August

“We made a huge mistake telling Blaine to leave yesterday,” Laura Anderson said to her husband. “We should have kept him here where we could keep an eye on him. Should have made more time to be at home, family dinners, taking him to church on Sunday, inviting over friends of ours who have daughters his age. But no, you kicked him out of the house, and now he’s just out there, doing whatever he wants, and we have no way to stop him. None whatsoever. We should ask him to come back home.”

“It’s tough love, Laura,” Robert said. “Show him what it’s like to be on his own, fend for himself. He’ll realize soon that it’s better to live with your parents while you’re in high school, no matter what restrictions they put on your activities.”

“Do you know where he’s staying, Robert? Where do you think he is right now?”

“I don’t know,” Robert said. “With one of his school friends, I suppose. What’s the name of that boy from the Warblers? Wes?”

“He’s with Kurt,” Laura informed him. “He sent me a text message a few minutes ago. He’s staying at Kurt’s house. We need to get him out of there and back home.”

“Is he out of his mind?” Robert fumed. “Did he not listen to a word I said? Has he no respect for us whatsoever? You’re right, we have to get this taken care of fast. I’m cutting him off. Not a single penny from us until he comes to his senses. That will force him back home. And stop texting with him, it’s not helpful.” 

“Robert…” Laura called after him as he strode into his study. But it was no use. He didn’t even look back.

*   *   *

September

Laura Anderson was sitting on the floor in Blaine’s room, her face buried in a pile of his shirts. They were laundered and hadn’t been touched since early August, or probably much earlier since they were long-sleeved, but they still smelled faintly of her son. She fought back tears as she folded them and placed them into a cardboard box.

She would see him tomorrow morning, and that would be good news except that the meeting placed a distinct finality on the situation. He’d texted her and asked to pick up the rest of his clothes, now that the weather was getting colder. It meant admitting what she already knew: Blaine was not coming back home. Not soon, more than likely not ever. 

She missed her son so much she felt physical pain from it. But she was afraid to contact him, afraid of what her husband would do if he found out they were secretly talking. Except this once. Once was worth it.

Laura gasped as she removed socks from a drawer and found some distinctly non-clothing items beneath them. Well, that explained why Blaine had been so keen on doing the packing himself. Her heart pounded as she considered what to do with the items. Certainly she couldn’t pack them up and give them back to Blaine. But she couldn’t leave them sitting there in the drawer, uncovered, either. Finally, she went downstairs for a plastic grocery bag, then gingerly picked up the porn magazines, bottle of lube, and two devices that she had only the vaguest idea what specifically they were used for, put them in the bag, tied it up, and hid it in the outdoor trash can beneath a thick covering of fall leaves. And then she washed her hands five times in a row and applied way too much hand sanitizer. 

*   *   *

Blaine pulled into a parking space at The Lima Bean. His mother was already there, he’d noticed her car parked a few spots down. He turned off the engine and took a deep breath, struggling to smother the knot of emotions surging inside him. He tilted the rearview mirror to examine his face, breathing deeply until he saw a blank, neutral expression appear. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to think that he came here expecting either a fight or a tearful reunion. Finally, satisfied that he could keep himself under control, he walked into the coffee shop.

His mother was seated at a table, sipping from a cup of coffee. As he sat down, she slid another cup toward him. He tasted it and nearly gagged. Mocha, ridiculously sweet, and probably decaf. He used to drink these back when he was twelve, which, come to think of it, was about the last time his mother had paid any attention to him.

“Where are my things?” Blaine asked by way of greeting.

“In the car,” his mother answered. “I figured there was no point dragging it all in, we can move it straight to your car when we leave. But I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes first. Blaine, I miss you.”

Blaine held her gaze, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want anything that would throw him back into the emotional confusion and loss that had taken over his life last month. Anyway, how much could his mother really have missed him if she’d refused to contact him at all for nearly two months?

Laura sighed. “I know you’re not coming back home. It breaks my heart. But by now it’s too late. Your father is so stubborn that he won’t accept anything less than you literally begging him for forgiveness, and I know you’re too proud to ever do that.” Blaine snorted softly at her word choice. “And besides, it’s unlikely that you’ll admit you’re in the wrong, now that you’re surrounded by all these people who think there’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. Honestly, I cannot understand how Burt Hummel allows this deviant behavior to go on with his own son, under his own roof. It’s disgusting, and if you ask me, he’s an unfit parent.”

Blaine clenched every muscle in his body and shoved his fists under his thighs, because otherwise he was going to commit an act of unspeakable violence that would probably get him arrested. He closed his eyes and silently counted backward from ten. “I’m leaving now.” He started to get up.

“No, Blaine, wait,” his mother said. “I have something important to give you.” She fished an envelope out of her purse and slid it across the table.

