2. CHALLENGES

I thought it would be easy.

I was sure the most difficult part of Kurt’s going back to school would be convincing him to actually take the money, to allow me to pay for it. So when that part was done, I was nothing but relieved – giddy in fact – happily anticipating September and already imagining his excited chatter and bright eyes when he came home from classes every day.

What was I thinking?

I never stopped to consider the fact that we weren’t twenty anymore, or living in a dorm, and our lives didn’t revolve around college. I didn’t think about the distance from our apartment to the campus, or worry about Kurt’s insistence on still working and helping with the bills. I didn’t calculate the amount of time it would all take him, or how little of it would remain for just him, or for us.

Life starts to show me pretty soon.

The first weeks – well, months really – are the hardest. After the initial week of adjusting and tweaking his schedule, Kurt comes to bed late on Friday night, naked and smelling of green tea and strawberries, cuddles up under my arm and casually informs me that between classes, the internship and work at a coffeeshop near campus, there’s no way for him to be home before ten during the week, and on weekends he’s going to be mostly busy too, trying to fit in as many hours of work as possible. Basically, it all comes down to the fact that for the next nine months I’m going to have a very tired, very overworked boyfriend on my hands.

It sounds crazy, and I’m certain there must be some mistake there in his calculations, that something can be done about it, some changes made – how is he supposed to fit homework, studying, sleep, not to mention any living, all between 10 pm and 7 am on most days? Soon enough life proves his predictions just about right, though. Well, not entirely. More often than not the evening commute takes longer and Kurt comes home around eleven, after the last shift at the coffeehouse, only to grab something to eat and work on homework and designs until 1 or 2 am.

It’s an insane schedule and I can’t imagine him living at this pace until May. We could survive on one paycheck if we tried, but Kurt, ever the stubborn one, refuses to quit his job and focus solely on his education for now. But as weeks go by, I can see him wilting and withering; the dark circles under his eyes forever growing, the amount of sleep he’s getting never enough. He’s getting thinner, too, and I suspect his assurances that he eats dinner or at least lunch somewhere in the meantime are just words to keep me from worrying too much.

Kurt loves what he’s doing; it never ceases to fascinate him – the internship, the classes, designing. But even his superpowers have limits that he refuses to acknowledge. By the end of November he’s a shadow of himself – too thin, too tired, either absent or asleep at all times. It can’t go on like this, but my arguments and pleading don’t work – Kurt always says he can manage, that he’s always managed somehow. And that’s true. He has. But he’s never had it quite so hard before.

Thankfully, I’m not the only one noticing this.

One Tuesday afternoon, a week before Thanksgiving, Kurt comes home impossibly early – at seven, distraught. It takes a while and some effort – dinner and a glass of wine, and a shower, to get him to talk. We’re sitting on the sofa, not touching, and even if I hadn’t already noticed he’s upset, I’d know now by the way he’s distancing himself, retreating into his shell.

“Angela – she’s the one responsible for all the internships – came back after a month in Montreal today, and the first thing she did was come and check up on me and Vivi. I think I screwed up. She made me go home and come back on Friday, only for a meeting with her.”

“Why would think you screwed up?”

Kurt shakes his head, his tone bitter. “She was looking through my sketches, the proposals for the autumn collection. She said they were good, but my lines seemed a bit shaky. And I acted like an idiot and told her that was because I was exhausted. What was I thinking?”

He lets his head fall to the back of the sofa. I frown, confused. “So you told her the truth. What’s wrong with that?”

His head snaps back up and he looks at me in disbelief. “Blaine, don’t you get it? Now she thinks I can’t handle it, and I can! I should have just told her I had the flu when I worked on them or something.”

“But what did she say?”

“Well, she asked me all sorts of questions about my schedule and college, and work, and then she got this look – I don’t know, it was hard to decipher – and she made me go home and rest, and not return before Friday. I was so shocked I just did what she said, I didn’t even go to work. I should go now, it’s still early.”

I’m not a dominating man, in general. Our relationship, as fresh as it is, is very much about being partners and equals. But it’s just one of the times where I have to take control without asking for it.

“You’ll do no such thing. You’re exhausted and upset, you’re going right to bed and rest for once. That’s what Angela told you to do.”

“But Blaine – “

Of course he argues. But I can play dirty when I have to – and now I really feel like I do. I can apologize to him later.

