Chapter 7

Kurt finds himself standing in the middle of the coffee shop, among all of his regular customers coming and going, tapping his foot impatiently and burning fiery holes into the clock on the wall farthest from his eyes.  He squints to follow the second hand with each click, patting his thigh with his open palm in its rhythm.  Hes been frozen in suspense for-fucking-ever, eagerly waiting for the arrival of the gorgeous maple eyes and the swirls of coarse, shiny hair and it's only 8:01 in the morning. 

He has been awake for the better part of the morning at this point, composing more pros and less cons to file away in the “Blaine” document he created on his computer.  Even though he got to bed late, he woke early to find his favorite skinny jeans, and his tight-as-sin black button-down shirt.  Using the rest of his excess timing to actually blow-dry and style his hair into a towering, elegant coif, Kurt looks presentable for the first time in a long while.  He's made the effort, he has spiffed himself up, and now he has to wait a damn hour.  Fifty-nine minutes, and Kurt Hummel is nothing if not impatient, at least when it comes to Blaine's presence. 

Kurt is on an emotional roller coaster ride with Blaine, swirling into a guilt-ridden existence for even wanting to take advantage of the boy, and for having done so through the kiss.  He has known to stay away, especially after learning about the probation and the ankle monitor and the fact that the boy is seventeen, but he finds that he cant resist wanting, knowing that Blaine is in need of help. 

He dominates the register as a form of useful distraction.  Its religiously the busiest hour of the day, so Kurt works diligently until exactly 8:48, forcing himself to keep his glance off the clock overhead. He shies away, excusing himself then, to head to the back room and give himself a several-minute pep talk so he doesn't lose control when Blaine prances through the door before he knows it.  He has feelings for Blaine, but the hardest part is going to be to push them aside when he sees him again in person. 

xK&Bx

Blaine wakes with a start; its exactly 8:01.  He shifts slowly and carefully to lie on his back, and recollects his memories from yesterday.  His body still hurts, but he's prepared for the pain, and he needs to figure out how to minimize this bandage wrapped around his head.  He doesn't have time to shower if he wants to get to the Lima Bean right on schedule to see Kurt.  

Blaine plays and replays the kiss over and over again in his head, overanalyzing every shift and tilt and lick and taste. He's not sure how incredible it was for Kurt, but he knows that it was something he didn't want to ever be without.  There's no way he could ever forget it.

He is still wearing Kurt's borrowed clothes.  He sits up and admires the outfit.  Laughing lightly, he finds himself bending too quickly at the waist and subsequently causing a jolt of excruciating pain, a fire stirring through his veins until he can't possibly see straight.  He stills with a palm to his stomach and his eyes clamped shut, shocks running through every muscle.

When the fire turns to smoke, he undresses carefully, cursing the existence of his father all the while.

He plants the bottom of his feet on the floor and shuffles to the bathroom, examining himself carefully.  Hes totally naked except for the loose ACE bandage and gauze Kurt helped him with yesterday.  He twists and writhes in pain to wrap it tighter, but quickly gives up in fear of passing out with no one close to find him for dead.

In the two months that Blaine and Kurt have now known each other, it seems like Kurt's always there to fix him, even if it's without anyone else knowing.  He throws on some black basketball shorts and a skintight tee of the same color that clearly shows off his arms, with sleeves stopping mid-bicep.  He is somewhat pleased with how his arms look, and realizes in that moment that he chose his shirt because Kurt will probably approve.  He listens to see if hes safe to sneak away without his parents noticing, and descends down the stairs and away as quickly as possible when the coast is clear.

As he walks slowly toward his only plausible destination, he breathes in the warm air and basks in the sunlight against his face.  He pauses frequently, as he follows the familiar path, to lean against a building or sit on the bench in the park where he met Santana Lopez the first time.  It's taking a hell of a lot of energy to get to the Lima Bean (to get to Kurt) this morning.  He curses his father not for the last time in his life; he knows at least this much for sure.

xK&Bx

8:57! Kurt scrambles to pop a croissant in the oven to warm, then skips across the floor to pour a Medium Drip, and forms the perfect concoction of milk and sugar.  He brings the cup back to the oven, setting it down to the side in its entire perfection just as the oven begins to beep.  He glances at the clock. 

