Chapter 5

Authors Note:  Hello everyone!  Checking in with everyone, making sure everyones still liking?  :)  I wanted to let you all know that I posted a Lima Bean Playlist below for your listening enjoyment.  This is basically the background music thats behind the boys every time theyre at Kurts coffee shop.

I dont know if I told you guys this yet, but this is a completed piece of work and its got twenty-four chapters and an epilogue.  Ill be posting three times a week through January until its done.

Hope you are still enjoying!  Please review, reblog, comment, etc... if you feel so inclined!  And please, lets hang out on Tumblr!  I am /becausehiships.  Much love! :)

Lima Bean Playlist:   http://open.spotify.com/user/nikknyc/playlist/4uFFnlmiJuccINXyq3Wx9M

No one knows where Blaine is, and for some reason he can't describe, Kurt is anxiously concerned.

It is Tuesday morning, 8:57am. Its now been a full week, and Kurt is worried for the stranger he wants to know.  He doesn't have a good feeling about Blaine's disappearance, considering the first day they ever met involved a ridiculously swollen black eye and what seemed to be an excruciating limp.  

Kurt shouldn't care; this boy is a stranger, a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

Santana started to camp out in the shop to find him, but gave up after four days of switching between the coffee shop and the address in his file.  Like Kurt, she has a bad feeling about the situation, but she knows more details than Kurt.  Blaine's father is around and either at home or at the courthouse, but apparently can never keep track of his own child.  Blaine's father says Blaine does what he wants and there's no controlling him.  Santana's confident, though, that if anyone can control anyone else, it's probably Christian Anderson.

Santana Lopez is admittedly a persistent bitch, even when she's assigned to keep track of one of the most difficult kids in Lima.  She bothers Christian Anderson every workday several times a day, parked in the extensively stoned driveway, never thinking even remotely about back doors and the woods behind the house that Blaine has been using to his advantage to sneak in and out.  It's a shame she's just a beginner.

It's a challenge for Blaine to never get caught, and it works until he's sick of the game.

xK&Bx

Its business as usual at the Lima Bean, except that Kurt feels strangely incomplete and empty.  This is crazy. Kurt knows nothing about Blaine, only that he is completely infatuated with him, and he can't even tell himself why.  Rationally, he's only known him for a wrinkle of time in the grand scheme of things, and yet every day since he's seen the boy he regrets stealing too much time sobbing in the employee restroom after Blaine invited him to sit with him. He chalks it up as a (very unfortunate) loss and continues to clean the non-existent milk stains on the counter.  He openly wonders if he'll ever see Blaine again, and prays to a god he hardly believes in that he'll waltz through the door at any given moment.  The possibility of knowing Blaine is scary, and he tries to push all of the sexual fantasies out of his head, especially since Blaine is seventeen years old.  He's seventeen, therefore it cannot happen.  Even if Kurt wanted it to.  Which he doesn't.  Didn't.  Won't.

As though Kurt's thoughts literally pull people out of hibernation, the ribbon of bells is suddenly thrown more harshly than normal and Kurt snaps his neck out of concentration only to see the messenger bag and curly hair and the scowl on puffed lips, and those kaleidoscope eyes.  Kurt lets go of a breath that seems to always be held nowadays.  He's relieved that Blaine is fine, at least physically. 

Kurt throws the rag down, folds his arms across the stretch of his chest, and tilts his head knowingly.  He could watch Blaine all day and never get bored; so long as no one catches him staring at a seventeen-year-old boy. 

Blaine has allowed the pushed door to close fiercely behind him as he lingers by his normal table uncomfortably, silently cursing the two housewives already seated there with their MacBook Pros, typing furiously into WordPress and giggling over lattes. Hes nervous and out of breath, but slumps into the lesser table next to his Carrie Table and starts to unpack his things.  Scowling at the blonde facing him, Blaine is clearly trying to intimidate them into leaving.  When they make no effort to do so, he huffs and tries to concentrate on whatever textbook he brought with him today.

Kurt nods to himself.  It's now or never.  He smears his hands on his apron, cracks his neck to both sides, and approaches Blaine, and Blaine of course beats him to the start of the conversation.

