Chapter 11

Death Cab For Cutie – I Will Possess Your Heart
Alexz Johnson – Don't You Dare

Blaine's still panting, still in his euphoric state of bliss, and everything is perfect in his world.  He can count on one hand how many times he's thought that; he's ecstatic that one of them involves ramming Kurt into the man's mattress.  He's lying sprawled out on his back with his leg tangled up in Kurt's and the springs of curls lining his face are damp with sweat, and Blaine Anderson is finally happy, and finally in a place where he belongs.

“Blaine?”

“You know,” the boy says in lieu of a response, pushing himself to his side and introducing his palm to his temple to hold him up enough to look over at Kurt, “when I started calling you pretty boy, I meant it.  I did.  I still do.  But now… God.  You're literally the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on, Kurt, and the best part is that you have no idea.  Look at you!  I wish you could see yourself right now.”

Kurt's only human; he blushes and allows a smile, “Blaine.”

He's off on a tangent, “Like… when you were coming, I just…  I had to stop everything that was happening and watch you.  You're fucking beautiful, Kurt, and I don't know how else to say it.  You leave me speechless… Your face, those sounds!  Jesus, Kurt you had me on the verge of orgasm just by listening to you.”  Blaine blushes and touches the man's cheek with the back of his knuckle, “I… I could definitely get used to you, pretty boy.”  He says, with an actual smile.

“Blaine!”  Kurt yells and jerks away at Blaine's opposite hand trailing up and down the side of his body.  He scrambles out of bed and flings a dresser drawer open, aware enough not to bend at the waist to retrieve a pair of underwear; he can't allow Blaine to get more of a show than he's already seen.  “Stop.  Just, stop, okay?  That… was not supposed to happen.  You need to go.  Oh fuck!  I'm so sorry.”  He slides down the wall and buries his face in his hands.

The best sex he's ever had, and it comes from a person he can never be with again. 

xK&Bx

“Wait… what?”

Kurt appears pained to say it, but he's also determined, “Get. Out.”

“Kurt…”  Blaine isn't sure he's hearing Kurt correctly.  Is he fucking kidding?  The boy reaches out to touch Kurt anywhere he can get.

“Get the fuck out!  OUT!  Out, out...” Kurt drifts away into his own mantra of the one word he can say. 

Blaine feels like he's on the verge of tears.  He does not understand what he's done, and he's already longing for Kurt's kiss. He whispers, “I can't go home.”

Kurt sighs and counts to ten before looking up at Blaine, beautiful, broken Blaine with nowhere to go.  Kurt is not being sensible. 

Blaine continues, “I'm an hour late for my curfew.  He'll fucking kill me.”

“And it's better if you don't go home at all.”  Kurt deadpans and looks to Blaine.  He can't seem to believe that coming home late is worse than not coming home at all.  Burt would have had a fit either way.

“He'll be too drunk later to remember I never did…”  Blaine replies.

Kurt sighs, clearly losing the fight.  “Fine.”  He twists to open a different dresser drawer and throws a pair of sweatpants to the boy.  “Don't take these from me.  They're my last remaining, since you stole the other ones.”  This should be flirting; it comes out cutting sharper than a knife. 

Blaine nods once and pulls them on, making one move toward the bed.

“No way.  Couch.”

Blaine stares back at him dumbly.  He's never done this before, but he's pretty confident that this is not how it's supposed to go only minutes after he's had his cock buried deep inside Kurt's ass.  He turns on his heel and heads to the door.  Something snaps him out of it, though, and he twirls back around to face the man.  He yearns for romance, cuddling, watching Kurt's eyes reflect into the moonlight through the window. 

“You can't fucking treat me like this, Kurt, after we just had sex.  That actually meant something to me, you know!  What the fuck is your problem?  You couldn't have kicked me out before that?”  Blaine is offended and can't seem to get it through to Kurt that his feelings are hurt.

“My problem is that I just raped you, Blaine!  Do you not get that?  I am now a rapist, I'll never stop being a rapist, that word can always be used to describe me, and frankly, this is absolutely going to ruin both our fucking lives!”  Kurt shoots up so he's towering over Blaine instead of the other way around.  Kurt thrives only when he has everything under control, and although this is not that time, he at least appears to be in control with his thoughts and actions and reasoning.

“You didn't rape me, Kurt.”

“Yes.  I did.”

“I wanted it!  I really fucking wanted this!  I want you.”  Blaine counters, still not seeing the issue.  The age of consent is sixteen in Ohio; why doesn't Kurt understand that?

