Day 074: Thursday 29th November, 2012
Book of Revelations (Montana)

"Kurt, come on. You still haven't watched it yet?"

"I... Was getting around to it."

"Right."



"Hey, Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"You're pretty much fulfilling every single lumberjack fantasy I ever had right now."

Blaine laughed as he wiped his forearm across his forehead and swung his axe to rest over his shoulder. "Lumberjacks, huh?"

Kurt smiled coyly, burying his hands in his pockets and descending the steps of the cabin. "We watched the Wolverine movie together, remember?"

"Well, sure, but I just thought that was a Hugh Jackman thing," Blaine replied.

"It's always a Hugh Jackman thing," Kurt said, "but in that particular instance, it was also a lumberjack thing."

Blaine laughed again, bending to retrieve the last small log from the pile he had been working his way through for the past half hour; as he swung the axe over his head and brought it down to split the log clean in two, Kurt watched the muscles of his back and shoulders flex and contract beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

"How are you not freezing right now?" he asked.

"Manual labor, working up a sweat, all that jazz," Blaine said, swinging the axe one last time to bury it in the stump. He picked up the log basket and crossed his arms through the wicker handle, carrying it up the steps to the porch and nodding for Kurt to follow.

"I don't think I'd ever get used to this view," Kurt murmured at the top, stepping closer to Blaine and feeling the body heat that poured off him in waves. "Thank you for showing me."

Blaine's arm slipped around his waist, pulling him closer as they stood on the porch, gazing out at the sun setting behind the mountains that bordered the placid water. He smelled of sweat and cologne and nature.

Their drive up the previous day had been brutally long but beautifully scenic, offset further by the fact that they had two nights to spend in Blaine's father's idyllic log cabin. After falling into bed, watching Big Eden, and sleeping a solid twelve hours, they had both awakened refreshed enough to spend their day on a long walk around the area, taking in the picturesque views and frigid mountain air.

Upon their return, Kurt had taken the time to explore the cabin itself while Blaine set about chopping wood for the generous hearth in the living room. The cabin was seven hundred and sixty square feet of country charm the likes of which Kurt could only imagine finding in Montana, and even the exterior had him itching for a light meter and a handheld video camera. On the porch was an oversized wooden rocking chair, in which Kurt was categorically not picturing himself sitting while Blaine went on a run through the woods five, ten, fifteen years from now. Through the unassuming front door was a small living room that led into a rustic kitchen, all of the appliances concealed by panels matching the cabinetry, and upstairs was a loft bedroom with a tiny en suite.

No cell service, no internet, and only local stations on the TV. At the beginning of the trip, Kurt had thought it would be two days of board games, nature, and hell—now, he knew he couldn't have been more wrong. It was perfect.

"I have something for you," Blaine said, warm lips grazing Kurt's ear. "For both of us, actually."

"Lead the way," Kurt said with a shiver, and followed him inside.

As Blaine stacked a few logs in the open fireplace and set the kindling aflame beneath the grate, he said, "So... Don't be mad."

"Don't give me anything to be mad for," Kurt quipped, removing his coat and perching on the arm of the chocolate brown leather couch.

Blaine chucked weakly. "I got us some pot."

A grin slowly worked its way along the line of Kurt's lips. "Why would I be mad about—wait. Where did you get pot?"

"I went out to stretch my legs while you were in the bathroom yesterday morning, and I noticed a bunch of guys—"

"Tell me you didn't."

"—in the parking lot, and one of them called me over—"

"Blaine, tell me you did not get us Walmart marijuana."

After wiping his hands off on his jeans, Blaine stood and pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket. He held it between his finger and thumb, shaking it back and forth with a sheepish grin. Sighing, Kurt held out his hand and accepted the baggie, pressing it to his nose and inhaling deeply through the plastic. With no small measure of surprise, he glanced back up at Blaine, who waggled his eyebrows and said, "Good, right?"

Letting out another sigh, Kurt handed it back. "We need snacks and live music before I'll even consider this. On principle."

"Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much, but I already have that covered," Blaine announced excitedly, and he sped off into the kitchen area. Kurt just stared after him.

"What do you mean, 'already covered?' How do you have live music 'already covered?'" he asked, poking his head around the open door to see Blaine already dumping out a bag of pita chips into an oversized bowl.

"I've got a bootleg of a show at the KOKO from last year," he replied, speaking quickly and excitedly. "There's a few bands I've been dying to play for you—this one band, Bastille? Holy shit, you're gonna love them. I actually have a feeling that they're gonna be huge—"

Kurt silenced him with a kiss, pulling back only when he was breathless. He pressed his forehead to Blaine's temple, and simply whispered, "Okay."



"No, seriously, it looks like a face!" Kurt crowed, looking at the map that hung outside the cabin door and pointing at Montana's western border. "It's the profile of a person, Blaine."

"Do you think it's a thing?" Blaine asked. "Like, do you think anybody ever gave it a name?"

"What, like Steve? The Steve side of Montana?" Kurt suggested.

"The Steve side of Montana," Blaine agreed, just as Pompeii came to an end.

"Oh my god, play it again."

"Kurt, it's already on repeat."

"But Blaine, play it again."

"I told you you'd love them."

"But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?" Kurt sang at the top of his voice, not even caring that he was horribly off-key and emulating the lead singer's pronounced English accent. He giggled to himself and took another toke from their second joint of the evening just as a thought occurred to him. "Hey. Why do we never play 'Would You Rather' anymore?"

"Because it always ended with awkwardness or dick jokes," Blaine reminded him, barely stifling a snigger as he took the joint from between Kurt's fingers. The smoke was a thick cloud around them where they sat on the porch; it was a still night, and the air was freezing, but with Blaine curled around him on the rocking chair, Kurt didn't particularly notice. He didn't care at all, in fact.

"We played it all the time when we were kids," Kurt mused idly. He glanced up at Blaine and slowly worked his fingers into his thick curls, his arms feeling pleasantly heavy. "You need a haircut."

"Do not," Blaine replied petulantly, and stuck the end of the joint back between Kurt's lips. "Don't you remember how long it was when we first met?"

"Mmhmm," Kurt hummed on an exhale. "You looked like a hobbit. Not that I actually knew what a hobbit was when we were six."

"Speaking of hobbits," Blaine said, "do you remember that day up in your attic, with the calendar?"

"Of course I do," Kurt replied, smiling fondly at the memory.

The Saturday after they met, Kurt and Blaine had been up in Kurt's attic looking through box upon box of books, and found an old Tolkien calendar from 1990. Kurt had helped Blaine count along with him, their fingers hop-scotching across the squares, and they had gone from September sixteenth to December twenty-fifth three times to be sure. They got to one hundred every time.

"Do you get twice as many presents, then?" Kurt had asked him, thinking that it must have been great to be born on Christmas, but when Blaine had wrinkled his nose, he'd wondered if everyone always asked him the same thing.

"Nope. Mommy and Daddy get me one extra present that's just for my birthday, but nobody else does."

Kurt had thought that it wasn't very fair at all, and tried to remember to ask his mommy if they could get Blaine two presents in December, when they went shopping at the big department store with the pretty Christmas windows.

He told Blaine as much now, and Blaine smiled as he dragged deeply from the joint. In the dim porch light, Kurt watched his eyes grow dark; Blaine tapped Kurt's mouth once before he leaned down and sealed his lips over Kurt's. It was a kiss, an addictively poisonous kiss, and Kurt pulled the smoke out of Blaine's mouth and into his lungs, his hands flying up to frame Blaine's face. He rested his forehead against Blaine's when he pulled back, eyes closed, and let the dizziness take him.

The rocking chair tipped back and forth, back and forth, creaking under their combined weight, and god, Kurt loved him so much. He loved Blaine's every last cell, and reason only just edged out his wild urge to confess something, anything. He swallowed hard, and said, "Tell me something you want."

