Breathy moans fill the air as Blaine bucks into his own hand, chest flushed a desperate red, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Baby, let me, please-“ and then Kurt’s reaching between his thighs, replacing calloused fingers with long, skilled ones that somehow know just how and where to twist and turn to have Blaine panting for breath like he’d just ran a mile.

“A-are you close?” Kurt’s murmuring along his collarbone in-between wet kisses, quickening the strokes.

Blaine can only pant out please and buck into Kurt’s smooth, confident touches as he comes, and then he’s pulling Kurt to his chest and kissing him with absolutely no technique, turning him over, staring him down with dark eyes and whispering my turn.

“Oh, god, Blaine-“

Kurt’s suddenly sitting up in bed, limbs loose and lax and a frustrated sigh emerging from his lips. Ever since Blaine had shown that small spark of confidence, Kurt had been having ever-increasingly…inappropriate thoughts about him.

Then the thoughts grew to dreams and Kurt could explain that away to himself, at least, seeing that you can’t control your dreams, but then came the fantasies. The un-accidental lingering glances at Blaine’s newly-formed muscles, the urge to push Blaine onto the nearest surface and block out the rest of the world with sweet nothings and tongues and touches. Kurt Hummel had been running blind ever since.

“Kurt? You awake, dude?”

Fuck.

Kurt tries to make sure his voice is under control before answering, but it comes out as a squeak anyway.

“I – yeah, Finn, I’m awake.”

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to fly?”

Kurt pauses, turning his head ever-so-slowly towards his brother’s bed.

“Have you been eating Puck’s cupcakes again?” He deadpans.

“Nope.” Finn replies. “Flying seems pretty cool, though, don’t you think?”

“It does – but why the sudden interest?”

“I’m not really sure.”

There’s a moment of silence before Finn speaks again.

“Maybe it’s like a – a subliminal…sub…”

“Subconscious?”

“That! Maybe it’s one of those things.”

“Feeling a desire to fly.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kurt scrunches his eyes before rolling over to his side, curling up into a half-ball.

“I have an astoundingly conscious desire to sleep, so-“

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, bro, I just needed to-“

“I know, Finn. Go to sleep too, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ever since Kurt’s big bang with Sebastian, Finn had been increasingly overprotective of him. Carole hadn’t let him go to school on the first day back, for fear that he might lose his temper and leave a Sebastian-shaped hole in one of McKinley’s walls.

(To be honest, both Burt and Kurt hadn’t seen the problem in this scenario.)

Finn had looked out for him since day one, but the fact remained that it had been more so since he and Sebastian broke up. Since Blaine had been stabbed.

Don’t think about him. You won’t go back to sleep, don’t you dare-

Great.

Kurt sighs, snuggling into his pillow and breathing out slowly.

You’re going to be dreaming about him until you die, aren’t you?

*

“Oh, god, Blaine-“

Blaine lowers his hands, glaring over at Santana.

“-what?”

“You’re focusing too much.”

“I’m focusing too – you – I –“

“Blaine, calm down. This isn’t only about focusing.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“Control.”

Blaine groans, dropping his arms completely to the side and banging his head back against the warehouse wall.

“You still haven’t told me where you got this place.”

“What makes you think it’s mine?”

Blaine stares at her, and Santana looks far too amused for Blaine not to worry when Brittany walks in on them.

“I have a theory.” She says, twisting her ponytail.

Blaine perks up. “What?”

Brittany, however, is ignoring him in favour of looking questioningly at Santana.

“No. He can’t handle it – he needs more practise.”

Brittany rubs at her shoulders, fingers sliding roughly across the silver sheen that’s serving as a makeshift cape (Blaine was the only one that actually had had a costume made – all black, small tendrils of red-flame dancing over the shoulders and mask – but Brittany insisted on joining in as well.)

“We’ve been practising for the last two weeks, and all he’s really improved on is his ability to put up with your ability to nag and yell at the same time.”

“I still can’t stand it, though.”

“Shut it, Winkle Twin.”

Brittany steps forward, laying a hand on Santana’s shoulder.

“I just want to help him, San. Please.”

Santana sighs, pacing her foot against the ground and refusing to look Brittany in the eye.

“You okay with this, Blaine?”

“I-I don’t really know what it is.”

Blaine feels confused, so he tries to look as knowledgeable as he can. Santana opens her mouth to explain, but Brittany shakes her head.

