Chapter 2:

It's question time and the sun is burning between the clouds, the sky bright and glaring. Kurt is on his back, shirtless, smooth, pale skin on display. He's in the grass, staring at the sky, while Blaine sits with his legs crossed next to him, picking at daisies. He can't resist playing the 'he loves me, he loves me not game' inside his spinning mind.

"What's your last name?" Kurt asks.

Blaine answers easily. "Anderson."

He loves me.

"Hummel," Kurt tells him. There's a pause, then, "Where do you go to school?"

"Dalton Academy."

He loves me not.

There's a flicker in Kurt's eyes then, but he doesn't dwell on it. He simply hums and keeps looking at the sun.

"You?"

"I don't," Kurt says matter-of-factly.

He loves me.

"You don't," Blaine repeats.

"I don't."

Blaine considers it. "But you must have, once."

He loves me not.

"I don't go any more," he says. "I haven't for a while. Not going to school gives you freedom."

Blaine nods, can see how it's probably true.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Kurt asks and his mouth tilts up on one side.

"I want to perform."

He loves me.

Kurt laughs in silence. "That's mysterious," he tells Blaine and Blaine cannot miss the irony there. "When you say perform, I assume you don't mean you want to be a stripper."

Blaine chuckles. "I like to sing."

He loves me not.

"Are you a Warbler?"

Blaine's stunned. He stares at Kurt, with wide eyes and parted lips, but Kurt simply blinks up at the clouds.

He loves me.

"Yes," is all Blaine is capable of saying and when Kurt nods knowingly, Blaine doesn't ask. Instead, he enquires, "What do you want to do in the future?"

He loves me not.

"Live," Kurt says with a sigh so dreamy that Blaine swears that the tree leaves wilt and sag with him. "Take my place among the stars."

Blaine nods again, smiles, as he plucks the final petal, because yes, he can absolutely see that.

He loves me.

They're in the kitchen and the smell of baking chocolate chip cookie dough is strong and overpowering. Kurt is dancing around the kitchen, barefoot and still shirtless and he's got a daisy in his hair. Blaine's cleaning up, eyes on Kurt, watching as he prances and moves with such grace and elegance. Blaine's got two daisies in his hair and grass stains on his elbows. Earlier, Kurt had leaned across and slipped the daisies through his curls.

"The sun's in your eyes," he'd told him, before letting his lips brush Blaine's knuckles. He had then proceeded to stand up and twirl his way across the yard until he had reached the back door of the house.

Blaine turns back to the oven and checks on the cookies. They're golden brown and some of them have Smarties in them, the colours running like watercolours. He grabs a pair of oven gloves. They're practically new, have never been worn. He carefully slides the tray out and places it on the counter. He kicks the door closed and switches off the oven and then takes a plate and piles the cookies onto it. They look like a golden brown mountain.

Kurt comes back then, he's smiling. He slides a chair out and sits down, so Blaine joins him, carrying the plate to the dinner table. Kurt studies the cookies for a few seconds too long and then he reaches out and pulls one from underneath. It's shaped like a deformed egg.

"It looks like a rocket ship," Kurt tells him, taking a small bite.

Blaine stares at the half eaten cookie. It looks nothing like a rocket ship.

"It looks like a deformed egg," Blaine says.

Kurt shakes his head and moves in closer and when he speaks, Blaine can feel his breath on the side of his neck. "Look closer," Kurt prompts.

He's close, so terribly, wonderfully close. Blaine looks at the cookie again. He stares for a while and suddenly, he sees it. He sees it.

"A rocket ship," he says, sounding a little stunned.

Kurt giggles in approval and presses the cookie to Blaine's lips, forcing them apart. He slides the cookie inside and Blaine chews until he's eaten the rest. Kurt touches his arm briefly and then looks back at the plate of cookies. He spends a few moments deciding on the next one, eyes searching, wide and unblinking.

"Aha!" he cries, once he's found what he's looking for.

He reaches to the far left and grabs a slightly burnt one from the side. He slips it out from the cookie pile and holds it in the palms of his hands, smiles down at it adoringly.