"Hey, pretty boy." He smirks and looks up at him, ignoring the books on the table that are fighting to be placed in some sort of order.

Kurt blushes at the nickname.  "Blaine." He takes another chance and continues the discussion.  "Where have you been?  I was getting worried… given your um, history."  Smooth.

"Ive been around, babe.  Where have you been?"  He says, a bit too loudly. The housewives conversation halts, and they stare at Kurt with disgusted looks on both of their Stepford faces.

"Right here.  Business as usual."  Waiting for you.  He shrugs with one shoulder and looks down at the insanely interesting tiles at his feet.

"Waiting for me?  I've missed you." The Stepfords scoff. They're absolutely repulsed. “You know, Kurt…” Blaine meets the eyes of the blonde one facing him. “I've really fucking missed you.”  Blaine ascends to stand directly in front of him, wrapping his arms around him teasingly and grinding lightly up and down, creating much-needed friction against Kurt's pulsing cock.  Their bodies are connected down to their shins, and Blaine is conveniently positioned to stare at the ladies the entire time he's turning Kurt on.

Kurt pulls away as soon as he's able to move and twirls to follow Blaine's line of vision. He understands now. Blaine is such a little instigator and he thrives on the trouble he starts.  Kurt looks back to him for a second before flickering away and concentrates on the loose string untangling itself where his pocket and the rest of the apron meet.

"Okay. Do you want your usual, then?"  Kurt can't help but play along; he rests his hand on top of Blaine's for a few seconds and smiles.  He loves scaring people with his gay; maybe Blaine could become his partner in crime.  No!  He's seventeen.  He's never been this bold before; the feeling thrills his bones.

Blaine smirks at Kurt's refusal to lay down the truth for the two waiting housewives. He sits and crosses his GPS-infected ankle over the top of his knee and shakes it to attract the women's eyeline.  He waits for their jaws to drop then he looks up at Kurt, looking back at him expectedly.  The boy ponders for a minute then presses the Home button on his phone to check the numbers on his screen.

"About that time, I guess." He brushes his fingers from Kurt's elbow to his fingers, intertwining his fingers with the man's for a jolt of time. 

Kurt shyly tries to pull back, but his fingers are yanked and suddenly his body is seated on Blaine's lap.  They're inches away again, breathing in the same air, staring at each other's colorful eyes.

“This isn't a game, pretty boy.  It's not just for them.”  Blaine kisses Kurt's cheek, who sputters and runs to duck behind the counter.  He orders Julie to start preparing the “Blaine Original” and delivers the cup to the counter before Blaine can even make it to the counter to share his wishes for a warmed croissant with the girl at the register. Kurt appears to be racing against the clock.

"On the house today." Nodding to Julie in an unspoken demand to skip the ring in, Kurt smiles at Blaine.

"Let us know if you need anything else!" Julie exclaims in the bubbliest voice Blaine might have ever heard, especially for it being before noon. He glances from her to Kurt and nods in thanks, and heads back to his new, smaller table and stares down at the first of five books in his haphazard pile.

If Blaine befriends the owner of the Lima Bean, he might not want to escape. For now, he watches his new friend disappear into the background, apparently to “catch up on some paperwork,” or so he says to the girl at the cash register.

xK&Bx

“Kurt?”

“What's up, Julie?”  He raises his head, buried in his hands only a second before.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh!  Yeah, Jules.  Don't you worry about me...”  He trails off and flashes what he hopes is an assurance by way of smile.

This needs to end before it begins.  Even his employees are catching on that he's absolutely seething in lust for this little boy, closer in age to his high school co-workers than to him.  But, what if Blaine really just needs a friend?  Someone to help him through a dark period of his life?  Kurt can be exactly that for Blaine.  Kurt can save Blaine.  Kurt's determined to try. 

He knows he needs to tell Santana that Blaine has finally showed up, but he decides that he will call her after lunch, after he has the opportunity to talk with him more.  It feels like it is the perfect time for someone new to find his way to him; he really needs it. Kurt's routine has become monotonous and boring, and there was a time when Kurt had no idea what those words even meant. Kurt's been uninspired for years now, and it finally feels like Blaine would easily be able to fit into whatever revelation that was bound to happen in Kurt's heart.  He needs someone to spice up his life a bit, but Kurt's still not sure if it could be Blaine, given his age and overall lack of experience, sexually or in life.  He knows he should stay away.

