Part Ten

Kurt stared blankly at the opposite wall as neon circles of light twirled and swirled around the floor, illuminating couples swaying together to slow songs filled with clichés of red roses and kisses in the rain. Despite feeling like a bad friend for it, he breathed a long sigh of relief when Rachel stumbled over to Puck and started crying about being alone for the rest of her life.

Yes, it had been a beautiful ceremony. And yes, it was wonderful to see his beloved teachers so happy. And yes, it was amazing to have everyone all in one place after three years of coming and going. But no, he wasn't really enjoying himself. The day had taken a turn for the worse as soon as the endless bottles of champagne had been brought out and the music had begun. They'd already been subjected to three songs of lost love from Rachel, who was already drunk, and something entirely inappropriate for the occasion from Puck, who looked to have a nervous tic, he was winking at Lauren so often.

"You not drinking?" Tina asked loudly as she and Mike drifted past the table he sat alone at, collapsing into a chair and easing her feet out of heels that looked to be positively murdering her feet.

"Rachel's already drunk, Finn's a lightweight and Santana's bound to be in the champagne at some point," Kurt answered dully. "I'm designated driver for the three of them."

"Aw, one glass won't hurt!" Tina exclaimed, seizing the bottle and pouring far too much clumsily into a glass. "It'll loosen you up; you can't sit here and look depressed all evening. Tell you what; me and Brittany will both save a dance for you. I know just the song." She cleared her throat and raised her glass. "I propose a two-person toast to being together at a wedding and not having to provide the entertainment."

Kurt laughed and, with a genuine enough smile, clinked his glass against hers and pretended to take a long drink. Tina drained her glass in one gulp and grabbed Mike's hand, dragging him back onto the floor. Mike shrugged and grinned knowingly in Kurt's direction as he left the glass on the table, no doubt to be picked up by a passing guest needing to drink themselves into a stupor.

Tina and Brittany bounced back over a minute later, both in the official yellow dresses of those glee club members, past, present and graduated. "We saved you a dance!" Brittany giggled in an almost sing-song way, swaying slightly on her heels. "And we picked the song!" Kurt gave them a look that immediately turned to a shocked glare as Single Ladies began to pound out of the speakers.

"Seriously? This song at a wedding?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. Tina giggled and grabbed his arm to drag him onto the dance floor, Brittany squealing happily as she kicked off her shoes and followed after them.

"I'm a single lady, and I'm putting my hands up!" Rachel announced, waving her arms wildly through the air to much laughter. As he danced the familiar routine with the two tipsy girls, Kurt saw Mr. Schuester put his head in his hands, and privately through that he deserved everything he got for letting any of his friends anywhere near the available alcohol.

Kurt had to admit, dancing with Tina and Brittany was fun, especially when Sugar threw saved handfuls of confetti over them after the big, flourishing finish and Puck whistled loudly when the girls ran back to their significant others and Kurt returned to his seat at the otherwise empty table, grabbing another glass of coke en route. The love songs began again, and Rachel apparently managed to persuade Puck onto the floor, though he abandoned her to Matt halfway through the dance for Lauren.

"You okay?" Santana asked, sitting down with a rustling of her skirt next to him with a concerned little smile, snatching his drink away and pushing champagne over to him with no heed for his complaints. "Taxis exist for a reason. I even have the nearest cab company on speed dial, so you can drink your angst away."

"If I start drinking right now I'm going to end up puking on someone," Kurt muttered, pushing the drink away. "Apparently it's hard to stop with the champagne when you're as miserable as I am."

"Yeah, I keep meaning to drop by with some movies so you can have a good cry," Santana said almost guiltily. "I called round some of my gay friends back in New York, and I've got a couple who are very interested in a date with you. Don't worry; I described all your best features."

"It's very sweet of you, San, but I don't really want to have a serious relationship right now," he said apologetically, watching the bubbles rise to the surface in his glass and purposefully ignoring Santana.

"I don't think any of them would object to a hook-up either," she said thoughtfully. "There's this really tall, really skinny guy who works in the café and looks like a beanpole, I could give him a call."

"Boy, you're really selling this guy," Kurt remarked sarcastically, sipping at his coke while Santana knocked back another mouthful of champagne, keeping a close, hawk-like watch over Brittany dancing with Artie.

"Please, Kurt, I'm totally broke and it's free for me to get you a boyfriend for Christmas!" Santana begged, completely shameless. Kurt laughed and shooed her away, smiling as she grabbed Brittany and whirled her away, Rachel immediately taking the blonde girl's place.

