Chapter 24, pt. 2

Kurt woke before his alarm but lay in his bed long after it went off. He had dreamed colors all night; bright, translucent, ethereal shades that slid into his mouth and nose and under the beds of his fingernails and seeped through his pores until he was filled with the whole spectrum of them. He felt rested and restless all at once.

He pulled his phone off of his nightstand and pulled up Elizabeth's number. He contemplated calling, but opted for a text instead. It was cleaner; less room for debate.

I'm still coming over tonight to stay with Blaine. Call if you need me to come earlier. –Kurt

He put his phone back down and busied himself getting ready for the day. He hummed the fragments of a song stuck in his head as he padded between his bedroom and the bathroom and while he watched the slow drip of his coffee brewing. He wasn't surprised when he heard the quiet open and shut of David's door, "There's oatmeal in the cupboard to the left of the stove."

Trip appeared at his side to watch the coffee pot, too, "Got anything a little more on-the-go friendly?"

"There's apples in the refrigerator." Kurt murmured.

"Florence and the Machine?"

"Huh?" Kurt finally turned his head to blink at Trip.

"What you were humming," Trip clarified.

"Oh…yeah." Kurt nodded, "…if you don't want an apple, I have granola bars, too."

Trip bent low and rested his hands on his knees to stare into the coffee pot, "You're going to drink that?"

"I'm going to try to." Kurt smiled faintly.

Trip wrinkled his nose and straightened up. He went to the fridge and pulled out an apple, "Grab your jacket."

Kurt tore his gaze away from the slow drip of the coffee, "Why?"

"I'll buy you a real coffee, come on," Trip leaned over to smile in at Bocelli in his cage before snagging his keys off of the table and heading toward the door.

"Trip, I—" He what? With Blaine's sudden coldness, he had nowhere to be until six, "…just give me a second to put my shoes on."

"Well hurry it up," Trip glanced toward David's door.

Trip picked out a coffee shop just off the Ohio State campus. It was nothing like the Lima Bean. It felt like someone's living room. None of the couches and chairs matched and there were only about three rickety little tables shoved haphazardly into the space.

Kurt didn't object when Trip selected one such table tucked in a back corner for them to sit at. He gazed around at the art on the walls; the painted ceiling tiles.

"Students take them home and paint them," Trip tipped his head up to look at the ceiling, too, "Cool, huh?"

Kurt gazed around at the tiles, "You've been here before?"

"A few times; my leash has been getting a little longer the past couple months." Trip smiled and took a drink from his coffee cup.

Kurt rubbed a thumb over the etched names in the table, "Call me crazy, but this doesn't exactly look like a Warbler hang out."

"I don't bring them here. I come by myself," Trip motioned a hand at Kurt's cup, "Way better than that shit you were trying to brew at home, right?"

Kurt turned his cup around in his hands, "Yes, thanks… can I ask you a question?"

"I don't bring David because getting coffee with someone you're fucking implies you're dong more than fucking."

"…Not the question I was going to ask, but thank you for the info," Kurt frowned, "Why are you being so nice this morning?"

"I'm not a bad guy. I'm just kind of an ass." Trip shrugged.

"Buying someone coffee isn't exactly asshole behavior."

"I wasn't always a bitter, jaded person," Trip clutched a hand over his heart, "I was once a weepy, starry-eyed little thing, too."

"Everyone was like that once," Kurt inhaled the earthy smell of coffee rising off of his cup, "We all just modify the belief in different ways."

Trip studied Kurt's somber face, "David's a bit of a pillow talker… he said Blaine flipped his shit at you yesterday."

Kurt nodded, "He just needs… I'm not sure… he just needs something."

"We all need something," Trip stated solemnly but then broke into a grin, "Doesn't that sound like the sort of existential bullshit people talk about in places like this?"

Kurt smiled despite himself and took another drink from his cup.

Trip fiddled with the sleeve around his own cup; picked at the seam, "Dave also mentioned the shit he pulled with you back in high school…"

"And?"

Trip shrugged, "I don't know; and nothing, just saying is all… the man has some serious demons with all that."

"I know…" Kurt raised an eyebrow, "Aren't these the sort of things people get concerned with when they're dating?"

Trip scowled, "No."

Kurt dropped the subject and turned his attention to watching the few other patrons sitting around the coffee shop, "Blaine would like this place."

"Yeah, he would," an amused smile crossed Trip's mouth.

"…You never actually answered my question earlier about why you're suddenly so sweet."

"Not sweet. Never sweet," Trip made a face, "If it'll redeem my title, I'll dump my drink on your head and then leave you here."

"Unnecessary; I still think you're a prick with a filthy mouth," Kurt smiled, "Why is that, though?"

"Why's what?"

"Why are you so mean?"

"I'm a grumpy old man."

"You're a senior in high school."

"I'll be nineteen next month."

Kurt nearly choked on his coffee, "What?"

"Royal fuck up from the ages of sixteen through about eighteen, remember? I got held back a year," Trip took a drink from his cup.

Kurt hesitated for a moment before asking the question that had been nagging at him for months, "… Why'd you do the stuff you did?"

Trip laughed hollowly, "Which stuff?"

"All of it; any of it," Kurt searched Trip's face.

Trip sat back in his chair; chewed at his lip, "… I did it because I didn't want to hurt anymore... you push everything away and get yourself numb enough, life isn't very livable, but it's bearable."

"Bearable," Kurt echoed. He studied Trip's face and suddenly felt horribly sad for him,"…what happened to you, Trip?"

"I'm afraid you're out of questions for the day, Hummel, now I've got a few of my own." Trip leaned his elbows on the table.

Kurt sighed, "Fine."

"Why'd you agree to come to coffee with me today?"

"Because I needed to keep my head busy for awhile," Kurt confessed, he was decent enough to blush for essentially using Trip, "… but this has been nicer than I expected."

Trip nodded absently, "I've got another one."

"Proceed." Kurt smiled.

"How'd you ever get in so deep with Blaine?"

Kurt frowned, "What do you mean? Me staying here with him?"

