Blaine had practically begged Kurt to come to the beach with a few of their teammates before they had to go to the field for the game later that day. “Please, Kurt. I’ll do your chores for the week! I don’t want to go if you’re not going to be there.” Kurt pulls off his round sunglasses and rests them on the bill of his Indians cap, watching as Puck and Finn have a seaweed fight. He laughs as one of the slimy balls hits the side of Puck’s face and Finn laughs so hard that Kurt can‘t tell if the saltwater on Finn‘s face is from the ocean or from tears.

“Come on, Kurt, come in!” Blaine shouts, a few yards out in the water. The water comes up to his chest and he laughs as a wave crashes down on top of him. His dark wet hair is plastered to his head and his eyes are slightly red from the stinging saltwater.

“My toes feel like ice cubes. No, thank you,” Kurt calls back. He already applied his sunscreen and even though he’s wearing a t-shirt and a hat, he knows the late morning sun will fry his skin. Blaine’s skin looks perfect, though. Wet and tan and going on for miles.

“You get used to the cold, I promise! It’s really not that bad,” Blaine says as he jumps up and wraps an arm around Finn’s neck and tries to pull him under the water. Finn holds strong though, before putting all his weight into dunking Blaine’s head into the water. Blaine sputters and laughs as he comes up for air and Kurt wishes it was as easy for him. He doesn’t want to ruin his hair and he doesn’t want to reapply his sunblock, but he knows that if he was playing these teasing games in the water it wouldn’t go over as well with his teammates. They tolerate him, some more than others, but they’re still 19 year old boys. Nineteen year old baseball playing boys. Part of Kurt wishes he could pull off being straight as easily as Blaine does, to not even have a questioning look thrown his way. To know that if he got drafted, he’d fit in right away, he wouldn’t have to worry about the macho-filled world of a Major League clubhouse. But the other part of Kurt feels sorry for Blaine, sorry that he has to hide who he is in order to do what he loves.

Blaine starts to swim in to the shore despite his teammates yelling at him to stay. He calls back a, “see you guys at the field!” before standing up and making his way closer to Kurt. His swim trunks are low on his hips and Kurt’s eyes follow the dark trail of hair on Blaine’s lower stomach before diverting his eyes to the water where Puck is on Finn’s shoulders playing chicken. It’s a mistake, though, because he suddenly feels Blaine’s body connect with his and before he knows it he’s lying in the soft sand, looking up at Blaine. He has a hand on either side of Kurt’s shoulders and his head is blocking out the sun, the bright rays having a halo effect.

“Blaine! Let me up, you’re dripping all over me!” Kurt cries as he feels the freezing saltwater start to seep through his clothes. Blaine just laughs, knocking their knees together before jumping up, offering a hand down to Kurt.

“Sorry, you were all distracted. That’s what you get for not going in the water.” Kurt takes the offered hand and is pulled up, Blaine’s arm thrown across his shoulder, giving Kurt flashbacks to the day they first met. They walk in step through the hot sand and up to the weather beaten planks of the boardwalk. When they make it to the parking lot the asphalt burns the bottoms of Kurt’s feet, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Not when Blaine’s side is pressed against his, soaking wet and feeling like there’s no layer of clothing between them.

“I get first dibs on the shower when we get back,” Blaine says as they slide into Kurt’s car, fake leather burning their backs and thighs. Kurt starts the car, steps on the clutch and eases into first gear.

“We’ll see about that,” Kurt says with a laugh. Blaine steals his baseball cap and puts it on backwards over his wet hair. He smiles and it’s like Kurt’s staring directly into the sun over the ocean. He blinks and Blaine is already poking at the radio dial, trying to find something through all of the static.

//

Kurt knows Blaine is home sick. He hears his mumbled conversations late at night through the thin walls separating their rooms. Blaine is always the tough guy on the field, strong and imposing in his catcher’s gear. But Kurt can hear his words drift over, “How’s Tucker doing, mom? You and dad are walking him every day, right?” and it makes Kurt fall a little more in love with him.

He hears the conversation end with a ‘goodnight’ and sees his phone light up with a new text not a minute later.

