Chapter 10

Songs used in this chapter:
Underneath – Adam Lambert
Never Gonna Leave This Bed - Maroon 5

Authors Note: Thank you all so much for the abundance of reviews! I am overwhelmed by each and every one of them, and can only offer gratitude from the depths of my soul for them. You all have no idea what they mean to me. Ive been a nervous wreck posting this so seeing positive feedback is incredible. With all of that said, I am very eager to hear what you all think about this chapter! It was literally the death of me when I was writing it, and I cant help but flail and hide in the corner as soon as I post this. Before you read the below, though, please open a new tab and go to Twitter user @CynicalGlee. Follow her if you arent already - she is the hilarious Glee microblogger who just so happens to be my incredible beta. That Twitter account is the only reason why Im making it through this hellish hiatus! Also, follow me on Tumblr, will you? (/becausehiships) and have a very Merry Christmas if you celebrate! Im back with chapter 11 on Thursday! Love you all!

August

Kurt doesn't hear a peep from Blaine.  It serves him right, pushing him away like that in the previous text messages last month.  Kurt's working toward feeling normal again, and it's almost like Blaine never even turned his world around in the slightest at the beginning of their summer dancing around their feelings.  Kurt is glad he was able to know him though, if only for a short while, to ease him into his working relationship with Santana.  Blaine needs Santana, and so Kurt figures that was the purpose of the initial meeting. 

Kurt's usual life is restored; it's back to shipments of espresso and grinding coffee beans and pouring steamed milk and art by way of caramel-chocolate drizzle.  Existence post-Blaine isn't entirely fulfilling, but it accomplishes the sake of purpose.  Kurt returns to normalcy, a life without fear of being ambushed by a thoroughly unexpectedly sexy, hot, adorable… dangerous, bad for you, ill-mannered teenager with the ability to take his breath away by only peering through the most gorgeous set of eyelashes ever.  

Kurt is okay now; he's fine.  He's a healed man with nothing but his thirties ahead of him.  He wants to buy a house with a fence and a yard; he could rent out the apartment upstairs from the Lima Bean for some extra income toward his mortgage.  Blaine Anderson could walk into the coffee shop right now and Kurt would turn away his cheek and act like he's not even there.

Or at least that's his practiced speech in case any one person is asking. 

The real story is that life without Blaine… well, it sucks.  Existing without Blaine's smile in his direction every weekday morning is a stormy cloud that he cannot escape.  It's the inability to perform sexually for his right hand because he refuses to think of Blaine, but cannot save himself enough to think of anyone else, thus making for several unsuccessful attempts at pleasing himself. It's jumping up, his eyes racing to the door with every sound of the bell.  It's be-dazzling the “Reserved” sign on the Carrie Table and making it the prominent centerpiece, hot glue-gunned to the table so no other teenager can deface or steal it.  Missing Blaine is totally the deepest, darkest fiery red hellhole in the center of the earth. 

And, as if that's not enough, he has a seriously disgusting abundance of butter croissants. 

xK&Bx

Missing Kurt isn't so bad; it's really just the fact that he has to deal with the burnt espresso beans being churned in the over-extravagant, pre-timed machine at Starbucks every single morning.  The baristas are less than personable, and there is no chance of obtaining a regular table in a place of snooty, uncomfortable, pretentious twenty-something “writers.” 

Blaine's drained from creating work for himself these past few weeks, and although it wasn't harder to do without the textbooks he left at the Lima Bean last month, he would really like them back.  Too much time has passed to ask for them, unfortunately, and Blaine hopes that when the reunion finally happens, Kurt will return them unscathed.  It's been a month, though, and Blaine is starting to get concerned that his plan is going to be shot to hell and for nothing. 

He opts out of reading more and browses the College Board guide he borrowed from the public library, in hopes of picking and choosing where he'll end up after he passes this shit.  Maybe he can even move for the Spring Semester. 

Fordham.  NYU.  Marymount.  Columbia. 

Christian Anderson would probably steer him toward Columbia, being that it's better than the rest.  That is, if he cared enough for Blaine to go somewhere incredible.  Andersons only attend the best of the best for both their undergrad and then their law degree.  It would also be the easiest way to get his father to fund the whole ordeal, and Blaine really doesn't want to borrow money from the government for something as necessary as college.  He wants to live it up in New York and not have to worry about a thing.  Come to think of it, he'd be set to do that and more either way, so he stops worrying.  The conversation will probably end in a fight, but might go well for the sake of at least one of Christian Anderson's sons getting a valid education.  He's got Cooper's revolt to the dark side of the arts on his side.  Hopefully he can transfer out of pre-law without the school writing home to inform the elder Andersons.

College has always been on Blaine's to-do list.  If anything, it would play an integral part to get him the fuck out of Ohio.  He steered toward New York in the past because he knew he had family in the other gay-friendly option:  California.  Now that his high school transcript is messy and incomplete, Blaine isn't sure what he wants anymore.  He doubts he can get in, but believes that this is the only way to get out of Lima.  He'd have to speak about it with his parents, unfortunately.  Maybe he can sell it as an easy way to get him out of their lives for at least the next few years.  Assuming he can still get in somewhere. 

He shrugs to himself and throws his messenger bag over his shoulder, throwing his half-empty cup of coffee in the trash on the way out.  How they burnt even a regular coffee, he'll never understand. 

