Day 088: Thursday 13th December, 2012
Pillow Talk (Nevada)

"I don't get why you're fighting me on this, Kurt. It's Oceans Eleven, I mean..."

"Okay, okay. I get it. We're not killing your George Clooney boner any time soon. So fine."

"Excellent. Onto Califor—"



If Blaine's life were a movie, their time in Vegas would be the montage scene.

He could see it laid out before him as clear as crystal, so perfectly formed in his mind that he knew every shot, every transition, every angle. The quiet, strumming introduction of King and Lionheart by Of Monsters And Men would undercut the meeting of their lips by the campfire, Kurt dropping his extinguished poi to the ground and linking their fingers, neither of them heeding the wolf whistles and catcalls of their audience.

"And we won't run, and we won't run, and we won't run," would be the words that accompanied their hustle back to the R.V., the fires stoked and the engines starting. Fades into smiles across the space of the cab; Blaine's hand riding the air outside the window as they sped west along I-40; a panoramic shot of the hotel room on the Las Vegas Expressway that he'd booked on a whim. Standard stock shots of the lights and sights of Vegas itself; Kurt running down the strip with Blaine's hand tangled up in his, looking for all the world that he was the happiest he'd ever been.

The song's quiet heart but perfect sentiment would help the juxtaposing flow of slow, soul-deep kisses in dark corners of casinos against their fast entrances and exits to each and every gaudy attraction they could find. The cameras would capture them splitting their sides laughing as they took stupid photos of one another at Tussaud's; Kurt complaining about the smell of elephant poop inside the Adventuredome at Circus Circus; sitting in the mezzanine at Showgirls and loosely holding hands over the armrest; getting tossed out of the Neon Museum for ditching the guided tour in favor of a too-heated make out behind the dead Stardust sign. And as it faded into the hushed interlude, darkened shots of hands knotted in sheets, in hair, tangling together with a tight squeeze of release; the gentle caress of Kurt's fingers against Blaine's cheek, bringing him drifting downward and back to the earth.

One last series of shots would accompany the song's wind to its close: fast kisses, laughing kisses, desperate kisses; Kurt smiling softly at him from the bathtub through the open bathroom door; splitting a bottle of too-expensive champagne down in the bar before returning to their room.

Everything about it would be disgustingly cheesy, and Blaine would love every perfect second—because perfect was exactly what the last three days had been. It made him miss film-making in a new way, one that had him scribbling stray thoughts and notes onto scraps of paper, humming the riffs and hooks floating through his mind, and wanting more than anything to fulfil his and Kurt's dreams of creating beautiful things together.

"We must be the only two people ever to come to Vegas and not gamble a cent," he mused to a sleepy Kurt, who had only just awoken from the doze he'd fallen into after they'd come back to the hotel room. They'd been almost drunk and rutting against one another before the door had even closed behind them, and somehow they'd managed to make it to the bed, a trail of clothes left in their wake. Now they lay beneath soft sheets and blankets with all of the lights off, but the drapes drawn back from the windows in the hope that they would see the Geminid meteors streaking by over the mountains.

"The house always wins," Kurt replied sleepily. "And besides, I kind of already gambled a lot the other night."

"Nah," Blaine said, scooting down and turning onto his side. "I was a sure thing."

"Exactly," Kurt said, looking at him through one eye. "The house always wins."

The pause that befell their conversation was comfortable, knowing, the kind of pause that didn't need to be filled with awkward glances or tentative touches—so much was out in the open, now. The walls had crumbled, leaving no rubble but a foundation upon which they could build whatever they wanted, and even without the champagne, Blaine was giddy with it.

"So," he said at length. "We've had two days in Vegas, done every tacky tourist thing we could think of, you've fucked me every which way to Sunday—and it's only Thursday—and now we're here."

"That about sums it up," Kurt replied, tracing Blaine's lips and then leaning in to kiss each one in turn.

"There isn't anything left that we haven't done?" Blaine asked.

"Not that I can think of."

"No fantasies about going to that drive-thru chapel?"

Kurt's bark of laughter was music. "Sure, let's do it. I think I have a condom in my wallet from graduation that could be my something old."

"And we have blue M&Ms," Blaine supplied.

"Oh! Maybe you'll let me borrow that tie of yours that I'm never allowed to borrow."