9:01.  He plates the pastry, and delivers it to the empty Carrie Table before rushing to the condiment table for a hefty supply of napkins.  He sets the table neatly and heads back behind the counter.  He waits.  He taps his foot to the beat of the second hand and waits.  Most of the morning rush has come and gone, so Kurt can spare bending over the counter top, resting his chin on his hand, and his elbow on the surface below.  He is blatantly staring at the ribbon of bells hanging on the door until they jingle exactly four minutes later.  Kurt makes no effort to move a muscle, except his mouth is transformed into a splitting grin, and his eyes are looking directly into the depths of Blaine's soul. 

Blaine smiles, really smiles, at Kurt and heads to his table.  As if the boy could smile any bigger, the grin appears when he sees his breakfast already prepared and displayed and waiting for his arrival.  He turns to lock eyes again with the older man, nodding with gratitude.  Kurt responds by shrugging one shoulder and then scurrying to the back.  Seconds later, he returns with a new sleeve of medium-sized cups.

Blaine approaches a spot along the counter that he assumes Kurt would most likely be lured to at his re-arrival.  Blaine is waiting for Kurt.

“Hi.”   Blaine leans up against the corner of the countertop, his seductive eyes and body language sensing that he's trying to attract Kurt to be lured closer.  As he speaks, he's blatantly staring at the too-tight pants and gazes up his body until he lands and stares at his lips.  “Hey, come talk to me.”  The sentence escapes as a demand.

“I'm working, Blaine.”  Kurt pulls the broom off the hook on the wall and sweeps aimlessly, concentrating way too diligently on dust bunnies that simply do not exist.

“You said yourself just yesterday that you didn't really have to be here.”  Blaine raises an eyebrow as a challenge.  Kurt does not respond.  “You pay little teenagers eight bucks an hour to do that.”  He nods to the broom, “Come on, Kurt.  I wanna talk to you.”

Kurt looks at him, stilling the broom he was pushing.  God, he loves how Blaine says his name.  Out of Blaine's mouth, it sounds like a prayer, like he's begging with every breath, like it's the only word he knows how to say.  Seconds trail by and Kurt sighs.  He tries to resist, but he can't help himself, leaning the cleaning device against the wall. 

Despite all of Kurt's best judgment, he feels himself gravitating to this beautiful boy standing expectedly, now with his arms folded in a mockery of being pissed off right in front of him. 

Fuck.

He throws the apron over his head and onto the floor below the hook it belongs on before coming out from behind the counter and standing in front of a waiting Blaine.  Kurt crosses his arms to mimic Blaine's stance, tilts his head, and smiles.

“Hi.”

“Pretty boy.”  Blaine draws out each letter of the greeting and flashes his eyes directly to his mouth inches away; they are magnetic toward each other.  “Thanks for breakfast.”  He grins.

They hold steady for a few seconds before he turns to head back to the table and stops after three steps to look back at Kurt, who's frozen to the tile, currently staring, unfocused, at the small of Blaine's back. 

He pictures what the skin looks like under Blaine's clothing, as it curves into the plump of his ass, currently painted purple, with angry bruises that must be fully formed by now. Kurt snaps out of it, literally shakes himself to cut the image loose as best he can.  He follows Blaine's footsteps across the shop to the Carrie Table.  

Blaine sits back down as soon as he's back to his habitual chair and squints his eyes shut as his bottom hits the wood with his jaw hanging open.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

Blaine nods, mumbling the words that come next.  “I'll be fine, just like I am every single other time.”  He takes a small sip of his coffee and lifts his eyes to look at him with his mouth still attached to the cup. 

“Ah, so this is related to the day we met.  Want to talk about it?”

Blaine focuses on ripping his croissant into pieces; he fully concentrates on his breakfast.  He makes it a point to say nothing.

“I got your text.  I must have missed that time I so delicately offered you my phone number.”  Changing subjects is Kurt's super power. 

“That's weird.  I must have missed your response.”  Blaine looks back up and smiles again, with a mouth full of buttery carbs.

“Touché.”  Kurt's smile is shy but inviting, “But really, how did you get my number?”