The Starbucks is located in the center of the Lima Shop Plex Mall.  Complete with a three-movie theatre next door, and typical Ohio establishments – The Gap, Sears, Golden Corral.  This explains why Blaine only has patience for simple loose-ish jeans and white tee shirts. 

He storms out of the mall and starts his journey home as quickly as possible.  He tries to avoid the mall usually, in case there are people there he knows, but with avoiding both Kurt and the mall, he was left with nothing so he decided to revoke his number one rule of little-to-no interaction with the assholes in Lima for the sake of some entertainment for himself.  He has yet to see anyone, thank God, but you just never know when those navy blazers want to drive two hours for the sake of a Lands End tie. 

Walking on the side of Elida Road could be life threatening and scary sometimes, so Blaine takes extra care, until some idiot nearly kills him by swerving inches away from his legs.

“What the fuck… oh.  Dad.”  The car stops and his father is bending over to talk to his son, leaning over the middle console to open the door from the inside.

“Get in, little faggy son of mine.”

Blaine hesitates for a moment, trying to get a feel for exactly how sober his father might be right now.  His eyes aren't nearly as bloodshot as they could be, so he climbs in and buckles his seatbelt immediately but keeps his hand on the clicker just in case he needs to roll out with no notice.  He then looks over to Christian expectedly.  He didn't mind walking; he'll see how this conversation goes before truly making the decision to bum a ride.

“I'm on my way home.  Wouldn't want you to showcase your gay-ness walking back.  Gotta hide you from the world, right Blaine?”  His words are said with a jolt to each syllable, a teasing and humiliating tone.

Blaine doesn't respond.  He stares straight out the front windshield and rolls his eyes.  Maybe now is the perfect time for a college discussion.  If he crashes the car, at least there's a possibility of the man dying, too.  And at least he's too distracted driving to kick him in the gut.

“I was researching colleges today.”

“Why don't we send you to BYU?  Those Mormons will straighten you right up.  Utah is far enough for my liking.  I won't have to stare at your faggot face every day.”

“Columbia in New York?”  It comes out as a question; Blaine's suddenly nervous of what his father would think.

Christian Anderson explodes in laughter.

“I just thought… it's Ivy League.  It's a really good school and I'd be able to really…” 

The only person in the world that Blaine is afraid of is his father.

His father slaps at the steering wheel, wheezing for air in between childish giggles.  He's not paying attention to the road at all; his eyes are clasped shut in a fit of the funniest thing he's apparently ever heard.

“Do well… there… Dad!  Watch it!”

He snaps out of it and swerves into a wide turn into their neighborhood.  It's reckless to say the least.

“They don't let ex-con faggot dropouts with a GED into Columbia, Blaine.  You've gotta be kidding me.”

They get home; Blaine slams the car door and jogs up into the house, up the stairs, into his bedroom, spacing his distance between him and his father as effectively as possible.  He locks the door and buries his face in his pillow and welcomes his tears to the freedom of his cheeks.  

He turns to lie on his back and turns his head to rest on the 100% goose down.  Closing his eyes, his mind drifts to things that used to make him happy.  When he was five, it was soft-serve ice cream cones and rainbow sprinkles.  When he was eight, it was the Ninja Turtles and My Little Pony and The Smurfs.  When he was eleven, it was the Backstreet Boys and a little bit of Hanson and Doug reruns on tape from Cooper's collection on the big screen in the basement.  When he was fourteen, it was the boy in his English class that he watched from afar, never letting on that he was even remotely gay to anyone in school.  When he was fifteen, it was absolutely nothing in this terrible world.  When he was sixteen, it was stealing things and getting attention from his parents to watch him instead of paying other people to take care of him and drinking and so many drugs and hand jobs for and from anyone who was willing.  (If anyone asked, of course, he is most definitely not a virgin, and used to have a lot of sex with anyone who would spread their legs.)

Today, it's Kurt.  It's still Kurt.  Fuck!  Kurt, who said that no matter what, he'll always be there.  Kurt, beautiful and selfless and gorgeous Kurt. 

Blaine isn't made for college.  His father is right, the top-notch schools he's exploring would never, in a million years, allow him to study there with his track record, with his past.  It was stupid of him to think he should try. 

He pulls his eyes open and focuses on the almost-empty glass, left with only a half inch of yesterday's Sprite.  He empties the contents into his stomach and smashes the rim onto his desk.  The glass shatters in a million mosaic pieces.  He sits up and examines the mess against the surface; it's a beautiful combination of shapes and ridged edges, all see-through into the deep maple stain of the wood.  The light from the tabletop lamp is reflecting in a crystal manner.  He palms a perfect triangle fragment, twirling it between his fingers, taking care to avoid slitting his fingertips open.  He tilts his head, submerged in trying to rationalize his following movement.  He squeezes his eyes shut and presses the hunk of glass to his skin and applies the appropriate pressure. 

A red river of screams, underneath
Tears in my eyes, underneath
Stars in my black and blue sky
and underneath
Under my skin
Underneath, the depths of my sin
Look at me, now do you see?

Blaine's world is blurry and he'd sacrifice anything to fade into a slumber, but he did this for a reason, and now he must live with his decision.  His arm is limp and stained red.  He grimaces at the sight, but knows he has to follow through with the next step, or all of this would have been for nothing.  He scrolls to the only contact saved in his phone and waits, the noise on the other end mocking his very existence.

