Chapter 3:

Once upon a time, there was a boy who liked tea parties. At night, he slept beneath his floral duvet in a tall bed with a treasure chest at its foot. Inside, was a collection of glittering tiaras, of all shapes and sizes and the boy cherished them, as if every diamond was authentic. He could not wear the tiaras when he left the confines of the castle, for others disliked them on him, he had the purple bruises to prove it. He wanted to wear them, wanted to show them off and feel like royalty. He was not a girl, but he dreamt of his handsome prince, riding into the school playground to take him to far off places and this, it seemed, was a problem amongst his peers.

Like in all fairy tales, the brave, young boy had to fight and remain strong in order to reach his destiny.

This is not a fairy tale.

Now, that boy likes to dance barefoot through the seasons. He likes the feel of the cool air on his bare skin. He likes to run his fingers through silken, dark curls. He likes to wake in the mornings and find that he is not alone. He lets himself fall into a set of warm, honey eyes and he basks in their sweetness and wonder.

He still wishes for that happily ever and for once, he feels like he might be on the road to obtaining it.

There's a ringing sound and the day is far too young for such incessant ringing. Blaine blinks himself awake and catches Kurt covering his face with his pillow. He leaves him there to sleep and then gets to his feet to answer the phone in the kitchen. He wears no clothes, he seldom does any more and it's a tad cold. The phone does not stop ringing, despite the length of time it takes him to reach it.

"Hello?"

"There you are," says his mother's voice. She is impatient. "Our flight is in an hour, Blaine. We'll see you tonight."

He hangs up and goes back to bed, but he does not sleep, he worries, for where will his dazzling boy go now?

"They're coming back," Kurt says when he wakes.

It isn't a question.

Blaine nods.

"I'll go," Kurt tells him, but he doesn't move a muscle.

Suddenly, fingers wrap around his wrist protectively. He lifts his head to look into the eyes he's in which he finds so much comfort.

"Don't go," Blaine begs in a whisper. "I need you."

And Kurt cannot walk away from that.

He's spent so many weeks around the house with Kurt that it feels strange to wear clothes. It's as if he is aware of the layers against his skin and he hates it. Kurt's still naked and he's in his bed, assured that Blaine's parents will not come to his bedroom. He catches Blaine's eye in the mirror as Blaine finishes gelling his hair and Blaine sees a pale arm slipping out of the side of the bed. He turns and goes to Kurt, takes the outstretched hand.

"You look exactly as I remember you," Kurt tells him with a shy smile.

Blaine doesn't understand, but he knows now not to ask.

"You look nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Blaine says. "I just don't want to have to deal with them."

Kurt nods, like he understands. They both know he doesn't.

"How will they not know I'm here?"

"They're hardly ever here," Blaine tells him. "You'll see, they'll be gone again in a couple of days. You'll just have to be extra quiet." He bends to hold him, to press a kiss to his lips. It still amazes him that he can just do that now, that it's okay.

Kurt smirks against his lips. "I am not the loud one."

"Only because you won't let me touch you."

Kurt looks away, loosens his grip on Blaine's arms. Blaine feels his stomach dipping. He chases him with his hands.

"I didn't mean anything," he swears.

"I can't," is all Kurt says. It's all he ever says on the topic.

"That's okay," Blaine tells him. He can't deny that he wants to feel Kurt everywhere, wants to have him in his hand, on his skin, but Kurt isn't comfortable with that and he'll never push, not ever, because he's already half way in love and he can't jeopardise that, he won't. "That's okay," he says again.

Kurt is smiling again. He reaches up and touches his hand to Blaine's cheek. It's soft. "Oh, Blaine," he says, dreamily. "Sweet, charming, lovely Blaine. Nothing is okay, don't you know?"

There isn't time to ask questions. A door slams. His parents are back.

"Do you think there are colours that haven't been discovered yet?" Kurt whispers against Blaine's mouth that night when the house is quiet and unmoving.

Blaine kisses him lazily, briefly, sweetly. "There must be," he decides.

"We should look for them!" Kurt says, with as much enthusiasm as one can muster when they are restricted to less than a whisper.

Blaine smiles at him and allows him to tug him from the warmth of their bed (theirs theirs theirs) and over to the window. Kurt drags the drapes away and slides the window open and Blaine panics.

"You'll fall!" he hisses.

Kurt giggles and climbs up onto the narrow sill, grabbing Blaine's hand at the same time and urging him to come along. Blaine does, because he doesn't think there is much he would refuse should Kurt as it of him. Kurt slips out the window without a hitch and Blaine wonders if he can fly, because there is nothing to give away his fear or nervousness.