“I may have shamelessly stolen your phone when you went to find those bandages.”  Blaine smirks and raises an eyebrow.  He looks breathtakingly pulchritudinous, despite the matted hair on the side of his head from dried blood, and terrible posture.  Kurt's breath catches.  He should avoid these types of interactions with Blaine as much as he can.  Instead, he's drawn to them.  His brows fury, almost connecting in the center out of frustration and want of things he can't have.

“Sorry.  I can delete it?”  Blaine reaches for his phone.

Kurt shakes his head no immediately; he is disagreeing with every fiber of his being that Blaine should delete his phone number, but also disagreeing with the fact that he's allowing Blaine to keep it.  “Keep the number, I guess.  Use it whenever you need to, but know that we can only be friends.”

“Whatever, pretty boy.  I'll have you under me in no time.” Despite the vocabulary, the boy looks defeated, small, confused.

Kurt exhales.  “You're seventeen and I'm twenty-eight.  That… kiss shouldn't have happened.  It can't happen.”

“Kurt.”

“I know.  We just… just, it's too much.”

Blaine's eyes bore into Kurt's soul, trying to prove the point that age is just a number.

“Blaine.  Please.”

“What happened to you being there when I need you next?  Where do I go the next time my father tries to beat the gay right out of me?”  Blaine hisses in a hurry.  Kurt's sure that Blaine regretted every word as it spewed out of his mouth, but because Kurt is so tuned into the detail of Blaine Anderson, he naturally catches everything Blaine never meant to say.

“Oh, honey.”  Suddenly, so many mysteries are being solved and Blaine finally makes sense to Kurt, at least a little.  He searches his eyes for anything deeper than the surface, but Blaine shies away, seemingly figuring out precisely what he's trying to do.  “You come to me.  Always.”

“That's enough with the pity.”  Blaine pops the last piece of the croissant in his mouth and raises an eyebrow.  “I have a lot of work to do… so…”  He trails off and opens a textbook, genuinely trying to ignore Kurt's presence, only a table separating them.  He's actually very much aware of the man's presence, and Kurt knows that he's trying to distance himself, especially after such an unintentional confession.

“Oh!  Right.  Well, let me know if you need anything else okay?”  Kurt stands.  Blaine nods, not making eye contact.

“And Blaine?”  The boy lifts his head.

“I don't pity you, but I am still here for you.  We're friends.  Promise.”  Kurt turns away and strolls into the employees' area and begins helping Julie with the small queue at the counter. 

xK&Bx

Kurt tiptoes around Blaine for the next several hours, and Blaine makes it a point to appear especially interested in whatever it is that he's reading.  All he knows is that he hasn't turned a page in a solid ten minutes, so he swiftly takes a chunk of random pages and flips, settling into the act of pretending to read again, and forcing himself to shift to play the part.

Eleven comes and goes, and the coffee shop is dead, except Kurt, Julie (who is perpetually in her own universe to some extent), and Blaine.   

Blaine wants to have some fun; he needs to tease Kurt and confirm that he does something to Kurt, regardless of whether or not Kurt owns up to it.  It'll be easy.   He slams the textbook he's hardly touched down and pushes it off to the corner.  He raises his body slowly but surely, eyes locked on Kurt.  His eyes flicker to see if there are any more pieces of fruit.  Success.

Julie is busy grinding more coffee beans into grains for the expected afternoon rush, so there's an inexplicit hum coming from the corner of the employees' area behind the counter.

Blaine snatches a banana from the basket in front of Kurt.  “How much, pretty boy?”

“Just take it.”

“I'm not your charity case.”

“No, but I offer a special discount for boys who have just been beaten up by homophobic assholes who are supposed to love them unconditionally.”  Kurt raises an eyebrow to challenge a response.  When he only receives a glare in return, Kurt continues.  “Besides, I'll never sell it now.  It's going to be mushy and brown in less than an hour.”

“So, I'm just your garbage disposal.”  Blaine laughs with no humor and turns on his heel, simultaneously peeling back to release the banana from its cocoon.  He's watched enough porn to make this work, maybe.  Blaine sits in the chair, with his ass hanging off the edge of the seat and his back arched.  He holds the banana within his two palms, curling all of his fingers around the piece of fruit and intertwining, and steadying both elbows on the table in front of him.  He searches for Kurt's eyes, and when he finds them, he knows it's show time.  The sparkle in the center of Kurt's eyeball is glowing and watching Blaine like prey, as if he can accurately predict Blaine's next action.  It's really not that hard to guess. 

