CHAPTER 8: The deal

"No." Blaine said the moment he opened the door one day in June and saw the angelic features of his favorite ghost from the past. Well, his only actual ghost from the past. There to haunt him again.

"Blaine, could we just talk? Please?" Kurt spoke in his dangerously silky voice and fuck, it was such a bad day for this, whatever this was.

"I'm on a deadline. I've been writing all night and still have plenty to do before tomorrow, so forgive me, but I'm not in the mood to talk." Hesitation flashed through Kurt's face, followed by something akin to desperation, and Blaine hated himself already for the way he was falling for this. "Okay, five minutes. I need more coffee anyway."

He turned and walked away to the kitchen; leaving Kurt to find his way in if he wanted to. What had he brought with him this time? Nothing good, that was certain.

He was right, of course – it wasn't good, it was a disaster waiting to happen, and Kurt was crazy even considering this. Really, he should get his head checked because this just wasn't happening.

"Absolutely not."

"But Blaine – "

"Wasn't that what you wanted? Freedom to date, to touch and fuck whoever you want? Well, it worked, halleluiah! You're free to go and be merry, and keep me out of this."

"But Blaine, that's just it – I don't want to just go and hook up, I want sex in a relationship and –"

"And you come to me with that?" Really, was his mind playing games with him after too many hours spent staring at the screen? Did he actually fall asleep and was now having some fucked up dream? "I'm pretty sure you don't want to have a relationship with me. And if you do, you should go look up Stockholm syndrome and then run right the fuck to therapy."

"It wouldn't be exactly Stockholm syndrome, you know. But of course I don't want to have a relationship with you." Kurt was irritated now, the pleading notes in his voice hardening. "But you're an exception, don't you see? I already had sex with you, and it wasn't in a relationship, and yet you're not a stranger, and we could just... keep doing that?" The ending sounded a lot less convincing than the beginning, and for a good reason, because come on!

"And why would we want to do that?" Blaine raised an eyebrow and rubbed his hand over his unshaven face.

"Because the sex was amazing, so we're definitely compatible, and it would have no strings attached, no exclusivity or anything. And it could be fun and... and –"

Blaine wasn't about to make it easy for him. His voice dripping sarcasm, he asked, "So you're basically telling me why I should keep doing what I'm doing whenever I need to get laid. The question is, why with you? It would clearly be all kinds of toxic and unhealthy, considering our past."

"Because I'm horny, okay?" It was a shout, and Kurt blushed at the confession, but plowed on. "Because it was so fucking good, and now I want more, but I don't want to sleep around. I want a boyfriend, but I don't have one, and I'm going crazy in the meantime, so I need a way to use up years of pent up hormones, Blaine. And I know you have hotter, more experienced lovers left and right, but I can learn. I want to learn. I just need a fuck buddy until I meet someone I want to be with, okay?"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was such a disaster, and Blaine would surely want to smack himself upside the head once he started thinking clearly. But the truth was, the sex was exquisite. The intensity of it – it was so much more than just basic release. It was pure passion, whether born from hate or disgust or whatever was there in the flammable air between them – it didn't matter. Blaine wanted more too. He'd just never let himself even think about it.

"Non-exclusive." He heard himself say before he even realized he'd made the decision.

"Yes."

"We only meet here, and only for sex. The past and any emotions stay behind that door. Either of us can end this immediately without explanation."

"Okay." There was hope in Kurt's voice and his seawater eyes.

"And the minute you get a boyfriend, it's goodbye, for good."

"Of course."

"Okay. Now go, I have to finish this book before I collapse. I'll call you." He left Kurt to let himself out, took his cup of coffee back to the desk and dove back into the world of cheap plastic surgery and its victims. He didn't even hear Kurt shut the door behind himself.

The moment Blaine woke up from the 10-hour sleep after sending away the manuscript, he started regretting his promise, just like he knew he would. All the leaving the past behind the door crap might be good in theory, and maybe Kurt would be able to forget about what they'd been through while he was here – but really? Blaine lived that past. It was what had shaped his life, turned it upside down, never to look the same. He couldn't leave it behind some door, because it was here, inside – all the memories, all the darkest moments and broken dreams and the quiet hopelessness. And there was no way every meeting with Kurt wouldn't just push the knife in deeper. For his own sanity, Blaine should delete Kurt's number, change his own and move out, leaving no forwarding address, so Kurt could never find him again. But apparently he was a masochist, eager to do his penance over and over again, clawing the old wounds open as if letting even more blood out could change anything, wash away he old sin.

Of course, there was a part of him that was looking forward to seeing Kurt, touching Kurt, having sex with Kurt. It was the part that was so bruised and covered with scars that it was long numbed and immune to the torment Blaine clearly liked to inflict upon himself. This was the part that was responsible for him surviving so long, for every rational, cold decision he made and every time he got up and went on. Sometimes Blaine wished this part would grow and swallow the rest – it would be so easy to be hardened, unfeeling, rational; to live on this very basic level and just enjoy the simple things. Like the prospect of sex with a hot guy who didn't expect anything else.