It's not helping that it feels like a piece of thread is attached at both ends to each of them, and the pulling of the rope gets too tight for comfort when they are far away from one another.

Kurt is terrified that he could hardly function without knowing where Blaine was.  He couldn't possibly concentrate on anything right now because they are in the same room again. Hell relay details to Santana once he knows some of Blaines story for himself, once he knows the whole story.  He doesn't think he would betray Blaine.  Kurts mind is inquisitive, and wants to know about the boy, despite his age difference, despite the fact that they could never be together, despite the fact that they could be nothing more than platonic friends.  If he's being honest with himself, he's truly not sure if the draw to him is sexual at all, or if it's one of those soul mate pulls he learned about on the SciFi channel and in Nicholas Sparks novels.  Maybe their souls actually are attached, sewn together at invisible seams, waiting for each end to notice the tension with the distance.  Whoa. 

Kurt's scared that he's even thinking about the impossibility of having Blaine to call his own. He realizes that eleven years is a huge age gap, and he knows that it's taboo in his lifestyle that's already taboo and strange, at least according to everyone in Lima.  He wants to care about how wrong it would be, he even vocalizes it to Santana (several times) in a way that could only be construed as beating around the bush and hypothetical.

The morning glides by as if no time at all has passed. The coffee shop is extremely busy, giving no Lima Bean employee a chance to catch their breath.  It's busy in a way that distracts Kurt enough from Blaine keeping tabs on him. He is aware of Blaines eyes burning into his skin as he dances around the floor retrieving carbohydrates and coffee for his customers.  The sexual tension looms above them both, like a dark creature swirling around their bodies, but Kurt makes a point to carefully attempt to focus on the job at hand. So somehow, he maintains the concentration and perseveres straight through a five-hundred-transaction morning.

Without notice, the small hand meets the 1 and the large hand meets the 6, and it is 1:30 in the afternoon. Kurt shifts gears and allows his other employee in for the evening to take over. He disappears to the back to wash up and to scrub the minor tint of coffee beans out of his knuckles. Hes giving himself a pep talk throughout the practice, and he returns in what seems to be record time for him. The homophobic housewife bloggers have since disappeared, and Blaine is at his regular table, chomping away at his usual turkey sandwich. The cup of green tea lemonade with too much sugar is sweating and forming a small pool on the table, inching dangerously close to Blaines notebook, scribbled on so hard one would be able to make out the words if they flipped the page to the next. Kurt snatches a few napkins and approaches Blaine's table, lifts the moistened cup without a word, lays the napkins on the surface, and replaces the cup on top. Blaine almost smiles at him. With his mouth full and his spine hunched over his textbook, he reacts to the action with the simplest of words.

"Thank you." 

Kurt smiles and gracefully sits across from him, his chin resting on the ball of his right palm, ruthlessly and shamelessly analyzing Blaine's features.  He's not sure what's come over him, but he doesn't move to stop.

Blaine blinks in a question and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What? Is it gone?"

"Oh." Kurt snickers and covers his mouth.  "Is what gone?”

"Why are you gaping at me? Do I have food on my face or not?"

"Just looking.  Your little friends are gone."  He jerks his head to the door, hoping Blaine would understand who he's speaking about.

They stare at each other; they're both at a loss for words.  There is silence. There is a connection; everyone who would be so lucky to witness this moment would have no way to counter it.  Blaine continues to stay locked to Kurt and bites into his sandwich again.

“So what's your favorite drink at Starbucks?”  Kurt smirks.  It's his best excuse for flirting.

Blaine looks surprised.  He opens his mouth to speak, full of turkey and bread, but Kurt chimes in again.

“I mean, you haven't been around and so it leads me to believe you have another coffee shop that needs your attention.  Are you cheating on me, Blaine Anderson?”  Kurt's smiling; he hopes this comes off as a joke.

Blaine's baffled but lets out a silent squawk, “Only on the weekends.”

They share a moment.  There's a beat, and another one.  The conversation turns serious, more like an interview than a talk between friends.

