(Song: Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met) – Panic! At The Disco)

I strongly recommend you listen to the song while reading this. STRONGLY. Start it when it starts in the story.

That night, Blaine could not fall asleep. His hazel eyes were fixed on the light beige of his ceiling, a moisture stain slowly making it’s way across. It was halfway, coloring the cheap wood a darker shade as his thoughts trailed off to blue eyes, lined with a thin black line, chestnut hair, looking like one of the fluffy cotton candies he’d seen on the rest of the clearing. He glanced sideways at his roommate and saw that he was snoring peacefully, completely tangled in his own blankets and dreams.

One last time he let his thoughts wander through the dark forest of images and impressions, of feels and sensations.

When he opened his eyes again, the room seemed to be encased in some sort of red haze. It was as if the moon had suddenly started to shine red.

A dry click and a soft buzz came from the door, as if someone had just put on a gramophone.  Three soft, subtle voices sounded through his small dorm room, singing in a language that sounded like French.

The voices came closer and closer, and all of a sudden, one slender hand encircled his wrist and pushed it against the headboard. A second hand snaked up, fingers drawing a trail from his abs up to his chin. It cupped his cheek and then went higher, caressing his face and tangling fingers in his loose curls.

Meanwhile, a third hand- Wait, three hands? But there it was, slowly sliding up from his ankles, over his calves, to his thigh. It stopped there as a fourth arm wrapped around his waist at the same time as one last hand traced patterns on his chest. Three mouths breathed hot air over his face, his chest, his leg, as they softly sang in French. He looked down, to see three pairs of eyes staring back.

They sang a few more words, before disappearing, vanishing into nothing but thin air, leaving the room laden with the heavy smell of perfume.

Je n’ai qu’un seul et unique regret

An accordeon started playing some kind of crooked rhythm as a slender silhouette appeared in the doorframe, all of the curves on his thin, yet muscular body clearly visible. Blaine breathed in sharply. Kurt moved like a snake, smooth waves starting in his hips and making their way through his entire body. 

A guitar, although sounding strangely electric, took over, strumming harsh beats through the nocturnal silence. He strutted to where Blaine stood, hips swaying in time with the electric thrum. He put one finger against Blaine’s chest, and pushed him back, until the back of his knees hit the bed and he tumbled down. Kurt straddled him and mouthed at his jaw line as a voice in the distance started singing.

He let his lips savor the slight drag of the stubble that graced Blaine’s neck. Suddenly he bit down, leaving a small, red mark.  A gasp, followed by a low whine in the back of his throat came involuntarily as Kurt’s tongue flicked out to lick at the bruise.

A piano played a tinkling scale, which Kurt mimicked, his fingers gliding over Blaine’s chest, to the waistband of his pants, fingers playing across the edge.

Drag melody

Kurt dragged his tongue over Blaine’s neck and rolled his hips down at the same time, rendering Blaine speechless save for the soft sounds he kept making in the back of his throat. He never felt so powerful.

Blaine turned his face, lips searching,

Eyes pleading, body thrumming,

Hips bucking up and hands gripping sheets,

Crumpling up Kurt’s shirt in his fist.

Kurt slowly, teasingly kissed his way up to Blaine’s nose, pulling back with a smirk on his face, just when he felt two hands on either side of his face, pulling him down.

Blaine crashed their lips together in a searing kiss, teeth clashing so hard it hurt, but neither one of them cared enough to stop.

Tongues danced a fierce tango while battling for dominance, too wet, too hot and too covered.

Blaine desperately pulled at the hem of Kurt’s incredibly tight shirt,

One swift move of Kurt’s hand and all of the buttons on Blaine’s shirt popped off, rolling all over the dark hardwood floor, leaving his chest naked for Kurt to see. He ran his hands over it, worshipped it with his tongue and teeth and hands.

Hips rutted against each other without hesitation, fingers tangled in hair.

As a boy

You have set your heart

On haunting me forever

Breaths mingled with sounds and syllables strung together,

From the start

He felt Kurt’s hot breath on his ear as the other whispered brokenly

It's never silent

Their movements became less and less coordinated, more and more just feeling and lust and want.

Both men felt the heat encircling them, coming from everywhere around them, inside them, coiling up tighter and tighter.  It felt as if something from outside was pushing them closer together, and something inside them pulled them together like magnets.

Their eyes flew open and ice met fire for a split second before Kurt darted away, averting his eyes and stumbling out the door.

And that one regret is you

This couldn’t be.

This wasn’t possible.

In all of the years that he had played this game, not once had he…

He heard Blaine coming after him, calling his name with a desperate undertone.

The voice in the distance became frantic, the singer panting in time with the clacking of Kurt’s feet on the cold, costly limestone tiles.

How does a heart love, if no one has noticed

Its presence and where does it go?

He pushed his back against the wall and waited for Blaine to round the corner, hand clasped over his mouth, trying to steady his breathing and calm down his thoughts, which were whirling through his mind like a pile of leaves someone jumped in. Blaine ran through the corridors, following the sound of another heart thrumming heavily, his bare feet slapping against the cold tiles and echoing of the walls.