Blaine flicks the end of the piece of fruit twice with his tongue, all without losing eye contact.  The man sputters, nearly choking on absolutely nothing at all, and looks around to find Julie.  She has her back to them, guiding hundreds of espresso beans into the grinding machine, swaying to a rhythm she must have made up in her head.  Kurt looks back to Blaine, growls to himself, and continues to squirm.  Things like this should only happen when they're alone.

No.  This shouldn't happen at all.

Blaine smiles around the banana and lets it slip further into his mouth so it's halfway down his throat.  He hollows his cheeks and hums loud enough for Kurt to hear, and Kurt shifts his legs awkwardly.  Their eyes don't leave each other's as Blaine takes a chance and swallows all but three inches of the lengthy and rather thick and rather edible practicing tool.  The banana isn't as flexible as the real deal would be as it slides down his throat, and Kurt can see a glimmer in Blaine's eyes when he realizes it cracks instead of flexing and turning down his throat.  When Blaine pulls it back out, he examines it and bites it with power.  He never loses Kurt's eye.

Kurt is blinking profusely and rushes to the back room.  Success.

At Kurt's departure, Blaine shoves the rest of the banana into his mouth and swallows it in one movement.  He shrugs to himself, knowing that was a bit ridiculous, but judging by Kurt's reaction, well… he's obviously hooked.  It's now a confirmed fact that Blaine does something physical to Kurt's body, and it's okay to further pursue.  Blaine allows his mind to arrive back at yesterday, to the kiss that Kurt initiated.  It wasn't Blaine's first kiss, but it might as well have been, because it was the first one with electricity, tingling from his lips and through his body, down his spine, and straight to his cock.  His erection welcomes him, thinking about it yet again.  He needs to be taken by Kurt right over that countertop. 

Blaine keeps his eyes on the doorway that Kurt disappeared through only minutes ago.  He has to show himself again; he's got to.  After what feels like hours of watching, Julie turns toward the doorway to the employees' back room, laughing at something her boss must have said, and stops abruptly when she remembers that Blaine is still there, in front of her.  She smiles timidly and continues with her mid-morning chores she saves until the shop is empty.  Although super innocent, and somewhat annoying, Blaine realizes that she could maybe be his friend.  Or at least, someone he's nice to without wanting to kill himself.  Her giggle and perky ways are pretty annoying though, so maybe not.  

xK&Bx

Kurt needs to get his damn act together.  His cock is as hard as cement, and he's shifting in his chair for the sake of any friction he can get, all to the thought of a seventeen-year-old blowing a fucking banana.  He's aware that Julie and Blaine are only a few feet away from him at this point, but he needs the release so badly. After getting the glorious visual of what Blaine's lips would look like taking his cock in his mouth, Kurt could only imagine what the sensation would be as he feels the uncontrollable twitch between his legs.  Kurt knows already that Blaine's tongue is demanding and heavy against his own.  He can only assume what magic it would bring to his cock.

Without warning, Julie is behind him, rummaging through a box of clean rags, and supplying herself with more coffee cup covers.  He jumps a foot and is yanked out of his teenage dream. 

“Sorry, boss!  Did I scare you?” 

“Oh, Jules.”  He breathes, hand flying to his heart.  He's anxious only at the fact that he almost got caught rutting his dick against his desk drawer.  The young girl doesn't seem to have put two and two together.  Cute, adorable, innocent Julie.

Julie giggles and scurries out of the back room, smiling timidly at Blaine.

xK&Bx

Kurt rushes out to the front with a clipboard in his hands and glasses perched on the top of his nose.  A pencil is held horizontally between his teeth, and he's making it dance by shifting his jaw up and down.  The boy's eyes flutter to Julie who's staring out the window, bored out of her mind.  Two college-aged students enter with their backpacks and their iPhones attached to their thumbs, and Julie perks up to take their orders.  Kurt ignores Blaine.

Blaine digs his nails purposely into the healing cut on his head and whimpers in pain.  He needs time alone with Kurt, especially while the others occupying the store are distracted.  He stands and approaches Kurt, hovering beside and behind him just a bit to the left.  Kurt has a sixth sense only involving the presence of Blaine so he turns around naturally and expectedly.  The two are magnets; batteries that only light the room when they are touching together at the right angle.  They are collectively a positive and a negative coming together to form energy.  Blaine is cupping the open wound with his hand and tilting it toward the ceiling so he doesn't drip on the floor of a food establishment.