Blaine sat back down, tentatively. “What’s this?”

“Documents that you’ll need at some point. Birth certificate, social security card, passport, title to your car, and … the latest account statement from your trust fund, with instructions on how to access it when you turn eighteen.”

Blaine blinked. “My what?” This was the first he’d heard of any trust fund. He opened the envelope and gaped at the papers.

“It’s legally yours, your father can’t take it away,” Laura said. “We were hoping that by the time you were 25 or so we would have added enough for you to live off the interest, but that will never happen now. But I wanted you to know right away that you can pay for college. I’ve been worried that if you thought you couldn’t afford college, you’d let your grades slip, maybe not even apply. But it’s plenty, you can go wherever you want, so please, keep focused on school, it’s so important. It’s important to me.”

“I … thank you,” Blaine was still stunned, reeling from the thoughtless insults followed by genuine kindness. “I should go now. School…”

“Yeah,” Laura said. “Come on, I’ll help you with the boxes.”

She wanted to hug her son before he left, but Blaine got in his car before she could even try. 

*   *   *

“Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled that you have your delicious fall/winter wardrobe back,” Kurt said, surveying the half-unpacked boxes. “But where are we going to put all this stuff? My closet is crammed full already.” He reached into the nearest box and pulled out another sweater, and found a sealed envelope under it. “What’s this?” he handed it to Blaine.

The envelope was marked September 2011-August 2012.” Blaine ripped it open and a handful of hundred-dollar bills fell onto the floor. “Oh, good grief,” he said, exasperated. “Is there any problem she thinks can’t be solved with money?”

Kurt was gaping. “What … what …?”

“It’s my allowance for the year. A hundred dollars a month.”

“Your allowance is a hundred dollars a month? Plus the credit card?”

“It was.” Blaine sighed. “I so do not want their money.” He gathered up a few of the bills and his expression suddenly changed, eyes burning. He shoved the money into Kurt’s hand. “You take it, Kurt. Buy yourself some extremely hot designer clothes and then come home and I’ll rip them off your body and fuck you senseless.”

“Oh sure,” Kurt said sarcastically. “Take your mother’s money and give it to the whore.” He winked at Blaine to let him know he was only teasing.

“You’re worth every single penny,” Blaine smirked. “But you know that’s not what I meant, right? I just … I don’t want to take their money. I’d rather give it to someone else.”

“I’m not taking cash from you, Blaine, no matter what you say.”

“What if I used it to buy you a present?” Blaine asked.

Kurt thought about it. “Maybe if it was something really worth having.”

Blaine looked thoughtful as he gathered the bills up and slid them back in the envelope. He placed it carefully in one of the drawers Kurt had cleared out for Blaine’s clothes. Then he turned and kissed Kurt lightly on the cheek. “I can’t believe my father ever called you that. You’re the farthest thing in the world from a whore.”

That sounded to Kurt like a challenge. “The hell I am,” he said, pushing Blaine backwards onto the floor. “I am such a whore for you.” He straddled his boyfriend, kneeling, and bent down to kiss him hard on the mouth. “I am yours, bought and paid for today. You can have me any way you want. How do you want me, Mr. Anderson? Hmm?”

Blaine moaned, pinned to the ground by Kurt’s hands on his shoulders and unable to think straight.

“No opinion?” Kurt teased. “Then you’re just going to have to let me choose.” He let Blaine sit up just enough to yank his sweater over his head, then roughly set to work on the buttons of his shirt. Pants took just a moment, and suddenly Blaine was naked but for his white shirt hanging off his shoulders, gasping up at a fully-clothed, devious-looking Kurt.

“Don’t move,” Kurt ordered. He stood up and walked to the bedside table. As soon as Blaine realized he was going for condoms and lube, he slipped his shirt the rest of the way off and rearranged it under his ass, to protect the carpet. But he was not prepared for what Kurt had in mind. Because when Kurt came back into view, he was totally naked and was squirting the lube not into his own hand, but into Blaine’s. He dropped to his knees and straddled Blaine again, but this time he faced backward, leaning his arms on Blaine’s upraised knees and tilting his ass back toward Blaine’s face. “Get me ready,” Kurt said. “I want you in me.”

Blaine was completely stunned. They’d tried this twice in the past few weeks, and Kurt hated it. Well, maybe hate was an overstatement. Kurt moderately enjoyed Blaine’s fingers, but it wasn’t a big deal for him the way it was for Blaine when Kurt was pressing inside him. And both of the times Kurt had asked Blaine to try fucking him, Kurt wanted to stop after just a minute. It felt weird, he said, kind of uncomfortable, just not really his thing. And Blaine was pretty much fine with that, especially since it meant he got to be the bottom all the time, which he totally loved. Having Kurt inside him was the best thing in the universe. But here was Kurt, being all taking-control and telling Blaine to fuck him. Why?