"I made this one with you in mind," Kurt tells him, lifting his eyes to Blaine's. He holds out his hands and Blaine looks down and sees the cookie. It's shaped like a perfect heart, only the blackened curve on the left making it less than perfect, yet, somehow, it still seems so unflawed.

"Me?" Blaine breathes out, meeting Kurt's eyes.

Kurt nods and Blaine takes the cookie, holds it like it's a precious diamond.

"You're a lover, Blaine," Kurt tells him and he pushes Blaine's fingers to curl around the cookie. "We both are."

"Where are your parents?" Kurt asks three days later.

He's naked again—he doesn't like to wear clothes if it isn't absolutely necessary— and he's sitting on the living room couch, with his legs curled up under him. He's holding a gold-framed photo, one of Blaine's parents. They're dressed in black, like they're attending a funeral, but Blaine knows that the photo was taken on a happy occasion. He can't remember which one, because he doesn't remember being that happy.

"They travel a lot," Blaine explains. It doesn't hurt to say any more, not as much as it used to and for once, he's grateful that they aren't there, because he gets to keep Kurt around. He can't help wondering what his parents would say if they saw him, can't help wondering how he would introduce him. It's at that moment that Blaine realises he doesn't know much about Kurt at all.

"They leave you all alone," Kurt says, placing the frame back on the sidetable, but facedown.

"I'm used to it," Blaine tells him. "Tell me about your parents."

"Mom's dead. Dad remarried. I've got a step-mother and step-brother. My only regret is that she isn't evil." He stops and laughs. "Can you imagine being able to tell people you've got a wicked step-mother? It would be so desperately romantic and fairy tale-esque!"

Blaine smiles, loves how Kurt can drift away into magical lands without ever leaving his side. "Don't they wonder where you are?"

Kurt shrugs. "They'll find me if they want to." He dives across the sofa then, until his head is in Blaine's lap. "Tell me why you always wear clothes."

Blaine's cheeks heat up, his heart beat races. He shrugs nervously, awkwardly.

"It's just...habit?" he makes it a question.

Kurt grins. "You should wear less clothes," he says and he sounds breathless. Blaine looks away, embarrassed, but Kurt bounces up and tugs at his collar. "Are you scared to let me see you?"

Blaine only exhales. He feels hot and like he might choke. Suddenly, Kurt yawns and stretches like a cat. His body is so slender and long and when he reaches towards the stars, Blaine can see every one of his ribs. Blaine watches as he gets to his feet and grabs his hand. He lets him pull him into the bedroom and close the door.

"We're born naked," Kurt tells him. "What if you died in your sleep? Don't you ever want to die the way you were born?"

Blaine tries to think about that, but he can't. He doesn't understand most of the time, but he nods anyway, because Kurt is stunning.

"Take them off and climb under the covers with me."

Kurt touches his lips to Blaine's cheek, before turning around and getting into the bed. It's always a touch of his lips, never a real kiss. Blaine waits until Kurt closes his eyes and then he begins undressing. His heart is hammering noisily in his chest and he has no idea what is going to happen once he's naked and so desperately, hotly, madly close to Kurt, but he knows he won't regret it an inch. When he's finally devoid of all clothing, he tiptoes across the room and gets under the covers. Kurt opens his eyes and smiles.

"Will you let me see you?" he asks, touching Blaine's stomach with his fingers. They dance there and then move to grip his wrist gently.

Blaine cannot think, cannot tell Kurt that he's nervous, afraid, embarrassed, frightened. Instead, he opens his mouth and whispers a single word: "Yes."

Kurt moves to his knees and he drags the covers off the bed and flings them over the side. They make no sound as they land on the carpet. "Turn over," Kurt instructs and Blaine does just that.

He trusts him. He knows he shouldn't. He knows nothing about this boy, doesn't know what he's capable of. He thinks sometimes that Kurt's a bit crazy, but he's beautiful and the things he says blow Blaine's mind. He trusts him so completely that when he thinks about it further down the road, he'll frighten himself.