“Do you have a bandage?  I'm umm… bleeding again.”  Blaine winces, as the cut is open again.  Apparently, head injuries bleed heavier than a cut on, say, his arm.  Maybe this was a stupid idea to get Kurt's attention.

“Oh! Oh, Blaine!  Come to the…”  Kurt blushes and grabs his forearm, brushing his thumb across it in an effort to sooth him, and rushes him to the back room, slamming him more harshly than intended into Kurt's office chair.  Blaine whimpers again.

“Sorry!  Jesus shit, sorry!”  Kurt's a bit flustered, but he's in his element because he gets to help.  In a whirl, he has more gauze in his hands and is applying pressure with another clean rag against his skull.  Kurt's leaning his elbows on Blaine's upper thighs, and he's kneeling down in front of him between the boy's legs. 

“No gauze.  It makes me look like Frankenstein.  Do you have a big Band-Aid?”

“Hold this.”  Kurt taps his pointer on the rag lightly and leans harder on Blaine's thighs to support his weight as he shifts into an upright position.  The gazelle-lioness hybrid coasts across the room to the First Aid kit and turns it inside out looking for a suitable bandage.  More determined than ever, he finally finds something that will do and sails back in and between Blaine's legs, digging his elbows into Blaine's thighs in the same fashion as seconds before. 

Blaine's breath catches and he feels the tickle of butterflies rushing together within his abdomen. 

Kurt waves the Band-Aid in Blaine's face like a Polaroid picture or like he's cooling it off, and settles into concentration to peel the backing apart from the adhesive.  He removes the rag, dabs the infected area with the dry gauze, applies some ointment onto the cut itself from a single-use packet, and presses the bandage against his hair. 

“I cannot be held responsible if this doesn't stick to your curls.” Kurt teases, with a smile so bright and encouraging, it may be capable of curing Africa's hunger and forcing world peace upon the Middle East.

Blaine keeps his eyes locked on the man's lips as they move with each word.

Kurt shrugs and presses at it again for good measure.  “You're adorable.  Even if your head wound appears to be a little gross.”  Kurt allows the words to escape and Blaine can almost immediately see the shock on his face following thereafter.  He pauses, closes his eyes for a few seconds, then continues.  He pats the boy's thighs and rests his hands on them for a fraction of time.  The pace is slowed, and he instantly feels the unmistakable bond.  Blaine blinks easily once, failing to open his eyes on the second movement.  His bottom lip quivers out of his control, and he leans in.  Kurt follows his lead for a flash before pushing up on the boy's legs to regain balance on his feet, squeezing at his left shoulder lightly, and literally gliding out of the room, and back into the store front of the Lima Bean, whispering something to Julie, then leaving out of the front door.

Blaine lets his lungs deflate and he falls back in the chair with a huff. 

xK&Bx

Blaine is so fucking confused and he's frustrated that Kurt is playing so hard to get.  At last, he finds someone who he has an unexplainable bond with, someone who is rigorously pulling him toward his very soul, and one meaningless fucking detail is tearing the two apart.  Blaine doesn't give half a shit how old Kurt is; he feels certain that they need each other in this moment. 

Blaine's impression of love is limited; he's never legitimately understood how it all worked.  He always figured his older brother liked him enough to entertain him for a few hours at a time, but accepted the fact that it wasn't true love when Cooper bailed on him and moved out to Los Angeles for the sake of his own dreams so many years ago.  He, still to this day though, can say without expectation that his parents, his own mother and his own father, do not love him one bit. 

He's seen the movies; he's read the novels.  He knows he's not crazy for knowing that admiration he so desires is out there and he just hasn't found it yet.  When he does, he's going to hold on to it for as long as he possibly can.  Come to think about it, he'd love to love Kurt.  He thinks he can, if the other party involved would just allow it.