Trembling hands play my heart like a drum,

But the beats gotten lost in the show

A hand shot out and grabbed his arm and he was pulled against another body, breathing hard. Long, slender fingers traced the curve of his body as it melted against his. He felt dizzy and confused.

“Kurt?” His words were silenced by a pair of lips crashing into his, a tongue thrusting into his mouth, and a knee nudging his legs apart so Kurt could put his thigh between Blaine’s legs.

It's never silent

Blaine pushed him away, looking into his ice blue eyes. The façade Kurt Hummel had put up for years was slowly crumbling.

One tear slowly made it’s way over his beautiful, pale face, but Blaine cupped his face in his hands and wiped it away with his thumb, then kissed the spot where he wiped it off.

He pulled him closer for a kiss, but this time a lot slower and actually meaningful. His lips moved over Blaine’s, his tongue dragged over his lower lip and slipped inside his mouth, languidly exploring every square inch.

His every move felt like fire tracing burning patterns on his skin, every sweep of his tongue sending shivers of pure electricity up through his spine every touch firing sparks of pleasure through his body.

They moved faster, but as one. One breath, one heartbeat, one pulsing cloud of heat, swirling around, coiling up tighter into one ball of pure lust, trapping both men inside.

 “Kurt…”

“Blaine…”

Names tumbled from kiss-swollen lips, mumbled between tongue and teeth and motion.

And that one regret is you

They clung to each other, bodies tensing up almost simultaneously, eyes screwing shut, jaws falling open and breaths coming out in small, harsh, ragged pants.

Kurt’s head fell back against the window with a soft thud as his breathing stuttered and he let the waves of pleasure roll over him. He almost didn’t hear three delicate voices coming closer. Almost.  He felt soft, but strong hands picking him up, prying Blaine away from his arms. He struggled weakly, but his lids fell closed, eyelashes stuck together with tears he didn’t even know he had spilled. 

Kurt let himself drift off, away from Dalton, away from Blaine, away from…

Away from love.

With a jolt, Blaine woke up.  His bed felt strangely hard and cold, and it took him a moment to figure out that he was in the hallway. Wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms, which, for added comfort, were stained and sticky.

He felt cold seep not only into his muscles and bones, but also into his heart.

What had he done wrong?

Had he actually done anything?

Was it all just a dream or did Kurt really come here last night?

And why the hell was he in a deserted hallway, half naked, when the sun was just pushing her purple and orange glow above the horizon?

He rubbed his eyes, raked his fingers through his unruly curls, which laid in a mop on top of his head. Sleep still fogged up his head, and he began to stumble back to his room, almost knocking over a potted plant on the way.

He opened the door a little too noisily, and woke up his roommate.

Jeff sat up, rubbing his eyes, yawning so wide Blaine thought he heard his jaw pop, and then shooting him a confused look.

“Why are you going out? It’s…”

He looked at the clock hanging above his bed.

“Five thirty in the morning. In the morning, Blaine. Go the fuck back to sleep.”

He slipped under the covers of his bed, which still faintly smelt like perfume and tried to doze off again.

Blaine knew Jeff was right. He had to sleep, but when he closed his eyes all he saw was that one fraction of a second that he had seen the real Kurt Hummel.

Not the artist Kurt Hummel.

Not the acrobat Kurt Hummel.

Not even the smirking, teasing, bad boy Kurt Hummel.

Just plain Kurt Hummel.

Just another vulnerable young man, alone against a world that’s too big to fight by yourself.

A lot like him actually.

He made himself a promise that night.

Whatever happened, wherever the circus went, wherever Kurt went, he wouldn’t go there alone.

 “Seems like our sleeping beauty finally decided to grace us with his conscious presence again.”

Santana’s sharp voice pierced the comfortable darkness that stuffed his head. Kurt groaned and turned around to bury his face in the pillow next to him.

The only problem was that there was no pillow. His face hit the hard wooden floor of his trailer with thump. Sprawled out onto the floor like that, he carefully opened one eye.

He immediately closed it, blocking out the too-bright-too-hot rays of sun filtering in through his window.

“What the hell are you doing here at this ungodly hour, woman?” He croaked out. His voice was hoarse for some unknown reason. Had he… Screamed last night?

That was about the moment everything came back and hit him in the face, like a tidal wave of scents, sounds, and sights.

Blaine, only half clothed, sweating, panting, moaning his name.

One drop of sweat rolling down over his neck.

Cold tiles beneath his naked feet, his breathing sounding strangely ragged.

Stumbling through deserted corridors with hardwood walls and expensive looking furniture.

Hazel and golden eyes, with flecks of green, but almost completely covered by lust-blown pupils.  

A voice calling his name when the cold glass of a window pressed into his back.

A calloused thumb sweeping something wet off his precious skin.

“I don’t know if you forgot, sweet cheeks, but Brit, Q and I were the ones to save you from another awkward talk. ‘Hi, I know you just woke up, but my hand is down your pants and since I only have three days, let’s make the best of it.’ That kind of awkward talk.”

And then there was that feeling that Blaine was actually something, instead of just another guy to ‘satisfy his urges’.

He screwed his eyes shut and sighed deeply.

It was not what was supposed to happen. 

He had never meant for it to happen.

He had only three days left.

Kurt Hummel never intended to fall in love with Blaine Anderson.