"And I can wear the scarf you bought yesterday."

"Ah, Nevada," Kurt sighed almost wistfully. "If only."

"If only," Blaine echoed, and Kurt looked at him with a soft, tender smile.

"What, are we playing Relationship Chicken now?" he asked after a moment.

"Well, we both clean up," Blaine joked, and scooted forward under the covers, sliding his thigh between Kurt's.

"Mmm, you in that suit at Toby and Andrew's wedding..." Kurt trailed off, shuffling up into the contact.

"Yeah?"

"You really have no idea, do you?"

His face warming, Blaine turned his face into the pillow for a second—and then something occurred to him, and he had to look back up.

"It's rude to stare," Kurt said after a few moments had passed.

"You said 'relationship,'" Blaine murmured, grinning at him.

"Shut up," Kurt muttered, dropping his eyes, but his own smile betrayed him.

"So... Are we boyfriends now?" Blaine teased, ducking into his eyeline.

Kurt surprised him with a firm kiss and even more with his answer: "That's completely the wrong word for what you are to me. But if we're using conventional terms... Yeah."

"Because you love me, and I love you," Blaine murmured, leaning forward and whispering against his lips, "and we're totally fucking screwed."

"That about sums it up," Kurt repeated in a dazed tone, and pulled Blaine in for another of those desperate kisses that had marked the passage of so many moments over the past two days. It was dizzying and disorienting, Kurt claiming his mouth in a way that felt to Blaine like he never wanted to stop, like he was taking as much as he could because he didn't know if he'd still have it the next day, week, month, year.

Blaine was breathless when he pulled back, shivering as the AC kicked in, and asked, "So you're sure there's nothing else you want to do while we're here?"

Kurt looked thoughtful for a moment, toying with the corner of his pillowcase, and said, "There was this art show last year at The Cosmopolitan that I wish I could have seen. I read an article about it."

"Go on," Blaine prompted him after a moment.

Kurt shifted, then, extricating his legs from Blaine's and turning around to settle his back against Blaine's chest. "Have you ever noticed that the longer you look up, the more stars you see?" he asked.

"We had this exact conversation in July at Coffin Pond," Blaine reminded him, slipping one arm beneath his neck and the other around his waist. "What is it about this art show?"

"It was called Confessions," Kurt answered at length. "The artist set up little booths where people could anonymously write secrets on slips of paper, and then she would pin them up on the walls. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands."

"Sounds pretty cool," Blaine agreed, biding his time—Kurt wouldn't have brought it up without a reason.

"What would you confess?" Kurt asked softly.

"That my life hasn't been the same since they stopped making Double Dip Crunch," he replied blithely, earning himself a sharp pinch to the thigh. He cleared his throat, and as looked out through the window and caught the first of the meteors darting across the night sky, he hooked his chin over Kurt's shoulder and answered, "I realized that I was in love with my best friend while we were watching meteors together in Louisiana."

He was expecting Kurt to tense in his arms, the same as he had done every other time Blaine had brought up his feelings; it felt almost too good to be true that, instead, he simply relaxed further into Blaine's hold, hummed happily, and said, "That's a good one."

"What about you?"

"We might be here a while."

"I'm listening," he said.

"Okay, well..." Kurt trailed off, taking a deep breath as if to brace himself. With a small, self-deprecating laugh, he began, "I once walked in on my best friend jerking off and used it as masturbation fodder for a month."

Prodding him in the ribs, Blaine said, "So I give you this deep confession and you respond with, 'I used to jerk off to you.'"

"Okay, A) your first one was about cereal, so don't even. And B) you were fucking hot, so I'm not even a little bit sorry," Kurt shot back.

"Come on, sweetheart," Blaine said. "Tell me something real."

"That's my line," Kurt joked. "But okay, um..."

Heavy moments of silence passed, punctuated only by the steady sound of their breathing and the occasional set of footsteps passing by outside the door. After a few moments, Blaine prompted, "It doesn't have to be something monumental."

"I just can't think of anything that you don't already know about me," Kurt finally said, his voice quietly surprised. "You were there for so much of it. And I've told you about last year, so...