He's holding back.  Can he afford to have someone intertwined in his life that acts as a confidant?  Would he be forced to tell Kurt everything about home and his parents and the unfortunate events in his life, just because that's part of having a boyfriend?  Why does it need a label?  Is it fair to Kurt to keep him at an arm's length, at least emotionally?  He's not sure, but he'll wait with baited breath if he's even got a chance at even one night with Kurt.

xK&Bx

Kurt sprints to his single bathroom situated directly over the back room of the Lima Bean, where he thinks Blaine must still be sitting.  He looks down at his feet as though he would be able to see through the tile, piping, ceiling to the top of Blaine's beautifully curled and semi-split open head.  He sighs, strips, turns on the shower as cold as it goes, and lets the water race through his veins until he can't stand it.

Kurt's been in love before – always one sided - but it's never flipped his whole world upside down like Blaine's been doing since the two met, not in this capacity ever before.  He doesn't think he could call it love, not yet.  The smallest flutter of Blaine's eyelashes has Kurt nearly moaning his name, and it's just not fair.  Kurt needs to get his head together.  He also needs to stop thinking with his other head.

Something inside has changed; he feels like he's been promptly brought back to life, even though he's the furthest he's ever been from New York – the creative capitol of the world.  Kurt actually believes that it's kind of okay that he's back home in Lima.  Ohio's not a bad place to live, per se.  It's just boring, and Kurt does not enjoy boring.  Sure, he's previously been known to purposely stand out in a crowd.  He hates blending in.  This is, however, where his life has taken him, and he's slowly allowing himself to believe that he wound up back in Lima only to find his future lover, Blaine Anderson. 

Kurt opens another Word document and types vigorously with meaning.  He lets a creative stream run freely for the first time in a very long while.

Inevitability is a funny thing.  Life can spit you out and you would never return the favor because that's just not who you are.  Your final decision to not return favors, or not kiss back, or not pay that boy the time of day may have not been what you were all about.  But… somewhere down the line, on the path of life, it may not even matter what decisions you make or if they were wrong or right, although these same decisions may have seemed so urgent in the moment.  Sometimes, it's inevitable, whatever or wherever or to whomever life may take you, regardless of how you try to control it.

xK&Bx

It's 3:05.  Kurt didn't return, so Blaine departed the coffee shop a few minutes ago, and he has started on his venture home.  “Breathe,” by Angels and Airwaves is blasting through his headphones.  An unknown number suddenly interrupts his song, and he stares at the vibrating phone in his hand.  Only Kurt has this number.  Maybe he's calling from the landline at the Lima Bean. 

“Umm, hello?”

“Blaine?”

It's a woman with an oddly familiar voice.  Blaine knows he's heard it before but can't place it. 

“Who's this?”

“The parole officer you've been dodging for weeks.”

“Oh.”  Busted. 

“Are you gonna hang up?”

“You used to live with Kurt, right?”

“Yeah… why?”

“I just left the Lima Bean.  I guess I could go back if you want to meet up.”  Blaine decides right then and there that he will try.  He'll try, for Kurt. 

“Yeah, sure.  Give me ten minutes.”  She hangs up.

He stares at his phone for a few seconds and second-guesses his decision.  He calls Santana back immediately.  When she doesn't answer, he accepts his fate that he'll probably get beaten again when he returns home well after his parents.

xK&Bx

It's 3:15 by the time he's ready to vacate his freezing shower, meaning it's safe to return to the Lima Bean.  Kurt's sudden separation from Blaine is discounted.  He's feeling strangely empty and disconnected from the rest of the world.  He has the obscene taste of vomit in his throat. 

He assumes that Blaine isn't there without even looking for him; he's memorized the schedule.  What Kurt doesn't know, though, is that Santana and Blaine are there, and gathered around one of the tables outside. 

Santana pulls the door open suddenly, rushing inside to find napkins.

“Hey Hummel.”  She smiles.  “Blaine just spit coffee out of his nose.”

“He's here?  It's late.”

Santana grabs the napkins and looks back at him.  “I think you're a psychopath if you think three-thirty in the afternoon is late.  Either come join us or leave us alone.”

Kurt can't help but confirm in his mind that the reason why Blaine leaves the coffee shop at a very specific time is to avoid his parents that must make it home after he's safe and sound. 

The bile that escapes when he's in the midst of an anxiety attack is pouring to his throat.  Rushing from the front door to the bathroom in the employees-only area, he slams into the toilet bowl just in time and empties all of what he can.  He sits back and dials a familiar number.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Dad.  I need your advice.”