"That's part of it… I mean everything you two do... I mean the fact that you two have whole conversations when we're all hanging out by just looking at each other," Trip fiddled with his cup, "How does that happen?"

Kurt felt something ache in his chest. He wondered if it would be too much if he were to go straight to Blaine's once Trip dropped him off back at his apartment, "We just… I love him. He loves me."

"It can't be that simple," Trip looked disgruntled, "Nothing's that simple."

Kurt thought of Blaine. Screaming, furious, hurting, I-think-you-should-go Blaine, "…what if it is?"

"If it's that easy, you wouldn't be sitting here with me looking like someone shot your dog," Trip put his cup down a little too forcefully, "He kicked you out yesterday, remember?"

"We just… we work for us everyday, Trip, and some days are harder than others," Kurt traced a thumb over a name engraved in the table, "Love's just what makes you willing to put up the fight."

Trip looked sullen, "Sounds exhausting."

"It's worth it."

Trip sighed but offered no other comment.

They finished their coffees in silence.

Trip pulled the lid off of his coffee cup and stared down into the bottom, "…You still going over there tonight?"

Kurt nodded.

"Have you talked to him since yesterday?"

"I sent him a text. He hasn't responded, but I wasn't expecting him to."

Trip smiled faintly, "You're something else, you know that?... Don't tell anyone I said that."

"Our secret," Kurt slipped his jacket off the back of his chair and over his arms, "…and as long as we're divulging classified info… I don't always want to punch you in the face… only sometimes."

Trip put a hand over his heart and collapsed back into his chair, "Oh, stop, you're just saying that."

"This is one of the times when I kind of want to hit you." Kurt rolled his eyes and got up.

"Fair enough," Trip followed Kurt out the door to the car, "I'll tell you what, keep feeding me breakfast, and I'll promise one free shot for whenever you choose."

"I don't need your permission to hit you."

"Yeah, but you do need a guarantee to keep me from hitting you back." Trip paused outside the door and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"I would have stayed inside if I thought you were going to smoke." Kurt rolled his eyes.

Trip pulled one cigarette out of the pack and tucked it in his pocket before dropping the pack in the garbage can beside the door.

"Am I witnessing you quitting smoking?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Cutting back at least," Trip shrugged, "…not good for my voice."

"Good call." Kurt made a mental note to ask David how he felt about the smell of cigarette smoke.

When they arrived back at the apartment building, Kurt climbed out of the car, but leaned back in through the open door, "Are you sure you don't want to come back in?"

Trip laughed, "I make it a strict rule not to come over unless there's sex involved or I have Blaine in tow."

"I think Dave would like it if you stayed."

Trip's smile slipped, "I doubt that."

"Why?"

"You can choose to get your feet run over when I leave right now or you can take a step back, Hummel; your pick."

Kurt sighed, "Fine. Thanks for the coffee."

Trip nodded, "Don't get used to it; I just felt sorry for you today."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Right. I'll see you Monday morning bright and early, I'm sure."

"Maybe," Trip returned the smile, "See ya."

"Drive safe."

"Sure thing, Mom." Trip made a face.

Kurt shut the door and jumped back quickly to avoid having his toes run over when Trip peeled out of the lot.

He watched the car disappear down the road before turning and going inside.

David was awake and eating breakfast at the kitchen table, dressed in a suit shirt, and whistling at Bocelli. He smiled when he saw Kurt, "Hey, where'd you go?"

"Coffee with Trip," Kurt took the chair across from David and looked over his outfit, "I have a tie that you can wear that'll look way better than the one you have on."

"Thanks," David glanced down at his shirt and back up at Kurt, "…you got coffee with Trip?"

Kurt nodded, "We really need to invest in a new coffeepot. Ours brews sludge."

David nodded but he looked distracted.

Kurt watched him curiously, "Would you be interested in getting coffee with him?"

David shrugged, "It's not really how our thing's been going. He gets weird about that stuff… our thing is… it works how it is."

Kurt nodded, "...can I ask you a question?"

David shrugged.

"Does the smell of cigarette smoke bother you?"

"I'm kind of getting used to it, but, honestly, yeah it does," David blushed, "Why?"

Kurt smiled to himself, "No reason; just wondering."

David looked back down at his breakfast, "...you seem like you're in a better mood than last night."

"I'm getting there." Kurt rested his chin in his hand and watched Bocelli through the gold bars of his cage.

"Do you know what you're gonna do about Blaine yet?"

Kurt smiled faintly, "Love him. Like I always have."

"I meant tonight more specifically."

"I'll know what to do when I get there," Kurt stuck his pinkie through the bars of the birdcage and tried to get Bocelli's attention.

"Not much of a game plan, Hummel." David picked up his plate and moved toward the kitchen.

Kurt smiled when Bocelli finally came over to peck at his finger, "It's the best plan I have."

Kurt resisted every impulse to leave early for New Albany. He quelled the desire to buy treats, flowers, or any other sort of peace offering that came to mind. He showed up on the Andersons doorstep at exactly six as promised with empty hands. He glanced down at the bowl of candy already placed beside his feet on the porch.

As soon as John opened the door and ushered him in, Kurt could feel the tension in the house. Elizabeth stood beside her husband looking anxious and tired. Blaine was nowhere to be seen.

"What's wrong?" Kurt met Elizabeth's eyes with a frown.

"Blaine's… painting," John supplied when his wife didn't answer. His suit was immaculate—the collar neatly starched; the lines perfectly tailored to his body.

Kurt looked between them, "Why is that a bad thing?"

"It started out with painting on paper…" John looked up the stairs, "but apparently that wasn't a big enough canvas. He's moved onto the walls."

"He yelled when we tried to stop him," Elizabeth finally spoke up, "…so I spread out some old sheets and newspaper and we just let him go at it."

"Do you want me to try and stop him?" Kurt silently willed them to say no. It was going to be a long night if he had to deal with an even more pissed off Blaine than what he was expecting.

"No," Elizabeth spoke for both of them; finally tearing her eyes away from the stairs, "I think he needs this… you'll see when you get up there."

