Day 081: Thursday 6th December, 2012
Hush (Colorado)

"We have to, Blaine! I mean, look at us. Look at what we're about to do. It has to be somewhere on the list, and I vote Colorado."

"Okay, okay. Sure. But which one of us is Thelma and which one of us is Louise?"

"Obviously I'm Thelma. It was Louise's idea to run, after all..."



When Kurt slipped quietly back inside the R.V., he found the living area empty. Sunlight poured in through the blinds covering the window behind the couch, and he tiptoed across the beams spilling onto the floor as if he were walking on broken glass.

"Blaine?" he called out, just as his eyes landed on a note propped up in front of the coffee maker: Went for groceries, back soon. ♥B

He felt himself relax, the mild tension draining from his shoulders as he shucked off his jacket and took his mom's art journal from the inside pocket. After they had gotten settled at the Cottonwood Camper Park just outside the center of Durango, Kurt had slipped the journal out of his bedside cabinet and taken it with him on his walk into town. He was convinced that he had finally found the drawing he wanted to get as a tattoo—a rootless anchor with a fraying rope—but when he'd arrived on Camino Del Rio and looked up at the unassuming 'Tattoo & Piercing' sign over the door of Skin Incorporated, he'd carried on walking.

Instead, he'd ended up spending an hour in Buckley Park, one hand clutching a venti mocha with a triple shot, the other leafing fruitlessly through the journal while he wished more than ever that he could just pick up the phone and talk to her.

What do you do, Mom? When you feel too much? he'd wondered, his eyes lingering on the drawing of him and Blaine as boys. Sometimes I feel like I'd just be waiting for him to break my heart, because I don't know if I can trust him with it. It's like he's holding it and I'm following him around with my hands cupped underneath in case he drops it. I feel too much for him and it scares me shitless, so what do I do?

Sighing as the ache resurfaced, Kurt decided to head for the shower, humming an old Killers song in an attempt to drive all other thoughts from his mind.

The scalding water was almost too hot, but it pounded on his shoulders and back and chased the cold from his skin and bones. When he stepped out ten minutes later to towel off, he smiled at the unmistakable shift in the air that let him know Blaine was back. He heard something fall to the floor and Blaine swore softly; Kurt bit his lip and shook his head as he pulled on the soft pair of yoga pants and dark blue t-shirt he'd brought in with him.

The first thing that Kurt saw when he slipped out of the bathroom was Blaine, sitting on the couch with his laptop playing The Lightning Strike by Snow Patrol, his fingers haphazardly playing a rhythm against his thigh. Sunlight still poured through the window behind him and it cast him in the same auburn halo that had surrounded him thousands of miles ago, before the kiss that had finally changed everything.

There was no describing how important Blaine was to him, for their story hadn't begun with a dropped pen or eyes meeting across a crowded room or bumping into one another on a busy street and spilling coffee everywhere—it had begun with two young boys who had made each other feel a little less lost. Two young boys who had held each other together through thick and thin. Two young boys who should long have felt like brothers but never did.

Kurt could trace the threads back so far, and that was what had scared him into the tenuous safety of the silence that he used to despise. His heart had sunk at Blaine's earnest confession, and Kurt had retreated, suddenly feeling unsettled within his own skin. It was a feeling that only got worse the longer Blaine waited, sending him patient smiles and nonchalantly whispered declarations.

He returned one of those smiles as Blaine looked up and caught his eye, his fingers still playing the keys of an invisible piano in time with the song. Silently, Kurt circled around and climbed onto the couch behind him, settling his knees either side of Blaine's hips and draping his arms around his shoulders.

It was comfortable, but something about it made Kurt need more than he'd been allowing himself since Rock Springs; he ghosted a kiss to the back of Blaine's neck, peeking over his shoulder and watching the lines of muscle in Blaine's arm shift as he continued to mimic the piano riff.