"Youre a little young to own the Lima Bean, pretty boy.”  Blaine has no idea where his words come from. He can't stop, try as he might, each syllable rolling off his tongue in an extreme case of word vomit.

"Im not that young. Im not as young as you are."

"How young are you?" Blaine smirks because really, he just wants to know.

"Ive got oh… eleven years on you."

At least hes still in his twenties.  Even though he looks like he's nineteen. "How old do you think I am?"

"I know how old you are."

Blaine stares, Kurt explains. "I used to live with your parole officer.  She filled me in, as a warning maybe?”  Kurt swallows the lump in his throat.  “Although, I could have sworn you were at least eighteen when you first came in here.  Had to be the overall demeanor."  He smiles again.  Hopeful. I was hopeful you were at least eighteen. God dammit.

Blaines mouth is shaped in a small "o." He drops the conversation there. He is brutally reminded that Kurt and Santana know each other. This cannot go on. He can't mess around, have a connection with, Santana's ex-roommate and obvious best friend or whatever.

It goes on.  “Where did you live with Santana?”  Blaine's word vomit is officially out of control. 

“New York.  We went to college there, but we're both from here.”

There's a beat.  Blaine continues to stare, so Kurt continues to talk.

"Its not the same in Ohio.  There is nothing better than walking through Central Park by yourself with just your music.  Hearing the crunch of the leaves under your feet with every single step on your way back from the subway?  It's the best.  It felt like home, more than Lima ever has, really."

"That was deep." Blaine has a teasing tone that Kurt cant deny, and this is what he is hoping for.

Kurt only shrugs.

Blaine gives him a pointed look.

“I just…”

"Boss! I need help with a void, please!" Austin, one of Kurts employees, asks politely. Kurt smiles at Blaine and ducks behind the counter to assist with whatever complicated situation a coffee shop could possibly have in the middle of an afternoon.

xK&Bx

Blaine was not expecting Kurt to be nice to him, to be forgiving especially after some of the embarrassing things he's said to him.  He admittedly has said some of the most crass words hes ever let out of his mouth to Kurts face so its surprising when Kurt acts as though he actually wants to hold a conversation with him. Blaine knows that the things he says are all part of the cover-up act, but he is now actively wondering if Kurt can see right through him. This is so fucking dangerous. He scoffs at himself and shakes his head, lost in thought about a man eleven years older than him. Who knew hed be so turned on by exactly that?  Maybe he was only turned on because Kurt looks the way he does, or is the way he is. Blaine isnt sure what draws him, but its something that hes not willing to give up without an honest try.

It is ten to three now, and Blaine begins to pack up. He is a boy of constant routine, because it's one of the few things in his life that he can control.  Unfortunately, Blaine's father is home whenever he feels like it, and works from home when he can, bouncing from conference call to conference call, so he's a little less than predictable, at least when it comes to his presence. His mother arrives promptly at six thirty. Blaine finds his short time alone to be more than enough time for hoarding dinner for later and then taking his nightly shower.  He reads or watches Netflix until ten or eleven in his double-locked bedroom, then masturbates to the image of Kurt's cock deep in his throat and falls asleep.

Today, though, Blaine is interrupted as he is pushing his stubborn notebook into his messenger bag at the completely wrong angle so it refuses to go in.

“Sorry I left so abruptly before.” Kurt sits again, although he knows that Blaine is just about ready to go. This is a test to see if he'll stay.

“It's fine.” Blaine shrugs.  He's had time to put his walls up; he almost let himself slip there before, and he cannot let that happen with Kurt.

“So what were we saying?”

“Umm, how hot you'd look bouncing on my cock with your hair all plastered to your forehead with sweat and those high-pitched moans with every single thrust?”  Blaine grins. 

Kurt blinks, blushing to the tips of his ears.  “We were definitely not talking about that.”  He leans in, his voice lowering darkly to the color of his midnight eyes.

“Inner monologue,” Blaine leans in as well, too seductively for this to end positively, “pretty boy.”

The older man snaps up straight in his chair, exploring the wonders of his cuticles.  “Where do you go at three?” Kurt's brows are furrowed and he's closed himself off.  It's like he's tried to figure out the details of Blaine's tight schedule for weeks and keeps coming up with nothing, and nowhere.

