Chapter Two: Where Kurt Learns What Time Blaine Gets Off

-Late September-

20:17 hours

“Son of a…” Blaine muttered under his breath as he pulled his patrol car to the side of the rural road, gravel pinging against the metal undercarriage.  There was a dull thumping sound and he found himself fighting a vehicle that wanted to drift to the right. 

After exiting the vehicle, Blaine walked around it slowly, using his MAG flashlight to perform a visual inspection.  And there it was – front passenger side tire.  Flat as a pancake. 

“Control.  Three Paul Twenty-One,” he said coolly, into the radio on his shoulder.

“Three Paul Twenty-One, go ahead,” came the dispatcher's voice.  From the sound of it, Zizes was working swing shift too.

“Control, log me 10-18 indefinitely.  Need a tow truck dispatched to my location to change a flat tire.”

“Three Paul Twenty-One, 10-4.  I have you 10-18.  What's your 10-20?”

“Stand by, Control.”  Blaine slid back into his seat and pulled up the GPS map on his laptop before relaying his approximate location.  Zizes let him know she'd reached the tow service with the County's contract and a truck was being dispatched.  The estimate was just under an hour – given the time of night and Blaine's location - before anyone was on-scene.

Settling in for a long wait, Blaine snapped off the headlights and turned up the radio station, vaguely aware of the chatter between dispatch and the other officers working late this evening.

21:03 hours

“Control, Three Paul Twenty-One.”

“Three Paul Twenty-One, go ahead.”

“Control, tow truck is pulling up now.”

“10-4, Three Paul Twenty-One.”

After letting dispatch know the tow truck had finally arrived on scene, Blaine pushed the door to his patrol car open and stood, stretching out his back muscles.  Moving towards the tow truck, Blaine intended to greet the driver.  Instead, he stopped in his tracks.  It was him.

Graceful.  Refined.  Enticing.  Even dressed in heavy linen coveralls.  When Kurt Hummel lifted his gaze from the clipboard, Blaine jolted with the intensity of the connection they shared – even though they'd only really spoken twice.  And one of those times he'd spent most of their interaction yelling at the New York transplant for his stupidity.

But now, standing alone in the dark on some dusty rural road outside of Lima, Blaine was certain that he wasn't making things up in his head.  There was something between the two men and he wasn't the only one who felt it.

Kurt's mouth pulled up on one side in a sexy smirk.  Voice low and gravely, it was clear Kurt was exhausted.  “Why am I not surprised that the officer who can't change a flat tire is you,” he teased gently.  Drifting towards Blaine's cruiser, illuminated by the lights of the tow truck, he added, “That, Officer Anderson, sir, is what we call Karma.”

Blaine rolled his eyes and moved closer, noting that Kurt had taken the time to apply cologne.  Or had put some on for activities pursued earlier in the evening.  Blaine's stomach tightened uncomfortably at the thought of Kurt being out with some other guy.  “I know how to change a flat tire,” he protested with a growl.

“Really?” shot Kurt raising a perfect eyebrow.  “Then care to explain why the hell I'm here right now?  Or is this just some plan of yours where you run my name, find out where I work, then puncture your tire, all so I'd have to come out?” he asked drolly.

“Seems like a lot of effort just to see you again,” blurted Blaine.  Seeing Kurt's flinch at his words, Blaine tried desperately to backtrack.  “No, I … I didn't mean that I didn't want to see you again or that you're not worth the effort.”  Suddenly, despite the cool evening, he was burning up under his Kevlar vest.  He'd not been this affected by a guy since high school.

Kurt's eyes studied the tire as he waved off Blaine's comment, “Whatever, Officer Anderson.  I'll just do my job so you can go back to doing yours.”  Spinning, he walked back to the tow truck, hefting a large jack out of the back. 

Very much aware of how his words had hurt Kurt, and how alone the two of them were in this rural area, Blaine moved behind Kurt and firmly tugged the jack from his hand, placing it on the ground.  When Kurt turned, Blaine stepped into his personal space, slowly backing the taller man into the side of the tow truck.  Lifting his hand to cup Kurt's cheek, Blaine brushed his thumb lightly over the perfectly plump lips.

“First,” Blaine rasped, before clearing his throat.  “First of all, I'm not allowed to change a flat while on duty.  It's a safety thing.  Too many back injuries and officers going out on worker's comp.  And,” he looked deep into Kurt's eyes, “it would put me in a very vulnerable position.  If you were a criminal.  Which you aren't.  But not all my … clients … are like you.  Some of them wouldn't think twice about putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger.”

Kurt inhaled sharply through his nose.