Blaine's arms had held him with tender strength and kept him safe for weeks; Blaine's fingers had learned how to undo him and put him back together piece by piece; Blaine's hands now held his heart, flawed and fragile as it was. Kurt found himself mesmerized by the movement, fixated with the sudden question of what else Blaine could do, if Kurt would only let him.

When he shifted around to Blaine's side, it was almost instantaneous: Blaine set the laptop on the floor before twisting to hook his hands beneath Kurt's thighs and pull him into his lap. The music still permeated the charged air between them, and Blaine met his kiss midway, tongue sliding against Kurt's almost tentatively.

"Wait, wait," Kurt whispered, pulling back and searching Blaine's eyes with his own. "Blaine, I... I've never trusted anyone the way I trust you. You know that, right?" At Blaine's nod, he cleared his throat and continued, "And you know that I... The way I feel about you, it's not—"

"Stop," Blaine interrupted, gently placing the tips of his fingers over Kurt's mouth. "We're not gonna do that right now."

"Why not?" Kurt asked slowly.

"I didn't tell you because I was expecting anything. Hoping, sure, but..." Blaine trailed off, and reached up to trace over Kurt's cheekbones. "You don't owe me anything, okay?"

Warmth bloomed in his bloodstream, and Kurt nodded mutely.

"Good. So, for now... Let it go," he continued, dropping his hands to graze along Kurt's thighs. "Stop thinking so much, and just be with me."

Kurt pitched forward, falling into a kiss that felt shattering in the wake of Blaine's words. All at once he was five years younger, fumbling and frenzied and trembling under the weight of the things he wanted. Blaine's hands were still now and heavy on his thighs; he scooted forward in Blaine's lap, pressing up into the firm touch and chasing the taste of something sweet that lingered on his tongue.

He reached down for Blaine's hands and pushed them back, back, back until Blaine was cupping his ass and holding him right where he was, immobile save for the tight figure eights of his hips. Slow kisses contrasted Kurt's impatient hands as they rushed their way beneath Blaine's shirt and undershirt, pushing them up over his head to fall down the back of the couch.

Even with the feeling of Blaine growing hard beneath him, Kurt didn't exactly know how to ask for what he suddenly wanted, and pulled away for a second to catch his breath. Blaine followed, one hand tipping Kurt's head back; his mouth was warm and wet on Kurt's throat and trailing to his collarbone.

Opening his eyes and staring blankly up at the ceiling, he breathed, "Do you remember what I said to you in West Virginia?" At Blaine's questioning hum, he swallowed and added, "You asked me if I topped."

"And you said exclusively," he replied.

Before Blaine's hand could work its way up into his still-damp hair, Kurt peeled it away and brought it to his cheek, pressing a kiss to Blaine's palm and staring hard into his eyes. "I want you to. This time."

"You..." Blaine trailed off, eyes wide. "Kurt—"

"Just be with me," Kurt echoed, adding in a whisper, "like that. Please."

Blaine looked at him searchingly for a moment, then pulled Kurt's legs forward, wrapping them around his waist and carrying him to the bedroom. As they passed the laptop, Kurt heard the words, "Now it's found us, like I have found you. I don't wanna run; just overwhelm me." It was what Blaine had always done: overwhelm him in the best possible way.

They shed each other's clothes quietly, revealing skin inch by inch, keeping eye contact as much as possible as they simply let their fingers retrace maps long since drawn, and this—this felt like something entirely new, entirely different, the intimacy of it staggering. Blaine's hands shook as they trailed the length of Kurt's bare arms, fingertips the merest whisper of a sensation across his skin and leaving his hair raised in their wake. Kurt licked his lips with a dry tongue; his eyes slipped closed as he finally let his foundations crumble and gave himself up. It was as easy as falling asleep at the end of a long day; a drift into floating, and Blaine's mouth was soft on his and his hands were everywhere, a breath of skin on skin.

Blaine stroked him fully hard as they kissed deeply, kisses that were like drowning in Blaine, falling further and harder and faster, and Blaine was breathing raggedly whenever they broke apart, like he was breaking the surface and coming up for air, too.

