dig up the past?"

He couldn't make it worse if he said he didn't remember that night. Kurt bit his tongue to keep from snapping – he wanted something from this guy after all – but some bitterness leaked out.

"It may be long gone and unimportant to you, but this past still affects my present, so excuse me for digging it up and reminding you."

"It's not –"

Kurt wouldn't let him finish, anger rolling through him full force now, making his tone blunt and matter-of-fact. "I want to spend a night with you."

***

Blaine was sure he misheard.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I want to spend a night with you – on my terms, this time." Kurt's beautiful face was hard, eyes glinting with determination that made them more steel grey than the blue-green Blaine still saw in his dreams sometimes. The atmosphere in the little booth they were occupying turned icy in a heartbeat.

Blaine swallowed the whiskey that just arrived and asked for another. "Make it a double," he added quickly. He may have had a few already, since the thought of meeting Kurt while sober made him feel as if he was coming here naked and exposed, but it wasn't nearly enough for the turn this conversation was taking.

"Why?" He managed.

"Because you are the reason I can't get touched by any guy without freaking out." It felt like a violent punch right in the solar plexus, stealing his breath away, but Kurt continued, unmoved. "I tried, dozens of times, with different people, in different situations. I went back to therapy, even met with a sexologist. Nothing helped. Nothing. I've never had a boyfriend. Five years and you're still the only man I've ever gotten to be intimate with. And I'm sick of it – I'm twenty-four, I want to have a normal relationship, a normal sex life, dammit."

A rough, disbelieving laugh ripped out of Blaine's throat. "And you want me for it? Are you insane?"

The look on Kurt's face was almost certainly distaste. "Of course not. But I'm grasping at straws here. I figure, that night, it was like I lost a piece of myself – maybe if I sleep with you again, on my own terms this time, having full control, I'll somehow get that back. Maybe I'll stop getting paralyzed with fear every fucking time a man tries to touch me. I've read that revisiting a traumatic event when you're ready can help snap out of the phobias it caused. And I'm ready. At this point, I'm ready to try anything. If this won't help, I don't know what will."

Blaine's mind was short-circuiting in a quiet panic, looking for ways out of the situation before this damn kid convinced him to say yes.

"But how do you even know you won't react to me this way? It would be only logical."

"Good question." Kurt got up and moved to sit by Blaine's side on the plushy red bench. "Touch me," he demanded. "Just, the way you'd touch someone on a first date. No, wait. Make it the second."

Blaine's hand felt like lead as he raised it, unsure what to do. Eventually, he lay his palm just over Kurt's knee and moved it a little up his thigh, his fingers tracing the inseam of his skinny jeans. Kurt gasped quietly before his eyes widened in shock.

"Okay, here's your answer. This is officially the furthest I've gone in the last five years without freaking out. See? This could work." The hard edge was gone from his voice, excitement creeping in instead, and Blaine could see how much it meant to him. But still...

"Kurt... Why would I agree to do this?"

Kurt's jaw clenched for a moment before relaxing. "I bet you've had a lot of sex since that night, haven't you?" Blaine cringed but nodded because well, yes, he had. A lot. Too much, some would say. Talk about unhealthy coping techniques. Kurt tilted his head. "Don't you think I deserve to have that too? Besides, I think you owe me that one night."

Ouch. That was striking below the belt. And in just the right spot, Blaine couldn't deny him that. But fuck, it was such a bad idea... Still, this was the one argument he wouldn't be able to say no to. Any further discussion would be just prolonging the inevitable.

"Okay."

Kurt stared at him, disbelieving.

"Okay? Really?"

Blaine swallowed the lump in his throat and chased it down with more liquor.

"Okay."