Blaine follows and they make it onto the flat roof of the extension unscathed. They sit together, naked and close.

"I half expected you to grow wings," Blaine mutters ad Kurt's face lights up with a smile.

"Like a bird?"

"Like an angel." He's blushing, but he doesn't care.

"An angel," Kurt whispers, mostly to himself, Blaine thinks.

"My angel," Blaine dares to say and Kurt looks at him again.

"Your guardian angel," he says, taking Blaine's hands in his own. "Here to protect you always."

Blaine leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. It's cold. "Show me your colours, angel."

Kurt giggles again, musically, and then he turns to look out over the dead houses beyond the dark trees.

"There!" Kurt exclaims, grabbing Blaine's arm with one hand and pointing across to their right with the other.

Blaine lifts his chin to look, but all he can see is a dark street, lit with only one light. It's dull, but it's there.

"What is it?" Blaine asks and he can't help but wonder if Kurt sees something else entirely. Perhaps a circus, or a flying chimpanzee.

"That area, way over there, it's a colour, Blaine," Kurt explains. "It's called 'grope'."

Blaine splutters. "Grope?" he asks with amusement.

"Yes," Kurt confirms. "It's grey, dark, but there's a light, one twinkle, a single glimmer of hope."

"Grope," Blaine repeats experimentally. "I like that."

"Do you think there's always hope?" Kurt asks then and his voice has dropped.

Blaine looks at him, thinks about his life before Kurt walked into it and he nods. "Always," he tells him, pressing their foreheads together. "Always."

"What's your favourite colour, Blaine?"

"You," he says. "You're my favourite colour."

The smile is back and it's as big and as beautiful as it's always been. "You're mine, too," Kurt tells him as he presses him back on the hard, dark slabs. Kurt's hand slips down his body and touches him where he's begun to twitch with interest. Blaine can see his breath in the air when he exhales with a stammer. It's like fog, mist, smoke.

"He-here?" Blaine asks and when Kurt nods, he goes on, "What if someone sees?"

"We can introduce a voyeur's fee," Kurt says as he begins to stroke firmly.

Blaine chuckles and his eyes fall shut.

"You make me crazy, you know," Kurt says.

Sometimes, Kurt will admits these little things and it reminds Blaine that he's human, that he isn't some sort of imaginary pixie he's fabricated.

"I do?" Blaine gasps out.

"Mm hmm," Kurt tells him. He drops until his breath is stiflingly hot on Blaine's ear. "You turn me on, make me so hard."

Kurt cheeks are burning and Blaine presses a hand to the small of his back.

"Let me get you off," Blaine says.

Kurt stops, sits back, stops touching him. Blaine sits up, horror on his face.

"It's not about getting you off," Kurt says and he looks like he is about to cry. He's rocking gently back and forth. "It's never about getting you off."

Blaine stares, silent. Then he asks because he has to know, "What is it about?"

Kurt looks tormented and beautiful. He stares at the sky for a long time. He looks at Blaine after that, drops to hover over him, so that their faces are close.

"Promise to let me finish until you make assumptions?"

Blaine nods his promise and Kurt relaxes with his chin on Blaine's chest.

"It's partially about control."

Blaine stops himself from expressing his offence.

"Please don't take that the wrong way," Kurt says and he kisses Blaine's chest once. "I've never been in control of anything. I've always been the one that got hurt, the one they left aside, didn't listen to. You," he says and he smiles, "you listen to me. You hold me, trust me, make me feel like I'm worth something. You give me control and I didn't know how much I craved that until I had you in my hand." He looks down, blushes. "I like that I can make you feel good. I like that you want me to. I like how you look when I touch you." He sighs. "It's control to an extent, but not in a sinister way. The rest of it is because I feel close to you like I've never felt close to anyone else ever before."

Blaine gives him a smile. He understands. For once, he understands.

"I'm...not ready to give...to give anyone any sort of control over my body. I can't let my guard down. I'm afraid to." He smiles sadly. "I bet you thought I was afraid of nothing."

"We're all scared of something," Blaine tells him. "But I need you to know that you don't have to be afraid of me. I would never make you feel unequal."

"I know," he replies. "Please don't think I don't want you to," he pleads. "I do, I just can't let myself give in."

Blaine sits up and Kurt is forced to sit up, too. He takes Kurt's hips in his hands and guides him until he's pressed against Blaine.

"You don't have to lose control," Blaine promises, kissing his lips. "Trust me?"