"I love you," he whispered, taking his hands away and swallowing Kurt's soft whine inside another kiss; for a second while he moved to the nightstand, there was nothing but heat as sunlight flooded Kurt's skin. His head fell back onto the pillow and he took a few centering breaths, because he could barely stand this out-of-control cascade; this bone-deep need and vulnerability; this feeling that if he didn't have Blaine then he would have nothing. It hurt so beautifully that he wanted to cry.

And then Blaine dropped a condom and a small bottle of lubricant onto the bed, brushed his thumb over Kurt's lips and caught his eye. With nothing more than a nod, it became simple. It was him and Blaine—just him and Blaine, like always.

Everything in him loosened, uncoiled, and he surged upward to capture Blaine's mouth, smiling a little against his lips as Blaine slowly moved to slide his thighs apart and settled between them. The shift was immediate, the tension was broken, and soon Kurt felt one of Blaine's slicked fingers circling him before slowly pushing inside. He gasped at the soft pressure, full but not to bursting, and Blaine paused to look up at him.

Is this right? Kurt could almost hear him thinking, his curious and tentative expression speaking volumes. Is this what you really want, or are you just trying to apologize?

"Okay?" Blaine breathed the word as if Kurt had answered some unspoken benediction, and Kurt wriggled underneath him, bearing down and already wanting more.

He nodded slowly, biting his lip against a grin at the way Blaine's shoulders slumped in relief. As Kurt watched, Blaine became steady; a second finger soon joined the first, and the trembling was gone as if a plug had been pulled.

Hours seemed to pack themselves into minutes, an incomprehensible but pleasant stretch the only point of Kurt's focus, Blaine's eyes dark and half-lidded as he checked and double-checked that what he was doing was still all right. By the time Kurt was panting, three fingers twisting inside him and sweat beading at his temples while Blaine brought him back to full hardness, he was lost to it.

Then Blaine's mouth was covering his, giving him air to breathe as he pushed inside, inch by inch and mile by mile. The feeling of Blaine inside him and the look in his amber eyes when he pulled back—volumes of love and soft awe—was an ache in Kurt's soul, a cut that ran so deep he knew he would carry it for the rest of his life.

Blaine started to move, barely at first, but it was a maelstrom of wildfire sensation; it was Kurt's arching back and his fingers curling into the sheets; it was Blaine's half-sobs, half-laughs choked into the hollow of his neck. It was push and pull and give and take; it was winding and reaching and burning heat that scorched him from the inside out; it was falling apart over and over and knowing, now, that Blaine would catch him.

It was everything.

Kurt was too close too soon, but he didn't have it in him to ask Blaine to slow down; his toes were curling and his breath was reduced only to fragmented exhales of Blaine's name. Chasing the rub against the soft swell of Blaine's stomach, he hooked his arms around Blaine's neck and pulled himself up. He pressed his forehead to Blaine's temple just as he screwed his eyes shut and let go completely, Blaine's arm sliding underneath him, supporting him and holding onto him like a lifeline.

Blaine followed him over the edge moments later, panting and gasping and whispering, "I love you," again and again and again. Kurt drifted down, locked on those three words and truly wanting, for the first time, to return them. But everything was already bordering on too intense for him to comprehend; Blaine's eyes were watery as he pulled back, and Kurt's entire body felt like putty. He lay back and pulled Blaine down with him, shaking in the thick air that surrounded them.

Then it was sudden emptiness as Blaine slowly pulled out; it was damp, unsteady fingers carding into Kurt's hair; it was a lazy kiss that bled into another, and then another. It was Kurt's nerve endings recovering from overload; it was Blaine wrapped around him from head to toe, the pulse in his neck rabbit-quick; it was something unfurling and stretching awake.

And later, much later, when he was absolutely sure that Blaine was asleep, it was letting the words roll onto his tongue, their taste heady and dizzying. It was lying stone-still as he considered. It was looking over at Blaine, arms curled up beneath his pillow and his face peaceful with sleep, and whispering, "I love you, too."



Distance: 11,882 miles