Blaine moved his hand from Kurt's cheek to run his fingers through the soft hair, pleased when he realized Kurt leaned into his touch.  “Second, I pride myself on having integrity.  We're not allowed to use our databases to look up personal information if it isn't case related.  Period.  So even if I met someone who I thought has an amazing sense of fashion-,”

“Coveralls shriek amazing fashion sense to you?” Kurt giggled.

“Um, no.  Though clearly you had these tailored to fit your body.  I've never seen anyone wear coveralls quite so well,” Blaine commented, his gaze drifting down to Kurt's ass.

“Well, then how exactly do you know about my love of all things fashion?”

Hooking his thumbs into his utility belt, Blaine rocked backwards before he admitted, “That day I saw you at The Lima Bean.  You had on fitted grey slacks, an almost criminally tight black button down shirt.  Maroon and navy ascot.  And a pewter pin.  Beaver with a chain saw.”

Kurt rested his arms on the bed of the tow truck.  “Wow.  You remember all of that?  I'm impressed.”

Shrugging, Blaine explained, “We're trained to spot and remember details.  Sometimes … it's easier than others.”  He smiled shyly as Kurt swallowed visibly.

“So back to my point, I can't uphold the law if I break the law.  I can't look up your address and phone number to find out if you're as interested in me as I am in you.  And even if all I want to do right now is kiss you to see what you taste like … I can't … because of the uniform.”

Eyes fluttering shut, Kurt nodded in understanding.  “I guess I really should change your tire then.”  Looking into Blaine's eyes, Kurt gave him an honest smile before reaching out to rap his knuckles against Blaine's Kelvar vest.  “Always wanted to do that,” he admitted quietly, sliding sideways and grabbing the jack.

“How heavy is your vest anyways?” he asked curiously as he set about changing the patrol car's tire.

“'Little less than 5 pounds.  The weight's not bad, it's the heat it traps.  Summer's the worst.  I end up changing my t-shirt four or five times a shift.”  Blaine bent down to hand Kurt the tools he needed, proving that he did, indeed, know how to change a tire.

Kurt's mouth went dry as images of a shirtless Officer Anderson crossed his mind.  Keeping up a running conversation, Kurt kept asking Blaine about the various parts of his uniform and the doodads on his utility belt.  Too soon he was tightening the last lug nut on the new tire.  Standing, Kurt brushed the dust off of him.  “You're set.  We'll send the bill to the station.  Um … let me give you my cell number, so if you have any more problems tonight, you can reach me directly.”

Pressing his lips together, Blaine looked nervous.  “You don't have to,” he said quietly.

Wiping his hands on a rag, Kurt shrugged.  “If you don't want my number …” he paused pointedly.

“I … I do … want your number,” Blaine rushed.  “I just didn't want you to feel pressured or obligated, or,” taking a deep breath, Blaine let it out slowly, settling his nerves.  “How about I shut up, before my mouth gets me in trouble again and just say ‘thank you, Kurt.  I'd love to have your number.'”

Handing over his cell phone, Blaine watched as Kurt typed in his information before handing it back.  “Is this – is this the shop's number, or your dispatch service, or yours?”

“It's my number, Blaine.”  Kurt watched as a huge grin overtook Blaine's face.  “What?” he asked.

“You used my first name,” Blaine answered rather dumbly.  Shaking off his daze, Blaine reached to key his shoulder radio.  “Control.  Three Paul Twenty-One. 10-8.”

Kurt could hear the scratchy transmission back to Blaine.  “Three Paul Twenty-One. 10-4.  Please remind Hummel he owes me dinner at Breadstix.”

“Affirmative, control.”  Blaine gave Kurt a curious look.

“Can you ask Lauren to call me?” Kurt asked.

“Control, please 10-21 Mr. Hummel to arrange that 10-25,” he said.

“10-4, Three Paul Twenty-One.  Three Paul Twenty-Five, please respond to a 415v Victor.  Three Paul Twenty-One,  Three Paul Twenty-Three, Three Sam One to fill.  Address to follow. Break.”

Blaine reached into a pocket on the front of his uniform and pulled out a small notepad where he quickly wrote down the address of his next call.  “Control, Three Paul Twenty-One in 20.”  Glancing back at Kurt, Blaine smiled.  “Thanks again.”

Kurt waited as Blaine climbed into the cruiser and hit the headlights and his red and blue flashers.  Striding over, he knocked on the window.  Once Blaine had lowered it, Kurt leaned down, arms resting on the door.  “You're welcome,” he said.  Then, not giving himself time to second-guess, Kurt leaned into the patrol car and kissed Officer Anderson.