From: Blaine
Hey, you awake?

From: Kurt
Yeah, can’t sleep.

Kurt doesn’t mention the fact that he could hear most of Blaine’s conversation with his parents. He hears Blaine’s bed creak and then socked feet shuffle across the hard wood floor. He sees a Blaine-shaped shadow standing in his doorway, awkwardly moving his weight from foot to foot, a question hanging in the air that he doesn’t want to ask. Kurt lifts up the edge of his blanket, inviting Blaine in. Kurt knows it’s too dark to see anything, but he swears he can make out Blaine’s white teeth as he smiles.

Blaine pads in and quietly worms his way into Kurt’s sheets until his back is pressed up against Kurt’s chest and their heads share a pillow. Kurt’s breath stutters in his throat and he wonders if Blaine can feel it on the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” Blaine mumbles, sleep already overcoming him. Kurt knows he won’t be sleeping soundly tonight, not with this boy in bed with him. He hopes for a few hours at least so he won’t be dead tired at practice tomorrow morning. His hands itch to wrap themselves around Blaine, over his hip and across his chest, but Kurt just lets them lay at his side.

“Goodnight, Blaine.”

//

It’s one of the few days they have completely off; no practice, no game, no work. Kurt doesn’t have much planned, his only real goal is turning his alarm clock off and sleeping past seven.

It’s barely ten o’clock when he feels his bed shaking and hears, “come on, Kurt. Get up!” Kurt groans and rolls over, comfortable in his bed and not wanting to move from it. But Blaine is relentless and is now on his feet, jumping on the bed in an attempt to shake Kurt awake.

“Come on, let’s go. We don’t want to be late!” Blaine says and he jumps down from the bed. Kurt sighs with relief until he realizes that Blaine only left the bed in order to pull open the blinds on Kurt’s window, letting the bright morning light in. Kurt reaches for a pillow to cover his eyes, but Blaine tugs it away from him before lightly hitting him on the head.

“All right, all right. I’m up,” Kurt mumbles as he sits up in bed. Blaine’s already dressed, loose cargo shorts and a deep maroon t-shirt that reminds Kurt of their home jerseys. His curls are fluffy and product-free and Kurt can tell he’s already showered. “What’s so important that I have to be awake right now?” Kurt asks, sleep still in his voice.

“Well, if I told you, that would ruin the surprise. Wear something casual, definitely a hat because we’re going to be in the sun for most of the afternoon. Now, let’s go!” Blaine takes Kurt’s hand, holding on a little longer than necessary after he pulls Kurt out of bed and pushes him towards the bathroom.

“The train ride is almost an hour, so hurry up!” Blaine shouts to Kurt through the bathroom door. Kurt turns the water on in the shower and lets it warm up just slightly, thinking about where they could be going. They’re taking the T, which means they’re going into Boston. Kurt had only seen the airport and the highway and he’s suddenly very excited by the possibility of all the shopping he can do.

“This is our stop!” Blaine announces and quickly pulls Kurt up from his hard plastic seat. They’ve been on the train for over a half an hour, with Blaine giving Kurt no clues as to what they’re doing. The train comes to an abrupt stop, Kurt and Blaine fumbling together as their balance is thrown off, before the door are flung open. They’re underground still and Kurt feels slightly claustrophobic, but soon Blaine is pulling him up a flight of stairs and he’s shielding his eyes from the sun. They step outside and Kurt lets the fresh air fill his lungs. Blaine pauses at the top of the step, looks left then right, before nodding his head to the left. “C’mon, this way.”

There are people everywhere and he hears faint calls of “Selling tickets? Need tickets? Got-cha tickets, here” as they pass a fast food restaurant, a bank, a small convenience store. He feels like he might get lost in the sea of people, everyone pushing in the same direction.

They turn the corner and Kurt sees an overpass with cars zooming underneath. Blaine pulls him off to the side, just slightly out of the way of the hundreds of people surrounding them. “Look,” he says and points.