“You are seventeen.  I am twenty-eight.  It is statutory rape because you are so much younger than me.  Surely, you must know that?  Jesus, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

Oh my God, he doesn't know.  This means more than before.  Kurt actually gave into Blaine, not caring that he was supposedly breaking the law, at least in the moment.  Blaine decides to omit the truth.  “The only thing I know right now is that you just took my virginity, and I'm pretty sure I can't ever get that back and when I try to cuddle with you after, you push me away like I have the plague.”  He throws up his arms, and they plummet down against his thighs.  He's done.  “Forget it.  Fuck you, Kurt.”

Kurt cringes with self-disgust at the thought of taking this kid's virginity like it was worth nothing at all.

Self-defense kicks in.  “You just did.”

Blaine groans.  “Kurt.”

He childishly stomps out and away to the living room, plopping down on the couch and curling in the fetal position, his face buried in the cushion where one's back belongs.  He allows only one tear to fall before he's fading.  He lies there, without any blankets, for hours.  He cries and screams into the cushion to mute his sounds.  Blaine feels so alone, directly after an act that should have brought someone straight to his heart.  He's shaking but he can't tell if it's because he's still coming down from being so pissed off and hurt, or if he's just freezing.  Finally, he sits up and stares into the darkness, seemingly reminiscing then making a plan to stick to.  Shuffling through the black pit of Kurt's living room, Blaine can only bear to feel his way to the door of his bedroom.  He pushes the door ajar shyly with only his knuckle, as if he makes sure to at least pretend he knocks. 

xK&Bx

Standing before him, a shattered little boy with nowhere to escape from his own wrath.  Surely, he's been beating himself up for the past three hours, just like Kurt, together but separate in their identical thoughts.  The boy just stands there, looking strikingly similar to how he must have looked when he was eight or nine. 

Kurt feels like he's thrown straight into a terrible made-for-TV movie where he dies at the end of a broken heart.

The mattress sinks with Blaine's added weight not asking permission but just approaching.  It is shifting when his head hits the shared pillow, heads inches away from each other, and he scurries his feet and body quickly under the single blanket.  Blaine cuddles up next to Kurt's body, Kurt shocked at the ice-cold toes lying across the top of his feet.  Blaine is a natural cuddler, finding the man's fingers and intertwining them with his own before pulling Kurt's arm up and over Blaine's waist, squeezing his fingers as a mute “goodnight.”

They lay like this for one hundred and twenty seconds.  Kurt counts.

“Blaine…”  His voice cracks and as much as he wants to, he needs to push the boy away and out of his house.  He indulges for just another minute, pulling the boy in and wrapping his arms around Blaine's back. 

“Mmmm?” 

“I'm going to call you a cab, okay?  You have to go.” He says it as gently as he knows how.  He lets go of his hand and squirms out of the bed as quickly and as gracefully as birds sing at sunrise. 

“No, pretty boy… please don't kick me out.”  Blaine's being… sweet.

“You've gotta go.  Come on, baby.  Get up.”  Kurt pokes at his side to move him.  “I wish you could stay, but it's not appropriate.  I'm so sorry.”

“I won't tell anyone.  I won't tell anyone at all, not even Santana.”  Blaine turns only his waist to look back at Kurt's wide blue eyes, scared shitless. 

Blaine smirks, “Too soon?  Sorry, pretty boy.”

“Especially not Santana.”  Kurt lets go of all the air in his lungs and he stands, pulling at Blaine's good arm.  Blaine snatches his body part back into his comfort zone and plants his feet on the ground.  He looks up at Kurt, seeming as though he might actually be inching toward cooperation.  Blaine's eyes are wet with tears that aren't escaping and a sincere frown complete with creases around his mouth.  Still resembling the little boy that he is, Kurt can sense his heart breaking in a thousand little pieces right before his eyes.

He regrets this moment of kicking a boy out on his ass after the best sex of his life to date. 

Kurt stands over his bedside table to regain some composure before he undocks his phone and calls the local cab company.  After some chatter with a man with broken English, he hits end and looks to Blaine.

“Twenty minutes.”

“I can't believe you're kicking me out.  Why don't you believe that I'll never tell anyone if that's what you want?”

Kurt sits on the edge of the bed, never taking his eyes off of Blaine. 

“Don't start, you know we can't do this again yet.  And if you stay, we will.  And as much as I want… you just can't stay, okay?  I'm sorry.  Now, do you want coffee or tea while you wait?  You're freezing.”

