Day 040: Friday 26th October, 2012
Shelter (West Virginia)

"Okay... So we've got it narrowed down to The Deer Hunter and Super 8?"

"Yep. And you know I'm a sucker for the classics, so..."

"The Deer Hunter, then."



Blaine's feet were resting on the dashboard, the passenger seat tipped as far back as it would go, and under his breath he was singing along to the relaxed and happy BOY song playing on the radio. The R.V. was parked at the Clark Pump-N-Shop in Huntington, and through the open driver's side window, Blaine watched Kurt paying for something inside—hopefully the Fruit Roll-Ups he said he'd been inexplicably craving since waking up that morning.

If it wasn't for his deep sense of relaxation, he might still have been fixated on his unintentional slip-up in the club. He'd never intended on Kurt finding out about his once-upon-a-time crush. Quite the contrary: he'd been embarrassed about it ever since, and now he felt like a teenager all over again. What they had wasn't a romance, it wasn't—love.

"It's better," Blaine said to himself, with a conviction he was still trying to get behind. It's better because this way we don't owe each other anything after the trip. We get all this built-up tension out of our systems, and then we can go back to what we were, what we've always been.

The driver's side door opened and Kurt climbed in, swinging himself into the seat with a plastic bag dangling from his fingers. He tossed a brightly-colored package into Blaine's lap, and Blaine picked it up, regarding it curiously.

"Beef jerky?" Blaine said.

"So much beef jerky," Kurt muttered, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head. "There was almost an entire wall of it."

"Did you get your Fruit Roll-Ups?" Blaine asked.

"No," Kurt said, "but I did get Swedish Fish, so that kind of makes up for it."

"Swedish Fish make up for everything."

"And that's why I got extra for you."

"My hero," Blaine simpered, earning himself a smile. A moment settled between them where they did nothing more than look at one another, comfortably and without expectation, and when Blaine had sunken into it, he finally flicked his eyes towards the radio and sang along, "drive darling, drive darling, drive darling."

"Can you drive, darling?" Kurt quipped. Blaine nodded and pulled his seat upright, easily switching their places without either of them needing to step out of the vehicle. It was true that they were limited for space, but the R.V. still beat spending three and a half months in a car or an SUV.

It wasn't long before Blaine was merging back onto the 64, absently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Kurt briefly disappeared into the back of the R.V., and when he dropped into his seat again, he was carrying a thick journal. It was worn and weathered, the pastel green fabric cracked on the spine and wearing thin at the corners, and Kurt handled it with a reverent gentility.

"So I've been meaning to show this to you for a while," he said. "And now probably isn't the most opportune time, I know, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since this morning."

"What is it?" Blaine asked.

"It's Mom's art journal," Kurt said, turning it over in his hands. "Dad found it when he was cleaning out the attic just before he and Carole got married, and I guess he thought I should have it. He told me that whenever she was sad or stressed out or really happy, she would take out this book, sit in his chair and just draw for a while."

Blaine smiled, imagining Elizabeth's small frame an island of warmth and color against the brown leather of Burt's chair, her pencil moving in swift strokes and scratching, scratching, scratching. It didn't feel entirely like a borrowed memory. "What kind of stuff did she draw?"

"There's flowers, our house, some abstract stuff... Everything, really. I got it out because ever since we went to see Nan, I've been thinking more about getting a tattoo, and I figured I could find some ideas in here, or get one of her drawings on me, or something. Anyway, I came across this one picture..." Kurt trailed off, flipping the book open at a page he'd marked with a small, torn strip of white paper. He leaned across the space between them, holding the book just next to the steering wheel and gesturing for Blaine to take it.