Kurt follows his finger, passed the overpass and passed the billboards and passed the people, and then he see it. Sees the huge lights and the green of the monster. Kurt shakes his head and whispers, “you brought me to a Red Sox game?”

Blaine nods excitedly as he pushes them to start walking again. Cars are flying underneath their feet and Kurt feels like he might have vertigo.

“Well, I know we’ve both been to Indians games before, and those are fun, but they’re nothing like this. I mean, it’s Fenway, Kurt,” and Kurt knows. The park has been around for almost 100 years and it’s every baseball fans dream to be able to see a game here.

They walk over to the park, handing an old man with gray hair their tickets. Kurt takes a deep breath and smells baseball; hot dogs, popcorn, beer, peanuts, summer. Kurt thinks he might hear Blaine apologize for only being able to get bleacher seats on such short notice, but Kurt can’t really hear him. They’re walking up the ramp and all Kurt sees is green; the green of the seats and the green of the grass and the green of the big wall out in left field. Kurt wonders how it can be so much smaller than it seems on TV, yet so big at the same time.

They find their seats right as the national anthem ends. They sit down as a voice booms through the speakers announcing the starting lineups. Kurt bounces his feet, energy and excitement welling up inside of him.

“Thank you,” Kurt tells Blaine, eyes leaving the field only to make contact with the boy sitting next to him.

“Are you happy?” Blaine asks, genuine hope written across his face, and all Kurt can do is laugh.

//

It’s an early morning in the first week of July and Kurt should really be asleep. They had played an extra innings game the night before, lost in 12 innings to the Chatham A’s, and Kurt hadn’t gone to sleep until after 1. The light is peaking in through the white blinds that cover his window and he looks over at his alarm clock. 6:24am. Kurt groans and rolls over, willing himself to fall back asleep, when he swears he hears the TV coming from the living room. The door to his room is open just a crack and he can see multi-colored light slipping in. He sighs and throws the covers off of his body, assuming Blaine forgot to turn the TV off before going to bed.

He sits up, pausing to crack his back and stretch his arms over his head. A loud yawn escapes his mouth before he slowly pulls himself up and out of bed, slowly making his way out of his room and into the living room.

What he doesn’t expect to find is Blaine sitting on the couch, legs curled up underneath him, still in pajamas and wearing his glasses, his hair fluffy first thing in the morning and not weighed down with sweat after a three hour baseball game. Kurt thinks that this is his favorite part of the day, seeing Blaine like this.

He looks up from the TV, bowl of Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch in his hands and a light sheet wrapped around his body, and smiles brightly at Kurt. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Thought the TV was low enough. Wanna come sit? ESPN Classic is airing Fisk’s home run,” Blaine explains. He takes one last bite and puts the empty bowl down on the floor and lifts the blanket up, inviting Kurt to sit next to him and share body heat.

Kurt’s used to this. Blaine is very affectionate with everyone he meets. A pat on the back after a nice catch, a quick hug after an important home run. It’s like he doesn’t have any boundaries when it comes to personal space.

Kurt accepts the invitation and quickly scoots in next to Blaine, the blanket dropping across Kurt’s shoulders. It’s definitely not necessary, the temperature regularly hitting 80 degrees before seven in the morning, but Kurt can feel the skin on their arms and legs pressed together and that’s really all that matters.

Blaine is mouthing along to the broadcaster’s call of the homerun (if it stays fair…homerun!) when the sheet slowly slips off of Blaine’s shoulder, revealing his thin white t-shirt. Kurt’s never been this up close and personal with Blaine’s skin before. He’s seen bits and pieces here and there, they do sometimes change at the incredibly small locker room at the field, and those images are burned into Kurt’s brain forever. But this, this skin touching skin contact is new and Kurt can’t seem to tear his eyes away from where Blaine’s upper arm disappears into his shirt.

Blaine fidgets just a little, leans to the right and helps the ball stay fair, and then Kurt sees something completely new. There’s a light pink line on Blaine’s skin running from underneath Blaine’s bicep, up and under his shirt.

“Where’d you get that scar?” Kurt asks, motioning vaguely towards Blaine’s arm. Blaine twists his arm around and tries to look at what Kurt’s talking about. He rubs his hand over the mark absently.