"Blaine, you—" Kurt continued, stopping short to turn around and face him. His eyes were mostly shrouded in the darkness, but Blaine could feel the weight of them as if his gaze were something tangible. "You know me better than anyone—better than I know myself, sometimes—and I think what... What took me so long was that I was terrified of losing you but also terrified of not losing you, of what all this would mean if I let it in."

"We were both scared," Blaine said. "Do you really think I would have let you off the hook in Delaware if I hadn't been?"

"I know, but... If you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of obsessed with you," Kurt said, the words stilted and almost clumsy, like he was trying to make sense of them as they were coming out. "And it... It made me feel so unsafe, because I don't get like this with anyone else. I never thought I was the kind of person who pins their everything on somebody."

"You don't—" Blaine began, but Kurt held a hand up to stop him.

"B, can you... Can you let me try and get this out?"

"Of course."

Kurt took a deep breath, and continued, "Some of the things I've put you through on this trip, and you were so patient with me... Even the idea of getting to have this with you felt too good to be true, like everything would just go to shit if I let myself think it was a possibility, let alone have the reality. And I'm still kind of terrified, honestly, but it's always going to be you. There's never going to be anybody else. I've been so stupid, and so blind, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."

Slowly, eyes fixed on Kurt's the entire time, Blaine gathered up Kurt's wrists and straddled his hips, pinning him to the bed. Kurt was miles of body and skin underneath him, skin that made Blaine suddenly wish they'd factored in a stop to hit the beach at Goleta when they got to the west coast. He would drag Kurt swimming and then find his old hideaway cove along the cliff wall where he could take his time licking the salt from Kurt's freckles.

Instead, he entwined their fingers and leaned down with parted lips: close, close, closer, and he was consumed. The door between them was finally open, swinging on its hinges in the wake of a hurricane and Blaine could feel the devastation it had left behind from his scalp down to the soles of his feet. Their lips barely brushed, but Blaine's heart was racing and there was a tugging in his stomach that felt like jolting awake to the sensation of falling. It was panic, pressure, realization. It was hitting the ground running; it was willingly tumbling headfirst into love in a way that he hadn't yet known.

He kissed Kurt, and everything slowed. He could feel Kurt's eyelashes against the apple of his cheek, a fanfare in his heart and Kurt's lips soft and pliant beneath his own. He poured every last shred of hope and fear and adoration and regret into Kurt, apologizing in kind for the wasted years, promising to be his and his alone until the end of forever. Their mouths fitted and then broke apart, finding each other again with eyes closed and fingertips cloying to tangle in hair and against skin. Blaine moaned brokenly and Kurt deepened the kiss, pulling him flush, mouth insistent and warm and wet and wanting. He needed nothing except this, except Kurt; he would forgo food and rest and oxygen if it meant he could just do this every moment for the rest of his life, because this was everything and so much more.

"I love you," was his answer when he pulled back, his voice thick and his eyes more wet than he could stand.

"I love you, too," Kurt breathed, eyes wide and dark as he blinked up at him. "And my confession is that I realized I was in love with my best friend in a coffee shop in Ohio. While he had a stirrer sticking out of his mouth."

The unexpected, lighthearted addition to the end of Kurt's confession washed over him and put him back together where he had briefly come apart—he laughed, and rolled off Kurt with no grace whatsoever, burying his face in the pillow as his body shook.

When he had caught his breath, he peeked at Kurt through one eye and found him looking back, tenderness crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he reached for Blaine's hand. His expression was full of warmth, contentment, awe. "This is going to be awesome, right? It's the start of something really, really great?"

Sobering for a second, Blaine realized where he'd heard the words before—he'd said them to Kurt over three months earlier, sitting out on Kurt's deck and counting fireflies—and as Kurt curled his fingers into the space above Blaine's thumb, he replied, "I think maybe we're already in the middle of something really, really great. But if we're using conventional terms... Yeah."

"So what happens next?" Kurt asked.

Drawing himself closer, just like Kurt did every night even if they'd fallen asleep with a gulf between them, he cupped Kurt's jaw and slid his hand back, his thumb fitting into the groove behind his ear like it was a space made just for him, just to be doing this. "You just have to be with me," he said. "We can figure the rest out later."

And as Kurt met his kiss, smiling into it with complete abandon, Blaine could practically hear the strains of Music for a Found Harmonium picking up: they were only just getting started.



Distance: 12,885 miles