He shuts up when I kiss him, hard and deep, and soon he’s a whimpering, begging mess as I go down on him, slowly but surely hitting all his buttons I’ve had time to discover in the months we’ve been boyfriends. And I’m very much having fun myself – frankly, it’s the most action we’ve had since Kurt started classes, and sleeping every night with a beautiful, very hot man who happens to prefer sleeping naked, and resisting waking him up to have sex – it’s torture. But he needs any minute of sleep he can get, and I respect that. So now… Well, it’s been years since I last came in my pants.

Kurt comes down from his orgasm right into sleep, just like I hoped he would, and doesn’t even stir as I pull off his jeans and carry him to bed.

I promptly take his phone and call the coffeehouse and one of his college friends to tell them that Kurt’s down with a stomach bug and will have to stay home for a day or two. They understand, of course, wishing he’ll get better soon, and I regret nothing – even as I call my own boss to tell him that I am sick. I know that if I leave him to it, Kurt will go right back to school and work in the morning, and he really needs a bit of rest. He’ll probably hate me for it, but it’s nothing two days of pampering won’t fix.

Feeling like I’ve achieved what I wanted, I undress and go to the bedroom to enjoy sleeping with my boyfriend for more than the four or five hours I get lately. I make sure to switch off all the alarms, too.

I wake up at 9 with Kurt still soundly asleep with his head on my shoulder, so I just stay here, enjoying a peaceful morning, the kind of which we haven’t had since August. It feels divine – lazy and warm, with a gorgeous man all relaxed in my arms.

I feel the moment he wakes up – his body tenses even before his eyes snap open, panicky at the sight of bright daylight and cold sun streaming through the window. It’s always dark when he gets up lately. I just hold him tighter when he tries to sit up.

“Nope, we have a stomach bug, no going out and infecting other people.” Kurt looks at me like I’m insane and I grin. “No, really. I already called everywhere to let them know. But don’t worry, we’ll get better by Friday.”

He squirms. “But I have to – ” and I just hold tight.

“Nope. No arguments. You need to rest, even if I have to force you to. No worrying either, not until Friday. Doctor’s orders.”

Finally, he relaxes, admitting his defeat. “I hate you.”

“I know. And I love you too. So, today and tomorrow we’re being lazy, eating properly, watching movies, napping and having sex. Any arguments?”

“Well, if I’m clearly a prisoner, I may as well enjoy it…” With that, he leans in for a kiss, his hand moving in a direction that I very much approve of.

Two days later Kurt is definitely better rested and well-fed, and we’re both satisfied in other ways, too – maybe even oversatisfied, judging by my sore muscles. But it was so worth it, and Kurt’s relaxed smile as he kissed me goodbye in the morning told me I was forgiven for my sneaky intervention.

I know he’s going to talk to Angela at three, and I glance at the phone every 30 seconds as I await the news. I hope he doesn’t lose the internship – it means a lot to him and he says he’s learning so much there, things he’d never learn just from classes. Not to mention that a prestigious internship like this is basically a ticket to a career in fashion.

Kurt calls close to four, sounding fervent and dazed, and I can’t guess if it’s really good or really bad, at first.

“Blaine, I’ll be home in an hour or so. I’ll make dinner. Are you coming at the usual time?”

“Yes, but… Come on, what did Angela say?”

“Well, for starters, she says I’ve got a great boyfriend if he forced me to rest.”

“Of course you do, but I already know that. What about your internship?”

Kurt’s voice gets high and breathless. “She told me to quit my job, right away. She says I’m too good to waste my talent and I will if I don’t take care of myself, so… She did the unprecedented and got me a paid internship here instead. She cleared it all with her superiors already, I don’t have to work anywhere else and can focus on designing.”

I laugh out loud, causing my coworkers’ heads to turn around. I don’t care.

“Kurt, that’s amazing!”

“I know!” The joy in his voice lights up my heart. “And, wait… They’re taking two of my designs for the autumn line!”

I want to whoop and jump. I’ve always known Kurt would go up like a star, but actually seeing it happen, step by step, is such a treat.

“Oh my god, Kurt, it’s perfect! I’m buying champagne on the way home.”

“You do that. Okay, I have to run to the coffeehouse to hand in my resignation. See you later. I love you!”

The paid internship means that Kurt has evenings and weekends free now, so he’s not so exhausted anymore and we even have time to just hang out sometimes. We spend Thanksgiving at home, sharing the festive meal with Kurt’s family by Skype. There’s good food and music, and talking about everything we’re grateful for in the last year, which is a lot and has everything to do with each other’s presence in our lives.

