Okay, so I won't even pretend I didn't write this just to satisfy my shameless accent!kink. This is somewhat AU in the way that I have taken liberties with Kurt's background and just changed things to suit my smutty needs :P In this, Kurt is not at Dalton yet and his mother died much more recently, but that's all.

Hope you like it! I got this idea because I, myself, am from the South but I don't have much of an accent because I consciously eliminated it. Being an English major and saying "y'all" will garner you some strange looks in the land of Shakespeare and Tennyson.

WARNINGS: boys loving other boys, smut, fluff galore.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction about fictional characters. I. Own. Nothing.

It all started at Breadstix.

It had been a few months since Kurt had come to spy on the Warblers and the two teens had grown quite close, especially after the Karofsky incident. The truth was, Blaine felt terrible about the advice he had given Kurt.

Go figure, he tells the (adorable) spy-come-companion to confront the one bullying him and the next thing you know, said bully is lip raping the person that would turn out to be his best friend. Of course, being the amazing person that he was, Kurt never said a word about and it truly didn't hold him responsible for his terrible advice.

But it didn't change the way Blaine felt.

Since then, the curly haired teen had spent every moment trying to be a better friend and mentor to the delicate boy and discovered an amazing person in the process. Kurt turned out to be kind and shy and more soft-spoken then he ever could have imagined and it made Blaine's caretaker instincts kick in big time.

Kurt reminded him of Pavarotti; a delicate little songbird that inspired these compassionate and warm feelings in him that he had never experienced before. He found himself spending more time in Lima than at Dalton, much to the chagrin of the Warblers that missed their front man.

So, here he was, waiting for a table in Lima's favorite restaurant, Breadstix. Kurt had invited him to one of his favorite events; Sing-along Sound of Music. Blaine had readily agreed, happy for any opportunity to sing with his favorite countertenor.

It had been an enlightening experience for the shorter teen. He watched as the slender boy sang his heart out and got choked up during My Favorite Things, a song he knew Kurt's mother used to sing to him. Blaine could sense his feelings for the beautiful boy softening and changing into something he couldn't name and was afraid to dwell on.

Afterwards, he was reluctant to part from the other teen so he suggested they get dinner. It was a Friday night, so it was no surprise that the teens found themselves waiting for a table at Lima's only hotspot. The teens sat in the waiting area, heads bent together intimately, gushing over the goddess that was Julie Andrews.

Thirty minutes after they arrived, their name was called (Warbler, very funny Kurt) and the hostess led them to a small circular booth in the corner. He could see the fair teen visibly relax at the privacy that their booth provided. The delicate teen was always concerned about the reactions of the small-minded folk that seemed to make up the majority of this town, not to mention in constant fear of encountering one of the Neanderthals from McKinley's football team.

The slid into the booth and smiled as the hostess handed them menus and then scurried away. Before they even had a chance to look over the menus, their waitress came over and took their drink order. Blaine ordered mineral water (he blamed his mother for his love of the fizzy stuff) while Kurt surprised him by ordering sweet tea.

"Sweet tea?" Blaine questioned as the waitress walked away. "I never would have guessed."

"Oh, yeah. It's kind of my vice," he admittedly bashfully.

"I'm surprised. What with the way you practically chided me for the better part of an hour when I added toffee syrup to my frappuccino," he teased.

"It was already a venti caramel mocha frappuccino before you added the toffee syrup!" Kurt hissed, exasperated.

Blaine couldn't help but laughed at the genuinely distressed expression on Kurt's face. "And what's your excuse?" he asked.

Much to his surprise, Kurt blushed and murmured something under his breath.

"What was that?" Blaine pressed gently.

"I said that I'm from Georgia."

"Really?" Blaine asked, blind sighted.

"Uh, yeah. Savannah."

"How long ago did you move to Ohio?" the dark haired boy questioned.

"Just three years ago. My dad wanted to get away after my mother died so we came here when the man that owned the shop before him gave him a great deal on the business." He admitted.

"I never would have guessed," he said honestly. "One of the Warblers, Brady, is from Atlanta. But his accent is so thick, and you don't have one at all."

The waitress came back and set their drinks in front of them and scurried back into the kitchen when she noticed they weren't ready to order.