What he'd intended to be a quick brushing of the lips, turned into a slow slide of lips and tongue.  Reluctantly pulling back, Kurt smacked the back of his head on the window frame.  Looking sheepish while rubbing the back of his head, he whispered, “Be safe, Officer Anderson.  And make sure Blaine calls me.”

Eyes dark with heat and desire, Blaine nodded.  “Promise.”

Stepping back, Kurt slapped the roof of the patrol cruiser twice and watched Blaine drive off into the night.

To: Kurt [22:37] Plans for Sat afternoon?

To: Unknown [22:39] Blaine?

To: Kurt [22:41] Sorry. Affirm. It's Blaine

To: Blaine [22:43] Watching Buckeyes w/ dad. Otherwise, no

To: Kurt [22:54] I get off @ 0300

To: Blaine [22:54] O.o

To: Blaine [22:54] ???

To: Kurt [22:56] NO! My shift ends @ 0300 if nothing too crazy happens

To: Kurt [22:57] Interested in an early b-fast b4 ftball? 

To: Kurt [22:57] Or, I could go home, sleep 4 a bit. Ftball & then I take u 2 dinner

To: Blaine [22:59] Yes

To: Kurt [23:04] Um. There were options

To: Blaine [23:08] Want it all.  Meet u 4 bfast & ftball w/ u&dad & l8r dinner. K?

To: Blaine [23:20] Blaine?

To: Blaine [23:33] Blaine, did I say something wrong?

To: Blaine [23:37] I'm sorry.

To: Kurt [00: 05] Busy. Talk soon. <3

A faint buzzing stirred Kurt from his dreams – dreams that included one Officer Blaine Anderson.  Fumbling for his cell phone, he managed a gruff, “'ello?”

“I'm sorry about earlier,” came Blaine's voice.  “Problems of dating a cop.  We tend to disappear without much explanation at times.  That call I left you for – we thought we'd settled things down.  Turns out, not so much.”

Kurt cleared his throat and ran his hand over his face, trying to wake up a bit more.  “Wait, go back a second.  Are we dating now?”

“Shit.”

“Chill, Blaine,” chuckled Kurt.  He could practically see the man beating himself up over his choice of words.  “You did say ‘problems of dating a cop' right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, just wanted to make sure I didn't dream that.  Guess that means you need to officially take me out on a date.  I vaguely remember something about breakfast.  Dunno.  Are you always this awake at two in the morning?”  Rolling over, Kurt snuggled into his bed, phone cupped to his ear.

“Fuck … I'm so sorry, Kurt.  I didn't think about the time.  I'm such a douche.  I didn't want you to worry because I wasn't getting back to you.  I'll let you get back to sleep.”

“Uh uh.  Plans first.  Sleep second.  Yer done at a three?” asked a sleepy Kurt.

“Um, probably out of the station about four.  I'm here now, writing a report.  But if we're meeting for breakfast, I'd need to go home to shower and change.  Would you be willing to meet me at 0500, at the Dish and Spoon?”

It took Kurt a moment to realize Blaine couldn't see him nod.  “Yeah, that sounds good.  When do you sleep?”  He could hear Blaine typing something on a keyboard in the background before the officer laughed at his question.

“Usually 0600 to 1400.  It's easier to work swing shift if I keep my schedule consistent.  I checked.  The game's on at 2.  So after breakfast I could drop you off and go home to sleep until game time.  Would that work?”

Reaching over to his alarm clock, Kurt set it for four in the morning.  “How about this – and if I'm being out of line, well, I'll blame it on you waking me up so early.  How ‘bout you pick me up at 5? Then after breakfast, you can come back here, and we can sleep at my place before the game.”

Blaine stopped typing, swallowing hard.  “I … I wouldn't mind.  But maybe,” he hesitated for a moment.  “Let's talk about this at breakfast, Kurt.  If you change your mind, when you're more awake, I'll understand.”

“You're sweet,” sighed Kurt.  “Sweet and sexy and you taste like coffee and cinnamon.  You've been haunting my dreams for weeks now, Officer Anderson.  And just once, I'd like to wake up to find you in my bed, instead of barely making it to the good stuff and then poof you're gone.”  Yawning loudly, Kurt closed his eyes.  “Probably said too much.”

“Hello? You've met me, King of Open Mouth, Insert Foot.  Go to sleep, Kurt.  I'll see you in a couple hours.”

“Stay safe,” murmured Kurt.

“Promise.”