“Ready to stop being an asshole?” 

“Kurt.”  Blaine's voice is wrecked, weak, damaged. 

“What's the matter?”

“Can I… come over… please?”

“Text me your address, I'll come get you.”  Kurt knows theres something wrong.  

“No… You can't come here, Kurt.  I'll see you soon.” 

Blaine hangs up. 

xK&Bx

Kurt is freaking out.  He's flustered; he can't speak in complete sentences.  He tries to tell Julie and Austin that he'll be upstairs if they need him and he bursts out the front door, almost trampling Mrs. Caputo, one of his favorite customers.  He waves her off when she shows concern for his well-being and unlocks both doors to his apartment, propping them open slightly with rocks found off the side of the curb for easier access when Blaine arrives.  He has no idea what to expect, but he knows that he needs to prepare himself for something. 

Kurt paces up and down the short block of Main Street between Bell and Crocker Streets.  He's squeezing his cell phone between his palms, impatiently glancing up and down both ways then down to his phone every three and a half seconds (Kurt knows, he counts); he's never actually noticed which way Blaine comes from when he walks to the coffee shop.  He should have paid more attention at some point so he could have walked in the right direction.  How has it already been forty-five minutes since the phone conversation?

“Kurt.” 

Kurt whips around and witnesses Blaine's slow and steady approach.  He knew it would be bad, but never would have taken Blaine for someone who punishes himself in his own self-harm.  

“Jesus, Blaine.  What the hell did you do?”  He wraps one arm around the boy's shoulder, and grasps his slit arm by the wrist, just below the open wound.  “Come on, honey.  Let's get you cleaned up.”  Kurt toes at the front door and leads him up the stairs, allowing Blaine into his apartment. 

All too familiarly from last time, Kurt throws the boy onto the couch and retrieves the first aid kit.  He sits down gently and looks into his eyes for a New York minute.  Blaine's eyes shift to the floor and Kurt focuses on playing doctor. 

“No emergency room?” Kurt tries for the second time since he's known him.

“Please, no.  No cops, and they'll definitely put me on suicide watch.  Wanna bet what my dad would think of that?”

“Okay, okay.  This is going to sting… but at least it's not your brain this time, right?”  Kurt empties a puddle of peroxide onto clean gauze, of which he had to replenish all too recently, and holds it to Blaine's forearm.  His fingers on his opposite hand are wrapped around Blaine's wrist in anticipation of a jolt to escape.  Blaine growls in the back of his throat, clenches his jaw, and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

“Fucking Jesus, Kurt!  Stop!”

“It needs to get clean, B.  Hold still…”  Blaine peers up at him and Kurt meets him with a sad smile.  “What the fuck were you thinking, B?”

“My dad and I had a conversation about college.”  As he thinks about it more and more, Blaine officially decides he doesn't want to further his education.  He's given up, and although he still plans to move as far away as possible, he will not go to college. 

“And?  Blaine, people have arguments with their stupid parents all the time.  That doesn't mean…”

“That I need to cut myself?  I wasn't trying to kill…”

“I know that.” 

“I wouldn't leave you like that.  I just… he helped me realize that college is just not for me, I guess.”

Kurt brushes a stringy curl out of Blaine's eyes and tilts his head, and looks back down to the gash across the boy's forearm.  It's not deep enough to need stitches, but it's still done some damage.  It'll leave a mark, for sure.  The gash was a diagonal check mark across, the red ridges contrasting against his olive skin.  The gash is all the validation Kurt needs to prove to himself that it's imperative he's present for Blaine.  They can't play these games and lose contact anymore.  Just two more inches and…

“Okay, but for the record, you should know that I've missed you these past few weeks.  And I'd miss you a hell of a lot more if... if I never got to see you again.” 

“I wasn't trying to kill myself, Kurt.  Cut the crap.”  Blaine growls again at the contact of more peroxide, flinching his eyes away from the search of Kurt's steel blues for his.  “I just needed to make sure I could still feel physical pain, or if the emotional stuff took that away from me, too.”

“Jesus, Blaine.”

Kurt handles Blaine's arm with grace, swiping more of the hospital-grade gauze from the coffee table in front of them and wrapping the injury into a cotton cocoon.  He kisses the spot over the gauze and pulls the boy into a world-famous Kurt Hummel bear hug.   

“College isn't for everyone, but please don't dismiss it because of whatever your father said.  You already know how he works to make you feel badly about yourself.”

“I know.  This isn't really about him, though.  I just want to get out of here, and I don't need school.  Maybe not right away.”

Blaine melts into Kurt's body, leaning all of his weight completely on him.  His head meets the man's shoulder and they stay in place for several minutes.  Kurt's rubbing small circles counterclockwise between Blaine's shoulder blades whispering sweet encouraging phrases into his ear, his lips grazing against the shell of his ear with every word; his breath, warm and comforting.  Kurt Hummel feels like home.

“I really approve of you coming to me when you need help, B.”

“Yeah well, everyone else would let the secret out that I'm a lot more vulnerable than I let on.”  Blaine smiles a bit as Kurt chuckles into his hair.

Blaine feels the need to tell him more gritty details about the college conversation, “He laughed at me when I said I was considering Columbia.  He thought it was the funniest fucking thing ever that I would ever want to go to a good school.”