"To be in two places at once," Blaine whispered, his right hand covering Kurt's where it had slipped to rest against the warmth of his pulse point.

"Easy," Kurt whispered back, "just straddle a state line. Tell me something real, something you actually want."

Blaine sighed and dropped his head, burrowing into the hollow of Kurt's neck. "I want you to fuck me in front of the fireplace later."

"Later is good," Kurt managed. "I don't know if I can—"

"Me either!" Blaine interrupted, bursting into laughter that shook his entire body. "It's like my dick disappeared."

"What do you mean it disappeared?"

"It moved. To space."

"Oh my god. I'm so high that that actually made sense," Kurt whined on a giggle, taking a deep breath and waving his hand to try and calm himself enough to ask again. It was no use, though; he was done for. He clutched onto Blaine like his life depended on it and both of them laughed until they wheezed, until it had been so long that he had to relight the joint before taking another drag. "Seriously, though. What do you want for your birthday this year?"

"Surprise me," Blaine answered smoothly.

"You hate surprises."

"I like yours."

"Okay," Kurt murmured. "Seriously, how is it only twenty-six days away? That's less than four weeks."

"Don't," Blaine said, his voice so low and commanding that it sent a frisson dancing up and down Kurt's spine. He stifled the impulse to break the tension by attempting to bounce Blaine on his knee or something equally ridiculous—his legs were almost asleep anyway, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Getting cold," he mumbled, burying his face against Blaine's chest and rubbing his cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt. It felt amazing, and Kurt couldn't help but let out a moan of approval. Blaine's answering chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest, and oh—every sensation was like a miniature firework bursting beneath Kurt's skin.

Time slipped by him as Blaine clambered out of his lap and bundled him inside, and before Kurt really knew what was going on, he found himself stretched out along the couch, Blaine sitting pretzel-style at one end with Kurt's head in his lap. His iPod was still playing, the sound amplified by the deep bowl into which Blaine had placed it, but the song had changed, now—he vaguely recognized it as Back Down South by Kings of Leon. It was sad, heavy, and soothing—perfect for his sudden and inexplicable wave of melancholy.

They were coasting: he knew that much. Their zigzagging route around America was coming toward its final downswing; after leaving this cabin—a prospect Kurt didn't want to entertain for longer than absolutely necessary—they would indeed head back down south for the last time. He wanted to stay here forever, bury this night in the soil of the flowerbeds that lined the cabin's back yard and let enough time pass for something to bloom, something that ached with beauty.

"I had a crush on you in senior year," he blurted before he could stop himself, and just before he screwed his eyes shut, he caught a glimpse of Blaine's surprised gaze settling on him.

"Told you I liked your surprises," Blaine murmured, his fingers carding gently through Kurt's hair. "Yours probably didn't involve ice cream and hand-holding, though."

"No, it did," Kurt replied, sighing as he opened his eyes. "I mean, it was before Brad, so..."

"Ah, yes. Brad the Great Deflowerer."

"That's not a word. And—"

"It's totally a word."

"And he didn't deflower me; I wasn't some blushing virgin."

"Sweetheart, you'd barely even admit to jerking off until you were seventeen."

"So not true."

"It is! Why do you think I was so surprised when you told me your kill count?"

Kurt snorted derisively. "I've said it before: this coming from the guy who was practically celibate before me."

Blaine simply laughed again, dropping his head and gazing down at Kurt through his thick eyelashes. "So, about that kill count..."

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Who was the best?" Blaine asked at length.

"That is quite a question. Hmm, let's see..." Kurt teased, making a show of tapping his chin. He knew the answer, of course, but he also knew that Blaine was fishing for compliments. "Well, there was Brad, of course. I guess I kind of have to look back and laugh, a little bit. But for a first time, he was... Nice. It was nice.

"Then—well, you knew about Nathaniel. Drunk, don't remember much," Kurt continued, wrinkling his nose. "Edward was... Mm, Edward was fantastic. And then... Max, obviously."