"Try to keep him contained to his room though," John offered a shadow of smile before frowning, "If you'd rather not be left alone—"

"We'll be fine; at least he's using his feelings for something constructive." Kurt tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow. He looked over the navy blue silk of Elizabeth's dress, "And a dress like that can't go to waste. I have both of your numbers if something happens, and Trip's twenty minutes away."

Elizabeth sighed, "I feel like we're leaving him with a babysitter like we used to when he was a little boy."

"Except you don't have to pay me at the end of the night and I'm assuming you didn't leave a note telling me his bedtime and what channels he can't watch on TV."

John looked almost guilty, "But we did leave you forty dollars if you two want to order pizza."

"I'll make sure to get him to bed by nine and tell him he can't watch Spongebob on Nickelodeon then," Kurt smiled fully, "You're already half an hour late, go ahead. We'll be more than fine. We always are."

Elizabeth slipped on her coat, apparently convinced, "Thank you, Kurt, we should be home no later than ten tomorrow, but remember you don't have to hesitate to call if—"

"I know. There won't be any problems," Kurt walked with them toward the laundry room, but halted Elizabeth with a hand on her arm, "Wait."

She paused; her expression anxious, "Do you need—"

"No, no, just hold still for a second," Kurt stepped behind her and reached for the back of her necklace, "May I?"

"Of course," she pushed her hair over her shoulder.

Kurt undid the clasp and reattached it lower on the little chain of metal loops. He moved back around front to survey the results, "Perfect."

Elizabeth looked down at the diamond pendant where it now hung closer to the neckline of her dress.

"Sorry for the intrusion, but with that dress and that necklace, you deserve to have everything look exactly right," Kurt nodded assuredly.

Elizabeth touched a hand to his arm, leaned in, and kissed his cheek, "Thank you, Kurt."

He flushed red at the sudden contact, "Have a nice time."

He waited until they were pulled out of the garage to shut the door against the cold air and move back toward the stairs.

"Blaine?" He called his name softly as he made his way toward the door.

Blaine didn't answer.

Kurt pushed open the bedroom door and raised an eyebrow. He spied the oversized paper pad draped across the desk. The top sheet was covered in a blur of tempera paint and fat marker lines, but the paint was dry and already flaking from the top. Newspaper crinkled beneath his feet as he stepped further into the room to survey the walls. It was really only the one wall behind the desk, as though as soon as he finished with the paper, Blaine had simply taken a step to the right and continued on against the cream colored paint.

"Brushing up on our artistry skills?" Kurt turned his attention to the sole other occupant of the room.

Blaine's hands were covered in paint; layer upon layer of color drying against the white of his skin. His mouth was set in a frown and a knot of concentration furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't answer.

Kurt plucked a brush from the desk and moved closer to Blaine; he twirled the brush between his fingers with a smile, "You didn't want to use this?"

"I can't hold onto it." Blaine replied flatly; his fingers traced a careful streak down the wall that Kurt assumed was meant to remain straight. It followed the tremor of his hand; loud, spastic spots hiccupping out from the smooth path. He let out a disgusted grunt in the back of his throat.

Kurt watched him for a while, "What are you painting?"

Blaine didn't answer him. The tendons in his neck were tight; his arm stiff as he started again. His left hand remained limp at his side; a piece of yellow legal paper peaking out from the edges of his closed fist.

Kurt touched the edge of the paper gingerly, "Can I see what this is?"

Blaine didn't look away from the wall, but his grip on the paper loosened enough for Kurt to pull the sheet loose from his grasp.

Kurt stepped away and sat down on the edge of the bed. He smoothed the paper across his lap to study it. It was someone else's handwriting; neat, smooth loops on the l's and d's and i's.

Blaine Anderson

Headache

Tired

Help

"Are these from your speech pathologist?" Kurt asked, skimming over the list, "For when you lose words?"

Blaine gave a stiff nod.

Kurt scanned the list until his eyes halted on a second series of words. It wasn't the same neat handwriting. It was shaky and dark; the marker had bled against the paper on the 't', but then it was written over and over again.

Kurt Hummel

Kurt Hummel

Kurt Hummel

I love Kurt

I love you

Kurt

Kurt clenched his teeth hard when he felt the familiar sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. Rachel may have been right about some of Blaine's insecurities, but this wasn't just Blaine worrying over competition or being vain. This was Blaine being plagued by something; something dark and twisty and frightening that kept him up at night.

Kurt looked back up at Blaine's back and suddenly he could discern the shapes on the wall. A shaky B; half of a K abandoned when it got too sloppy. Kurt put the paper down and reached down to his shirt. He slipped it off over his head and folded it neatly on the bed before moving back over to Blaine. He stood behind him and watched quietly for a moment before reaching up to Blaine's shoulder. He stroked the soft skin beside his collar, and murmured in his ear, "Get more paint."

Blaine didn't look at him, but he complied. He reached over to an open jar and dipped his fingers into it. They dripped baby blue in spackled streaks across an old sheet below their feet as he raised it back up to the wall.

Kurt caught a hold of his wrist and guided it slowly down in a neat line and then around in two perfect arcs until a fat letter B stared back at them from the wall. He kissed Blaine's shoulder, "Perfect."

Blaine's back relaxed against Kurt's chest.

"Why not just paint a picture then like before?" Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's middle. He wanted to hold onto him—the soft, sad, tired Blaine. He wanted to keep him present; twined between his fingers where that awful, screaming irrational Blaine couldn't fit; couldn't slide, oil slick, into Blaine's place and spit his venom and ugly reminders of what was creeping around inside Blaine's head.

But, thankfully, it was only tired, sick Blaine that stared hard at the paint on the wall, "I forget words and… and they don't come back sometimes… the speech therapist thought it might help if I can write them…cueing hierarchy…"

"You remember cueing hierarchy but not Blaine?" Kurt teased lightly.

"It's not what I don't remember…" Blaine's hands came down to squeeze Kurt's forearms, "…it's what I'm afraid of forgetting."