Kurt took a long sip of his tea before continuing their conversation. "I do, actually," he confessed.

Blaine furrowed his brow in confusion, having never noticed Kurt speaking with an accent. He continued to stare at the slender boy until he huffed in exasperation.

"I hide it, Blaine!" he exclaimed, dropping all pretenses and letting his tar-thick accent come through.

The dark haired boy felt his stomach flutter at the unfamiliar drawl in Kurt's speech and he filed that away for analysis later. "Why?" he asked incredulously.

"It's bad enough I sound like a girl," he muttered, not bothering to camouflage his accent. "I don't need to sound like a Southern Belle on top of it all."

Blaine had a sick feeling he knew why his friend had begun disguising his voice. "You got bullied?" he guessed.

The taller boy cleared his throat, southern inflection disappearing from his voice. "Yeah. I moved here towards the end of eighth grade and it was hell. I watched a lot of movies over the summer and got a handle on things. Things were…better in the fall."

"Well," Blaine said as he opened his menu decisively. "I think it's adorable."

Kurt looked at him in disbelief but the shorter teen noticed his delighted flush of pleasure. He nudged the slim teen with his foot. "Plan on ordering any time soon?"

"You hush," he replied, snapping his menu open sassily.

Blaine chuckled fondly, happy that Kurt's accent slipped and resolved to hear the natural intonation of his friend's (crush's?) voice far more often.

Blaine flitted around his room and mindlessly threw things in the general vicinity of his suitcase. Spring break had arrived and he was supposed to be on a plane in less than six hours which meant he had less than zero time to get ready!

His parents were going on yet another cruise and Blaine had opted out of that as soon as he could. When the Anderson's went on a cruise it swiftly morphed into them living in bars and having fights over the number of olives in his mother's martini in the piano lounge while Blaine consoled himself at the chocolate buffet.

Not quite his idea of fun, even though watching his mother throw a drink in his father's bewildered face was kind of hilarious.

Over coffee Blaine had shared his plans (or lack thereof) with Kurt and the slender boy was aghast at his intention to stay home and flake out on the couch, eat Chinese food until he exploded, and play Karaoke Revolution.

After a quick phone call and a brief bout of Kurt batting his long eyelashes at his father, Blaine found himself invited to spend a week at the Hummel's home in Georgia. Kurt had been urging him to pack for over a week now but Blaine brushed the advice off, certain that he could be ready in no time at all.

He'd been mistaken.

Luckily his mother had popped her head in an hour ago and took one look at him watching Guys and Dolls for the thousandth time and threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Blaine Michael Anderson! You are going to be on a red-eye flight in less than seven hours! I spoke to Burt Hummel and he said that you need to be there two hours early and the airport is an hour away! That means you have four hours to shower, pack, and get to the Hummel's and your suitcase is somewhere in the attic!"

He glanced over at the clock frantically and noticed that, yes, he really did only have four hours until he was due at the Hummel's to take a flight from Columbus to Savannah. He ran upstairs and spent the better part of an hour looking for his suitcase.

He finally found it, the tough leather trunk hidden underneath the skirt of his grandmother's wedding dress. He crowed in triumph and flicked open the latches, opening the lid and dumping out the contents.

Tons of brochures from the last trip he'd been on (Disney!) with this particular suitcase poured out and littered the ground. He coughed and sputtered as dust and goodness know what else assaulted his senses and decided to drag the case and matching leather carry-on to the balcony to air out while he washed the attic detritus off him.

His father shook his head fondly as his only son tripped down the stairs and manhandled his luggage onto the balcony. He eyed him in amusement. "Told you to pack yesterday," he ribbed.

"Shoulda listened," Blaine replied glumly.

His father pretended to be faint from shock. "What was that? Did—did you just say I was right?"

"Yes," Blaine drawled, glaring at his father.

Michael Anderson laughed and took a sip of his Brandy Alexander. "How'd those words taste?"

"Like ash," the dark haired teen spat before stomping upstairs dramatically, the sound of his father's laughter following him all the way to his room.

He slipped out of his clothes and into the shower, breezing through his routine and pulling on some jeans and a Dalton Lacrosse shirt so he would be comfortable on the plane. He ran his fingers through his hairs and grimaced in the mirror, not having time to tame his unruly curls.