Kurt sighs and crinkles his forehead into a plethora of wrinkled stress, but encouraging him to go on.

“He said they would never consider accepting a faggot… dropout on probation.  Or whatever.”

“Oh, honey.  You can't listen to those ignorant names that he calls you, and besides, none of that defines who you are.”  Kurt pulls him back in and they connect again, forming the exact shape they maintained moments earlier.

“And you're okay?”  Kurt tilts his head downward to meet with Blaine's eyes. 

“Fine.”  Blaine gazes deeply into Kurt's, ripping through the first few layers and looking directly into the wheels turning in this gorgeous man's brain, laid out on the table for him to decipher. They are locked to each other at every possible point of contact, tangled in one another, mind, body, and soul.  Kurt licks his lips.  Blaine mimics.  There's nothing left to do, except to close the gap. 

Blaine plunges his tongue into Kurts throat with force, and Kurt sputters for a second, his eyes wide like a doe without his mother, his arms flailing minutely then dropping to his sides, allowing it to happen.  We can't do this. He's seventeen.  His thoughts are ripped out of his head when he finds himself shoved against the couch's plush arm.   

Breaking the kiss, Blaine stands and stares down on Kurt before pulling him up by the collar of the man's shirt.  Blaine inches around Kurt and digs his palms into both his shoulders, leading him down the hall blindly.  He's never been anywhere past the kitchen, so he relies on Kurt to show him the way.  Kurt pulls Blaine in front of him by his sleeve so they're chest-to-chest and Blaine is walking backwards.  Kurt steps over and outside of the boy's feet as he leads him into the bedroom, and molests his mouth, licking to the inside of his cheek, teeth, and tongue.  Blaine yanks the man and slams him against the wall inside Kurt's bedroom next to the door and reaches to the side of Kurt's ass to lock it. 

"I live alone, B,” Kurt explains with a small smile, tapping his chest lightly.  Kurt can't seem to control the bulge of his eyes.  He knows what's about to happen and he doesn't know if he even wants to stop it. 

God, he's adorable.  He thinks my parents are going to come barging in or something and catch us.  I can't even.

Blaine's mouth makes contact with Kurt's collarbone and lingers until he decides to inch it back up via skin contact on the way home to his mouth again.  Kurt's fingers find Blaine's and they intertwine their hands into somewhat of a rising dance move over their heads.  Kurt leads them back down and lets go. 

Blaine gives a slight shrug with one shoulder and connects his lips back to join their mouths as one. Kurt lets it happen again. Despite his internal screaming and fighting Blaine off, Kurt reshapes his lips as an invite and lures Blaines tongue to crash with his again.  This kiss is full of passion, desire, and need.  Kurt throws his hands around Blaines neck and he grasps his own wrist in an attempt to keep things romantic, although he is literally pinned against the wall and wouldnt be able to budge even an inch if he tried.  

Blaine backs away only a few inches to properly look into his eyes.  Kurt tilts his head in question.  "I have to ask… Is this okay, pretty boy?" Blaine looks nervous and shifts his eyes anywhere but toward Kurt's. 

God, yes.   

“We can't do this, Blaine.”  Kurt twirls out from underneath him and crosses his arms across his chest in a mockery of being angry, or an attempt to appear closed off.  This is the hardest acting scene he's ever had to perform. “I have to resist this.  I'm so sorry.”  He shifts his weight and looks back to Blaine.  His face is full of expression with shifty, wide eyes and a scared look plastered across his face. 

Blaine's shoulders slouch into each other, “You can't tell me you don't feel it.  This.”  Blaine approaches him slowly and allows the corners of his mouth to move upwards.  “You take care of me all the time, Kurt.  Let me take care of you for once.” 

Kurt's confused and Kurt is defensive.  He blocks himself from being touched by throwing his left hand up and pushes into Blaine's clavicle.  Blaine's eyeballs are stirring and searching for any glimmer of invitation in Kurt's eyes, and he must have found some.  Blaine is abruptly kissing Kurt's open mouth again, but at a gentler, more romantic pace.  It's Blaine's turn to wrap Kurt's neck, and they pull together forcing the kiss deeply.

Kurt responds with an open mouth and licks, for lack of a better word, the boy's tongue.  The kiss shifts to hot and steamy; Blaines palms are pushing down on Kurts shoulders so he can better reach his lips, but Kurt reacts by curving his spine and bowing his head down at an invasive angle, and he's gripping at Blaine's cheeks.  He has a good four inches on the boy, and is significantly turned on by this fact for whatever reason he'll never understand.

Blaine turns his head to let himself out of the man's hold.  “Maybe I'm selfish, but I don't care what you say.  This.  This is real.”  Blaine senses he'll need to convince Kurt some more, so he mentally prepares for more words to be said and then it hits him. 

He quickly realizes that he can just lure him with his body, and rather simply if he does say so himself.  The truth is seconds away.  Blaine removes his shirt in one swift movement and throws it… somewhere.  He then unbuttons Kurts shirt and peels it off, throwing it in the same direction as his own.  Kurt's eyes are locked on Blaine, studying him intently, seemingly taking it all in; etching this part to the very fibers of his brain.  Blaine looks up at him and smiles; he's able to understand Kurt's scowl that he wants so badly to refrain from enjoying another person undressing him but can't find the words to ask him to stop.  Kurt is mesmerized and so Blaine takes advantage of the perfect timing for Kurt's vocal chords to go on rest.  He continues.