We spend Christmas break in Lima, and it’s bright, crowded and cheerful, and everything I’ve always wanted from Christmas and never really got. Two days later there’s Finn and May’s wedding and as I look at Kurt in his tux, the only thing I can think of, my heart bursting with love, is We’re next.

The only dark cloud over all the love and happiness and acceptance is the fact that the breach between me and my parents is still there. We’ve been speaking on the phone once a month or even less, simple Everything’s fines, and now I can’t even go and wish them Merry Christmas in person, because they went on a cruise (Well, since you’re not coming home, we might as well spend Christmas somewhere else, my mother said, and why did it hurt? I should be used to it by now).

We return to New York rested and filled with the warm bliss that only family can provide, and the new year starts well. We’re refreshed and rejuvenated, and so in love it makes my heart sing and tremble. Two weeks away from the everyday hurdle really did us good.

It still feels like a honeymoon a month later, but there’s something else there, something new, like a grain of sand, invisible and hardly noticeable until its delicate scratch starts to hurt and blister. At first I’m not even sure what’s bothering me and it takes an effort to stop and wonder. Kurt’s more cheerful and affectionate than ever; he’s busy and preoccupied with college and the internship, but every moment he can afford to spend with me is memorable and ringing with joy. But with time, there are less and less of these moments as he spends more and more time with his college friends.

It’s nothing unusual or suspicious – they form a studying group and go out for coffee or drinks sometimes. It’s what people do in college, I know it; I remember it. It’s perfectly normal and understandable – they’re graduating in months; there are assignments and tests to study for, and final hovering in the future; there are team projects and designs to discuss. I shouldn’t worry about it, really. I try to ignore it, to tell myself I’m silly, but it grows and pesters in the back of my mind.

Near the end of February, Kurt mentions casually that he’s going to the club with his college group on Friday and asks if I want to join them. I don’t really know why I say no then – a bout of jealousy? Hurt pride, because Friday nights should be for us? Whatever the reason, I refuse, and even if I regret it long before Friday evening, I stubbornly grind my teeth and don’t say anything. What bugs me most is the fact that Kurt doesn’t realize that I’m upset. He has a great time, comes home tipsy early on Saturday morning, handsy and giggly, and I can’t say no to his dancing fingers and heated caresses.

Soon enough, the Friday night club outings become as much of a ritual for them as Sunday study groups that sometimes take all day, and after-class coffees. Kurt keeps asking if I want to come at first, but when I refuse again and again, he stops, and I lose my chance to try. But it just feels wrong, trying to incorporate myself in this group I don’t have anything in common with, except Kurt.

He’s so deep in all this – learning new things, meeting people, fulfilling his dreams – that he doesn’t have time to stop and reflect about us. I’m the one left behind working the job that I hate and coming home to an empty apartment, and having too much time on my hands to worry and grow more and more bitter. It’s not even that I’m jealous – well, maybe a bit; mostly it’s the feeling that for a moment I had it all, the love of my life, the certainty about our future together, and now I feel like it’s all slipping away somehow. My certainty and sense of safety grow thinner and the doubts and fears start to flourish freely.

Because honestly, who am I to try and contain Kurt? Just a 26 year old man who let his dreams slip away; hung them up to maybe revisit in the future and went into the dreariness of banking instead. What can I give him that’s better than the fashion world he’s so naturally a part of?

I know he loves me; I know he was sure he wanted to be with me, forever. But dreams and desires change as new possibilities open. Kurt never had much chance to try romance before – innocent flirting and playful banter, bathing in the attention of men who appreciate and adore him for what and who he is. Now that he has that – and I know he does, he’s mentioned admirers to me, blushing and laughing it off – maybe he’s realizing that he can have more than me. Maybe he feels like he’s settling for me when there are so many more alluring possibilities available.

At first it’s just a passing thought, but as weeks go by and it settles deeper in my mind when I see Kurt growing in confidence and conscious sexiness, it’s slowly becoming an obsession – hidden deeply, almost shamefully within the darker part of my heart, growing. He’ll leave me, I’m sure he will, sooner or later he’ll say it’s the end and I’ll be alone again, with no love and no family, and I don’t know if I can survive that. I don’t say anything, of course, in fear of speeding up his decision, making the axe drop sooner rather than later. I’ll take whatever he gives me, and for as long as he does.