Blaine shrugs submissively and follows a lightning-fast Kurt to the kitchen.  When he catches up, he finds Kurt hunched over the countertop staring at the wall with the teakettle heating up.  The muscles in his back are moving underneath his skin with every flinch and tiny shiver and tap of the fingertip to the counter, and his legs that go on for weeks are perfectly lean with the exact amount of hair peaking out from underneath his gym shorts that Blaine finds wildly attractive.  No more, no less.  The coarse hair on Kurt's legs is something unimaginably flawless.

Blaine shuffles at the doorway and looks around aimlessly.  Kurt turns and stares at him, the flutter of turquoise causing Blaine to choke on nothing at all.

As accurately fantasized, Kurt Hummel is as gorgeous sexed out as he is during normal business hours.

As predicted, Blaine Anderson is beautiful post-sex. 

“I thought the afterglow of sex was supposed to feel almost as amazing as the sex itself.”

“I didn't know you were a virgin… I'm really, really sorry.”

“For what?”

“Taking your first time away from you… for being rude, for kicking you to the couch.  For freaking out?  For pushing you away now?  For everything.”

There's a beat.

Blaine shrugs. 

“Do you regret it?”

Kurt turns again.  The teakettle has saved the day.

“Well, I don't.  That's kinda how everything else in my life turns out, though.  No big deal.  I'm not gonna tell anyone, Kurt.  I wish you didn't regret this.  Us.”

Kurt stalks toward him and takes him by the shoulders, staring into the gorgeous shade of browngreenhazelgold.  “You are going to find a wonderful partner one day, B, and they are going to love you for every incredible thing that you are, even your age.  When you have sex with that man, it's going to feel like a brand new world.  I promise you.  You won't even remember what I look like.”

Blaine's convinced Kurt is crazy if he thinks that he'll ever forget even the tiniest details traced within Kurt.  He shakes his head furiously, desperate for Kurt not to continue.  He doesn't need a new wonderful partner.  He needs Kurt.  He responds in the only way he knows how at this very moment.  He fishes his phone out of his pocket and hits play before placing it on the counter next to the stove.

How I wish you could see the potential
The potential of you and me

He wraps his arms around the older man's waist to pull him closer and kisses him fiercely, bruise-worthy and hard but with no tongue.  He feels Kurt's breath hitch underneath his lips and Blaine takes it as a cue to pull back.  He stares into his lover's eyes and guides his hands up and around his neck.

It's like a book elegantly bound
But in a language that you can't read just yet

They swirl and swivel in circles around the dark kitchen.  Kurt brings his head to Blaine's shoulder and hugs him tighter, granting access of the outside world by his single tear.  Two hearts, beating as one for the remainder of the song that explains it all.

“Do you have cash for the cab?”

Blaine looks up into Kurt's eyes and tilts his head.  He swallows and shakes his head no.

Kurt breaks away and disappears into his bedroom to grab some money and returns with a fresh twenty-dollar bill.  He shoves it directly into Blaine's back pocket, fingers lingering hesitantly. 

The seeping mugs of tea on the counter behind them remain unnoticed, forgotten like Kurt's previous hesitation.  At least for the rest of tonight.

xK&Bx

Blaine's a sneaky motherfucker, and he succeeds with the break-in to his own bedroom.  He lies awake for the night's entirety.  He'll deal with the feelings that are eating him alive tomorrow and he'll go and talk to Kurt, make sure they're okay.   Were we ever okay?  Okay is such an obsolete feeling.

Kurt seemed put-together as he was leaving the man's apartment to catch the taxi.  They awkwardly stood in front of each other for several painstaking seconds before Kurt nodded and kissed Blaine on the jaw. 

“See you tomorrow, pretty boy.”  The next thing Blaine saw was the heavy door inches from his nose. 

The cab ride home consisted of downloading then sending an MP3 of another song that explains it all straight to Kurt's inbox. 

I could say that I don't care
But the truth is I'd follow you anywhere
I'd been waiting such a long, long time
Don't you dare change your mind

Look behind that door
I'm the one you've been searching for
And I'm not a little girl anymore

Don't wander around looking for someone to replace me
Don't wander around wasting the rest of your life
Don't wander around waiting for someone else to save you
And don't you make the same mistake twice

xK&Bx

The bedroom door flies open and Blaine jumps up in defense. 

“Where the fuck were you, boy?”

“Dad… what are you…?”

And each hard fist and swift kick leaves Blaine thinking only of Kurt and how worth this beating truly is. 

xK&Bx

Kurt, exhausted from a restless night, is a skittish mess.  He watches his bedside clock intently until it's five in the morning, then sits up and begins preparing for his day.  Thinking back to Blaine's last words before he slammed the door in his face, Kurt starts to hyperventilate.  He crouches to the floor and sobs, unsure what his next action should be.  He finds himself texting Julie to come grab the key from him on her way into work and then falling back on the bed.  She does, and he waits an hour and a half before calling his father, figuring the sun should at least be raised before a favor is to be asked.