“Well, I usually wander to wherever the drugs are, and the hookers.  At three o'clock in the fucking afternoon.  Why are you asking me stupid fucking questions, huh?”

Kurt looks confused.  He thinks he might be seeing double. 

“I'm just kidding. I only go home.  I've got to be home before my parents get back from work.  Mainly to avoid them, since they really suck. I usually beat them back if I leave right around now.”  It's not lying, but it's not the truth either.  At least it's easier to say than so he doesn't beat me.

“Thrilling.”

“There's not much else I can do with this thing attached.” Why Blaine feels the need to say this, he'll never understand.  Plus, he's saying it like it seems fucking natural, like he's meant to tell Kurt these things. Like he wants Kurt to know, and Kurt is absorbing all of this information about him like a sponge, as if he wants to know, too.  And for some reason, that makes Blaine feel wanted.

Kurt nods and offers a sad smile.

“I don't like the pity, Kurt.”  He stands. “There's a lot I could probably do within my four mile radius, I just don't feel like it.”

“Why not?”

“You ask a lot of stupid questions.”  Blaine sighs.  “I don't know.  Out of sight, out of mind.  They look for me so they can arrest me again.  I hide here.”

Kurt blushes again and shrugs.  He tries to remain passive about Blaine's entire situation but feels like he's failing immensely.  He searches for more words, if only for the sake of the conversation to never end.

“The movie theatre is within your range, I'm sure. The mall?”

“Stop creating things for me to do instead of this. I see you watching me all the time, stripping me with your eyes. Why don't we just get this done once and for all?”

They lock eyes until Kurt pulls away submissively.

“That's what I thought. But for the record?  It's gonna happen.  We both know it.  See ya later, pretty boy.”

Kurt blinks at Blaine's rough departure and halfheartedly holds down the fort at the Lima Bean for the remainder of the afternoon.  The rest of his heart seems to have left with Blaine, going to wherever his home is, but he can make it work like this if Blaine promises to protect the pieces.

He decides not to let Santana know that Blaine is hanging around again, because he's disappointed that both exchanges he's had with the boy so far have been not enough for his satisfaction. He needs to get into the boy's head before Santana scares him away again, and he damn well knows that Santana will scare him away. If Kurt's name wasn't on the lease all those years ago in Bushwick, Santana probably would have scared him away from his very own apartment.  More than once.

Kurt is convinced he'll get there with Blaine; at this point, he has to for the sake of his own sanity and challenge.  He'll make sure Blaine knows that the Lima Bean is safe. He'll make sure Blaine knows that Kurt is a confidant that he can trust and rely on without question, regardless of who he lived with in college.

xK&Bx

Blaine's abrupt adieu is not uncharacteristic to how he wants to be perceived by
Kurt, but it is alarming to himself when he follows through with it anyway. Blaine is still trying to get used to the closed off, bad boy act and he usually thinks he's doing an atrocious job at the newly sought-out identity, since he almost let it completely slip at the first example of genuine care from a total stranger.

Before Blaine came out four summers ago, and before his parents sent him to the conversion camp, he had always been in control of his life.  For the most part, his parents let go of the reigns and trusted him to be home at a decent hour.  They never checked his homework; they let him hang out with friends to study or watch movies.  Once he was officially out and proud, gay as the winter heat, the control was taken away.  He became a victim to his father and his hatred toward him and the gay community.  If Blaine wants to control something – anything – away from home, then it's just a natural human instinct. 

Through his few years boarding at Dalton Academy, Blaine had always been satisfied in his own skin.  The zero tolerance bullying policy helped him tremendously to come into the realm of comfort.  He'd been so proud of who he was, whoever he was, and didn't seem to get much crap for it.  This is how he almost forgot about the shit life that was waiting for him back home.  Dalton was a very sheltered environment and he knew that eventually he'd have to leave the warmth of school and the outside world would probably have some callous words similar to his father's.