Blaine finds Kurts pulse and sucks until hes convinced theres a mark.  He stands back, and admires his work, nodding in approval.  He looks up into Kurts eyes, and they are filled with desire.  The man's jaw is relaxed, with his mouth slightly open in shock.

What Blaine doesn't see is that Kurt is terrified and entirely unsure how to stop this.  He is paralyzed with fear, balls of fists nervously knocking into his hipbones on each side, but also desire.  Blaine doesn't recognize the feelings in Kurt's eyes of self-disgust and regret.  Kurt's mind is wailing obscene words at himself: fucking rapist, child molester, betrayal!  Stop this now, Kurt, before you regret it, and he regrets it, forever!  You will both be ruined.

Oh my God, this cannot be real.  It feels so good!  Ohhh, but he's a child.  He's a child who wasn't born when… ugghh!  Jesus fucking Christ, that's going to leave a nice mark.  How the fuck… Jesus…  don't stop...  Fuck.  I can't do this, not with him.  He's too damaged, too broken.  Fucking shit, make it stop. 

No.  No.  No.  No.  Fucking Jesus, no. 

Despite the most negative monologue he has with himself of all time, Kurt proceeds to walk Blaine backwards into the corner and pushes him onto the beds surface so hard that the boy bounces back and hits his head slightly on the headboard.  He rubs his head sheepishly and steadies himself with his hands pushed upside down across the pillows, then Kurt hovers over him never losing contact.  He flips the boy over, rubbing his hands up his back and across the holyhell defined lines of muscle.  He pushes into his shoulders in a quick massage movement, and lays a kiss to the curve between Blaine's shoulder blades. He slides his hands down the boy's body as if hes memorizing every bulge and curve, working his way around the angle of his hips, caressing his thighs, and squeezing his calves until there is an abrupt stop at the piece of metal attached to Blaines ankle.

"Awkward."

Kurt ignores Blaines poor excuse for a joke and massages the skin around the box and kisses the foreign object attached to Blaine's body tenderly as if omitting any fear that this boy is danger.  He trails his lips up his leg, and detaches them from the boys skin before he gets too close to the private areas.  He stares in the general area of Blaine's cock, already forming a mold for Kurt to watch.  He rubs his hands from Blaine's knees to right before the triangle where his thigh meets his groin.  He stops and his arms fly back to his sides.  He can look but he cant touch.

The “use my body like a fucking prostitute” game must have worked, for the most part.  I can be his little tight ass to do with whatever he pleases.  I thought old guys got off on this, like, all the time.  Con-fucking-firmed.

Kurt rolls his eyes at himself; he just told himself not to touch.  He moans as his hands instinctively find the curve above Blaine's ass, and creep slowly into the space between his cheeks.  Blaine freezes, thus empowering Kurt to come to a halt, clearly against his cock's will.  Kurt takes his mouth to the small of Blaine's back and kisses him lightly before sitting up and back on his knees. Blaine scurries out of his pants and boxers in one swift push downward and waits for Kurt to take him as he pleases.

Lowering himself quickly, Kurt kisses the small of his back again and works his hands to stroke his cheeks, fingers spreading each cheek away from one another with gentle pressure, and gets a glimpse of the ripple of his hole.  He licks his lips, wanton and ready, staring down at the savory skin begging for lubrication of his saliva.  He places a padded digit across the opening and pushes, not to insert, but to make Blaine feel.  Blaine writhes under him and groans into the pillow. 

Kurt smiles into the boy's side and nibbles at the baby-fat-pocket that sits above the indent of his waist.

Blaine thrusts into the mattress and looks back at him over his shoulder, his eyes glistening like the Caribbean Sea at midnight.  This boy captivates Kurt like no one ever has. 

Don't do this.  You'll never be able to stop, fool.  You can look, just dont touch.  Do not take advantage of him.  Do not open him up and take him.  Don't.  No.

Well, so much for not touching.  Kurt spreads the boy's cheeks for him and flicks his tongue across Blaine's hole and the sound out of the boy's mouth is sinful, like something he's never heard before.  Kurt pulls away for a second, hands still holding him open, and licks his lips for the thousandth time in the past hour.  Falling forward again to kiss at the opening, Kurt can't help but to linger with his face nudged between Blaine's most private area.  He's in too deep now.  He has to do something to control himself.  He pulls away and fixes himself up on his knees, putting pressure in the right placement of his cock with his palm, through his pants. Blaine groans in defeat.

“Please.  More, Kurt.  Are you fucking kidding me?”

Kurt lays on top of Blaine's back, hard cock perfectly lined up to his ass.  He prolongs a kiss to the back of his hair, and rolls off, plops himself on his back before adjusting his cock, and lets go of any air left in his lungs.  His fingers intertwine, resting on his own chest.  Blaine turns his head to look at him sideways and glances around the room, fighting to find Kurt's eyes to no avail.  At the fail, Blaine turns again to stare at the ceiling, and rearranges his arms to rest his head on his hands. 

"Obviously, we are not having problems with the Viagra prescription, old man, so care to clue me in to why you are so fucking abrupt with your damn teasing?  You can't just stop… mid-rim like that, Kurt.  I am way too young to have these blue, blue balls."  Blaine crosses the leg with the ankle monitor to rest on the opposite knee and flexes the affected ankle almost like its in pain; like the piece of metal is too tight. 

