Sugar Baby

Eighteen

Blaine awoke early, the bed empty next to him, the sound of Kurt in the shower filtering through the walls, and he listened intently, in his professional mind, for a moment to him, singing Defying Gravity, hitting every note perfectly and clear as a bell. Maybe, once Kurt had the baby, he could offer him a contract, cultivate him as a star. With a voice like that, he could carry the entire weight of the label on his shoulders.

Yawning, Blaine made his way downstairs to dig through the fridge for eggs and make breakfast, picking up the pile of mail lying innocently on the doormat and flipping through it, finding bills and fan mail interspersed between the brown envelopes. And there, at the bottom of the pile, a letter addressed to Kurt in a round, careful hand, and he frowned as he slit it open and withdrew the single sheet of paper.

I WARNED YOU. I TOLD YOU I’D KILL THAT BABY. I SAW YOU IN THE HOSPITAL, KISSING YOUR BOYFRIEND, SO HAPPY TO BE A FREAK. YOU’LL NEVER KNOW WHEN I’M WATCHING YOU. YOU WON’T KNOW WHEN I’M GOING TO STRIKE. BUT I WILL KILL THAT BABY, AND I WILL TEACH YOU TO GO NEAR MEN SO FAR OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE.

He swore under his breath, crumpling the paper between his hands and letting it fall and bounce over the floor, running his hands through his hair and biting at his lower lip. Whoever was threatening Kurt was serious, and this wasn’t just a threat to one person. This was a threat to Kurt, to their baby, to his family, and he couldn’t let anyone near them. Maybe the police would have to get involved. He couldn’t stand not knowing who it was, and the idea that the man was stalking them terrified him.

Footsteps sounded lightly on the floor behind him, and he turned to see Kurt bending down to pick up the ball of paper, smoothing it out to read the words. His eyes widened and rapidly filled with tears, and he dropped the paper as if he’d been burned, clamping a hand over his mouth and backing away as if the mere message could hurt him. “Why are they doing this?” he asked, a sob slicing into the tail end of his sentence. “Why would someone want to kill my baby? The baby didn’t do anything, Blaine, it’s not his fault I’m a freak, I just want to be normal, I love him, and someone wants to kill an innocent baby, what do I do?”

“You’re not a freak,” Blaine promised, taking Kurt’s face between his hands and brushing the tears away with his thumbs. “Carriers are perfectly normal, I’ve met plenty, and that’s the view of people so blindsided by their ideas of tradition that they can’t accept anything unlike themselves. And no one can act on these threats. I won’t let them, but you have to stay close to me. You can’t ever wander off on your own. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of you.” Kurt blinked up at him and hugged him tightly, pressing close, and Blaine held him tightly, closing his eyes and breathing in his sweet, newly-clean scent. “So, you think the baby’s a boy?”

“I just really want a son,” Kurt said softly, smiling at the very mention of the baby. “I want to be the father my dad was to me before he died, and I can’t help but imagine how cute a little boy with your hair and my freckles would be.” Blaine smiled, mapping his fingers over the constellation of freckles on Kurt’s shoulder, watching him shiver and tilt his head up, asking for a kiss. “Blaine, I...”

“Morning!” came a cheerful exclamation, and Blaine looked over Kurt’s head at Sam, steeling himself and releasing Kurt to turn a solemn face on his friend. “Oh God, what happened now? Are you guys having triplets? If you are, then I’m getting my own place, I’m not sharing a house with a couple and three screaming babies, no matter how gorgeous this place is.”

“Sam, we are not having triplets!” Blaine protested, chuckling lightly at Kurt’s horrified look at the very idea. “No, but someone’s threatening Kurt, they’ve now called me on my personal number, tried to attack Kurt in Quinn’s apartment and sent a letter to this address, we need to try and get someone tracing them before they act on their threats.” Sam’s face immediately turned dark, and he grabbed the letter Blaine handed him, scanning the writing and finding the number of a private investigator.

The pale light of the new summer’s morning fell so beautifully over Kurt, fast asleep and curled around a pillow, the comforter shoved down around his waist, Blaine’s borrowed purple shirt unbuttoned almost entirely, falling to the side to expose a nipple, clinging to the growing swell of his stomach. He shifted in his sleep, lips twitching in a slight smile, eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones, hair loose and soft and spread out over the pillow, and Blaine bent to kiss his forehead, murmuring, “Happy birthday, beautiful,” as he rose slowly to full consciousness.

“Are those all for me?” Kurt asked eagerly, eyes round and brightly excited as he saw the pile of presents in Blaine’s lap, and Blaine smiled as he placed the tray set with Kurt’s favourite pancakes, topped with chocolate sauce and apples, his chamomile tea and a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs on the nightstand and handed the presents to Kurt as he sat up, buttoning up his shirt a little so he could possibly be called on the edge of decently dressed, crossing his legs beneath him and tearing eagerly into the first present.

Blaine smiled fondly as he watched Kurt unwrap a silk scarf from Quinn; a recipe book from Brittany, a book predictably entitled What To Expect When You’re Expecting from Santana that Kurt immediately flipped through to look at the picture of what a baby would look like at sixteen weeks; sunglasses and cufflinks from Jeff; a hamper stuffed with baby books and French pastries from Sam; and a tiny sleepsuit with I LOVE MY DADDIES emblazoned on the front from Puck, that got Kurt a little misty-eyed and forced him to blow his nose on the edge of the blanket. Finally, Kurt turned to the small mountain of presents from Blaine, and shelled open a soft, supple leather jacket Blaine had purchased remembering how amazing Kurt had looked in one the night they’d met, a new sketchbook for Kurt to draw his fashion designs, a box of chocolates and a bouquet of lilies, leaving only two presents unopened.