The Andersons are a family under everlasting lookout from the public and community. Ohio's politics are dreadfully split down the middle, being a swing state come November every four years. Because of Christian Anderson's position in the courtroom, he feels the need to impress all politicians in Ohio, regardless of their stand on issues such as abortion or gay marriage.  He has a lot of friends in high places, so whoever he and his colleagues support is usually the winner come November.  When it comes to families, as far as his coworkers are concerned, Christian Anderson has two (straight) sons who were born and bred in private school, and he's proud of both of them.

This couldn't be further from the truth.  Well, it's almost true.

The recent reality is that Christian Anderson is so fucking pissed off that God didn't hand him everything he deserved in a reputable family, that when he's not out wining and dining colleagues at galas and dinners and business meetings, he is in his home office with the French doors locked, slamming a few glasses of Johnnie Walker Green on the rocks. He dimly drinks away his issues with his wife that he's not attracted to ever since she gave birth, his son who's a self-proclaimed actor, of all things, and the faggot. 

Christian Anderson, on the fast track to talent agency life like his father, went to the University of Michigan to study Entertainment Law before returning to the promise of a junior partnership with his own father.   Somewhere on the road to success, though, Cornell Anderson's egotistical, set-in-his-ways son met a girl from rural Ohio and she did nothing short of brainwashing to rid him of his stench of Beverly Hills.  Christian never set foot in Los Angeles again.  He never even took his family there.  Blaine, despite seeing his family a few times when he was a kid, never tried to locate his Californian relatives.  He simply assumed that if his dad hates gay people, then everyone else on the Anderson side of the family must.

Ohio is where Christian Anderson can be found, living the suburban dream.  He is always drunk, three sheets to the wind, and frequently comes home early and unannounced from work because he can.  Blaine can't remember a time during his childhood when his father wasn't drunk.

Blaine's slam of the front door rattles the foyer, and he recklessly tosses his keys in the bowl on the table there. He toes off his shoes, all the while singing along to whatever God-awful pop song is coming through his iPhone. This scene startles Christian, and he unlocks and ruptures through the doorway to witness whatever ruckus is audible in the next room over.

Blaine almost resembles a little kid in this moment, dancing around with a swivel of his hips, holding the refrigerator door open with his leg as he reaches to get the jelly, swinging around and up to grab the loaf of bread and sliding to the other side of the kitchen on his socks to retrieve the peanut butter. Christian's drunk, this is true, but he thinks his son might almost be happy in this moment alone.

Blaine twirls to a bottom cabinet and takes out a bottle of Jack.  He takes a long sip, an almost chug as if it were water.  He distorts his face because that shit literally tastes like rubbing alcohol, but it gives him the burn, the buzz, the control he needs. 

Blaine turns around with peanut butter in hand and stops dead at the sight of his father.

“Where have you been, boy?”

Blaine swallows loudly, a lump now floating through the abyss of his stomach. Where the hell did he come from?  He has succeeded in avoiding his father face-to-face for a few magical weeks, on account of making sure that his bedroom door is locked at all times by the time his dad returns. He's only ever heard him downstairs in his office or pacing around the kitchen with his Blackberry attached to his ear or fingertips. Blaine is worried that he won't get out of this one unharmed, especially because his dad has clearly been drinking and he usually seems to pick up the bottle of whiskey when he's thinking of Blaine, and the fact that he hasn't laid a finger on him in so long.

“Out.  I've been out.”

“Out. Out where?”

Word vomit.  “Well, it definitely was within four miles from here, Dad, I can ensure you of that.” Blaine thinks that he should go through the motions of smearing peanut butter and jelly on his slices of bread, slapping them together with a plop and smashing the two pieces down on a paper plate, so he does. This is mainly to look busy at his father's careful eye. He goes to the refrigerator and takes two cans of Coke, balancing the plate on both of them, gripping one can with each fist and hooking his thumbs up and over the edges of the paper plate with the sandwich balancing.  He moves his leg once to take only one step toward the stairs that lead him to his room, but his father stalks to him until they are inches away from each other. Blaine twists at his waist to place the soda and sandwich back on the countertop in case this ends in a brawl, as he's predicting.

“Where did you go?” Christian is swaying haphazardly, and instinctively reaches to see if he can hold on to the surface by the sink. (He can't.) He looks back to Blaine expectedly, and blinks slowly.  He takes the bottle of Jack Daniels Blaine was sipping from just a minute ago and throws it against the window.  It shatters both the bottle and the window, the spout of the bottle soaring into the backyard.