"You're not all cancer, remember? It's not going to take over everything, Blaine," Kurt could feel paint from Blaine's hands drying against his skin—making it tight and unnatural in a thin layer of crusting baby blue, "It's just one piece of you, and it isn't permanent."

"It doesn't feel that way anymore, Kurt," Blaine's shoulders sagged even more.

Kurt unwrapped his arms from around Blaine's middle; the paint shifting wrong against his skin as he moved, "Come here."

Blaine followed him over to the desk.

"Give me your hand," Kurt held his palm open until Blaine complied. He wrapped his hand delicately around Blaine's wrist and dipped his fingers in a jar. Purple this time, thick and heavy. It dripped lazy threads down Blaine's wrist as Kurt guided him back to the wall.

"What're you doing?" Blaine frowned when Kurt took a hold of his wrist again.

"Shh," Kurt guided Blaine's fingers and orchestrated a smooth set of lines. When the slick glide of Blaine's fingers against the wall dulled to a slower grate and the thick purple streaks bubbled with untouched white, Kurt dipped two of his own fingers in the open jar. He slid his fingers in languorous, easy strokes through the cool, slow drag of it and decided he liked the feel. He slid a third finger in and twirled his fingers in lazy circles until paint was nearly staining his palm.

Dripping trails as he went, Kurt moved away from the desk to recoat Blaine's hand in heavy streaks of violet until his fingers were glistening wet again and the pink of his skin was immersed even deeper below the drying layers of paint. Slowly, the letters formed—erratic in places and the paint spackled with a million unwanted shades that chipped off Blaine's hands and mixed with the rest, but all legible.

When it was finished, Kurt kept his hand wrapped around Blaine's. He smiled over his shoulder, "There."

Blaine's eyes drifted over the message, "Kurt loves Blaine."

"I do." There was a smudge of orange paint on Blaine's neck. He pressed a kiss below it.

Blaine turned his head and Kurt was surprised to see his eyes suddenly swimming with tears, "I wasn't angry at you yesterday; I didn't mean to be cruel."

"You weren't," Kurt shook his head quickly; tangled his fingers between Blaine's.

"I was," Blaine shook his head; blinked hard, "I was upset. I got jealous over something stupid—Reese isn't even a bad guy, he just—I know you wouldn't ever-but I didn't… I—I have this recurring nightmare and I feel like I don't even know who I am anymore and it all was getting so heavy and I… I just snapped. I'm sorry, Kurt; I'm s-so sorry."

Kurt let Blaine twist around fully to face him, "What's the nightmare about? Is it the same one you were having a few weeks ago?"

"No, this one's worse," Blaine swallowed hard, "You're there, but your back's to me, and I try to call for you, but…"

Blaine's eyes searched his desperately. Kurt stroked a hand down Blaine's cheek; left a muddy trail of purple in his fingers' wake, "But what?"

"But I can't remember your name. I forget. I forget and you walk away and—" The tears came fast; blending purple and orange and blue on Blaine's cheeks; making sunset colored blurs against his jaw line, "I don't want to forget, Kurt, I'm s-so scared I'm g-going to forget."

Kurt couldn't stop his own tears, but he pressed both hands into the sides of Blaine's face, "Look at me."

Blaine's shoulders shook and his eyes swam honey and hazel, the colors wavering beneath unshed tears like watercolor prepared to bleed from the page.

"If you forget my name it's okay," Kurt stroked his thumb over Blaine's cheek. He reached down and pressed Blaine's hands against his own face, "In the dream, you knew it was me, right?"

Blaine's hands pressed in tighter against Kurt's cheeks as though he feared him melting from beneath his fingertips. He nodded shakily.

"You won't forget me, okay?" Kurt pressed his hands over Blaine's, "You won't; it doesn't even work that way."

"But what if I do?" Blaine choked on the words, "I shouldn't be losing feeling in my foot and I shouldn't h-have gotten sick at all, so who's to s-say I won't lose this too? Who's t-to say I won't forget you?"

"Then I'll remind you until you remember," Kurt swallowed hard; tried not to let his voice waver, "I love you; I won't walk away, Blaine. Not ever."

Blaine searched his eyes for a fleeting second before pressing a hard kiss to his mouth. His hands slid down to Kurt's waist and he pressed another kiss against his cheek; his forehead, "If I can't walk or talk or see or anything else, I just want to remember you. That's all I want, that's all—"

Kurt caught his mouth in a desperate kiss because he couldn't hear it anymore; he needed to make it better. Kiss away the tears and the hurt and the cancer; smother all those awful words and ideas with kisses and touches. He caught Blaine's mouth in another kiss and pressed his fingers in hard to his sides; pulled his body in as close as he could get it, "You're not going to forget. I won't let you forget."

Blaine's hands pulled at Kurt's undershirt, leaving messy handprints against the fabric as he worked it up his back. They parted just long enough for him to pull it over his head and abandon it to the floor before their mouths crashed back together. They melted to the floor together in a tangle of limbs and paint and hungry kisses.

Kurt was nearly blinded with how much he wanted it—wanted to suffocate sickness and mental poison until he was nothing but hormones and blood and nerves responding to rough fingers against his skin; God, he wanted that so horribly. But this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Not desperate and panicked and frenzied like they wouldn't ever again. No. This was wrong. Kurt pulled away from Blaine's mouth, panting for breath.

Blaine tried to catch his neck and pull him back in, but Kurt maintained the distance; shook his head, "Shh, slow down; we have time."

"Kurt—" Blaine tried again, unsuccessfully, to pull Kurt back down to him.

"It's okay," Kurt assured him, "Sit up."

Blaine complied slowly; pushed himself up awkwardly.

Kurt touched a gentle kiss to his mouth; his shoulder. He worked Blaine's shirt up slowly, but then Blaine was catching his wrist. Kurt met his eyes and tried to smile, "A minute ago this was what you wanted."

"I do want it," Blaine mumbled; his fingers flexed against the bones of Kurt's wrist, "I just… maybe we could turn off the light…"

Kurt slid his hand under Blaine's shirt; felt the harsh lines of his spine beneath tight skin, "We've never had a problem with leaving the light on."