Kurt’s eyes widened when he opened the rectangular velvet box to reveal the silver bracelet, the simple rectangle of silver engraved with the words Kiss me goodbye, I’m defying gravity, and you won’t bring me down, and he looked up at Blaine with tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “It’s beautiful, Blaine, thank you so much,” he whispered, voice constricted with tears. “Will you put it on for me?” Blaine nodded, words escaping him, and the weight of a commitment seemed to fall heavily on them as he fastened the chain tight around Kurt’s fragile wrist and pressed a kiss to the cool metal.

They kissed for a long time, getting themselves lost in each other, in the warmth of each other’s bodies and skin waiting to be explored, until Kurt pulled back with a soft, apologetic, “Morning breath,” and reached for the last present. Blaine watched intently as he reverently lifted out the cashmere jumper, the maternity jeans Blaine had searched high and low to find, and the leather boots, until he looked up, his face unreadable. “You got me a corset?” he asked, voice carefully level.

“I just remembered how amazing you looked the first time you dressed up for me,” Blaine said softly. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but you keep saying that you’re fat and ugly and not sexually attractive any more, and I just want you to see that you are beautiful and so sexy. But please don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“It’s my seventeenth birthday, and I’m in bed with a gorgeous man who thinks I’m sexy,” Kurt murmured, looking coquettishly up at Blaine from beneath his lashes. “I’m going to get a little crazy. Let breakfast go cold, I’m going to change and brush my teeth, I won’t be long. You can just get yourself ready for me.”

Blaine smirked after Kurt's disappearing back, knowing the extra sway in his hips as he walked was for him, and pulled off his shirt and jeans, folding both and laying them on the armchair at the side of the bed, laying down on the bed and palming himself lazily through his boxers, thinking of Kurt on the other side of the door between them, unbuttoning the borrowed shirt and draping it over the heater, sliding the corset over his skin, the material tight around his chest and stretching perfect over his bump, leaning over the sink to lace himself up, deep green against the alabaster of his skin, bringing out the blue of his eyes.

When Kurt peered out of the bathroom, wrapped in the black silk kimono that had also been in the package, the material shifting delicately over the soft curves of his body, a tantalising promise of the potential lying beneath, Blaine was lying naked on the bed, eyes closed in ecstasy as he stroked himself with increasing desperation, chasing the feeling that never quite seemed to peak and drive him to utter completion. "Need some help?" came Kurt's voice, easily slipping into that old seductive manner, and Blaine opened his eyes and took in Kurt's form with a moan, eyes hungry as long, slender fingers unwound the knot of the kimono and let it slide away, leaving a boy standing there in his green corset, hugging around his waist and chest and stretching over his belly, long legs and shining eyes and hair perfectly mussed from sleep.

"God, you are so sexy," Blaine groaned, and Kurt ducked his head bashfully as he crossed the room to Blaine's eager arms, shivering and pressing his face into Blaine's shoulder as Blaine's hands roved up and over his thighs, sliding beneath the barely-there panties, two fingers sliding over slick, hot skin. "The way you look like this, Kurt, God, with your hair messy and your eyes dark and all wet for me. Want to fuck you with this on, push your tiny panties aside and fuck you until you're screaming my name."

"Please," Kurt gasped out, pressing himself closer to Blaine, shaking and flushed and mouthing at the muscles of his shoulder. "You can't fucking tease me like that, it's my birthday." Blaine smiled at the petulant tone his voice took on, leaning up to kiss Kurt, deep and dirty and desperate, all entwined tongues and teeth nipping at saliva-slick lips when tongues withdrew for brief moments, roving hands and sweaty, sliding bodies.

"You're so hot," Blaine whispered as he pushed into Kurt, feeling with a throaty moan of relief the sting of Kurt's nails ripping long, jagged red lines into his back, admiring the perfect arch of Kurt's neck as he threw his head back with a cry he didn’t even try to quiet. “The way you just take it, fuck, fucking take it, let me fuck you raw, baby.”

“Yes, fuck yes,” Kurt shrieked, pulling Blaine closer, wrapping his legs around the backs of Blaine’s thighs, hands settling over his ass, trying to make him thrust faster. “Fuck, Blaine, I’m gonna...ohhh, gonna come.” Blaine nodded, gritting his teeth in determination, and his hips pistoned wildly, out of his control, an animalistic shout ripped from his throat as he came seconds behind Kurt, lifting himself up and off the teenager to avoid crushing him before dropping face-down into the mattress with a groan.

“Well, this is certainly a happy birthday, and it’s barely even started,” Kurt observed, and Blaine laughed as he rolled over to face Kurt, who had recovered enough to extract himself from the corset and panties and now lay naked and smiling blissfully next to Blaine, nudging closer and nuzzling his cheek against Blaine’s chest hair. “Thank you for everything. Blaine, I-”

“You two have exactly three seconds to stop fucking and open the door so we can sing happy birthday, or I’ll go back to the shop and exchange this nice conservative cake for the one shaped like a penis!” Santana called warningly through the door, and Blaine sat up, dressing quickly and not noticing how Kurt’s face fell momentarily with disappointment.