Blaine throws himself to the floor in fear, covering his head from any glass residue that may come back to haunt him.  He swallows and stands quickly, brushing himself off mockingly.  He raises an eyebrow at his dad.  Nice going, father of the year.

“I was actually out in the woods behind the high school. Smoking weed, cigarettes, shooting the shit.  This man I'm pursuing met up with me there.  I think I'll make him my boyfriend.  He's so hot, Dad. This really sexy feminine-looking queen that lets me ride him whenever I damn well please. He's like, years and years and years older than I am, I think he might be older than Cooper, actually.”  He ponders and pauses for the effect and drama of it all. “He's experienced and I'm not, not as much as he is, Dad… and oh my God, he's really teaching me how to…”

Blaine trails off, raising an eyebrow, daring his father to have a reaction. This might have been too much, and Kurt is most definitely not his boyfriend but that's exactly who he had in mind when he was describing his imaginary partner to his father in vivid detail. His cock twitches in protest.

His father slaps him across the cheek.

“What the fuck, Dad? You usually hit me after you've finished the whole bottle!”

Blaine holds his cheek dramatically but he's smiling, happy, making fun of the fact that Christian actually thought that could have hurt Blaine at all. His father wobbles closer to tower over Blaine, and his hands are locked to his sides in fists. Blaine doesn't lose eye contact, taunting his father to hit him.  He's never stood up to him in this capacity.  Apparently, Blaine is feeling especially brave today.  He thinks he's high off of the conversation he had with Kurt.

“If you're going to hit me, just do it already. It's not my fault you can't come to terms with people who aren't you enjoying sex regardless of dick or vagina. Or if Mom brainwashed you enough to make you think that.  Shouldn't that be my choice, who I'm gonna fuck? Oh wait, it is my choice, because it doesn't concern you!  At all.”

“I wish you were never born, faggot.” The fire in Christian's eyes is red hot. He grips Blaine's shoulders to the point of indentation, and shoves him back toward the foyer. His body is lined up perfectly with the door to the basement, that was previously not closed tightly enough to catch in the lock, and Blaine falls backward down the stairs.

He is thinking in slow motion, the rear of his head bouncing off every fourth step or so. He is doing back flips until he crashes into the cement foundation of the basement at the bottom of the staircase, and then springs off into a pile of bins that contain old clothing and Christmas decorations. He is stilled and lies there with no thoughts whatsoever but to keep on breathing and stay alive and don't move until it stops throbbing.

Christian slowly approaches each stair as if it's going to jump up and bite him. He clenches to the walls on both sides, sliding his hands downward with each movement of his foot in an effort to not trip, and follows his disappointment of a son's whimpers. Well, he definitely didn't mean to send the faggot ass flying down the stairs, but whatever's meant to be is to be. When he finally descends, rolling his ankle on the second-to-last step and stumbling down to the basement level, Blaine's father gets down on one knee and hovers over him. Blaine appears awake, eyes open but not blinking, with his face in a neutral position. His pupils are moving, eyes shifting back and forth, maybe to gain perspective or location information.

Blaine tries to stay still, in an effort to not cause any further damage.  Always taking care of himself. 

“Blaine?” His voice is nearly worried.

Blaine groans in reply and lifts his head only an inch before laying it back down on the cold floor, a whine of sure pain escaping out of his mouth. Oh shit, that hurts.

At the confirmation that he hasn't killed anyone today, Christian stands, kicks the boy only once in the ribs, throws a loggie in his son's general direction, and disappears back to the higher floor above them.  He might as well leave Blaine there to bleed out on the concrete floor.

xK&Bx

Santana: Did you get what I asked for?
Kurt: No, Santana. It's kind of hard to get a seventeen-year-old's phone number. How do you even suggest me going about this without looking like the old creepster Craigslist type?
Santana: Give him free coffee and offer to take him out!
Kurt: I haven't even seen him in five days. And no. He's seventeen. 

Lies.  So many lies.

Santana: I wish I never told you that.
Kurt: Me too.