Blaine's eyes flickered hopelessly to the switch on the wall before sliding back to focus on a frayed hole in the sheet below their knees.

Kurt followed his gaze but then looked back to the open paint jars on the desk, "…will you do something with me?"

Blaine looked back at him; nodded.

Kurt stood and retrieved a jar of red and the paintbrush before kneeling back in front of Blaine, "Take your shirt off."

Blaine hesitated; his fingers toying with the hem of his t-shirt.

"Please?" Kurt stroked a hand across the warm skin of Blaine's neck; let his thumb snag under the collar of his shirt and rest there for a moment.

Blaine's fingers hooked under the edge of his t-shirt, and slowly, gently, he coaxed it up over his stomach; his chest; his shoulders. He struggled with it for a moment when the neck caught on his ears and then it was off; pooling in a heap of cotton beside him. He looked toward the light switch longingly again.

Kurt traced a thumb over the harsh line of his collarbone; touched a kiss to it, "Hold out your hand."

Blaine hesitated; his eyes still avoiding Kurt's.

Kurt traced his hand around to the back of Blaine's neck, "Hey, look at me."

Blaine met his gaze almost nervously.

"Trust me," Kurt smiled.

Blaine nodded and held out his hand.

Kurt dropped his hand from Blaine's neck and picked of the paintbrush. He dipped it into the paint before coating Blaine's hand carefully. He covered his fingers; filled the creases of his palm. When everything was stained red, he took hold of Blaine's wrist, "Put your hand on me."

"Where?" Blaine murmured; his eyes flickering over Kurt's skin.

"You know where." Kurt put the brush down and waited; his eyes fixed on Blaine's face.

Blaine spread his fingers; pressed his palm against Kurt's heart.

Kurt lifted the brush and painted over his own palm before pressing it to Blaine's chest. He pulled it away carefully; smiled at the neat handprint, "There."

Blaine pulled his own hand away slowly. He studied the print on his own chest before meeting Kurt's eyes with a small smile, "Perfect."

Kurt slid a hand around Blaine's neck, leaned in closer, "…perfect…"

And it's peaceful in the deep,

Cathedral where you cannot breathe,

No need to pray, no need to speak

Now I am under.

Oh, and it's breaking over me,

A thousand miles down to the seabed,

I found the place to rest my head.

Never let me go, never let me go.

Never let me go, never let me go.

Kurt loved kissing Blaine; he could kiss him for hours, for days; forever.

The windows of his car were foggy—the cold November air outside almost foreign compared to the tropical, humid interior of the Navigator. He pulled away long enough to take in a quick breath before crushing his mouth back against Blaine's. Yeah, he could do this forever… except the gearshift was pressing into his stomach every time he leaned forward, and the console was proving to be a pesky obstacle to his attempts to press himself closer to his boyfriend.

The heel of Blaine's hand slipped on the edge of the cup holder and his teeth clicked against Kurt's. He grinned against Kurt's mouth, "Sorry."

"Mm, don't be," Kurt tangled his fingers in the dark hair on the back of Blaine's head to try and coax him back in for another kiss, but Blaine maintained the small space. Kurt looked up from his lips to his eyes, "What?"

"This isn't working," Blaine smiled.

"Sure it is, we just have to ignore a few details," Kurt tried to catch his breath during the (what he hoped would be) short break.

"The gearshift is going to impale one of us," Blaine glanced toward the windshield, "Lets go inside."

"I can't go inside; the other guys—"

"I have a single room; there are no other guys; you know that," Blaine gave him a devilish grin.

Kurt hesitated, "Your R.A. will skin us alive if he finds out I'm here."

"We're talking about the same R.A. who knows I leave campus on a regular basis and never says a word," Blaine reached up and adjusted the fallen shoulder of Kurt's cardigan; his fingers traced its edge down to his chest, "But just in case, we can be very, very sneaky."

Kurt eyed Blaine's mouth before nodding, "Okay… fine; but if we get caught—"

"I will bodily throw myself at my R.A. while you escape," Blaine mimed crossing his heart.

Kurt snorted and climbed from his car into the chilly night air and hurried toward the front doors, Blaine's fingers laced in his. Blaine stopped them short of the door and looked up into the sky with a grin.

"Snow!" Blaine laughed; he closed his eyes against the snowflakes that landed on his face and melted against the heat of his skin.

Kurt shivered and stepped in closer to Blaine, "It's too early for snow."

Blaine tilted his chin back down to smile at Kurt, "It's almost December, and it is never too early for snow."

"It's freezing," Kurt whined, "If it's this cold now, think how awful it's going to be in February."

Blaine pulled Kurt's hands to his mouth and blew a hot breath against his fingers, "I'll just have to work extra hard to keep you warm then, won't I?"

"How about you start by getting me inside?" Kurt giggled and shoved Blaine toward the doors.

Blaine swiped his keycard and pulled Kurt in after him. They silently tiptoed up the stairs and past closed doors to Blaine's room. The second the door clicked shut behind them, Blaine whirled around and cupped Kurt's face in his hands; pressed his back to the closed door. Kurt felt around and turned the lock quickly before pressing back against Blaine; his hands pulling him in even closer.

He'd been so frightened before he and Blaine had been together that when the time came for passionate moments he wouldn't know what to do; that he'd freeze up; that he'd do something wrong and freak out his boyfriend, but that had never been the case. Being with Blaine was as natural as inhaling and exhaling. When Blaine's tongue begged entrance into his mouth, he kissed him back just as passionately; a thrill running up his spine every time Blaine let out a moan that tingled against his lips and sent fire racing through his veins. Even his hands had worked on their own accord—unbuttoning and touching and groping like they already knew how. They were currently doing just that—dragging down Blaine's back, cupping his ass and pulling his hips in closer; an action Kurt could never have dreamt of himself performing in his pre-Blaine days, let alone sliding his hand down those tight jeans or falling to his knees anticipating the feel of Blaine's fingers tangling in his hair and the taste of him in his mouth.