“An element of surprise did always work better.” She says, smiling. “You’d know that better than anyone, honey.”

Santana can’t help but smile back, and huff out a small fine.

 “Guys?”

Blaine can’t help but feel a little unsure about this. “What are you doing?”

Both Brittany and Santana grow into more serious expressions, and their eyes pan to the ground.

“You know, San, I don’t really know why we’re even trying anymore.”

“I know, Brit. It has been two weeks, after all, and he’s still just as pathetic as ever.”

Blaine perks up, and a small pang of doubt rushes all-too-quick through him.

“…Guys?”

“Personally, I don’t think he’ll ever be good enough.”

They’re both ignoring him, pacing around the warehouse and speaking into empty air. Blaine wants to talk back, wants to brush their remarks off as nothing more than an unamusing joke, but he can’t seem to move from his place against the wall.

“That’s the sad life story of Blaine Anderson, though; constant failure. Unacceptance.” She hesitates. “Lost love.”

Head down. Hands up. Don’t react, it’ll make them worse.

Push it down.

“I don’t think he knows just how pathetic he is, though.” and Santana’s breathing heavy, head down, slight tremble in her voice. “How little he matters.”

“Please, just stop.” It’s nothing more than a whispered sob, but it manages to break both of the girls’ faces. Santana turns away from him, shaking her head; Brittany steps into her place, speaking directly at Blaine.

“You’re never going to amount to anything.”

“Brittany, please-“

“-no, I’m sick of you. I’m sick of your face and your stupid sense of humour-“

Push it down.

“-and your constant failure and the fact that I have to spend hours-“

Liquid fire spreading electric through the veins, crackling and filling and raw but contained-

“-and days trying to help you when I have so, so many better things to do that to deal with your shit!”

“Like what, Brittany? What do you have to do, deal with your fucking freak of a sister-“

Blaine doesn’t know where the words came from, but they’re pouring out of his mouth like an erupting volcano and he doesn’t know how to stop himself.

“-at least my family’s here, Blaine! They care about me! What does your family do, huh? I don’t even think they fucking know how old you are!”

Blaine goes blank, and the heat spreads to his fingertips because it has to go somewhere or he’ll explode.

“How’s your brother going, Blaine? Big Hollywood actor, family trophy.”

Wildfire crackling through bone and vein and nerve endings set alight and it’s all burning but it’s never felt better and spreading and-

“Kurt would probably fuck him over you, you know. Would want him more.”

It’s just getting faster, not hotter, speeding through and linking arms with bloodstream and marrow and skin-

Blaine’s glowing white, the aura circling his suit and the heat is still spreading but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t scorch Blaine the way it did that first night  because he is the heat, it’s his skin and blood and thought and breath-

Brittany’s trembling now, but she keeps talking.

“You’ll never be anything more than that pathetic, weak little kid who can’t stand up for himself.”

Blaine snaps, and so the heat snaps too, clicking out of his skin and rushing through the air and hitting the walls and roof and scorching it black, burning the cheap aluminium to nothing and the warehouse is crumbling and falling and everyone but him is screaming and then the air the sun is shining far too brightly and-

You just disintegrated a building.

“Shit,” Blaine says, and then he’s falling to his knees and Santana’s catching him, laying him on his back, removing his mask and her hands are too cold and he wants to ask if she’s okay but he can’t do much more than lie there and breathe to the top of his lungs and back and Brittany’s holding a washcloth to his head and apologizing and apologizing again and asking him to say something, anything and-

“Whose warehouse was it?”

Blaine knows exactly where the words come from, a little deep and choked and the breath leaves him just from speaking.

“Sebastian’s.”

Everything’s quiet, for a second, before Blaine laughs, smoked and unclear and so inappropriately joyous that Santana can’t help but grin back, toothy and wide and Blaine still can’t breathe but he wheezes out a small chuckle and then Brittany’s looking down at him, lip upturned and the only one in the room looking sad enough for the occasion.

“You were right before, Blaine.”

“About what?”

Santana smiles. “You do get really hot.”

Blaine’s grin is carved into his face as the girls help him up, walking him over to his car, giggling all the way.

“Well, Blazer, you ready?”

Blaine’s grin falls. “What now?”

Santana’s grin seems to pick up his, doubling.

“Let’s go see how well Ohio’s criminals fare against you, yeah?”