CHAPTER 7

Their presentation goes perfectly well, of course, but as they leave the classroom, Kurt can’t feel the satisfaction of job well done or joy about the perfect grade. He just feels sad. They exchanged thank yous before returning to their seats, and now there’s no longer any reason for them to speak again. And as he stays back, watching his could-have-been friend disappear around the corner, he bites his tongue and fights the urge to call out after Blaine, stop him and invite him for coffee. Because he can’t.

He can’t.

The next two weeks are terrible. Kurt feels like he’s suddenly suffocating under all the masks he’s been wearing for so long, his red-and-white uniform feels like a prison. He can’t stand all the stupid small talk about nothing, all the idiots and jerks he’s supposed to call friends. Every evening he mopes around the house, his extensive Broadway playlist loud in his speakers, but even Wicked doesn’t help. Try as he might, he just can’t stop thinking about Blaine. Once, he even wakes up in the middle of the night with a raging erection and a vague memory of slightly rough fingertips on his lips, and whoa, that’s disturbing. Kurt does think about boys this way, but it’s never been an actual person – more like concepts of emotions and touches, all pretty innocent. And he doesn’t even think about Blaine like this – he just thinks he could be a true friend.

As it is, Kurt’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he has no one to hold intelligent conversation with, and he feels like he’s going crazy with it sometimes. Blaine doesn’t pay him any attention, even Quinn is having one of her moody phases lately where she doesn’t really want to talk. They act like they always do at school, holding hands and kissing, sitting together, but after classes and practices Quinn – to Kurt’s hidden relief – doesn’t have time for him, claiming she needs a bit of distance.

Until she doesn’t.

It’s a few days before Valentine’s Day when Quinn invites Kurt over after Cheerio practice. She looks lovely with her long hair loose and a simple white dress accentuating her slim body. Even if he’s not into girls, Kurt can appreciate the aesthetic appeal.

They end up lying on her bed kissing. Quinn’s very much into it today and Kurt feels a bit startled by this passionate, initiative side of his girlfriend. It’s new and a little scary; he liked the reserved, calm Quinn better, he thinks. The Fabrays are Catholics, devoutly religious at that – a fact that forced Kurt to cover yet another aspect of his true self, his atheism – and Quinn herself is the president of the Celibacy Club at school. Her lack of interest in sex and determination to keep things between them relatively innocent is one of the things that make them fit so well. After two years of being together they still haven’t gone much beyond first base, and the most daring things so far have been a few hickeys here and there.

Except now it’s beginning to change, apparently, as evidenced by Quinn’s breath growing shallow, her kisses more urgent and a small moan escaping her kiss-puffy lips. And then she pulls away, takes Kurt’s hand and with a seductive smile and wide, darkened eyes guides it right to –

Oh god. Before Kurt knows it, his hand is sliding over impossibly smooth, warm skin, right under the thin cotton until his fingers meet the tight, hard bud of a nipple, and he gasps, wide-eyed. For a few shock-filled seconds all he can think is, No, that’s a boob. Boobs aren’t part of the plan. Help please?, but then his brain kicks back in and he realizes the seriousness of his situation. He’s supposed to be straight. What straight teenage boy wouldn’t react appropriately to being allowed to touch his girlfriend’s breast? And for the very first time, too? He should probably be on a verge of coming right now, judging by all the jocks’ conversations in the locker room that he really didn’t want to hear.

Well, he’s not. He’s about as far from aroused as possible without some gory pictures in front of him. And he has about fifteen seconds to change it, or at least pretend convincingly enough, before Quinn realizes that it’s not just shock paralyzing him.

So he does the first thing that comes to mind – he closes his eyes, smoothes his palm over the gentle curve and thinks of golden eyes and guitar-calloused fingertips on his cheek and lips. And then he lets them slide down his neck, their slight roughness igniting sparks in their wake as they go lower, lower over his chest, his nipple, down his belly... By the time the imaginary fingers touch the zipper of his jeans, Kurt’s half-hard and whimpering quietly against Quinn’s soft lips. There’s a part of him that cringes and blushes furiously at the idea of using Blaine’s image to get turned on, and another that wonders when exactly the boy has become wank material, but mostly, he’s enjoying it way too much.