Kurt worked his knee between Blaine's legs and pressed them deeper into the room. Blaine's breath hitched against Kurt's mouth and he rocked his hips in closer to Kurt's leg with a groan. Kurt dragged his hands up the length of Blaine's torso; he pushed his shirt up his back and over his head as they stumbled backwards. Blaine's knees caught on the edge of the bed and, when he fell backwards onto the mattress, he pulled Kurt down with him. Blaine's hands pushed almost desperately at his shirt; fumbling with cardigan buttons and tugging at the soft cotton shirt underneath. When he freed both shirt and sweater from Kurt's arms, he threw them carelessly over the side of the bed. He hooked a leg behind Kurt's back and rolled him over until he was pinned to the mattress. Kurt loved Blaine like this, all groping hands and demanding kisses and wanton moans. Aggressive and feverish in his want for more Kurt beneath his fingertips; locked to his mouth; pinned beneath his body. Kurt groaned when Blaine rolled his hips against his. Blaine's teeth grazed Kurt's jaw; smooth pearl edges grazing his skin as he spoke, "Kurt?"

"Mmm?" Kurt mumbled; the fog in his mind was as thick as it had been on the windows of his car.

"I want…" Blaine trailed off. He found the hollow between Kurt's neck and sternum and dipped his tongue into the soft curve; worked his way to the delicate skin of his throat, "I want to see you."

"You have seen me," Kurt turned his head, exposing a new stretch of skin to Blaine's wandering mouth.

"All of you… At once," Blaine murmured, finally bringing his face up to meet Kurt's gaze, eyes shining warm even in the cold dark blues and dusky shadows of the room.

Kurt hesitated. If every encounter were added up, Blaine had probably seen just about every inch of his body at some point or another, but there was something about being fully naked that made Kurt's cheeks shade pink just thinking about it. Every centimeter of his body exposed, on full display, to another human being; it just made him feel so terrifyingly… vulnerable.

Blaine sat up; resting his weight on Kurt's stomach; he found Kurt's hands and folded them between his, "If it makes you uncomfortable you can tell me; you know that."

Kurt gazed up at Blaine. Blaine who he had spent countless nights with nested beneath heavy covers; offering whispered secrets in the dark like a confession; his soul lighter with every whispered word tumbling across the pillow for Blaine to tuck away somewhere warm, "I want to."

"You do?" Blaine looked a little shocked, "Are you sure?"

Kurt nodded, but he could feel butterflies in his stomach; tickling the inside of his throat; coloring his cheeks pink with delicate wings, "Could you, um, could you also—"

Kurt could see the white glow of Blaine's smile and then warm weight was slipping off his stomach; shifting the mattress down a little lower beside him, "Yeah, sure."

Kurt tried to shake his nerves as he shifted to kneel on the mussed up comforter. This was silly—all he was doing was taking his clothes off, but his fingers trembled when he reached for his belt buckle.

Blaine watched him quietly for a minute before leaning in and kissing him; he gently pulled Kurt's hands to his own belt before moving his hands back to Kurt's jeans, unzipping his fly; easing the tight denim down his hips.

Kurt reciprocated, his hands decidedly less shaky taking off someone else's clothing. Besides, Blaine's kiss was so deep it consumed his mind and took the edge off his nerves even as he felt cool air tickling the backs of his legs.

Blaine finally broke off the kiss to lean across the bed and turn on the lamp on the bedside table. Kurt's heart drummed in his ears when pools of warm light suddenly spilled over the room. Despite the flush he felt creeping all the way from his neck to his hairline (and Oh, God, Blaine could definitely see that right now), Kurt's eyes moved to study Blaine.

A quiet 'oh' left Kurt's lips, more a breath than a word at all. He'd felt Blaine's body before, of course—the contours of his abdomen under curious fingers and the soft skin of his neck beneath swollen, hungry lips, but to actually see it all—to take it all in at once—was something different. He loved the feel of Blaine, but the sight of him… Kurt's eyes slid over Blaine's body; trying to commit it to memory—the wisps of dark hair on his chest; the uninterrupted line from his navel to his half-hard cock; the soft rise and fall of his ribs beneath tanned skin… All of it at once and all so perfectly cohesive and exposed; it was… breathtaking.

When his eyes drifted up to meet Blaine's, Kurt became horribly aware of his own nakedness. He crossed his arms across his chest; self-conscious in the light even if it was just the blushing glow of a bedside lamp. Blaine sat back on his heels and took him in slowly; his eyes drifting over every inch of his too pale skin; over his soft curves where other boys might be toned and sculpted, "Lie down."

Kurt was suddenly shy—he couldn't remember the last time he'd been shy around Blaine—but did as he was told, his gaze never leaving Blaine's face.

Blaine remained sitting for another moment, his eyes gliding over Kurt's body. Slowly, he reached out and touched his hand to Kurt's chest. He traced a line around his side, over the soft curve of his hip; down his leg. On and on his fingers moved, feather light and raising goose bumps on Kurt's body in their wake. Blaine lowered himself down slowly, and pressed a kiss against a milky patch of Kurt's skin and then another and another and another; his fingers followed, connecting the cool, wet spots his mouth had left in a line arching from his throat to his hip, and, Oh God, that felt amazing. Kurt's breath caught when Blaine's tongue traced across his inner thigh. Blaine smiled up at him, "Roll over."

Kurt rolled over, but anxiety twisted at his stomach once again. He couldn't see Blaine this way; couldn't watch his face to see what he thought about him—about his too white skin and the freckles on his shoulder blades—he considered saying something, but then Blaine was touching him again. He started up the same ritual as before, his fingers following his mouth down each and every vertebrae of his back from his hairline all the way to his tailbone. He didn't stop there—he kissed the funny scar on his lower back that he'd gotten in a biking mishap when he was six; he kissed the backs of his thighs; his calves. On and on he moved, creating constellations of kisses and ghosted lines against Kurt's skin. Finally, Kurt felt his chin pressing back into his shoulder; Blaine's hot breath teased the shell of his ear with a whisper, "Turn back over."