Eyes flicking between the time-yellowed pages of the book and the mostly clear road ahead, Blaine looked at the pencil drawing. It was a startling likeness of two little boys, sitting next to one another on a couch and sharing a plate of what looked like carrot sticks and apple slices. One had neatly combed hair and sat with his legs crossed, clutching a stuffed animal that looked like Barney the dinosaur, and the other had a mess of dark curls that fell about his forehead, legs dangling off the edge of the couch and one slightly raised, as if he was kicking his feet up and down. The boy with curly hair was gazing at the other with such a look of happiness and adulation that it made Blaine's breath catch in his chest: it was them, aged six or seven. It was him, looking at his best friend—a real best friend, just like he'd always wanted. The best friend he'd adored from the moment they'd met.

"Oh my god, this is—"

"Blaine!"

Blaine's gaze shot upward just in time to see a deer running out onto the highway; instinctively, he wrenched the steering wheel to the right and slammed the brakes.

It wasn't like the movies or the books: nothing went into slow motion—he only had time to react. They came to a dead stop on the shoulder, Blaine's heart racing double time in his chest and his knuckles white.

"Shit. Shit!" Kurt exclaimed from beside him. "What the hell were you thinking?! What was the number one rule my dad taught us about deer?"

Blaine scrubbed a shaking hand over his face, the other flexing on the steering wheel as the engine idled. He swallowed against the acrid burn at the back of his throat and blinked up at the ceiling of the cab, willing back the sting. "Just give me a minute," he managed to grind out between gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry," Kurt murmured. "God, it was my fault. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Just... A minute."

Slowly, Kurt reached across and unfurled Blaine's fingers from the steering wheel, entwining them with his own instead. Blaine glanced over and saw Kurt's other hand clutching tightly onto his Saint Christopher. They traded shaky smiles, and wordlessly switched places.



By the time they got to the Fox Fire Campground in Milton, dark and ominous rainclouds had swept away every last vestige of the cheerful sunlight that had been pouring into the R.V. all afternoon, and Blaine's hands were still shaking. Kurt hadn't said a word since they'd traded, and at first, Blaine had been grateful for a little silence in which to collect himself. But the longer it had stretched on, the more vivid his imagination had become, conjuring up multi-angle shots of wreckages and explosions and blood on the windshield.

The rain began to fall just as Kurt cut the engine, and Blaine let out a trembling sigh, the edge of his tension finally wearing away.

"Dad texted me to say that Governor LePage signed an emergency declaration," Kurt said, referring to the tropical storm Blaine's mother had told him about while they were on the way to Graceland. It had since been upgraded to a hurricane and given the name Sandy, and both his and Kurt's families had been in regular contact, even though the authorities hadn't been anticipating nearly as much damage as was being prepared for further down the east coast.

"They're saying she'll hit on Tuesday, right?" Blaine asked.

"Early on Tuesday, yes."

Kurt climbed out of his seat and pulled Blaine up, leading him to the chair just behind the cab, which Blaine dropped into heavily. Kneeling next to him, Kurt reached up with both hands to cup Blaine's face. For a moment neither of them moved a muscle, and then Kurt pulled Blaine down into a bruisingly tight embrace.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again when he pulled back, his eyes a dark blue and clouded with anxiety.

Blaine shook his head. "I should have known better," he replied, and then, "Will you please kiss me?"

The rain was pounding against the windshield, casting dappled and vacillating shadows across Kurt's freckled skin, shadows that blurred together as he leaned up to close the gap between them and claim Blaine's mouth with his own. Blaine clasped his hands behind Kurt's head and pulled him impossibly closer, opening his mouth and tasting Kurt's surprised hum.

Blaine never sat in the chair behind the cab, hating the feeling of the world coming at him sideways when he could barely deal with it head-on. But he could make an exception for Kurt, climbing up on top of him to straddle his lap, the heat building between them chasing away the persistent cold dread in his veins. Kurt was giving Blaine even more than he took, slowly thrusting his hips down and lavishing attention on his neck, fingertips digging into his shoulders. Music was playing from the dock in the cab, a Ben Howard track from Blaine's mellow playlist floating over to wrap him up in the easy sounds of a soft, steady guitar and an earthy, melodic voice singing of cold and winter and shelter. Everything was sensual and slow.