"We cant do this.  Youre seventeen."  Kurt eyes the movements of the boys ankle, back to Blaine's face, and then to his hands.

"We were just doing it!”  Blaine throws his arms up, slapping them back into the mattress, frustrated.  He sits up, crossing his legs to go Indian style.  “I need you, Kurt.  Please."  He leans into the deep conversation he's not prepared for.  His begging voice is raspy and his hair is already a little crazed.

Imagine what he sounds like after everything else, after sex.  Fuck!  Kurt needs to snap himself out of it.  He sets himself up on his elbow and turns to look at Blaine square in the eye.  "You dont understand how much I want you, Blaine.  I just… I cant… cant be a rapist.  This is… this would be rape.  I can't do that to you, and I can't be locked up or worse for giving into my desires, as strongly as they're pulling me to you now.  I just can't."

"Its not rape if Im willing."  Blaine blinks and changes his tone. "Look, Ill tell you what."  He pushes Kurt down and straddles over him just enough so their erections meet.  Kurt's hands grasp at his waist, subconsciously pulling to grind him and instruct him into bouncing and flailing over his seriously harder-than-ever cock.  Blaine loses him and squirms down further so hes kneeling between Kurts legs, pushing them open.  He creates a trail of kisses from Kurts chest, taking his time to both nipples.  Kurt moans at each flick of the tongue, and Blaine soon arrives to the button of his jeans.  He is licking in a circular motion so that Kurt is writhing and fighting to get his jeans off, off, and away.  Blaine unbuttons and unzips Kurts jeans, digs both pointer fingers into his belt loops, and tugs.

“Stop it!  Stop!”  Kurt scrams away from him, nearly tripping over his pants and boxer-briefs twisted at his ankles.  He struggles for a minute, but manages to pull them back up.  He zips and buttons, and heads to the door.  Holding the door to the bedroom open, Kurt looks back to Blaine. “You have to go.”

Blaine studies Kurt's face for a long moment.  When he sees that he's definitely not kidding around, he gathers his clothing from across the room, and walks out into the living room, shamelessly naked, and turning to face Kurt on the other side of the doorway.  Kurt slams his bedroom door closed and Blaine blinks.  He hears the shower, cold he presumes, come to life in his en suite area. 

Blaine blinks again.  What can he do?  The front door is haunting him, but he doesn't want to leave just yet.  He hasn't gotten what he came for.

Blaine is a fucking genius.  He jumps into his boxers and his pants and throws his shirt onto the couch haphazardly. 

He waltzes over to the foyer and opens the front door, then slams it shut without exiting.  He makes a point to research the photos around the TV room, to search out the types of books Kurt owns, his DVD collection.   He tip toes to the man's kitchen and examines what type of foods and drinks he has on hand.  He's full-blown snooping now.  There's a small home office off the cooking area, and he peaks into the modern and rather comfortable room.  His eyes graze the neat desktop, and he finds himself sitting in the large leather chair with wheels and spins twice and then twice more. His hand knocks the mouse to bring Kurt's Macbook to life; his screensaver is a gorgeous picture of Central Park from the Empire State Building's point of view.  Blaine finds himself staring at it for a minute before he snaps himself out of it and prepares himself for convincing Kurt he should sleep with him tonight.  Kurt's life seems pretty stable, well put-together; he seems like a responsible person. 

Blaine approves of his established lifestyle. 

I guess this is how I'd want to live when I'm twenty-eight. 

Blaine moves the mouse again, and the desktop is displayed with a flash.  He's twirling on the chair again and stops abruptly when a Word document entitled “BLAINE” catches his eye on the monitor.  He blinks tirelessly and clicks.

A Pros/Cons list.  This is interesting.

The list comes to life at his pointer finger's click, and Blaine scans through, stopping at words and phrases that make a difference. 

PROS: not as much of an asshole as he leads on, I can help him, hot!, I could love him, connection, smile, eyes, attitude, artsy, singer, piano, emotional.

CONS: seventeen, seventeen, seventeen, GED, daddy issues, Santana, Dad, ankle monitor, a seventeen-year-old bad boy with a record on probation, so damn bad for me, I could love him, emotional.

You know it, baby.  Spot on.

This heightens Blaine's mood more than he thought it would, and he's more determined than ever to get with Kurt as soon as possible and make it last.

Blaine sneaks back into the bedroom and strips completely.  He allows himself to fall backwards into the bed like an act of triumph, and he waits.  He practices several positions to present to Kurt when he comes back into the bedroom.  He doesn't want to look stupid, or that he's trying too hard, so he finally settles on climbing under the covers and lies on his back, waiting for Kurt's shower to end.  His eyes shift back to the doorknob of the bathroom every five seconds.

Blaine has nothing to do while he waits, and he doesn't want to come yet so he refrains from thinking what Kurt must look like in the shower right now, as he lays in the man's bed.  His mind wanders again.

He finds himself entranced in a complicated and intense love story, ten years or so from today.  He's waiting for his husband to get out of the shower so they can maybe go again, or fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms.  He can hear the puppy scratching at the door but it's weird to let her watch so Blaine ignores it.  Blaine is euphoric, grinning at how in sync he is with his husband.  Kurt – when did the imaginary husband become Kurt? – is leaning against the bathroom door's frame with folded arms and a half smirk pasted across his face.