Kurt hesitates, but nods as he chews on his bottom lip. Blaine slides his foot back until his knee is bent and then he twists until Kurt's cock is semi-hard against his thigh. Kurt's breath catches.

"Blaine...?"

"Move your hips," Blaine whispers.

Blaine can almost see the cogs spinning behind Kurt's ocean blue eyes, can almost see the waves crashing against the rocks, tumultuous, lost, unruly.

"Okay," he says and he looks so young.

Blaine lays still as Kurt reaches down to touch him again and as he starts to stroke, he pushes his hips forward so that he is grinding against his thigh. Blaine hears the way Kurt's breath catches, feels how he clings to him, takes in the fact that Kurt looks entirely human, if beautiful. Usually, he looks other-worldly, like something Blaine has conjured up in his mind. Now, he is vulnerable and letting go and Blaine can't remember ever seeing anything more enchanting in his entire life.

The air is warm against their skin and Blaine feels himself getting closer, but he wants, wants, wants to remain like this, to have Kurt fall apart against him like this until the end of time. Much to his surprise, Kurt comes first, with a hiss of Blaine's name slithering past his lips and he falls against him, quickening the strokes of his hand and Blaine cannot hold back a moment longer. He lets go, too and they lie there against each other, breathing, panting, fighting for air. It's beautiful and monumental and Blaine doesn't want to move.

"Can we go back inside?" Kurt asks, not meeting his eyes.

"Wait," Blaine says and cradles his face in his hands. He lifts Kurt's chin and their eyes lock. "No regrets?"

"No regrets," Kurt repeats and he smiles softly and wonderfully. "Will you come with me to the woods tomorrow?"

Blaine nods. "I'll go anywhere with you."

Kurt frowns, it's sudden and heart breaking. "That's what I was afraid of."

Before Blaine can ask what that means, he's being pulled across the roof and back through the open window and then, into the bathroom to clean up. Kurt kisses his lips sweetly before climbing back into bed, leaving the covers flung back for Blaine to climb in and when he does, Kurt holds his hand and they fall asleep together in silence.

The tiles are painfully cold beneath his feet and he shivers as he scurries around the kitchen, filling a tray with orange juice and coffee and eggs and toast. He's trying to be quiet, trying not to wake the rest of the house. He unplugs the kettle and tidies up and then grabs the tray and runs out the door, but when he reaches the end of the staircase, he stops, stills, freezes.

"Where are your clothes, Blaine?" his mother asks, eyes wide with shock. Her hair is pristine and her clothes are pressed and neat. She's at the very top, watching him curiously. She towers over him like a dark mountain.

Blaine glances down at his boxer shorts. He does not say a word. His mother rolls her eyes and folds her arms and then gives him a cutting glare.

"You can't go around the house naked, Blaine, it isn't proper," she says. "And just what do you think you're doing with all that food?"

"I'm hungry," Blaine says and he doesn't sound convincing, even to himself. "And I'm not naked," he adds, remembering just how often he and Kurt had been naked around the house.

"Go to your room and put on some clothes," she orders. "If you eat all of that you'll make yourself sick."

Blaine simply climbs the stairs, slips past her and encases himself inside his room, where a boy sits naked on the floor, legs crossed, eyes closed, hands resting on his thighs. He leaves the tray down and goes to join Kurt.

"Your mother and father are still house," Kurt says, not moving an inch.

"What?" Blaine asks, wondering if he had heard right.

"They're here?" Kurt enquires, one eye opening.

"Oh," Blaine says, getting comfortable. "Yes, they're home."

Kurt shuts his eye again, smiles. "No," he says. "They're house."

"House," Blaine repeats, slowly.

"As opposed to 'home'," Kurt explains. Then he's singing, "And a house is not a home, when there's no one there to hold you tight, and no one there you can kiss goodnight."

Blaine is mesmerised by the beauty of his voice, by the way it sets his heart alight and makes him smile dreamily. Kurt opens both of his eyes and looks at Blaine and when he simply sees a goofy smile, he sings again.

"And a house is not a home, when the two of us are far apart, and one of us has a broken heart." He pauses and closes his eyes again. "Your parents are house," he repeats.

Blaine understands now. He nods. "My parents are house."

They're dressed in Blaine's clothes and their fingers are interlaced and their shoes make a crunching sound as they trod through the trees. It's a mild day with a blinding sun, but it's not too warm. Kurt is humming and there is a smile on his lips and Blaine enjoys the quiet and the company. He's not sure what they are, not sure if he can tell people he has a boyfriend once he returns to school in a month's time. He wants that, but he hasn't found the courage to ask about it.