He's always had a huge problem lying to his father, but there are times when it is just necessary.   This is definitely one of those times.

“Hey Kurt, what's going on?”

“Hey Dad… I need you to go help Jules with the shop, if you can?”

“Hmmm, sure.  Where are you?”

“I'm…” he coughs for good measure, “I'm sick.”

“Uh huh.”

“Please, Dad?  Go help her?  I'll bet she is drowning in the morning rush and I couldn't possibly… infect… everyone.”

“Alright.  I'm bringing you soup after it dies down a little.”

“See you later.  Thank you Dad, love you!”  Kurt hangs up before he gets any deeper into his disgusting, terrible lie.

xK&Bx

Blaine:  Pretty boy, where are you?  This is the first time I've ever been here without you.  It's weird. 
Blaine:  I hope you're not avoiding me.
Blaine:  We should talk?
Blaine:  Who's the adult in this thing, Kurt?

xK&Bx

The constant ring of the buzzer at his front door startles and provokes his body to jerk into a state of life.  He climbs out of bed and wraps the quilt around himself and stumbles to the speaker.  He hits “Listen” and holds his ear up to the contraption on the wall. 

Blaine is talking to himself, pleading with a holy spirit (or something) that Kurt just opens the door.  Kurt looks back over his shoulder at the clock on the wall:  9:30 in the morning.   

Kurt aims to ignore Blaine, at least until he can wrap last night around his head completely and figure out what needs to be done.  He knows, with Blaine's pull to Kurt's body, that if he lets the boy in, history will repeat itself.  He can't have that.  He knows it's shallow, selfish, really fucked up.  He knows that he shouldn't treat Blaine like this, especially having been his first time.  He can't bring himself to face the situation at hand, so he simply doesn't.  He sits beneath the intercom and listens to the non-stop buzz for the next ten minutes before Blaine apparently gives up.

xK&Bx

Aggravated and bruised yet again in the ribs, Blaine goes back into the Lima Bean, eyes searching for the girl always present in the mornings.  He needs answers.

“Hey.”

“Hi!  How are you this morning, Bl-”

“Where's Kurt?”

“Who are you?”  A burly older man with familiar turquoise eyes appears, stepping up behind the girl at the cash register and folding his arms across his chest, probably to appear more intimidating than he already is.

“Uhh?  Who the fuck are you, old man?”  Fuck, this guy is a huge asshole.

The man raises his eyebrow.  “Kurt's father, boy.  Who the hell are you?”

Blaine's eyes go wide and his breath stops.  He backs away subconsciously and shifts his eyes to the ground.  His mouth mimics an “O” and he blinks rapidly, trying to find his composure.

“I didn't mean… I'm Blaine.  Kurt's… he's a friend of mine.”  The words escape as a whisper; Blaine is appalled by his own behavior. 

“Oh!  You're Blaine… huh.”

“You've heard of me?”

Burt stares at Blaine.  There is something Blaine wants to hide from the world, and although he doesn't know what it is, he would know the kid is fucked up with or without the conversation he had a few weeks ago with Kurt.  Things start to fit into place, and Burt knows exactly what's going on – Kurt is avoiding Blaine.  “Why” is the question and he'll have to get the answer out of one or both of them. 

“I've heard enough about you to know what Kurt thinks.”

Blaine stares back at Burt, wide-eyed and bushy tail between his legs.  His neck is craned at a tight angle to look to the man's face, his body towering over petite little Blaine.  Kurt's dad is fucking scary.

“Um, okay.  I wish he'd share those sentiments with me, sir.  But umm, do you think I could maybe have a Medium Drip and also a croissant… please?”

“$5.64.  Your total.”  Burt rings it in and looks to the boy expectedly.

“Oh.  I haven't...”  He looks at Julie for help.  “I haven't paid for awhi-“  He cuts himself off and buries his hand in his pocket and hands Kurt's dad (Kurt's father!) some cash.  The conversation throws him off guard, not only because he's interacting with the man who made Kurt, but he's also paying for something at the Lima Bean for the first time in many, many moons.  He moves down and waits for the girl to pour his coffee and retrieve his breakfast.  Everything feels off without Kurt running the coffee shop at his own pace.  There's a bizarre murkiness to the environment that's usually perky and light-hearted.  Blaine quickly retreats to his table with the Carrie Underwood lyrics and breaks apart his pastry. 