So here he was, desperately searching through his closet for a pair of boots that were horseback riding appropriate. He finally found a pair that would have to do and tossed them onto the small mountain of clothes and various other things amassing on his bed.

He got up and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling it stick out in all directions. He strode over to his bed and started folding the haphazardly-chosen clothes messily before trying to arrange them in piles.

Clarice Anderson peeked in on her son and shooed him out of the way. "Go get your suitcase off the balcony and let me take care of this," she said in fond exasperation. "The way you're folding things, it's never going to fit."

Blaine nodded gratefully and trudged downstairs, grabbing some Lysol wipes from the kitchen before cleaning his luggage off and dragging it to his room.

His eyes widened in surprise when he saw that his mother had not only folded everything in Mt. Clothesfest, she'd added to it. She was folding up a couple of light sweaters and cardigans as well as a pair of derby shoes because "you never know when you might need to dress up".

He kissed her cheek as he gently settled his suitcase on the foot of his bed. "Thanks, Mom." She patted his curls down and smiled, slipping out of the room but staying close in case he needed her.

He picked up the piles and pressed them down into the sturdy luggage, the tip of his tongue poking out as he attempted to cram just one more everything inside a case that was already bursting.

The curly haired boy sat on the luggage and managed to flick the clasps shut after much huffing and puffing. His carry on was so full he didn't even bother to attempt zipping it, merely taking a light blanket and placing it over the top, tucking in the edges to create a type of seal.

He needed everything in there; blanket for when they got cold, iPod for music, netbook for movie watching, tiny bottle of emergency hair gel, bag of Swedish fish, everything, okay?

As he was catching his breath his phone rang, the song Barbara Streisand blaring from the tiny speakers telling him that Kurt was calling. Well, at least he could say he finished packing.

He answered the phone with a breathless "Hello?" and collapsed back onto his pillow. His pillow! He needed to bring his pillow….

He heard Kurt chuckle from the other side of the line. "You just finished packing, didn't you?"

"Guilty," he admitted, already flicking open his suitcase to shove his pillow inside. It was going in there and it was going to like it.

He heard Finn's muffled voice in the background and then what was probably Kurt putting his hand over the mic and replying in a surprisingly deep growl.

"WHY does no one know how to pack?" he snarled, Blaine smiling when Kurt slipped and his accent made itself known.

Over the past few weeks he kept trying to get Kurt to drop the fake Midwestern intonation and speak naturally but the fair boy was infuriatingly stubborn.

And Kurt's accent had nothing to do with the fact that Blaine had been reading romance novels about cowboys and farm hands since that fateful dinner at Breadstix, okay? It was totally unrelated.

He grunted as he wiggled about on his luggage, hoping he could find an angle that smooshed the clothes inside into submission. He sighed as he felt the metal edges click together and he forced the clasps down, panting lightly.

"I can't plan things like you can," he explained. "I think it's going to be all easy and then I remember that I need something from the attic or have to dig through my Space Bags to find something I put away for the season and have a panic that I'm going to forget, like, pants or something."

In his head he could see the shy smile Kurt would surely be wearing. "Well, I suppose not everyone can be as organized as I," he said placatingly.

Blaine hummed and looked about his room, searching for things he may have missed.

"Well, are you totally packed? Did you remember pants?"

"Yes," he replied pointedly. "I did remember pants and shoes and socks."

Kurt chuckled before sighing as his father called to him. "Please come over," he begged. "Please don't let me kill them. I don't understand why they think I know where their clothes are, but it's driving me mad."

"I'll be right over," Blaine said around a laugh.

"Thank goodness. See you soon!"

The shorter teen bid him goodnight and hung up his phone. He went in search of his parents to give them a hug and a kiss each and wrestled his luggage into the trunk of his red Mini Cooper.

Forty minutes later his was pulling into the Hummel's driveway, his pale friend sitting on the porch steps with his iPod blaring in his ears. He approached his friend cautiously and sat next to him on the steps.

Kurt yanked out the ears buds and jammed the device into his pocket. "Hey," he said tersely.

"Hey," Blaine parroted. He gently nudges his shoulder against the other boy's. "What's, uh—what's wrong?"