“You know how your parents always told you never to play ball in the house? This is why. You end up catching one and then smashing through a sliding glass door in the process,” Blaine laughs slightly, recalling the memory in his mind. “I got 22 stitches. It actually goes all the way up my shoulder and kinda onto my back.”

Kurt’s mouth is completely dry and he’s not sure what the record is for longest period of time without blinking, but he has to be close. They’re still touching; thigh to thigh, hip to hip, elbow to elbow.

Blaine leans forward, tries to contort his arm into somehow moving in a way to let him see the scar. “I actually forget I have it most of the time. I can’t see it and my jersey covers it anyway.”

Kurt knows he shouldn’t ask, only very bad things will come of him asking. He keeps his mouth firmly shut, debating on whether or not to put his hand up to his mouth to help in the effort. But it’s really no use and the words are tumbling out before he can stop them.

“Can I touch it?” he asks. His fingers are itching and all he’s thought about for the last four weeks is Blaine. Even when he tries not to, it can’t be helped. He’s there at home and he’s there on the field and he’s there at the beach. Even on days when Kurt starts, when his mind should be clear of everything besides his pitching, he still has Blaine there, sitting behind home plate and throwing down signs.

Blaine looks at him with his eyebrows pressing together, a look of confusion and something else Kurt can’t read.

“I guess so. It’s nothing special, you can barely even feel it.” Blaine reaches across his body with his other hand and bunches up his sleeve, revealing more of the scar, and more skin, to Kurt.

Kurt lets one finger barely brush across the scar, his fingertip ghosting across Blaine’s skin. It’s warm, the sun now fully beating in through the window, but goosebumps pop up along Blaine’s skin and he shudders. Kurt puts a little more pressure down now, really feels the mark running along Blaine’s arm and up and under his shirt. Kurt wonders if his hand would fit into Blaine’s sleeve so he could follow the scar along its journey across Blaine’s shoulder and back.

“Kurt.” And it’s not even like Blaine’s speaking, it’s like he’s breathing Kurt’s name.

“Can I see the rest of it?” he asks, his eyes never leaving Blaine’s skin. It’s mesmerizing, how Blaine’s skin is so soft and tan, and how his scar just seems so out of place. He can’t stop touching, couldn’t even if he wanted to.

There’s only a moments hesitation before Blaine’s grabbing at the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. He throws the discarded shirt off to the side, barely noticing that it lands where the couch meets the wall.

This whole new expanse of skin is too much for Kurt to take in all at once. It’s everywhere and his eyes can’t decide where to look next, so they just seem to dart back and forth. He tries to drink everything in at once and then his eyes focus on the scar. It sweeps up Blaine’s arms and then curves downward across a small part of his shoulder and back. His lower arms are slightly darker than his chest and back, a sorry farm’s tan side effect from playing with a jersey on in the hot sun.

His brain kick starts and Kurt puts his finger at the beginning of the scar, following it’s jagged line until the very end. Kurt can’t get over the muscles in Blaine’s back contorting, loosing and tightening with each breath he takes, the scar moving slightly with Blaine’s skin.

Blaine suddenly turns to Kurt and they’re looking at each other face to face. Kurt can’t see the scar anymore, but his hand never leaves Blaine’s skin and it’s now pressed up against his chest, his fingers lightly tickling Blaine’s collarbone. Their legs are folded up like pretzels and their knees knock together with Blaine’s sudden movement.

He can’t see Blaine’s eyes, the reflection bounces off of the TV and onto his glasses, only bright light staring back at Kurt. He can feel Blaine’s shallow breaths, Kurt’s hand rising and falling on Blaine’s chest with each one.

“You know we can’t do this,” Blaine says and Kurt can barely hear him. There’s too much white noise playing in Kurt’s ears, a sure fire sign that his brain is going to short circuit any minute.

“I know,” Kurt says simply before digging his nails into Blaine’s skin.