So it’s a relief when Quinn moves gently away – premature relief, it turns out. She’s a little flushed, her green eyes sparkling, and her voice is breathy when she whispers, “After junior prom, I want to give you something, Kurt. I want to touch you. You’ve been so patient, a perfect gentleman; you more than deserve this. After we win Prom King and Queen, I want to make you come.”

Five minutes later Kurt’s in his car after the most awkward exit he’s ever had, he’s sure of it. Thankfully, Quinn seemed to take his haste to return home as a sign of an uncontrollable hard on, and obviously, he didn’t try to correct her. He just wanted to get out and allow himself to panic freely.

He has no idea what to do, he just knows that he can’t go home, not yet. He needs space to think and even though he could lock himself in his room, on the way in he’d have to face his dad, who would know that something happened after one look at his face. And what could Kurt tell him? I’m freaking out because my girlfriend of two years just let me touch her boob and promised to get me off after prom?

Yeah, right.

So he’s driving; without a destination in mind, he’s cruising the streets on autopilot, the turmoil in his head like heavy storm clouds, black and roiling, threatening. The thing is, Kurt can’t do that – not to Quinn, not to himself. He’d compromised so much already, sacrificed such a huge part of himself on the popularity altar; he’d reached his limits, he can’t give any more. Quinn has already had his first date, first kiss, first relationship; first slow dance and first romantic walk in the moonlight – all of them silently grieved in the solitude of his room at night, when no one could see Kurt’s tears. It was all so different from everything he’d ever secretly dreamed of. And no matter how many times he tells himself that those kisses and touches and memories don’t matter, that he’ll have his real first times with a boy one day, the ones that count – deep in his heart he knows it doesn’t work like that. He can’t erase what already happened and start with a clean slate.

He can’t give Quinn any more now, another precious first; what’s more, he doesn’t want to take hers, either. He’s not her first boyfriend and she’d been kissed before, but today was the first time anyone’s ever touched her breast. And now that moment is forever the picture she will remember – Kurt’s nervous, tense face instead of some lucky guy’s, crazily in love with her for all the right reasons, awed and thankful and wanting, like she deserves. It burns Kurt’s throat with a bitter taste of dirty conscience.

He told himself, right at the beginning and many times since then, that it was fine pretending like that, that it was fair, because they both wanted the same – popularity, social status and someone they liked by their side. Someone who could be half of the perfect couple, yet without all the drama and hormonal fluctuations, and pressure. They fit together well, both aware it isn’t love, even though outside they project such an image. For those two years they’ve been more friends than anything else; they kissed, held hands, made out, but there was never much – if any – true chemistry between them. It was their thing – until now; until Quinn decided she wanted more. More than Kurt was ready to give her.

What can he do now? Coming out is out of the question. Break up with her? And how would he explain that? I’m sorry, but you put too much sexual pressure on me? Sure, that wouldn’t make him look gay at all. There’s just no easy way out.

Kurt’s head is beginning to pound, his eyes are stinging as he pulls over – and startles, realizing where he is. The familiar cream façade with green roof tiles and shutters stands before him, the windows brightly lit and inviting. Blaine’s house. He hasn’t chosen this destination, yet here he is. How appropriate. Of course, Blaine would be the perfect person to talk to about this – the only person Kurt knows who would probably understand. There are only two problems. They’re not friends and Kurt is very deep in the closet.

Still, he can’t make himself turn the car and go home. The need to talk to someone is so strong it feels like he’ll explode if he doesn’t let at least some of this out. If not with Blaine, then who? There’s no one; there never was, and he’s been doing fine. He can go on like this, it’s just a moment of weakness. He’ll just sit here for a bit longer, maybe he’ll calm down a little, and then he’ll go home.

The door to the house opens just then, and Blaine steps out onto the porch, gesturing to Kurt to come inside.