“What are you waiting for?” Kurt asked. “I told you to put your fingers in me.”

“Kurt, you don’t have to do this,” Blaine panted.

“I said you could have me any way you want,” Kurt said. “I know you want this.”

“Yes…” Blaine whispered.

“Put. Your fingers. In me.”

Kurt gasped as Blaine slid one finger tentatively inside him. His back arched and he rocked his body backward, forcing Blaine’s finger a bit further in. “Oh god, yes,” he said, dropping his forehead down to Blaine’s knee. Blaine worked him in and out until he begged for more, then added a second finger, then a third, going slowly insane from the combination of his excellent view and Kurt’s louder and louder moans. This was unlike anything they’d done before.

Blaine slid his fingers out, ignoring Kurt’s whine of protest. “Wanna fuck you,” Blaine said, trying to sit up. “Want you so fucking bad.”

Kurt turned around to face Blaine, shoving him to the floor again and positioning himself so that the tip of Blaine’s cock just brushed against his ass. Blaine drew in a breath. “Kurt…”

“This way,” Kurt said. “I want it this way.”

Blaine nodded. He had no words. His hand groped blindly until he found the condom package Kurt had dropped beside them, and Kurt lifted up to give him just enough access to put it on. He barely had time to rub on some lube before Kurt was pressing down, gently but insistently. Blaine held the base of his own cock to steady it as Kurt slid over him and oh the stream of sounds coming out of Kurt’s mouth was unbelievable.

Kurt settled into a slow rhythm, fucking himself up and down on Blaine, and smirked down at him. “How do you like having your own private whore, hmm?”

Blaine moaned something incoherent and, despite his effort to hold back, came hard inside his boyfriend, sending Kurt over the edge along with him. “I guess he must be good,” Kurt teased. “You know, you still have to pay full price even if you come that fast.”

“Worth every penny,” Blaine mumbled as Kurt curled up next to him. They cuddled for a few minutes, silently, before Blaine spoke again. “Um, Kurt? What was that?”

“That,” Kurt said, “was amazing sex.”

“Well, yes,” Blaine agreed. “But what was that? You were all … pretending and … enjoying … stuff you didn’t like before.”

Kurt smiled. “Apparently I found a way to like it. And as for the pretending … well, it turns out that dating an actor has benefits, now, doesn’t it?”

Blaine’s eyes were sparkling as he turned to kiss his boyfriend. “You are unbelievable.”

*   *   *

They barely managed to hold themselves together through family dinner, legs wrapped together under the table, giddy with new knowledge about their bodies and their imaginations and their newly-discovered kink. They excused themselves as soon as possible and scampered back upstairs, ignoring Finn’s exasperation and Carole’s giggles and Burt’s studious blindness.

Kurt pushed Blaine down onto the bed and clambered on top of him, resting on his hands and knees. “It’s your turn. Who do you want to fuck you tonight?” Kurt’s eyes gleamed. “A tall, mysterious stranger you picked up at the club? A teacher? The UPS man?”

Blaine held Kurt’s gaze, his eyes softer than Kurt had ever seen. “I want to make love with my husband,” Blaine whispered.

Kurt sat back on Blaine’s thighs and let out a long, shaky breath. “Blaine, I …” he didn’t know what to say. “I’m not sure I can convincingly…”

“You can,” Blaine insisted.

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “What is your husband like?” he asked softly.

Blaine locked Kurt’s eyes with the same soft gaze. “He’s a lot like you,” Blaine said, “but maybe about five years older.”

“Oh, Blaine…” Kurt’s eyes filled with sweet tears. “Blaine, I …”

“I’ve loved you for so long,” Blaine began. “Ever since we were teenagers, in high school, so many years ago. I always knew you were the one, Kurt. Ever since the day I found the courage to kiss you for the first time, I knew you were for me. And now here we are together, my husband, finally. You’re mine now, mine forever.”

Kurt leaned down and kissed him softly on the mouth. And as the kiss grew deeper, Kurt fell into it and lost himself completely in Blaine’s fantasy. 

*   *   *

Robert Anderson sank down onto Blaine’s bed, in disbelief. The blank bulletin board had been the first thing he’d noticed, all the photos and awards and other memories removed. He checked the drawers and the closet, and found them all empty. Blaine was gone.

He had never admitted it to Laura, but Robert crept into Blaine’s empty room nearly every night after she fell asleep. At least, the nights he was in town. He missed his son so badly, regretted how things had turned out, but he couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong. So he would pray, sitting on Blaine’s bed. For Blaine’s safety and health. For Blaine to return home.

He still wanted Blaine safe and healthy and home. But he didn’t have it in him to pray tonight. He stood up and walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

He’d already had his usual after-dinner drink, but another scotch wouldn’t hurt, would it?