April 1, 2012, 2:51 p.m.
Language of Love: Chapter 5
E - Words: 1,407 - Last Updated: Apr 01, 2012 Story: Closed - Chapters: 14/? - Created: Oct 12, 2011 - Updated: Apr 01, 2012 634 0 1 0 0
Well if the smug of on her face was any indication, she knew she had proven him wrong. Way wrong.
Now, Kurt Hummel had had his share of inappropriate crushes; Jacques with the cool lunch box in grade 3, Francis with the pretty shoes in grade 5, his now step-brother Finn followed by the misguided fleeting attraction for the new kid, Sam, but the thing is that all of those had been the result of time, growing interest and/or growing desperation at being the only out kid and being single, but what he had felt the moment he locked eyes with Blaine Anderson felt completely different.
The romantic in Kurt wanted to call it love at first sight but thankfully for him, his cynical side squashed the romantic one to a pulp.
Kurt couldn't get his heart tread on again, and he certainly could not- would not- let himself possibly think about even the possibility of love. It hurt too much in the end, it always did.
So he indulged only in stolen glances.
You can look but you can't touch, right? He could appreciate the package that was Blaine Anderson- in all his tanned skin, broad shouldered, curly haired, defined jaw-line, gorgeous smiled glory- without hoping, expecting or trying for more. He totally could.
At least he could if every glance with the guy didn't feel so damn significant.
Maybe it's because for once the guy who caught his eye was actually gay this time?
Oh god. Was he gay?
Kurt couldn't know for sure; his gaydar was off the freaking charts, but he had thought the same about Sam and considering Kurt had caught both him and Quinn and him and Santana in rather compromising positions, I guess that made him pretty hetero, and Kurt pretty wrong.
So what if he was wrong this time too?
By the time their group got closer to the bus, Kurt had convinced himself that he had just spent 90% of his time in America creeping on yet another straight guy. Which made the whole "look but don't touch and certainly don't get involved with Blaine" resolve a lot easier to commit to.
Kurt nodded his head as if to approve the motion and turned to join Sam and Mercedes' conversation. Once they got to the bus, they all loaded what luggage they could into the designated compartments and the rest to the back of the bus, where Kurt made sure to sit, surrounding himself quickly with his McKinley friends to avoid the temptation of fraternizing with curly haired Italians.
He risked a glance in Blaine's general direction only to find him staring at him with his brow slightly furrowed, giving him a look that was entirely too similar to that of a sad, confused puppy for Kurt's comfort. Clearly he hadn't been as subtle as he thought when he yanked Mercedes onto the seat next to him and Rachel and Santana into the row in front of his.
Kurt quickly looked away from Blaine's- totally irrational, I mean, we don't know one another, I can't possibly have actually hurt his feelings- hurt look, and averted his gaze to his shoes. Guilt flushed his cheeks a rosy pink even as he berated himself for feeling contrite over sitting next to his friends.
Man up, Hummel, you're acting ridiculous.
And with that thought Kurt shook himself off and integrated himself smoothly into yet another argument Santana and Rachel were having over the latter's prudish ways. Always better to condemn Rachel's total lack of sex life and sex appeal than to take a good look at his own.
For all the teasing his friends had done, they all seemed pretty sympathetic when they caught Blaine sending pitiful glances towards the back of the bus where pretty-french-boy-Kurt was sitting, surrounded by a veritable barricade of luggage, seats, and friends. They tried to encourage him to go back there and talk to the guy but considering their suggested opening lines were all variations on the theme of "Hi, you're cute, wanna fuck?", it's safe to say that they were all steadfastly ignored.
After several minutes of well-intended but tragically misguided relationship advice, David got his mother-hen on and got everybody to stop pestering Blaine, finally taking him at his word when he said he was fine. Blaine smiled at him in thanks and turned his gaze to the view outside his window.
There really wasn't a reason for him to feel so shot down; so what if the kid wanted to sit with his friends? Blaine was just imagining the way Kurt seemed to be avoiding him, right? He hadn't come on too strong, had he?
All of Blaine's hidden insecurities were bubbling to the surface, clouding his logical reasoning, leading him to succumb to his more natural paranoid thoughts:
We just shared a few glances, how could that possibly be coming on too strong? But the guys kept making comments about eye-fucking, were we eye-fucking? Did he participate? Or did I just eye-rape him? Oh God, I think I've just eye-raped the single most gorgeous guy I will ever meet, good job Anderson.
Beside him, a still-worried Wes was studying his face, spying the tell-tale look in the boy's eyes that tipped David and Wes off every time Blaine fell into one of his irrational "Oh God I've ruined everything ever, what the fuck am I going to do now that I've effectively fucked everything up" moods. Strangely enough, Wes sent up a little prayer of thanks to whoever would listen, even as he pondered how he would get his friend to see reason once more; ridiculous as they could be, Blaine's little paranoid fits were just so Blaine, and Blaine hadn't been Blaine in too long.
Wes sneaked a look to the back of the bus where the guy that Blaine seemed to be freaking out over was sitting. He was alright as far as guys went, he actually seemed feminine enough for even Wes to see the appeal, but more than that, he was right up Blaine's alley.
Blaine might not have come out until recent years, but Wes and David had known about their friend's sexual orientation long before then. The way Blaine followed some of the older kids he performed with when he was a kid, like a devoted puppy dog, had gone a little farther than simple admiration, that much was sure. The way he sent heart eyes over to the handsome teenaged guitar teacher his parents had found him when he was twelve could not have been more obvious if they were cartoons. And if that wasn't sign enough that his friend played for the other team then the stack of fashion and men's fitness magazines Wes had found under his bed when they were thirteen would have done it.
Muscle mags aside though there always seemed to be a particular type of guy who would make Blaine's head turn as they passed them down the street; they were fair-skinned or slight or lightly built or they had sharp features. They were always well-dressed.
Any combination of those features did it for Blaine,but this french guy- Kirk? Kurt? Kurt- seemed like something straight out of his friend's dreams. Or wet dreams. Either way, Wes didn't really want to know.
Regardless, Wes turned his attention back to his distressed friend. Blaine had progressed to twirling-his-curls level of nervousness. Obviously whatever it is Blaine convinced himself he did was eating him up pretty badly; after twirling-his-curls nervous came, biting-his-nail-beds nervous, followed only by combination-nervous which (as the title David and he had come up with suggested) combined all of Blaine's nervous ticks which included pacing or leg shaking (depending on whether or not his nerves had him standing yet), rambling or muttering, curl-twirling or hair messing, and nail-biting.
For a guy with such a smooth facade Blaine certainly had his fair share of nervous ticks.
Comments
You went on a three month hiatus? I'm glad I didn't have to wait so long then! Like seriously: this story is SOO wonderful I would have died if you hadn't updated!! Glad you kept going! Excited to see where you're heading! And yes this was a bit filler-ish but I dont think it matters it was still great!