But Blaine didn't want slow: what he wanted—needed—was fast, yet lasting.

"Kurt," he began, voice tailing into a moan as Kurt sucked hard over his pulse point; the sharp burst of aching under his skin spiked a twist at the base of his spine. "Kurt, fuck—why don't we have condoms?"

Kurt all but froze, and pulled away slowly. "It's a little late for that," he said flatly. "We've blown each other how many times at this point?"

Before he could stop to think, Blaine asked, "What if I want you to fuck me?"

"I've been fucking you all week," Kurt said carefully.

"You know what I mean," Blaine said, rolling his eyes even as a thought occurred to him, one that they'd somehow never, through all their years of friendship post-sexual awakening, explicitly discussed. "Don't you top? Is that it?"

"No, I top. Exclusively, actually," Kurt said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I was just... Surprised, is all."

"Why?"

Kurt paused briefly before climbing out of the chair and retrieving the plastic bag from its place on the floor of the cab. He sheepishly pulled out a box of condoms and a small bottle of lube and silently held them out for Blaine's inspection, the golden yellow glow of the R.V.'s interior lights picking out a faint pinkness high on his cheekbones. Blaine couldn't help but let out a peal of laughter that settled warmly in his stomach.

He leaned over to take Kurt by the wrist and pull him back into his lap, hands rubbing over the denim wrapped around his thighs. "Give it up. You're inside my head, aren't you?"

Kurt ducked his head, grinning, and dropped the items into Blaine's lap.

"What took you so long?" Blaine asked, rocking his hips up and eliciting a pleasant hiss from Kurt.

"Even after this past week, it's still a big deal and I wanted it to be... I didn't want it to mean nothing," Kurt said quietly.

"It wouldn't," Blaine said reassuringly, cupping Kurt's face and forcing his gaze upward. "It doesn't."

Kurt hummed, leaning in once more, but Blaine stopped him with just the tips of his fingers pressed to his chest. Voice firm and strong, he said simply, "I want you to fuck me."

"Fuck, okay. Okay," Kurt whispered, and surged forward to catch Blaine's lips in a deep, plunging kiss.

They shed their clothes even more quickly than usual, only ever losing contact for a couple of seconds at any one time, and Kurt's hands were everywhere, like he was trying to climb inside Blaine's body and take up residence there. It was Kurt like Blaine had never experienced him before, silently frantic and communicating only through breath and touch.

Somehow, in the process of climbing out of the chair to rid Blaine of his jeans and underwear, Kurt stumbled and pulled them down onto the floor, Blaine on top of him and breathing heavily.

"So graceful," Kurt muttered with an almost nervous giggle, and Blaine grinned. "Probably a sign we should take this to the bedroom."

Blaine shook his head, eyes locked on Kurt's as he rocked down, biting his lip against a groan—the drag of his cock along Kurt's was imperfect friction, and so far from enough. "Fuck me right here."

"Jesus, Blaine."

Kurt hooked his leg around Blaine's waist and flipped them over, making fast work of reaching up to the chair to grab the cushion and sliding it, still warm, beneath Blaine's hips.

And then there was a single, endless moment where Blaine looked up at Kurt, took stock of being spread out beneath him, waiting and wanting. Lyrics carried over to him as if on a summer breeze: And maybe, just maybe I'll come home. Who am I, darling to you, who am I? He felt pasts and futures colliding, annihilating until there was only this, and it should have felt like a loss or a tragedy but instead it really did feel like... Coming home.

There was no turning back, and even if given the option, Blaine wouldn't have faltered. Kurt kissed him while snaking long, slicked fingers inside him, slowly coaxing Blaine open with whispers of encouragement breathed between his slack lips.