Over the course of their breakfast together, the star-filled darkness of the early morning had given way to a brilliant sunrise. Returning Kurt to his apartment building, Blaine, ever the gentlemen, guided Kurt to the door, the palm of his hand resting on the small of Kurt's back.  Waiting for Kurt to pull the key out of his fitted jeans, he marveled out how the shirt Kurt wore precisely matched the blue of his eyes.

Running his fingers nervously through his curly hair as Kurt unlocked the door of his apartment, Blaine was forced to stifle a yawn.  Giving Kurt a shy smile, Blaine offered, “Sorry, it's not you.  I promise.”

Kurt leaned against the door frame, smirking.  “Little past your bedtime?”

“Something like that,” Blaine admitted pushing his hands into the front of his jeans.  “I … I'm really glad we got to have breakfast together, Kurt.  Do you … do you still want to go out to dinner with me?  I mean, it doesn't have to be tonight if you'd rather have the evening to yourself.  I don't have other plans, but maybe you've reached your limit of ‘Blaine' time.  I know we said we would spend the day together, but,”

Extending a hand out, Kurt grasped Blaine's navy t-shirt, drawing him closer.  Nudging Blaine's nose with his own, Kurt whispered, “You're doing it again.”

“Sorry,” Blaine sighed, looking past Kurt's shoulder down the empty hallway.

“Don't.  I like that I have that effect on you.”  Kurt flicked the tip of his tongue across his dry lips, staring at Blaine's mouth.  “Stay with me,” he voiced roughly.  Blaine's breath came out in a rush as Kurt leaned in to kiss him.  Flicking the tip of his tongue along the seam of Blaine's mouth, Kurt relished the long groan that escaped Blaine. 

Kurt curled his fingers around the buckle of Blaine's belt before tugging Blaine into his apartment and kicking the door shut.  As he did so, Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders, and without breaking the kiss, positioned Kurt with his back against the door, pressing up against the taller man.  Allowing Blaine to take control, Kurt whimpered as his wrists were drawn above his head, Blaine's fingers intertwining with the fingers of both his hands.

For several long minutes they mapped each other's mouths, jaws and necks before Blaine brought his forehead to rest against Kurt's, snaking his hands around Kurt's waist and into the back pockets of his pants. 

“Ready for that nap, Officer Anderson?” purred Kurt, brushing his lips against Blaine's ear.  Because they were still wrapped around each other, Kurt felt, rather than saw, Blaine tense at his words.  Pulling back slowly, he stared into Blaine's dark golden eyes.  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked quietly.

Blaine removed his hands from Kurt's pockets, resting them instead on Kurt's waist.  Pressing his lips together, Blaine tried to prepare himself for disappointment.  “Kurt, be honest.  Are you … are you interested in Blaine Anderson or Officer Anderson?”

Looking puzzled, Kurt kissed Blaine's bottom lip softly.  “I don't mean to be dense, but aren't you the same person?  Why are you asking?”

Sighing deeply, Blaine stepped back from Kurt and bent down to unlace his boots, toeing them off and lining them up with Kurt's other shoes next to the front door.  “A few of the guys I've dated … it turns out they only wanted to date a cop – any cop – not me specifically.”  Standing up Blaine looked Kurt in the eye.

“The thing is - I'm not looking for casual – sex or otherwise.  And if that's all you want from this – someone to dress up in a uniform and role play with handcuffs … then I should probably put my shoes back on and go home.”

Chagrined, Kurt shook his head.  “I owe you an apology if that's how I made you feel, Blaine.  Granted, we haven't known each other long, but that … that was me teasing you.  Flirting.  And yes, I do want to get to know you better.  Much better.” 

Reaching out, Kurt combed Blaine's curls with his fingers.  “I want to know who Blaine Anderson is, what makes you tick … why you order the veggie omelet with a side of bacon, what you look like in the morning sunlight wearing nothing but my silk sheets, what the best book you've ever read is … why you chose to become a police officer, and what it's like to kiss you in the rain.”

Blushing, Blaine took Kurt's hand in his.  “Okay.  I believe you.”

“Let's go take our nap.  Can't have you falling asleep during the game,” Kurt teased.  Turning, he led Blaine through the tiny family room to the small master bedroom.  “It'll be a little cramped with the two of us.  I ... I borrowed the guest bed from my dad's house.”

Blaine studied the décor.  The duvet cover and pillows on the bed were an alternating pattern of light and dark greys with a few jewel tone accent pillows in turquoise, plum and amber.  Instead of photographs or pictures, Kurt had hung metallic art above the bed and above the dresser on the opposite wall.  An accent table with a large green plant was tucked into a sunny corner.