Kurt sighed and looked at the shorter teen, lips thinning into a tense line. "Packing always turns into an argument, since everything is so frantic. It's the first time we're going on a trip since my mom died, and since we're going home everything is just really stressful."

The tanned teen nodded. He couldn't imagine losing a parent, let alone visiting a place they once held so dear. "What did you guys fight about, if you don't mind my asking?"

Kurt smiled reluctantly. "I packed too much," he said self-depreciatingly. "But Carole packed two suitcases as well and he didn't say anything to her, so…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"It's fine," he continued. "I'm not really mad. Like I said, this happens every time we go somewhere. I'm already over it, so's my dad. I just—I miss my mama."

He looked at Blaine with watery eyes and laughed when the dark haired boy cooed over him exaggeratedly, not knowing what else to do. He scoffed and stood, poking at the charming boy with a socked foot.

"Hush. And get up; I was fixin' to go inside when you pulled up anyway. You're my excuse not to get involved with any more packing."

Blaine grinned roguishly. "Glad to be of service."

The group finally arrived at the airport terminal forty-five minutes before they were scheduled to board. Carole and Burt wandered off to browse the magazines and other offerings in the terminal stores while Finn dozed contentedly in a wide, pleather seat.

Kurt and Blaine shared a look that simply said caffeine and went off in search of a decent cup of coffee, trusting Finn to guard their bags even his slumber. They reluctantly shuffled into Starbucks and ordered their drinks and grabbed one for Finn before wandering back to their luggage.

Finn nodded in thanks for the beverage, bleary eyed and still half dead to the world. The two teens settled into the springy seats, waiting for the announcement to board impatiently. Burt and Carole came back, bearing an armful of magazines. She handed Kurt a copy of Vanity Fair with a smile and the boys poured over the pages gratefully.

Thankfully, their plane was all set to arrive on time and there were no delays. They boarded the plane and Kurt, Blaine, and Finn all sat next to one another. His father and Carole sat in the row adjacent from them, cuddling together happily.

Kurt took a deep breath and closed the shutter firmly. He let out a shaky breath and clutched the arms rest.

"Are you alright?" Blaine asked in concern.

Kurt tried to smile but failed. "I'm kinda scared of flying."

Blaine's face softened sympathetically. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked. "I'm sorry; I don't know what to do…"

The olive-skinned boy hated the fact that he was terrible at comforting people. Maybe it was because he didn't have any siblings, or maybe he was just socially inept, but he always felt like he just made things worse.

"S'okay," Kurt breathed. "I'll be better once we're in the air… as long as there's no turbulence."

The dark haired boy nodded. "Taking off and landing is always the worst part."

Burt leaned forward and peered into their seat. "You going to be okay, Kurt?"

He smiled and nodded his head, knowing he looked manic and petrified but not being able to react any other way, his mind playing every plane catastrophe movie he'd heard off over and over in his head.

The other passengers continued to board the plane and the fair teen tried to steady his breathing, leg twitching frantically and fingers tapping out a staccato beat on the armrest while Bliane looked at him in concern.

His phone chirped with a message and Kurt furrowed his brow in confusion. Who would be messaging him this late (early)? His father, apparently.

If you need me, just come over. The seat next to us is empty…

Kurt looked over and gave his dad a watery smile. "Thanks," he mouthed.

His father winked and turned his attention back to Carole. Kurt turned his phone off, motioning for the others to do the same, literally having to pry the phone from Finn's sleeping hand to turn it off. The captain came on over the loudspeaker and Kurt buckled his seatbelt, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Blaine reached over and took the slim hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. Soon the flight attendants swept the aisles and ensured all technology was off and they were taxiing up to take off. Kurt's twitching reached an all time high and he whined quietly.

"Hey," the shorter teen crooned, looking sweet and handsome and perfect.

Kurt sighed. It was going to be a long flight.

Ta da! I hope you liked it :)

I know it's been a long time coming but I've been working on this a while. It was supposed to remain a oneshot but it was taking far too long to complete. I decided to separate it In hopes that it spurred me into getting things done faster…

That doesn't really makes sense, but whatever :P

Let me know what you think! ^_^

Hugs!

E. Claire

xoxox