He feels Kurt's fingers on him then, feels the way they make him shiver and his entire body tickle giddily. They dance down his back and they still when they reach the side of his left hip, where the skin is raised slightly, where it's pink, paler. Kurt bends to get a better look and after studying the scar for three full minutes, he kisses it. It's the first time Kurt's kissed him anywhere.

"What happened?" he asks and he throws himself down over Blaine's back, so that they're pressed together. Blaine can feel every part of Kurt.

"I took a boy to a dance," he tells Kurt, swallowing hard. "His mom thought we looked cute together. Four seniors from our school didn't."

Kurt breathes a sad sigh into his neck and trails a hand down until it's pressed against the scar.

"You're beautiful," Kurt tells him.

"I'm scarred."

Kurt presses a hot kiss to the back of his neck and then breathes him in as he says, "We're all scarred."

"You?" Blaine asks, lifting his head.

Kurt nods. Blaine doesn't remember seeing anything out of place. He considers not moving, wanting to keep Kurt pressed to him like this, but he gives into temptation.

"Can I see?" he asks.

Kurt smiles against his shoulder, then flips over until he's lying on his back. Blaine turns on his side and lets his eyes travel down Kurt's body, trying not to let his gaze linger too low for too long.

"You can touch."

Kurt's words startle him, but he wants to touch him so. He reaches out and runs a single finger tip down Kurt's side and over the soft curve of his hip and then back up his stomach. Kurt turns over, like he knows Blaine wants to check every inch of him. Blaine touches his back, gets brave, lets his hands slide over the cheeks of his ass, touches the backs of his thighs and he can't find a single imperfection. He lays back and Kurt turns his head to look at him.

"You can't find them?" Kurt asks.

Blaine shakes his head.

"That's because mine are the type that aren't visible to the naked eye." He reaches out and takes Blaine's hand, presses it to his heart. "If you look deeper, gaze into my soul, into my heart, you'll see them. All of them. None are pretty. All left a painful, eternal mark."

Blaine thinks he can see them then, thinks he understands. He does it before he can stop himself: He twines his arms round Kurt's waist and pulls him into a warm embrace.

"We're not broken," Blaine tells him.

"Not yet," Kurt says, but he's smiling. "Give the world the chance and it'll pull us down with it."

"What do we do?" Blaine asks.

Kurt pulls back, but their arms are still around one another. Finally, he presses a soft, lingering kiss to Blaine's lips. "What do we do?" he asks and he kisses him again. "We hold on, Blaine." Another kiss. "We just hold on."

Kurt opens his eyes to see the rod of yellow light stabbing its way through the window and across the room. It bends where the closet door is slightly open and it covers the far wall, all the way across the door, like a bar, keeping them in, or perhaps keeping something out. He sits up, stretches, yawns noisily, before dropping his attention to the boy in the bed next to him.

He's astounding. He's wonderful. He's fear and hope and light and sadness and beauty and oxygen and love. Kurt's never met anyone like Blaine. He's quiet at times. He's pensive. He likes to sit and listen, think, stare, sometimes. Kurt catches him on occasion, feels his golden gaze burning a hole in his heart and he turns and finds those eyes, those big, bright, beautiful, sad eyes and they're simply on him. Sometimes he looks away, a pink blush colouring his cheeks like dusty pollen. Other times, he smiles and Kurt feels the fist squeezing inside his chest, feels the way his brain takes flight and pulls him up. It frightens him to the core, but he can't get enough, can't turn away. He won't.

Blaine mumbles in his sleep and Kurt's smile is easy and natural. He watches him turn, watches the way the blankets slip and reveal that curved scar on his hip. The smile becomes a frown and he wants nothing more than to wrap the boy up in his arms and keep him safe from all harm. He knows he can't, for if he was capable, he surely would have protected himself. He's failed at that so many times. He doesn't want to fail Blaine. He'll never allow himself.

Without much thought, Kurt wraps himself around the other boy, breathes in the raspberry scent of his curls and holds him like he's scared he'll disappear, vanish into sparkling dust. Blaine starts awake and he looks surprised for a split second, but relaxes then and settles in the circle of Kurt's arms. He turns over so that they are chest to chest.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Kurt says and then he feels it, pressing against his thigh. "Or should I say 'hard head'?"