Kurt's leaning against the bathroom door's frame with folded arms across his chest and a half-satisfied smirk pasted across his face.  “You have to go, Blaine.  Please.”

He flashes a glance at Kurt, whos watching him intently.  He tries a smile with no indication of moving.  Kurt approaches and sits on the corner of the bed.

“You're making this very hard for the both of us, you know.”

“You know what else is very hard?”

“Blaine.”

“Kurt.”  He says his name as he always does, like there is no other word in his language.

“Blaine, please.  Go home.”

“That's weird, I don't have one of those.”  He catches his eye again, leans up to kiss him only once and lightly, the blanket slipping and showing off his boyish figure.  “Think I could sleep over tonight?  Maybe make this bed my home for a few hours?  We don't even have to… umm…”

Kurt sighs.  “I just… don't think this is a good idea.  Not with how things are.  Not with what just happened.  Not with what we want.”  Kurt holds his towel around his hips closed and smoothes out where the two ends overlap to ensure there are no slits of skin.

Blaine rises to his feet and covers Kurt's hands with his own at the towel's seam, and straddles him, one leg brushing against each of Kurt's thighs.  He releases his hands from Kurt's towel to run his fingers through the man's damp hair.  He's grinding lightly into Kurt's lap, “You said if I need anything… I need you, Kurt.”

Blaine releases one hand and traces across Kurt's naked chest horizontally, gazing into Kurt's soul with heart eyes.  He rises off of Kurt's lap again, and palms the skin above Kurt's heart and places a kiss above his fingertips.  He nudges ever so slightly so Kurt falls backwards and the towel drapes open just enough to get a taste.  The man spiders back onto the bed before settling in the center, abandoning the towel where it's left hanging off the corner of the mattress.

Who knew romance was the key to Kurt's heart?

Blaine takes the opportunity to return to his original position between his legs.  His fingers move from Kurts eyelids to mouth to chest to stomach before finally landing on the beautiful display he finds before him, just for him.  

“You live for the romance of it all, don't you pretty boy?” He doesn't wait for the response; he hooks his forearms around Kurts calves and holds them up and apart so Kurt is in the perfect position to take him hard, fast, and deep.  He places chaste kisses from his ankle to his knee, and then on the other leg before licking up both thighs and glancing up into Kurt's face from between his legs.  Kurt's head is thrown back, his eyes shut, fists full of comforter, and the top of his head resting on the headboard perpendicularly. 

"Its not rape if Im the one fucking you.  So gorgeous.  You are… you're so sexy, Kurt, Jesus..."  Blaine lines up his painfully hard cock to Kurts hole and holds it there, wiggling just an inch to wet it with his pre-come.  The sound out of Kurts mouth is unexplainable, wanton, and something that Blaine absolutely needs to hear again.  Blaine rubs against Kurts hole without inserting, and takes it away with no notice.

"Unff…" Kurt wants Blaine, he does.  Kurt reaches for Blaine to hold and extends fully to rake his fingertips down the boy's chest and grab hold at his tiny hips.  He digs his thumb and pointer fingers into the curves and squeezes, holding on for the ride.

“Do you like the tease, pretty boy?”  Not patient enough for any response yet again, Blaine slips away from Kurt's grasp and inserts one finger into his hole dry and without warning.  The sound of Kurt punching at the headboard is something Blaine needs to fix.  Blaine exits and jumps up and off the bed, and begins his search for the lube that Kurt is bound to have here somewhere.  

"Second drawer.  Please."  Kurt responds to the unanswered question in a moment of weakness, but then sits up against the headboard.  He covers his face in his hands for a moment, “Blaine, wait.”  He looks up to the boy, ravishing through his drawer like life depends on it, throwing random shit over his shoulder.

Blaine looks at him and bites his lower lip at the sight before him.  Not again.  Kurts eyes are fluttering between open and shut, his breathing is heavy and controlled, and his head is tilted in Blaines general direction although hes not looking at him at all.

Kurt focuses back to Blaine, raking up his body from his toes, glaring up his calves to his knees and his thighs, gazing in wonder at his thick, beautiful cock.  He lingers for a few seconds too long, before examining his abdomen, his pecs, and his nipples.  He finally gets to his throat, the nape of his neck, his mouth.  Their eyes meet for only a second before Kurt is looking to the corner of his bedroom.

“We absolutely cannot do this.  You're seventeen.  I'm twenty-eight.”

Blaine scoffs and leans over the bedside table to rummage through Kurt's personal items again in the second drawer until he finds the bottle of lube and tosses it between his hands, like a juggling act with only one item.  He turns back around to face Kurt and tilts his head slightly to the left.

“My birthday is in like three months, Kurt.  By the time those assholes down at the precinct even start their fucking investigation, I'll be long gone and eighteen.”

There's a beat.  Blaine straightens and takes Kurt's left hand in both of his own.

“Besides, I want to do this with you so you can finally see what I mean.  I like you, Kurt.  I think you're smart and funny and gorgeous, and I know you think positively about me, too.  I think that this is the start of something really awesome.”

Kurt considers this then shakes his head.  He pulls his hand back.

“No.”

“What would we be doing right now if I lied to you and told you I was twenty?  Twenty-five?  What if I was twenty eight, Kurt?  Would that make you stop?”

