“I really like you.”

No, no, that’s too safe.

“Kurt, I think I – I love you.”

Real smooth, Blaine, just blurt it out.

“So, can we get coffee sometime? I’d really like to get to know you.”

“Y-yeah, I’m Blaine Anderson. We have French together, remember?”

“Kurt, I just wanted to – oh, fuck this.”

Glancing at his alarm clock, Blaine drags his eyes up to meet his reflection. Smoothing his hair for the third time that morning, he huffs, straightens his back.

You can do this.

“I love you, Kurt Hummel.”

*

He manages to get to class just as the first period bell rings, stumbling into his seat and trying to focus on the teacher for the first few minutes of the class. It doesn’t work, though, because exactly two desks away from him, looking angelic and gorgeous and sexy as always, sits Kurt Hummel.

Kurt Hummel; head Cheerio, kind soul to all, gay rights supporter and owner of Blaine’s heart.

Blaine tried not to stare, he really did, and he could have made it through the class if it weren’t for Kurt cracking his shoulders and stretching out his neck and yawning adorably and-

“Blaine?”

Oh god.

Kurt’s looking down at him, a little concerned.

“Yes?” Blaine really doesn’t appreciate how desperate he sounds.

Kurt smiles, and Blaine’s heart pangs.

“The bell rang.”

Blaine looks around quickly, hastily cursing underneath his breath and gathering his things. Kurt lays a hand on his shoulder and Blaine freezes, glancing up and trying not to breathe too loudly.

Kurt sighs, squeezes a little.

“Take care of yourself, honey, okay?” He says, and then he’s gone.

The whimper that follows seems to crawl out of Blaine’s mouth, amble after Kurt and drop dead on the floor halfway there.

*

“Hey, nerd!”

Before Blaine can even figure out who said it, he’s turning on his heel, ready to lecture them on the importance of education and high grades and bowties when a miniature, blue-coloured Arctic Ocean slaps him in the face.

Oh.

“Santana!”

“What, Hummel? Anderson over here got your panties in a twist?”

A sharp slap echoes through the hall, and even Blaine cringes a little.

“Santana,” Kurt says coldly, “both you and Brittany are bottom of the pyramid today.”

“But-“

“Would you like me to tell Sue what you’re doing?”

Blaine hears Santana stomp off after a few moments, and next thing he knows, Kurt’s guiding him towards the bathrooms.

“Come on,” he says, “-let’s get you cleaned up, Mr Dawson.”

Blaine’s never felt warmer.

*

After the last bell rings, Kurt has Cheerio practice.

Blaine goes home, cooks his own dinner and waits until he hears Kurt’s car pull up next door before going to sleep. Sometimes it takes hours, and sometimes it takes minutes. Blaine doesn’t really mind, though. It’s worth it.

In the stretch of time between, Blaine cleans a little. Works out. Curses his glasses. Reorganizes his wardrobe.  Jacks off. Bides his time.

It’s not that he’s an obsessive stalker, or that he’s got nothing better to do. In his first few days of crushing he tried to tell himself that he was being normal, that it was customary to spy on your neighbours.

It didn’t last long, though. Now he knows how much Kurt means to him. How bad it would hurt if anything happened to him because Blaine was asleep or distracted or just not paying attention.

Blaine just has to make sure Kurt gets home safe.

A few hours later, he hears the low thrum of Kurt’s car pulling in next door, and quietly listens for a sign of Kurt. A ‘Hi, Dad’ or an ‘alright’, or even just the faint padding of footsteps as he walks to his front door.

Blaine hears giggling.

Blaine hears a muffled thump, an unfamiliar voice muttering in a low tone.

Blaine hears Kurt moan a little, and his cock twitches.

Blaine sighs, clutches his pillow a little tighter and rolls over.

It’s always worth it.

*

Blaine’s dreaming of warm, kiss-swollen lips working their way down his body, whispering sweet nothings against bare skin. Licking and sucking around the swell of his ribcage. Soft, strong hands encircling between his legs and coaxing him into moaning, into whining and panting and thrusting and reaching out to touch the man hovering below him.

Kurt’s suddenly underneath him, warm and pliant and hard against his thigh as Blaine reaches between them, grabs Kurt and begins stroking. Plants tender, open-mouth kisses on his neck. Move against him softly and shudder and hear him cry out in something like ecstasy.

Blaine wakes up.

He finishes himself off under the sheets – they were due to be changed, anyway – all quick strokes and sharp bursts of breath and gritted teeth as he comes, and nothing but Kurt on his mind.

School comes and goes quickly. Kurt isn’t there, so he catches up on what he missed.

On his way home, he dawdles; he has time to kill, after all. His parent’s aren’t ever home long enough to question his whereabouts.

About a mile away from his house, Blaine’s cell goes off. He’d normally leave it be until he gets home but it keeps ringing, and once he sees that the caller is Kurt, he hits ‘accept call’ in a heartbeat.

“Hello?” Blaine knows it might just be Kurt asking about homework assignments or seating plans, but his heart is already smiling.

(And beating really, really fast.)

At first he can’t really hear anything but a muffled voice on the other end of the line. Two voices. A squeak of surprise.

The clear, silence-splitting sound of a zipper being pulled down.

Someone chuckles, too low for it to be Kurt, and Blaine stops in his tracks. He knows that he’s intruding on something private, that Kurt probably just butt-dialled him but he can’t stop listening.

*

“Oh – oh god, Sebastian-“

”-What, baby?”

 “-Do something, ngh-”

Sebastian’s hand maps over Kurt’s body, working over flushed, red-hot neck. Tight, achy nipples, exhausted flesh. Quivering thighs and strong hips. Lithe, smooth-skinned waist and nerve-ended fingertips.

Sebastian likes to take his time with Kurt, when he can; he likes rubbing and squeezing and fondling every inch of skin he can find, likes the way Kurt always shivers and begs a little when he’s already stroking firmly between his legs, the way he arches up and cries out when he comes.

But most of all, Sebastian likes Kurt when he’s all his. No interruptions, no distractions, no over-gelled, smartass little schoolboys pining over him.

One little phone call should set that straight, yes?

*

“-Do something, ngh-”

Blaine’s knuckles are going white from the pressure, and he almost wants to scream back into the receiver but what if it was an accidental call? He’d be mortified, and Kurt would probably never be able to talk to him again.

He still can’t stop listening.

A high-pitched cry comes through, and the muffled rustling stops. He can hear Kurt speaking on the other end, but he can’t quite make it out, and then:

“Love you too, babe.”

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut, calmly ends the call and places the phone carefully in his pocket.

He makes it all the way to his street before he realizes that it’s raining. Soaked, he stomps inside, showers and tries to fall asleep quickly.

He hears a little more giggling, the thrumming of an engine growing distant.

I love you more than he ever will.

Blaine clutches his pillow tighter.

You’re always worth it.