And it’s like that’s all Blaine needs. He’s up quickly on his knees before Kurt knows what’s going on and he’s pushing Kurt back until he’s pressed up against the arm of the sofa. And then Blaine is kissing him, letting out the tension between them over the past few weeks. It’s like nothing Kurt’s ever felt before and he grabs onto Blaine’s side, needs to feel Blaine’s skin in his hands.

He moves his kissing from Kurt’s lip down to his neck, equal parts teeth and lips. “I told you, I need to concentrate on baseball this summer. No distractions.” His voice is filled with anger and want and it’s the hottest thing Kurt’s ever heard. He kicks his legs out straight so Blaine can settle in on top of him, his bare skin meeting Kurt’s fabric covered chest.

It’s not beautiful like Kurt pictured in his head so many times. It’s not slow and timid, shyly working their way up to kissing with open mouths. Blaine doesn’t take Kurt’s chin in his hand and cup it gently, angling it for the perfect way to fit their mouths together. It’s frustration and raw and so emotional that it kind of scares Kurt in the best possible way.

Blaine’s back at Kurt’s lips, forcing them open with his tongue but Kurt opens them willingly. He’d had the random hook up in college, the token drunken night and the walk of shame the next morning. But this is like nothing he’s ever felt before. It feels like Blaine is desperate for him, like if he doesn’t kiss him right now, like this, then he’ll never get his chance again.

“I can’t get you out of my head, do you realize that? You’re there all the time,” Blaine growls and Kurt can’t tell if he knows he’s speaking out loud. His forehead is resting against Kurt’s, dark curls getting caught in between. Kurt gasps with he feels Blaine hard against his hip, there’s no hiding it in the thin cotton of their pajama bottoms.

“Blaine. God, me too. You’re always there, in the back of everything,” and Kurt doesn’t know if that actually makes sense, but he says it, can’t stop himself from saying it.

They move slightly, Blaine sliding down and Kurt sliding up, and Kurt feels his eyes roll into the back of his head. They’re hard, they’re hard together, and nothing has ever felt like this. Kurt whines from the back of his throat, bubbling up and out of his mouth before he can stop it. He can’t do anything besides thrust up and hang on, try to keep grounded through this haze.

Blaine grabs onto Kurt’s hips and just fucking grinds them together and Kurt knows that familiar sensation that builds up in the pit of his stomach and the bottom of his spine. He’s so desperate for it, so desperate for Blaine, that he doesn’t even try to hold back. The pleasure becomes too much too quickly, his eyes squeezing shut as he bites down onto his lip in an attempt to keep some of the noise inside. His hips finally still and his arms fall limply to his side.

“Kurt, so fucking hot. Shit, I can’t,” and Kurt only has a moment to realize this is probably something he should open his eyes for, something that he doesn’t want to miss. Blaine’s face is beautiful when he loses control, his mouth open with no sounds coming out.

He’s still holding onto Kurt’s hips, all of his weight resting on his arms and he starts to shake. Kurt scoots over so he’s laying on his side and Blaine collapses next to him, barely any room between them.

When their breathing returns to normal, Kurt opens one eye to peak at Blaine. His curls are plastered to his forehead and he’s not wearing his glasses, although Kurt can’t for the life of him remember Blaine taking them off. He bites down on his lower lip, contemplating on what he could possibly say, what could come next after that.

But it’s Blaine that speaks first.

“So that was --” he starts and Kurt’s mind goes to a million different places. Horrible, awkward, never happening again.

“-- pretty amazing,” Blaine finishes and Kurt breathes a sigh of relief. “But we can’t do that again. I mean, this is the most important thing in out lives right now. You know how many kids try out for the Cape? We have to concentrate on baseball, Kurt. No distractions. Deal?”

And Kurt understands, really he does. He’s not going to be like one of his idiot teammates who falls in love with a local and lets his season go to shit. They only have three months to prove themselves, prove that they belong in the big leagues. The draft is coming up sooner than they want to admit and it should be the only thing on their minds. Kurt needs to block everything out. Curveball, fastball, splitter, cutter should be on repeat, not curly hair, hazel eyes, perfect smile. Nobody is worth losing his future in baseball.

Except maybe, he thinks, Blaine is.