Kurt did as he was told, but when his eyes met Blaine's, he was still embarrassed, maybe even more so than before—Blaine had just seen every inch of him; touched every centimeter; kissed every little bit of anything that had ever made Kurt feel insecure. He looked away; his cheeks hot.

But Blaine would have none of it, he cupped a hand on Kurt's cheek so he could look nowhere else but those warm, honey eyes. Blaine touched a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Kurt felt a wave of…of what? Adoration and love and desire and…and…he wasn't even sure what, but it rendered him speechless. Instead of trying to babble out a coherent sentiment, he expressed himself in the only way he could think of. He caught Blaine's mouth against his own; tasting the sweet, bubblegum taste of his tongue. He let out a moan against Blaine's mouth. His whole body was drunk with the taste and the smell and the feel of so much hot skin against his own, but he couldn't be sated. No matter how close he pressed, he wanted him even closer; he wanted to drown in everything Blaine. He could barely speak for the buzzing in his head, "My turn."

Blaine reluctantly broke off the kiss and laid back, heavy lidded eyes following Kurt's every move and his heart pounding hard against his ribs beneath Kurt's lips. He found the freckle on the inside of Blaine's knee; the little birthmark by his shoulder; a spot between his seventh and eighth ribs that, when kissed, made Blaine moan with pleasure and his heels dig harder into the sheets. His fingers tangled in Kurt's hair as Kurt teased him, dropping kisses as low as he could on his stomach; sucking softly at his inner thighs; teasing that spot between his ribs again with his tongue, "K-Kurt, please, I—come here."

Kurt stopped; surprised by the request, "You don't want—"

"No, not yet, just…" Blaine was panting for breath, "Just come here and kiss me again."

Kurt complied willingly and let out a whimper when Blaine grabbed his ass and pressed him down hard on top of him, but then Blaine's hands couldn't seem to decide what they wanted—they moved back up his back to the nape of his neck only to abruptly jerk back to their starting position. His indecisive roaming stopped abruptly on his waist, his fingers locking into soft flesh and suddenly Kurt found himself locked back between Blaine's body and the mattress.

He could feel Blaine's heart hammering in his chest and his own heart crashing against his ribs as it leapt up to meet it, only bone and tissue keeping them apart. He was grateful for Blaine's weight pinning him to the bed; without it, he was sure he'd float away from this moment that was too incredible; too delicious; too perfect to be real. Even if Blaine's mouth wasn't pressed against his, Kurt could not have put his thoughts into coherent words; his mind was full of hot skin and cherry-flavored lips, and his body ached with want for more—more of his mouth, more of his skin pressed close, more of anything that was Blaine.

When Blaine finally did move his mouth down to his neck, Kurt still couldn't find the words. Blaine was talking, he realized, murmuring breathlessly between kisses, "Kurt—I want—I want even more of you… Is that possible? To—To want you even more than I already do? I just—I can't even explain how much I—you're so fucking perfect; every inch of you—I just—"

Kurt tangled his fingers in Blaine's hair and pulled him back up to his mouth, "So take more."

Blaine finally paused in his frenzied movements and kisses to meet Kurt's eyes, "Are you… are you sure? Because it's a big deal and I mean, I know we've talked about it and stuff and I want to, but I guess, I mean, only if you want to and…just…a-are you sure?"

"Yes, I… I want you; I want you to…" He groped for what he wanted to say, but nothing seemed sufficient; how could anyone have possibly come up with words to describe something this surreal, something that felt so much bigger than letters and sounds? "To… to be mine. Right now."

Jesus Christ, that sounded stupid. Kurt wanted to take the words back the second they stumbled past his lips—and to think he thought he was getting good at this sexy thing, and then he had to go and say something ridiculous like that… A quiet smile crossed Blaine's mouth; softened his eyes. He lifted a hand and pushed Kurt's damp hair from his forehead; his fingers lingering on his face; cupping his cheek, "I've always been yours."

Kurt wasn't sure who initiated the kiss—long and slow and deep—or who reached out and groped for the lamp until the room was once again bathed in shadows and pale moonlight, but it didn't matter. They relied on hungry hands and exploring mouths, following the memories of charted territories of soft, sweat-damp skin and the moans of the other to find their destinations. They were awkward and fumbling and messy in the blanket of darkness—tangled limbs; groping hands for the drawer of the nightstand; giggles that accompanied Blaine's inability to get the wrapper off the condom; fingernails catching on skin; quick, wet kisses to sooth the minor hurts. All of it was beautiful to Kurt.

When Blaine finally eased into him— all slow, careful movements and trembling anticipation—Kurt let out a hiss of breath through his teeth.

"Is this—" Kurt could see the white of Blaine's anxious eyes hovering above him as he tried to read Kurt's face in the blue glow of the moon creeping in through the window.

"It's okay. Keep going," Kurt untangled a hand from the sheets and curled his fingers around one of Blaine's forearms, "P-please."

Blaine watched his face a moment longer before nodding shakily; pushing in farther; deeper. Blaine let out a whimper, and the muscles of his arm tighten beneath Kurt's grip.

Kurt felt his own breath hitch in his chest—pain and pleasure bubbling in his stomach and coursing through his veins, thick and hot and ticklish below his skin. Blaine had paused again, so Kurt squeezed his arm reassuringly, "More."

Blaine complied, slowly at first—pulling out just as cautiously as he had pushed in, his breath coming out in stuttery bursts, but his eyes constantly watching Kurt's face.

The sharp pain ebbed and Kurt's muscles relaxed, but, almost immediately, he wanted it back; he wanted it again and again and again, but Blaine showed no signs of hurrying anything. Kurt whined and shifted restlessly, "Blaine."

Blaine pushed in a second time, faster. He moaned loudly—a low note that started in his throat and bubbled out through parted lips. Kurt was sure he'd never heard something so lovely, so incredibly sexy, escape Blaine's mouth. He craved that sound's return almost as much as he longed for Blaine to push harder; faster. He arched his hips up toward him and was rewarded with another whimper of pleasure from Blaine and a sudden stutter of hips closer to his own.