Kurt went to the window and closed the coverings, significantly darkening the room.  Moving to the bed, Kurt tossed the accent pillows into an empty laundry basket on the floor and pulled back the covers.  Sitting on the edge of the double bed, he slipped off his shoes and socks, throwing them into the basket with the pillows.  His pulse quickened when Blaine moved to stand in front of him.

Snaking his hands around Kurt's waist, Blaine rucked up the pale blue shirt, gliding his hands across the warm flesh he'd revealed.  “As long as we're not sleeping in a twin, I'm good.  Tried that a couple times in boarding school.  It was a craptastic way to spend the night – not that sleep was what I was after.”

Kurt's laughter filled the room.  “Oh, I am so looking forward to learning your secrets, Blaine Anderson.  Boarding school?  Bed sharing?”

“Unfortunately the teaser trailer is more interesting than the actual film.  Um … clothed?  Semi-clothed?  How should we do this?”  Blaine asked softly.

“How do you usually sleep?”

“Truth? Just sweatpants most of the time.  Sometimes I get called in unexpectedly and it's a bitch to find yourself halfway to the door wearing nothing at all.  I've driven to the station barefoot and wearing just my grey sweatpants more times than I care to count.”  Blaine slipped his hand into the open collar of Kurt's shirt, brushing his thumb over Kurt's collarbone.

“Fuck,” breathed Kurt shakily.

“What?” asked Blaine, voice deepening at the intimacy of the moment.

“Just … the images.  Inappropriate images dancing through my head.”

Snorting, Blaine shoved Kurt playfully onto the bed, watching the lithe man scoot backwards until his back touched the pillows.  Scrambling after Kurt, Blaine straddled his hips cautiously, watching for any sign of discomfort or objection.  Kurt's hands curling around the backs of Blaine's thighs before moving upwards allayed any concerns he might have had about moving too quickly.

Dragging his t-shirt from his body, Blaine dumped it over the side of the bed before shyly fingering the buttons on Kurt's own shirt.  “May I?”

“Yes, please,” rasped Kurt, rising up on his elbows to kiss the hollow of Blaine's throat.

Fingers trembling from anticipation, Blaine had to concentrate on undoing each button, drawing the material down Kurt's shoulders and dropping it to the ground.  Tracing random patterns onto Kurt's chest and stomach, Blaine admired Kurt's physique until Kurt looped an arm around his neck, pulling their bodies flush.

Gasping at the contact of their heated flesh, Blaine allowed the weight of his body to press Kurt into the mattress, as he brought his hands up to frame Kurt's face.  “One more kiss,” he whispered, nuzzling Kurt's neck.  “One more kiss and then I really have to sleep.”

“One more for now,” emphasized Kurt, his hands gliding over the smooth skin of Blaine's back as Blaine claimed his lips once again.

Too soon for both of them, Blaine ended the kiss, carefully rolling off of Kurt, slotting a leg between Kurt's.  Eyes fluttering closed, Blaine slowed his breathing, naturally using techniques he'd learned on the firearms range.  Although it had been some time since Blaine had shared a bed to sleep in, he found lying next to Kurt soothing.

Even so, after a few minutes, Blaine sighed in frustration.  “I can't sleep with these jeans on,” he complained, flopping over onto his back.

Kurt opened one eye and mumbled, “Take ‘em off, then.”

“Are you sure?”

In answer, Kurt stretched his hand over to Blaine's belt, unbuckling it while muttering, “Let me think.”  Lowering the zipper, he slid his hand inside Blaine's jeans, chuckling as Blaine shifted restlessly at his touch.  “Yeah,” Kurt continued, “I'm sure.  I'm sure we can share a bed without wearing pants and actually sleep.  Some asshole woke me up at two this morning and then I had to get up at four to get ready to meet him for breakfast.  Need my beauty sleep.”

Shucking his jeans off and kicking them to the end of the bed, Blaine assisted Kurt with the removal of his own jeans before pulling the blanket over them and snuggling back into his arms.  “I hope that asshole makes it up to you,” he teased quietly.  “I hope he made breakfast worth it.”

Caressing Blaine's cheek, Kurt sighed fondly.  “He did.”

“Good.  And Kurt?”

“Yeah, Blaine?”

“You don't need beauty sleep.  You're pretty perfect the way you are.”

Hands skimming sleepily over each other's bodies, both men felt themselves drifting off to sleep.

“Blaine?”

“Yeah, Kurt?

“Can a person be arrested for stealing someone's heart?”

Blaine snorted.  “No.  Not for that.  Now go to sleep.  The sooner you sleep, the sooner I can wake you up with kisses later.”

“Mmmm.  Like the sound of that.”