Kurt walks him through the woods until they reach a bald patch. It looks as though there's been a fire. Kurt stops, stays still, keeps holding Blaine's hand.

"If you close your eyes and listen closely, you can hear the cries of the lost souls."

Blaine's blood runs cold, but Kurt chuckles.

"I'm kidding around," he says, squeezing Blaine's hand. "There's bonfire here ever Hallowe'en. I watch from the shadows."

"Every year?" Blaine asks.

Kurt nods his head. "Can I show you my house?"

Blaine is aware of Kurt not referring to it as his home, but he nods and says, "Please." Kurt takes him further into the woods and he stops rather suddenly by wall of large rocks.

"Tell me what you see," Kurt urges.

"Rocks," Blaine tells him.

Kurt sighs. "I'd have thought that by now you would be able to see past the exterior," he says. "Look again."

Blaine squints his eyes and tries to pull something, tries to feel what Kurt wants him to see, but he can't. "Can I have a clue?"

"You haven't got a clue," Kurt jokes, pressing a little kiss to the tip of his nose. "This is where they live," he says.

"They?"

"The wolves," Kurt says in a whisper. "They circle here late at night and they howl at the moon like it's stolen something precious from them."

Before Blaine can ask any questions, Kurt shows him around the corner, where the rocks open into a sort of cave or alcove. He can see flecks of silver.

"I slept here once," Kurt confides. "They arrived right here and they growled and I was petrified. I thought I was going to die. I sat inside for a long time, waiting, trying to come up with a plan. I couldn't move and then I heard the panting and growling growing closer and I closed my eyes and I cried for my Daddy. I was sixteen." He laughs and it's humourless. "A large wolf stood in front of me that day and it stared. I could see the intent in its eyes, Blaine. It was going to tear my throat out."

"What did you do?" Blaine asks, holding Kurt's hand tighter.

"I sang," he told Blaine. "I sang and it lay down and closed its eyes."

"No," Blaine said, incredulous.

"It's true," Kurt promises. "Eventually, it fell asleep and I had to tiptoe past it as it slept. It was terrifying."

"What did you do then?"

"I went home," Kurt told him.

"Home," Blaine repeats.

"Yes," he replies. "But this is my house. They frighten me. I hear them at night, but they don't come inside, not ever. I always wondered if they would some day. If they'd kill me as I slept."

"Why did you sleep here?"

Kurt turns to him and kisses his nose again. He smiles. "If I told you all my secrets, you wouldn't be hiding a mystery man in your bedroom."

Blaine smiles back and takes both of his hands. "I can't bear the thought of you being this close to danger."

"Then keep me safe," Kurt says and Blaine can't shake the fact that it sounds so much like a plea. "I'll be your guardian angel if you be mine. Don't let me run away."

"I won't," Blaine says solemnly. "Never."

"You promise you'll always find me?"

Blaine feels panic rising and he doesn't know why, doesn't know what Kurt means, but he nods. "I promise," he says. "Is there a chance you'll go missing?"

"I've been lost for years, Blaine," Kurt says, looking down at their feet. "It's why I can't go home."

"Where's home?"

"Around."

"Around?"

"Around."

Pause.

"Do you wear clothes at home?"

Kurt nods. "I was normal once."

"You're normal," Blaine exists. "Spectacular, wonderful, extraordinary, but normal. No abnormalities whatsoever."

There's a hint of a smile now and it lights up the world brighter than any sun ever could. "I wish everyone saw it that way."

"If I had to, I'd show the world how...how...everything you are," Blaine says, fighting to find the correct words. "Everything."

Kurt gives him a bright smile. "Instead, I'm your dirty, little secret."

"Never," Blaine tells him. "You're only a secret because you want to be."

"Sometimes, secrets are better," Kurt says and he moves forward and rests his head on Blaine's shoulder. "When secrets stop being secrets, bad things happen."

Blaine doesn't say anything, just holds him close.

"Promise me you'll keep me a secret," Kurt says. "So there's less chance of bad things happening."

"I promise," Blaine says again. "This means I get you all to myself, right?" He tries to bring a sprig of humour to the mix.

Kurt leans back and gives him a serious look as he says, "I think you've had me all to yourself since the moment I breathed my very first breath."

Blaine cannot begin to comprehend what it means, or how it's possible, but he takes it, keeps it, locks it up inside his heart and throws the key into an incinerator, so that no one will ever be able to get at his secret. They'll have to tear him apart first.