Kurt keeps his eyes low and submissive.  He rubs aggressively at his eyes and shakes his head.  He knows exactly what they would be doing right now if Blaine were twenty, or twenty-five, or his age.  But he's not.  He is seventeen years old, and he is a child who may have been corrupted by others already, but Kurt will not take advantage.  He won't. 

Blaine shrugs and goes back to the bedside table.  “I won't tell anyone.”  He fumbles with the lube and forcefully repositions himself between Kurts legs; this time Kurt spreads for him on his own without even trying and Blaine licks his lips, grinning evilly.  Blaine grasps at Kurt's knees, pushing his legs up and over his shoulders, and he thinks he might die right here.  Kurt's ankles lock around Blaine's neck, ready and willing to take whatever Blaine has to offer.

This wouldnt be a terrible way to die. 

Blaine unsnaps the bottle and warms the lube effectively before thrusting two fingers in, desperately searching for the sweet spot.  Blaine is an impatient, horny teenager. 

"Oh my God… Blaine… Yes… Curve your… yes!"  His hands are fisting at the comforter again, unsure what else he could do with them.

The boy arcs his fingers again and Kurt shutters and shakes, successful in brushing against the ball of nerves just left and forward to the typical path.  Blaines thrusting his fingers faster now in a rush to start the real fun. 

There are suddenly three fingers curling and scissoring and before Kurt realizes, hes so, so ready.  Kurts breaths are heavy but controlled, and Blaine rubs his tip against Kurts hole in a brutal teasing fashion.  "I still dont think this idea is the best… should we wai…you're almost… holy motherfucking shit, Blaine!"  Blaine thrusts in one sprint of the hips, and hes bottomed out and stilled.

Kurt yelps at the intrusion.  “Warn a guy!”  Kurt's voice is lower than usual, sexier and raspier, like he just chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes for the hell of it.  He instinctively grabs Blaine's hips harshly and pulls him just an inch closer.  The movement has Kurt writhing and whimpering.

"Shut up."  Blaine hasnt moved; hes waiting for the signal from Kurt to let him know its okay.  Kurts eyes are snapped shut in pain, and his jaw is hanging open.  Hes panting now, and can feel Blaine waiting patiently for his go ahead.  Eternity passes, and Blaines cock twitches, not purposely, and Kurt is deteriorating underneath him. 

Kurt moves Blaine's hips into a grind for him, "Move, baby.  Fucking shit."  And Blaine takes him for all hes worth.   Kurt leads them in finding a rhythm that works for the both of them, but it's not quite enough.  Kurt pulls and pushes with all of his might at an alarming speed. "Harder, Blaine.  Go faster.  Exert yourself, baby."  

Kurt whines like a fucking whore at the full departure before screaming out when Blaine hooks his hands tightly to his hips, both of their forearms touching romantically, before punching his cock harder, deeper, faster, becoming one with what must be Kurts intestines.  Kurt is full and it hurts so good; he feels like hes free falling into a pool of quicksand and he doesnt even care.  His body is releasing hormones that are necessary for his orgasm, any second now, and he deliberately clenches around Blaine to lead them to mutual bliss.  Kurt pulls at Blaine to bend and lay on top of him so to change the angle to a much more pleasurable one.  At the movement, Kurts eyes roll to the back of his head and remain there as he meets each thrust of cock, drilling him deeper and more intense every single time.  Kurt tugs Blaine's hair and pulls it back to gain full access to Blaine's Adam's apple with every swallow and catch of breath.  Its the dirty kind of sex that Kurts never known he needed, but he is aroused beyond belief at just the thought of being taken for all that he is, and by Blaine on top – no pun intended – of that.  Blaine is out of control now; he's an animal.  He shifts back upright and intertwines his fingers with Kurt's, pushing all four hands up and over Kurt's head, slamming them into the headboard with a creak. Every. Single. Thrust.  Each one gets harder and faster and deeper and Kurt's absolutely positive he'll be limping for a few more days than normal.

Take it, take it all
Take all that I have
Take it, take it all
Take all that I have

Blaine's breathing hitches and his body stills, buried deep inside his twenty-eight-year-old lover.  He loses all of his weight to Kurt's chest and he swallows his screams in a mouthwatering kiss, as he prepares to find himself and show Kurt what hes been missing all this time.  Kurt takes one look at the pornographic image that is Blaines head thrown back in pleasure and face flushed and sweaty, and Kurts cock receiving the friction of Blaines stomach hair, and pushes Blaine's hand downward, away from the headboard and nearest to Kurt's cock. 

He leads the boy to wrap around his erection.  Blaine pulls at him fast and hard, meeting the thrusts into his ass.  He shoots his white stream of come like a confetti canon so soon onto Blaines chest and all over his hand, with some even flying to his chin and neck, all the while locking eyes with this beautiful boy.  Kurt is flushed, and catches Blaine's mouth in his to mumble sweet nothings into his soul.  Seconds later, Blaine is growling and comes the hardest he could imagine into Kurts ass.  They both still, Kurt's cock still in Blaine's hand, panting and drenched in sweat, and Blaine goes soft inside of Kurt.  On cue, he removes himself and releases Kurt from his hold. 

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Blaine rolls to his side and pulls Kurt closer around the stomach.  Kurt feels the ooze and drip down the back of his thigh, but has absolutely no energy to be responsible and clean up.  Its now that he realizes there was no condom used.  Hell take the time to care later.