And he gives me plenty, when he’s actually here with me. His full attention, hours of cuddling on the sofa while reading or watching something, or talking; breakfast in bed sometimes, and long make-out sessions I’ve never thought could still be so good when we can do so much more; fantastic sex and lovely little doodles on post-it notes when he needs to remind me of something or just wants to say I love you. It would be perfect if not for the fear that keeps pricking under my skin like tiny cactus needles.

One day in March Kurt comes home smelling subtly of another man’s cologne, and even though he explains, laughing, that they had a lecture about scents complementing styles and were around the samples for two hours, it causes something to wake up and roar in my chest. It feels like a stranger’s hands have been on my Kurt, and suddenly it’s not fear that courses in my blood, but fire. I won’t give up without a fight; I won’t lay down and wait for someone to take him away. He’s mine.

It feels so strange and uncharacteristic that I spend a few days analyzing this thought, exploring it like a science project. I’ve never been a possessive man; not about my things and certainly not about people who were important to me. I’d rather let go or share than risk anger and confrontations.

Not this time.

That Friday I watch Kurt get dressed to the nines before he goes out to the club, his jeans seemingly even more skintight than ever to my jealous eyes, and his red, short-sleeved shirt perfectly fitting and accentuating his toned torso and arms in a way that makes my mouth water. The thought of him dancing with other men dressed like this, being close to them, is shooting sparks of adrenaline into my blood and I can hardly suppress an angry, animalistic growl as the possessive feeling flares again.

He kisses me before going out and I spend the next hour pacing the apartment like a caged animal before I give up and change into one of my rarely used club outfits myself. I know which club they’re in, it’s always the same place, and once I make the decision, there’s no hesitation in my stride or my mind.

The club is crowded when I get there, the pulsing lights and artificial smoke obscuring details, but I see Kurt as soon as I settle on a high stool by the bar and order whisky. He’s dancing in a group of girls and boys, his movements fluid, mesmerizing. He doesn’t notice me, so I take my time watching, sipping the whisky.

“Forget it.” A tall young guy with a blond ponytail perches on the stool to my left, cradling his beer.

“Excuse me?”

“His name is Kurt; and forget it, he’s taken. You’re not the only one who’d gladly tap that ass.” His tongue is loose in a way that hints that it’s nowhere near his first beer. I raise my eyebrow, suppressing the animal in my chest, ready to pounce. “Yeah, no such luck. He has a boyfriend. No one has ever seen him, but Kurt’s always Blaine this and Blaine that, you’d think that the sun shines out of the guy’s ass. I don’t know what the lucky bastard did to get Kurt, but damn, I hope he appreciates what he has.” He looks me up and down then, nods appreciatively. “But you’re not bad yourself, care to dance?”

I shake my head with a smile and swallow the rest of my whisky, the warmth flooding my chest only partially its fault. “No, thanks.”

I’m off my stool the next instant; striding purposefully toward the group on the dance floor. Kurt’s back is to me, so he jumps a little when I mold myself against him, dancing so close it’s almost grinding. His friends are staring, open-mouthed, but Kurt relaxes the second he glances back at me, grinning with delight, and keeps dancing, the movement of his hips more hypnotizing than ever, sending sparks up my spine. The song ends and Kurt throws himself in my arms. Before I know it, we’re kissing, hungry and wild, and people around are whistling and whooping, but I don’t care. He’s mine. Mine. Let everyone know that. When we break apart after a long while, Kurt’s eyes are sparkling.

“I can’t believe you came. That’s the best surprise ever! Come on, let’s get something to drink.” He remembers his friends then, still standing around us, and grins. “Oh, this is Blaine. My boyfriend. But you’ve probably guessed.” It seems to be enough for them to accept me cheerfully.

We navigate the crowd back to the bar, Kurt’s hand never letting go of mine. The guy with a ponytail is still sitting there with his empty beer bottle, his mouth hanging open unattractively. Kurt nudges his leg as he’s settling on the stool. “Honestly, Frank, pick your jaw up off the floor; it’s filthy.”

I grin and offer my hand, “Blaine Anderson, hi!”, and the man almost falls off his stool, muttering something and disappearing in the dancing mass quickly. Laughing, I tell Kurt about out earlier conversation, making him giggle.

It’s well after midnight and we’re dancing to some slow song, fused together into our private little space, when Kurt asks curiously. “What made you come tonight? I thought you weren’t interested in coming with me.”

I may blush, admitting to the truth, but my face is flushed from dancing and alcohol anyway, and it’s dark. “I was jealous.”