"So we've covered the ones I know about," Blaine cut in smoothly. He shifted on the couch, his posture straighter and his gaze more attentive. The firelight licked over his skin, casting him golden, and Kurt wanted to say that it didn't matter, that none of it mattered, because Blaine was here and he was the only one that Kurt cared about anymore.

But he had started, so he would finish.

"After you left—literally the day after—I, um... I slept with Daniel."

"Daniel who?" Blaine asked, and then, "Oh my god, Daniel from the band?!"

Shamefaced, Kurt nodded, and Blaine burst out laughing. "Shut up," he grumbled, reaching up and punching Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine's laughs were already dying in his throat, though; he grabbed Kurt's arm and brushed his lips across the inside of his wrist. "How did that even happen?"

"I went over to April's and they were all jamming together," Kurt answered. "All of us went to The Cannery, one drink became seven... The next thing I know, we're in his parents' basement and I've got him over his desk."

"Wow. Okay. Okay, so that's five."

"Oh my god, I need a drink," Kurt moaned, hiding his face in his hands. He took a deep breath, and continued, "Alright. Next was Stefan—you know, the Serbian guy from Baxter House? Gave one hell of a blow job. He just, um... Didn't have much of his own to work with.

"You know, come to think of it..." he trailed off, retracing his own missteps of that lost year without Blaine. "There were... Four? Four guys after him that kind of all blur together. Then there was James Wilson—"

"Dairy Queen James Wilson?" Blaine asked.

"The very same."

"He only came out last year."

"Oh, I know," Kurt said meaningfully, pursing his lips against a laugh and holding his hands up. "We ran into each other on campus, one thing led to another... He made the announcement the next day. I'm not saying I had anything to do with it, but..."

"I wonder how many other guys your dick has forced out of the closet," Blaine mused, earning him another punch to the shoulder. "That makes eleven, by the way. So Chandler was twelve?"

"Interrupted, remember?

"Then who did I succeed?"

Kurt swallowed, mentally berating himself for ever admitting his number to Blaine on that balmy night back in Missouri. "Roberto Mancini."

Blaine blanched and his mouth dropped open. "You had sex with Roberto Mancini? As in, the Roberto Mancini who almost fucked up my entire internship proposal?"

Nodding mutely, Kurt averted his eyes. "If it makes you feel any better, he was awful. He dragged me into the shower afterward and practically scrubbed us both raw because, and I quote, 'we must wash off the sin.' And then he tried to wash my hair for me. Which, fuck no."

After a moment, he felt Blaine relax underneath him. A moment more, and he was shaking with laughter. "Oh my god. Oh my god."

In spite of himself, Kurt was soon joining in, Blaine's infectious belly laughs too much to resist. When he finally regained his breath, he said, "You never really told me, you know."

"About what?"

"About Tyler. How was it?"

At that, Blaine sobered entirely, his eyebrows drawing together and his expression darkening. "Nothing. It was... Nothing."

"And... Me?" Kurt asked carefully.

Meeting his gaze squarely, Blaine whispered, "Everything."

"Oh," he said. He let his eyes slide toward the flames roaring in the fireplace, let the music wrap around him anew, let everything fade except the still-pleasant buzz in his bloodstream. It was too much—everything was too much these days. The weight of it all was terrifying, but then... But then there was something burning inside of him, too; something was stirring more and more, yearning to break free, and Kurt only ever felt sated when he let some of it out. Some of it, but not too much. Inches that still felt like miles: "You too, by the way. Out of everyone... It's you."

Blaine slid the tips of his fingers beneath the collar of Kurt's Henley, and leaned down over him, holding himself just far enough away that his face didn't blur. "See?" he whispered.

"See what?" Kurt breathed.

Blaine closed the last of the gap between them, and Kurt shut his eyes—warmth and home and yes—and in the second before Blaine kissed him, he whispered, "I love your surprises."



Distance: 10,573 miles