Kurt soon found himself snatched up onto the floor by a smirking Quinn when Afternoon Delight began to warble out of the speakers. Grinning and laughing, couples swayed together and friends danced idiotically. When the song ended, Kurt returned to his chair and Quinn grabbed Matt and whirled him into the dance as the group sang along to every song, improvising dance routines and generally acting like people without a care in the world.

"Thought you might want your phone," Sugar announced grandly as she drifted past him, placing his phone almost reverently down on the table and continuing on her way. Rachel had forced them all to place their silenced mobiles in a bag so the ceremony wouldn't be interrupted by, as she'd put it, 'this group's pathological need to text back immediately.'

Picking up the device, Kurt immediately saw the words 3 MISSED CALLS blinking at him, but when he checked his voicemail there were no new messages left for him. As he went to stow it away, it vibrated in his hand, making him start slightly.

From: Blaine Anderson

Where are you?

To: Blaine Anderson

At a wedding, in a church, not getting drunk like everyone else. Why?

From: Blaine Anderson

There's a car waiting for you outside.

To: Blaine Anderson

I'm sorry?

From: Blaine Anderson

I sent a cab to pick you up. Get in; the driver will take you to the hotel. I'll meet you there and pay for the taxi. Please hurry.

"Santana!" Kurt shouted across the dance floor, already grabbing his belongings and shrugging back into the suit jacket hanging across the back of his chair. His friend came running over, glaring at him for interrupting her dancing. "I'm leaving. Looks like you'll have to use your strategic speed-dial for the cab company."

"Wait, why are you going?" Santana asked, seemingly shocked. "You do know it's absolutely pouring out there, right? Come on, stay a bit longer, Rachel's over there telling the most hilarious stories. Why do you need to leave?"

"Maybe it's because I'm sick of Rachel crying into the front of my shirt about how lonely she is and how no one will ever love her," Kurt said. It wasn't lying, just omitting certain parts of the truth. "I've got a migraine coming on, I can feel it." He shoved his phone at Santana. "Hold that."

"Or, it could be because one Blaine Anderson texted you saying 'I sent a cab to pick you up. Get in; the driver will take you to the hotel. I'll meet you there and pay for the taxi. Please hurry.' It's supposed to be Schuester's wedding night, not yours," Santana remarked, arching an eyebrow knowingly. "If he hurts you, I will go all Lima Heights."

"Santana, you don't live in Lima Heights," Kurt reminded her. "Your dad is a doctor. You and the four of your six siblings who are old enough to drive all have your own cars. Your family pays your share of the monthly rent."

"Whatever, Hummel," Santana drawled, then grinned at him. "Have fun. And promise you'll call me once you're back home and tell me all the details. If he hurts you, I'm serious, I know where he lives."

Kurt just smiled at his friend, protecting him in her own way, before he raced out of the church, holding the cheap jacket over his head as the rain pounded in thick sheets over him, spotting the yellow taxi idling at the kerb quickly and running to climb inside, shaking excess water out of his hair. "You Kurt Hummel?" the driver asked in a bored tone.

"Yeah, yes, I am," Kurt said awkwardly. The driver grunted in acknowledgement of his response and started the car, driving smoothly away as raindrops slashed across the windscreen and windows, umbrellas blooming like mushrooms out of every crowd all around him as Kurt settled into the seat, breathing slowly and deeply to calm himself down.

The hotel loomed out of nowhere, a familiar figure dressed in eye-catching bright yellow standing right at the edge of the road, water splashing over his legs as the driver pulled up exactly in the middle of a deep puddle. Blaine opened the door, holding out a gentlemanly hand to help Kurt out of the car, holding the umbrella over his head as he unfurled bills from his pocket and slid it through the gap at the top of the window to the driver.

"Blaine, wonderful to see you again!" the receptionist, who Kurt just barely remembered as Harold, said jovially as they walked in. "Will you be needing a towel? It's really coming down out there."

Blaine nodded, taking the pile of towels from the rotund man and wrapping one carefully around Kurt's neck, placing a soft kiss to his rain-damp forehead. "Do you have our usual room?" he asked Harold, Kurt only vaguely aware of the words as he tried to process Blaine's action, his heart still racing from just the simple press of lips to skin, cursing his heart and his hormones.

"Of course, here's your keycard, enjoy your stay," Harold said with a smile, winking at Kurt as Blaine turned him with a gentle hand at the small of his back towards the lifts, guiding him as Kurt shivered, suddenly feeling the rain on the materials clinging to his skin and dripping from his hair down his back and trickling down his face.