I expect him to be angry for doubting him – god knows I am, myself – but his voice is high in this breathless way I know so well when he asks, “You were?”

“God yes, the thought of anyone but myself being this close to you… it was killing me. I had to come, see you, touch you… make sure you’re mine.”

Kurt moans into my ear and as I tighten my hold on him, I realize that he’s hard against my hip. My breath stutters as my body reacts.

“Kurt, let’s go home, now.”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate and we barely say goodbye to everyone before he’s pulling me by the hand outside and to one of the cabs that stand there. It’s only with heroic efforts of will that I can restrain myself from groping my boyfriend on the way home, but as soon as the door of our apartment close behind us, I’m pressing him into the hall wall, bruising his lips with hungry kisses, sucking on the skin of his neck, marking. Kurt whines helplessly, hips grinding against mine.

“Mine, Kurt. Only mine. Nobody else can touch you like this.”

“Yours, always.” It’s exactly what I need to hear and I growl in agreement, making sure everyone knows this, writing love into his skin with my lips and tongue until he’s moaning and begging for more. When I manage to break away from the irresistible taste of his skin, the marks are there, loud and clear, and the newly discovered possessive animal in my chest purrs, satisfied. But there are much too many layers between us and I can’t wait to see him naked and sprawled on the bed, all the perfect skin for me to claim and worship, so I say, my voice rough and thick.

“Undress for me.”

Kurt’s eyes grow even darker at the command and he whispers “Yes” before rushing to strip piece after piece while I do the same with mine. Once we’re both naked, I pull him to the bedroom, but before he can even get to the bed, I’m kissing him again, the scent of heated, slightly sweaty skin overwhelming, every touch and brush against him so very right.

Kurt arches into me, seeking more contact wherever he can get it, his voice breaking as he whispers.

“Show me, Blaine, show me that I’m yours. I want to know how much you want me.”

I growl deep in my throat, and that’s new, this wild side, but I don’t mind as long as we’re both alright with it. I push Kurt onto the bed, gently, but surely.

“Mine, only mine, forever mine,” I repeat between hard, claiming kisses and heated caresses, say it over and over again right into Kurt’s fair smooth skin, its perfection marred by pink and purple marks here and there.

I take my time before sliding down to Kurt’s hips and taking him in in one smooth motion as he arches and cries out. After years of being denied this, Kurt is impossibly responsive in oral sex, falling apart at the first touch of my lips, and I love it – giving this to him, teasing and prolonging the pleasure for him until he comes with an intensity that astounds me every single time.

Not this time though. I wait till he’s writhing and babbling, begging, his hand tangled painfully tight in my hair, and then I pull away. He makes a small, pained sound, but it turns into a moan after he hears what I want.

“You’re mine, but I’m yours, too. Will you take me, Kurt? I want you to take me, and I want you bare, is that all right?” My voice is trembling slightly with the raw need that makes me ask for it. “I’ve never done it this way before, I want you to be the only one –“

And he does. He shows me I’m his just like he’s mine, that we belong to each other and with each other. The intensity of his caresses, the perfect slide of bare skin in me, the sensation of being filled, claimed, marked in the deepest way as he tumbles over the edge a moment before me – it’s different somehow, and one of a kind. It feels like a promise, a vow.

Later, when we’re lying together after the shower, Kurt kisses my shoulder and asks, “You really were jealous?”

“Yeah. All those guys, they get you – they’re into fashion too and have so much in common with you, and I thought maybe you felt like you hadn’t considered all your options before getting together with me, and –“ I’m rambling at this point, weeks of suppressed anxiety flowing out, and he interrupts me, laughing.

“Silly, you’re it for me. I don’t want anyone else, nor do I look for them. I don’t need to. I have you and it’s perfect. We’re perfect. Don’t ever doubt it.”

And I don’t, not anymore. Because he’s right and I feel it now, too.

And there are other people who love Kurt, who like him or adore him, appreciate his talent and need his skills. They are there around us when he graduates in May and I’m standing there with his family, so proud of him that my face hurts from so much beaming. They are there a week later when Kurt gets a job offer from the company he’s been interning in, and months later, when head-hunters start to go after him with offers from other companies after his first small line gets out and is enthusiastically received.

He will always be surrounded by people and intense emotions, he will know drama and travel places – this is the life he chose, going into the world of fashion. But none of it will be a danger to what we have. Because I know now, and I trust it with all my heart – he’s mine, and I’m his, for life.