It was so different from how he remembered it. While not actively trying to compare Kurt with Tyler, there was no real way around it when Kurt was shattering his expectations so completely. With Tyler it had been messy, fumbled, and rushed almost to the knife-edge fine line between pleasure and pain. There were no reassuring words or careful motions then—Tyler hadn't been expecting a virgin, after all, and Blaine hadn't told him until afterwards—and he was a muddled, half-forgotten shade in comparison to this.

"Okay?" Kurt asked as he finally drew his fingers out and away, and Blaine whined low in the back of his throat at the sudden sensation of emptiness. He shifted, scooting his hips forward and up, and watched as Kurt leaned away to tear open a condom and roll it on, his cock flushed and ready. Wordlessly, Kurt wound his damp fingers behind Blaine's knee and lifted his leg to rest on his shoulder, pressing a single, softly smiling kiss to the skin of his ankle.

Blaine took a deep breath and forced away the straining that coursed through his veins, the clamoring for more, and nodded once.

Kurt began to push into him, and Blaine closed his eyes, focusing on the blunt, full pressure of Kurt sinking further and further inside him in one long, smooth motion until Kurt's mouth was close enough for Blaine to lick his way into.

"Okay?" Kurt asked again, eyes glassy and pupils blown.

"You're being very sweet," Blaine said, "but I really just need you to fuck me now. Don't hold back."

Kurt paused, a quirk at the corners of his mouth and a challenge in his darkened eyes, and said, "You asked for it."

And with that, Kurt pulled almost all of the way out and drove quickly back in, his hips slamming into Blaine with a slap of skin on skin. The fullness was exquisite, enough to have him arching his back and scrabbling for purchase where there was none to be found. When Kurt curled his arm around Blaine's thigh and took his dick in hand, stroking him hard again, a litany of half-formed words began to fall from his mouth, eyes screwed shut as Kurt fucked into him over and over and over.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, and hearing his own name was suddenly too much, the vowels of it stretched taut around them both, and Kurt—Kurt was some fire spirit made of heat cells that cracked and broke Blaine apart until he was reduced to nothing but this, this writhing and dizzy mess on the floor of his R.V., every muscle drawn up and waiting on the brink.

"All week, ever since—fuck, I've wanted this all week..." he managed, forcing his eyes open because he had to see, to watch, to catalog this glorious and all-too-fleeting moment.

His heart was hammering in his chest and he could barely breathe, every time Kurt moaned and filled him up again leaving him as winded as if he'd just finished a sprint. Blaine was chasing his release, gaining ground with every twist of Kurt's hand on the upstroke, and he'd never felt this wanted.

"Just... Just a little—little more," he panted, pleading like Kurt would deny him—but he didn't, his pace quickening and hair damp at his temples.

Blaine came with a broken-off jumble of a sound, spilling warm and sticky over Kurt's fingers, and Kurt followed not two seconds later with his teeth biting almost too hard into the flesh of Blaine's calf, shuddering and trembling as he sank, settling to meet Blaine at the bottom.

When Kurt carefully pulled out, Blaine closed his eyes and tried not to feel the loss too keenly, blindly pulling Kurt to his chest.

"Was it worth the wait?" Kurt asked untold minutes later, voice cutting through the haze of Blaine's sated drifting.

"I think this is what they mean when they say 'blissed out'," Blaine replied.

"I don't know how we're going to get any driving done from now on," Kurt said, head bobbing on Blaine's chest as he shook with silent laughter.

"Right? I mean... God," he said, pressing a lazy kiss to Kurt's damp hairline and holding him close like he was something precious.

"Not quite, but close enough," Kurt said. "We should probably move."

"Or not," Blaine breathed, eyes drifting closed and limbs heavy. There would be time to move, clean up, and lead each other to bed later: for now, he just wanted to be.

After a moment, he felt Kurt curling closer, lips brushing a kiss over his nipple as an arm wound loosely around his waist.

Rain was still pounding dully on the roof of the R.V., and Kurt's contented sigh was only just audible. The last thing Blaine heard before falling asleep, a light tone of surprise belying Kurt's words, was, "It means something with you."



Distance: 5,116 miles