"Clothes off," Blaine ordered as soon as they were safely inside the room. "I'll go downstairs and tell Harold to dry them off; you're going to freeze otherwise. There's a robe in the bathroom, you don't have to walk around naked." He smirked and waggled his eyebrow in a gesture Kurt found only ridiculous, adding, "Though I wouldn't mind if you did."

Kurt slid into the bathroom to undress, handing the sodden pile to Blaine through a tiny crack in the door and slipping into the robe, tying the cord tight around his waist. He bit his lip as he looked at himself in the mirror, cheeks coloured by rain and hair flat against his head except for the clumps sticking up in strategic places. He did not cut an attractive figure.

Apparently Blaine thought differently, because his eyes darted up and down Kurt's body when he walked back into the bedroom, licking his lips. "I asked you to meet me here to talk," he said slowly. "But I can't do anything until I've had you in this bed."

Blaine's hand landed on Kurt's hips, strong and warm and splayed out possessively, holding him up as his knees seemed to go out from under him at the touch of Blaine's lips to his, a chaste press quickly becoming furiously passionate, dirtily devouring as Kurt scrabbled at the knot in the belt on his robe, fingers fumbling as he fought to undo it. Blaine's hand replaced his as he flipped their positions, pushing Kurt backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell back onto the mattress, toes brushing along the carpet as Blaine straddled his wait, still kissing him as he finally got the knot undone and pushed the two halves of Kurt's robe apart, sliding his hands up Kurt's chest, Kurt's breath stuttering and his hips thrusting slightly as Blaine's roughly callused thumb caught his nipple.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked, voice rough, stammering over the words as Blaine's teeth scraped along his collarbone. "I really want to fuck you. I've been thinking about it, not seeing you. I want to top."

"I don't bottom," Blaine said, as if that was the final word on the discussion. Kurt couldn't help the disappointed sigh that escaped his lips and Blaine looked up at him with an unreadable expression. "But, maybe, for you, I…I could make an exception."

Blaine was careful as he rolled onto his side, pushing the sleeves from Kurt's arms and tugging him on top of him as he rolled onto his back. "You're still fully-clothed," Kurt whispered, nipping at the tender spot beneath Blaine's ear, smirking to himself as Blaine's breath hitched and a soft whimper escaped him. "I feel exposed. We should probably remedy this situation."

Kurt leant down carefully, trying not to elbow Blaine and kill the mood, as he slowly unbuttoned Blaine's shirt, peppering each newly-exposed inch of skin with soft kisses and tiny licks, Blaine keening and mewling beneath him, wiggling frantically, trying to find the proper friction. "No, no, this isn't about you," Kurt murmured wickedly. "I'm in control."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're cruel," Blaine groaned, arching up as Kurt ran his hand across his stomach, shedding his shirt quickly. Kurt just smirked and lowered his head to capture Blaine's lips in a long, achingly sweet kiss.

Within a matter of minutes Kurt was sliding three fingers inside Blaine, brushing strands of hair tenderly from his sweaty forehead, Blaine's fingers pressing bruises into his back as he clung to him, fucking himself back on Kurt's fingers, gasping and moaning with every breath. "Please, please Kurt," came the choked plea. "Fuck me, Christ, I need you."

Kurt couldn't help but privately think that Harold must be the most saintly hotel manager in existence to put up with all the noise. He had been reliably informed that many of the Dalton prostitutes used the same hotel. Any logical thought was abruptly ended, however, when he pushed slowly inside Blaine for the first time, shudders running across his entire body as his head fell forward onto Blaine's shoulder, both of them panting.

Their sex was slow and passionate, far closer to making love than any of their frantic previous encounters. Whispers of tender words painted onto sweat-glazed skin, eyes meeting and holding an electric gaze, hands wandering with tender appreciation, breath and hearts speeding and finally coming together with cries of each other's name, interspersed with groaned expletives.

"I really love you, you know," Kurt murmured as they lay together, sweaty and sticky and disgusting but sated and coming down from bliss. Blaine raised himself up his elbow, looking down at him with another unreadable expression.

"We can't be anything more than friends with the occasional benefit," he murmured. "I know you love me, but I can't be with you."

Blinking back tears, Kurt rolled over and tried to go to sleep, but didn't surrender to the black grip taking hold of him before he heard the whispered words, "You deserve so much better than me, beautiful."