He munches away and finds himself attentive to his posture, the way he's carrying himself when he rises to use the rest room, and even the way he's crossing his ankles on the empty chair in front of him.  He's careful not to reveal the biggest mistake of his past year to Kurt's dad because that would be a fucking disaster.  Blaine allows his mind to wander, as it usually does at the Lima Bean.  He prides himself on the desire to make an effort with Kurt, and establishes his determination in actively exhibiting exactly how polite Blaine Anderson could be.  In his Dalton days, he pleased all the parents and was the one among his friends to convince the grown-ups that they were good kids who never experimented with the questionable teenage phases. 

He takes a sip of his coffee and sets it back down on the table, channeling his inner prep school boy.  He plunges his head back into a place of old money and neckties and dry-cleaned-only.  He forces his brain into large vocabulary and swallows into an octave higher when speaking with over-pronounced syllables.  He's transformed into what parents want to see in their kid's significant other.  

Fuck it.  Kurt's dad was an asshole to him first.  Blaine is weary of changing for anyone and it's definitely not going to be some dick who thinks he's in charge just because his son owns the place.  Fuck that. 

Burt is watching him intently, burning fire through Blaine's skull with just his eyes.  His familiar, soft eyes have turned angry and disgusted.  Maybe Kurt didn't tell his father about the age difference?    It's clear that Blaine is younger than Kurt by several excruciating years.

“Mister Hummel?”

Kurt's dad stares on as a response.  It's a bland response, but at least there's acknowledgement at all. 

“Fuck.  Nevermind, man.”

“Out with it.  I already don't like you for getting involved with my son.  Prove me wrong, Blaine.”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?”  Blaine approaches the counter again with fisted hands plastered to his hips and an ugly scowl overtaking his lips. 

“He's fragile and it is my job to take care of him.”  The older man scowls right back.

“He is nearly thirty.  Pretty sure he doesn't need his overprotective daddy looking after him.  He can do whatever and whoever he wants.”  Blaine's waiting to get the reaction he needs out of Burt, as if his father and Kurt's father are the same person.

“Exactly!  He is nearly thirty.  You are not even out of high school yet, are you?”  Burt screams publicly, attracting the clientele to quiet and look over, intently paying attention to the argument.

Blaine waves them off, trying to intimidate them all by stepping quickly like he's about to pounce.  “You know what?  Fuck you.  Tell lover boy I said thanks for last night.”

“I will not!  He is to not go near you again.”

Blaine takes a deep breath.  He's red in the face and hyperventilating.  He needs to calm down before he says what he's about to.  He steps closer to the cash register.

“Look.  Mister Hummel, I don't know the details of what happened to Kurt's brother or whatever, but I know that you are trying to keep him close so that nothing happens to him, either.”  He knows he's hit the nail on the head when Kurt's father unexpectedly begins to tear up behind his eyes.  He wipes furiously away at the moisture and stares back to the boy. 

Blaine continues.

“And I assume that you understand that I don't really have a father figure in my life and I apparently don't know how to react in the presence of someone else's.  So I'm sorry.  But I am not sorry for getting involved with Kurt.  He's kinda the best thing that ever happened to me and I… We're not even sure… I mean, this is all very new for the both of us, and I really don't know what to say about it all besides that I'm sorry we got off like that.  I didn't mean to yell at you, I just… I really like him and I get really offended when everyone's telling me it's wrong, him included.”

“It's okay.  Your ass should go into psychology or something.” 

Blaine can't help but giggle softly. 

Burt half-smiles and looks back to his son's… um, lover?

“Why don't we go sit down and talk?  I trust my son's judgment, and if he sees something in you, it must be worth it.”

“Sure thing, sir, ask me anything.”  They turn to walk back to the table Blaine's been occupying and sit down.

And so he does.  He asks him everything.  The only event Blaine leaves out of his overall life story to Burt is the sex with his son.  By the end of the nearly two-hour conversation, Burt knows enough about Blaine and his family situation to provide an honest opinion of the boy, and his verdict is that it's going to be a hell of a lot harder to hate this boy than it was at nine-thirty this morning.

xK&Bx

Blaine:  I just met your dad.  He is amazing, Kurt.
Blaine:  We might have gotten off on the wrong foot… you know me and people telling me I'm not right for you… but it ended nice.
Blaine:  I shouldn't be so surprised, obviously he's amazing.  He's your dad. 
Blaine:  Please call me, pretty boy.  I miss you and we really should talk about everything.
Blaine:  I understand if you just want to be friends or whatever, but we need to get on the same page about this.  Please don't avoid me for too long.
Blaine:  I actually sorta miss you?  Is that weird to say?
Blaine:  Whatever.  I miss you.