Seeing how he'd already agreed to this insanity, Blaine decided to just go with this part and have fun, and deal with consequences later, if need be. Still, it took him another two days to call Kurt and tell him that he was free that evening, and open to propositions.

Considering how hard it had been to actually do this, he was surprisingly disappointed when he heard Kurt groan with frustration.

"Dammit, I've got a conference to work, I have to be there in two hours and won't be free for three days. Unless –"

"Unless?"

There was a moment of hesitation, then, "Unless I could drop by on my way for a... a –"

"A quickie? Only if you come already prepared." It was a joke, really. He didn't actually think Kurt would, but the kid surprised him again. It was becoming a habit, honestly.

"Alright. Give me an hour." He hung up, leaving Blaine standing there with his phone in his hand, arousal fresh and intoxicating in his blood.

It only took Kurt forty-five minutes, in the end.

Blaine pulled him into the bedroom as soon as he opened the door, and before Kurt could say anything, he was being pressed face-first against the bedroom wall, Blaine's lips on his neck and his hands undoing Kurt's pants with well-practiced ease.

"That okay?" He murmured right into Kurt's ear.

"Perfect." Kurt's voice was high and breathy. "Just, no marks in visible areas, I'm working toni-ahh."

Blaine's fingers slid right between his ass cheeks and the only noises that followed were less than coherent.

Blaine had trouble keeping his own head. Under his fingertips, Kurt was wet and slippery, and so very open and pliant that his fingers dipped right in – two, then immediately three, and he couldn't keep in a moan, imagining Kurt stretching and opening himself for him. Grabbing a condom from his pocket, he tore the packet impatiently, and within seconds he was pushing in, Kurt's hands flexing against the wall and his head thrown back.

For a quickie, it was surprisingly long. Blaine used the time they had up to the very last minute, fucking Kurt slowly and deliciously until he shook and begged, until his legs no longer supported him and only Blaine's weight pinning him to the wall and Blaine's arm around his waist kept him from crumbling to the floor. Only then Blaine took pity on him and with a dozen strong snaps of his hips brought them both to a well-deserved end. By that time, Kurt only had five minutes to catch a breath, clean himself up and run, still with that dazed, stunned expression on his face, his cheeks pink and lips deliciously red.

Blaine let him out with a crooked smile and a short "Call me."

And he did. Repeatedly over the next few months.

They met as often as several times a week, sometimes – just for an hour or a few at first, for quick, hot, uncomplicated sex that left them exhausted and satisfied until next time. Kurt was insatiable and passionate, unrestrained in his reactions and unashamed to ask for what he wanted. Amazed, Blaine asked him about it once – about this confident sexiness, and Kurt actually blushed, pausing where he was sucking a mark over Blaine's hipbone.

"Um, actually, it's just with you. When I tried with other guys... tried anything, I mean, I still felt like a first timer. But here – I don't know, it's like... you've seen me like this; you've seen me worse. And in all the dreams and memories –" He stumbled a little. "I'm sorry, I know, not talking about this. Anyway, it feels like you've seen me a thousand times. Touched me, undressed me. And I've seen you. So no, no self-consciousness left. Just want."

And that was enough for Blaine. They didn't talk much in general – mostly just praises and exclamations, and pleads for more, faster, harder, now. Sometimes, when they had more time and lay there, catching their breath before they went back for more, they played a little question and answer game – nothing important, just trivia really, something to fill the silence. "What's your biggest passion?", one of them would ask, or "What's your earliest memory?", or maybe, "Have you ever had a pet?". The other would answer and usually either reverse the question, or ask another. It felt nice to learn these little things about Kurt.

It felt nice in general – a fact that astounded Blaine every single time. Sex with Kurt turned out to be like any of his usual hook-ups, only much better. They held onto the "sex only" rule, not expecting more from each other, but at the same time he had a beautiful, hot, eager man in his own bed so often that even his rather high needs were satisfied. He didn't have to waste his time on the pre/post-sex mating rituals that he never really cared for with his one-night stands. His consciousness stayed quiet, apparently satisfied with their rules. No reason to complain, really.

In late July, nearly two months into their arrangement, Kurt stayed the night for the second time, too exhausted after a full day of work and two orgasms to even stand up straight. When he snuggled into Blaine's chest and fell asleep, the first weak flutter of discomfort danced under Blaine's ribs. It felt too intimate, and shook the memories awake. Kurt looked so young and vulnerable asleep.

But it was still fine, and the sleepovers didn't happen often after that anyway. It wasn't a problem.

In spite of himself, Blaine was starting to believe that he would survive this, unscathed.