Blaine blushes all the way down his chest, Kurt knows, he watches it spreading. He stammers and Kurt silences him with the press of his lips to Blaine's mouth.

"Leave your embarrassment in your dreams, lovely," he says, smiling. "This is perfectly natural." He takes Blaine's hand, ignoring the butterflies wearing heavy boots inside his body, and lowers it to his groin. Blaine swallows hard when he touches Kurt. "See?" Kurt says, breathlessly. "Perfectly natural."

Blaine nods his head, wordlessly and Kurt wants his hands on Blaine. It's something he's never wanted before with anyone else, but now, he wants it, wants it, wants it, wants it.

"Besides," he says, steadily. "I can fix it, if you'll let me."

Blaine closes his eyes. "What exactly...?"

Kurt kisses his eyelids and Blaine's eyes open again, bright and lovely. "Trust me?"

Blaine doesn't seem to hesitate. He nods and Kurt wants to tell him he's stupid, crazy, insane to trust someone who could so easily break him, even though he so desperately, horribly, painfully, passionately does not wish to.

Kurt lays back and pulls Blaine until he is draped across him. He slides his hand between them, carefully, searching, his heart hammering, hammering, hammering. He finds it then, it's hard and soft and silken and perfect. He helps Blaine rest his face in his neck. Blaine breathes heavily there, his fingers digging into Kurt's hips.

"So pretty," is all Kurt says as he begins to stroke Blaine slowly. "Has anyone done this for you before?"

Blaine breathes a 'no' into Kurt's skin. Kurt hums in satisfaction. He hates it, the idea of anyone else's hands on Blaine.

"Are you a virgin, Blaine?" Kurt asks, because suddenly he hates that there's a possibility that someone's been inside Blaine, that Blaine's been inside someone else.

He breathes a 'yes' this time and then he lifts his head and his eyes are half closed, his cheeks burning, like blood on the petal of a lily. He opens his swollen lips to ask, "Are you?"

Kurt smiles. He feels like admitting to it would be giving away the mystery, like it would make him less elusive, but he finds he is incapable of lying to Blaine, especially when he's willing to give so much of himself to Kurt, despite only having known him for a short time.

"Yes," Kurt says. "I've never touched anyone like this either."

Blaine smiles sleepily.

"You're my first everything," Kurt tells him and he means it more than he knows.

He strokes harder, faster, letting his thumb rub over the head, collecting some of the sweet-bitterness that has built there. Blaine's clinging to him now, the tips of his fingernails pressing harder, his breaths coming faster and he's biting back his moans, his sighs, his groans and whimpers and cries.

"It's okay to let me hear," Kurt promises, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple.

Blaine does then, slowly. He lets go more and more and as he makes moan, Kurt feels as if he is speaking to him in a different language, a language they've created for just them and he understands, feels, grasps everything Blaine is telling him and with a final shout of Kurt's name, Blaine releases in the grip of his hand and it's hot and wet and sticky and it doesn't feel dirty, it doesn't feel any of the things it should feel. In lieu, it's the most spectacular thing Kurt has ever experienced.

He wipes his hand in the sheets and then Blaine reaches to touch Kurt, but he stops him. He's not ready yet, not ready to allow himself fall part at the hands of another, so he pulls Blaine close and holds him closer and they fall back asleep until the sounds of their stomachs makes them rise to go in search of food.

Naked, they eat cereal together, from a large mixing bowl and when they're almost done, Kurt reaches in and pushes his finger through the final hoop. He lifts it to Blaine's lips, a smile on his own and Blaine sucks it off. After that, they take a couple of bendy straws and drink until all the milk is gone.

They clean up and slip out into the backyard. They run, hearts beating fast, until they reach the back end, where they will be covered by the trees, where the neighbours won't report them for public nudity. There, beneath the canopy of the oaks, they kiss slowly and then frantically, until Kurt is stroking Blaine to climax once again. Later, they study the stars and Kurt turns to him, his eyes wide and glazed and as he tangles their legs together in a complicated lace, he whispers secretively.

"Go with me to the moon, Blaine. I want to touch the stars."