Blaine pushed himself fully in with one quick movement; his elbows buckled just a little and he pulled his arm from Kurt's hold; his fingers half-scrambling to lace between Kurt's in the sheets.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed out his name and pushed his fingers hard into the back of Blaine's hand—he could feel each delicate little bone, the tight tendons below the skin as Blaine's knuckles pushing up just as hard against the pads of his fingers, and the tangle of the sheets catching between their palms.

Slowly, surely, Blaine found a rhythm; his movement became more assured—his hips rolling down smoother, faster.

Kurt watched the dark fringe of Blaine's eyelashes against his cheek when his eyes fluttered close; the way his lips parted for hot, shallow breaths to slide out over his tongue; the sweat that beaded against his skin and soaked the curls of hair at his temples and forehead; a pearled, translucent hallow that glistened in the wash of the moonlight against his skin. He was beautiful and perfect and Kurt wanted to watch him forever, but then Blaine was reaching down and touching him with a sweat-slicked palm; his fingers sliding up once then twisting down. Kurt's eyes slammed shut as the slow boil in his belly began to overflow; burning into his legs and his chest, filling his head and curling his toes and pushing a whine out his mouth that he had no hopes of stifling.

He wanted to open his eyes again; he wanted to watch Blaine's face when he whimpered and tried to form a coherent sentence; he wanted to watch the rise and fall of his chest above him as his breathing came shallower and louder, but it was no use—his eyes demanded to stay closed—his body too immersed in his other senses to bother with something as silly as sight.

Blaine's thrusts became frantic—hard and fast, and Kurt knew he was going to be sore tomorrow, but he didn't care. He couldn't care about anything except the sound of Blaine moaning out his name and the push of Blaine's body into his and Blaine's hand still wrapped up tight in his against the bed, and Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, Blaine—

He felt more than heard the cry of sound that escaped his own lips. His body arched up to meet Blaine's in one more wonderful pleasure-soaked push, and his mind was filled with nothing but ecstasy dripping from his every nerve; sweet and thick as honey, and the feeling of Blaine's fingers impossibly tangled between his own. Forever, drummed his heart, we'll stay just like this forever.

Blaine was right there with him not a minute later. His head tipping back; a cry of rapture from already parted lips, and then he was collapsed down on top of Kurt; his breathing still hard and his body trembling.

For a moment they remained perfectly still—sweat mixing, breath slowing, and fingers tangled together tight. Forever his heart beat out the rhythm of the word again and again. When Blaine rolled off of him, Kurt immediately missed the extra heat and weight, but their presence was not absent for long. Blaine wrapped his arms around him; fit his face into the side of Kurt's neck. Warm lips found his pulse point and caressed it in a kiss.

It didn't matter that his eyes were closed; Kurt could still see it all as clear as day. His world remained illuminated with tangled fingers, damp skin, and whispered words against the crook of his neck, "I love you. I'll always love you."

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me,

And all this devotion was rushing out of me,

And the crushes are heaven for a sinner like me,

But the arms of the ocean delivered me.

Though the pressure's hard to take,

It's the only way I can escape,

It seems a heavy choice to make,

Now I am under.

When Blaine came, it was just as mesmerizing as the first time and every time after that—his limbs shuddering, his skin flushed, the low moan in his throat—Kurt anticipated Blaine's sudden collapse. He wrapped his arms around his shivering frame, his own body trembling against it as he caught his breath. He pressed a kiss beside Blaine's ear—his skin was damp and tasted salty against Kurt's mouth. He passed his tongue over his lips; pressed it to the roof of his mouth. He rolled Blaine over beside him and kissed him again and again—filled his mouth with the taste of Blaine looking peaceful and spent.

Blaine was panting for breath and a hard shudder passed through his shoulders, but he turned his mouth to meet Kurt's.

"Are you all right?" Kurt murmured; pressed a kiss to his neck.

"I'm…" Blaine closed his eyes. He bit his lip.

"What? What's wrong?" Kurt stroked his cheek, "Blaine, you're crying, what is it?"

Blaine opened his eyes again. He reached over and brushed his thumb across Kurt's paint-stained cheek; a shadow of a smile crossed his mouth, "So are you."

Kurt touched a hand to his face to feel the tears for himself; he let out a breathy laugh before leaning in even closer to Blaine. He kissed the tear tracks on his cheeks until the faint chemical taste of paint and ocean blended with the rest of Blaine on his tongue.

Blaine let out a long sigh, content and tired and something else, but Kurt wasn't sure what. He moved in as close as he could until their limbs were tangled and Blaine's forehead was pressed against his. He contemplated lecturing Blaine about good times and hard times and how they'd get through it together. But when he met Blaine's eyes, the words all vanished from his head. He was sure he could hear Blaine's thoughts; hear his own soul begging for the same thing Blaine's was. Lets stay like this forever.

"I need you to promise me something," Kurt wiped at a smudge of blue paint on Blaine's cheek, but only ended up adding a streak of yellow to it.

"I promise," Blaine's hand came up to squeeze his wrist.

Kurt laughed, "You don't even know what I'm going to ask you to promise yet. I could be asking you to swear you'll stay covered in paint forever."

"If that's what you wanted, I'd do it," Blaine nuzzled in closer; the smell of Lacoste Essential and drying paint and Blaine filled Kurt's nose, "I'd do anything for you… you know that, right?"

Kurt's vision blurred with unshed tears. He wrapped an arm around Blaine and pulled him closer until he rolled onto his stomach and his head was tucked underneath Kurt's chin. He wrapped his other arm around him and held on tight, "Don't ever give up, okay? That's all I want. That's everything I want."

Blaine kissed the bare skin of Kurt's chest where the painted handprint was already flaking off; pressed his fingers into the space between two ribs, "I promise."

In the arms of the ocean, so sweet and so cold,

And all this devotion I never knew went on,

And the crashes are heaven for a sinner released,

But the arms of the ocean delivered me.

Never let me go, never let me go.

Never let me go, never let me go.