“Oh thank gods,” Kurt exhales, relieved to see one of his people, and not just that, but one willing to help him. He moves toward the door. “Let’s go, we need to hurry before he returns—”

The woman’s eyebrows raise and she reaches back, pushing the rope from its peg with her foot. Kurt hears the ladder fall to the ground with a soft thwack. “Not so fast.”

Kurt feels the blood drain from his face. “But—”

“We aren’t leaving. I came here to talk.” There’s something almost sarcastic in her voice, something almost amused, like he’s a simple child.

“There is nothing to talk about. I’ve been kidnapped!”

“And who have you been kidnapped from?” she asks, hands on her hips.

“From…from freedom!” Kurt exclaims.

The woman rolls her eyes. Rolls her eyes. Kurt huffs, resisting the urge to stomp his foot.

“Honestly, you’re free to leave at any time,” she says, going over to the rocking chair. She drags it closer and sits with a relieved sigh.

“How about now, then?” Kurt asks.

“We should talk first. Sit.”

Kurt’s cheeks warm. He sits on the bed, folding his hands in his lap. If he is at her mercy at least he can show her that she is speaking with someone of high class. “So talk.”

The woman’s eyes look skyward a moment before she speaks. “You came from the east, right? The Walled kingdom?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So have you ever been outside the kingdom?”

Kurt’s eyes narrow. “I’ve been to the town of Apris—”

“No, I mean have you ever been beyond the Wall?”

“No, of course not! I’m not a criminal. My aunt and I merely had a dispute, and—”

“Slow down, we can talk about that later if you want. My point is, there’s an entire world out here that I bet you know nothing about.”

“I do so!” Kurt says indignantly. “The moving vines. The large cats. The people-eating…people.” He glares at her belly.

The woman lets out a small laugh, making Kurt scowl. “If a vine moves it is likely because it’s a snake, not a vine at all. There are indeed large cats, and I’ve heard tales of cannibals, but I’ve never met one — the point, again, is that there are dangers you are not equipped for. We haven’t kidnapped you, we’ve saved you.

�“Blaine was tracking you for half a mile. He could see plain as day how vulnerable you were, so he brought you here. Had we left you the ladder, you probably would have run right back out into the jungle, correct?”

Kurt is without words, feeling suitably cowed, trying his best to process what she’s telling him. He knows he has no reason to trust her, but she speaks his language and she’s pregnant, and somehow that kind of makes him feel like she's telling the truth. He nods.

“Right.” She sighs. “And you don’t even have flint for fire, a canteen, or a weapon?”

Kurt doesn’t want to linger on the subject of what a warrior he isn’t. “If I am free to leave, can I go somewhere civilized?”

The woman’s mouth quirks. “Define civilized.”

“Somewhere people don’t live in trees and walk around shirtless.”

Her lips purse around a smile, looking very much like she’s trying to hold back a laugh. “You could, but it would be a long journey and I wouldn’t advise taking it alone. Although there aren’t any ‘moving vines’, there are dangerous animals and people. The walled kingdom is the closest, and they’ll never take you back.”

Hope is slipping away each time the woman opens her mouth. Kurt doesn’t want to spend the rest of his days living with these tree-dwellers, eating berries picked from bushes around a campfire and not having anything fine to wear. It isn’t right to live like this.

“How do you know?” he asks, meaning for it to sound angry, but he just ends up sounding depressed.

“They don’t allow outsiders, ever.”

“But I’m not—”

“You are now.”

The finality in her voice stops Kurt from pressing the issue, the sadness in her eyes. “Are you from there?” he asks quietly.

“Nevermind it. What’s your name?” she asks.

Kurt feels a twinge of annoyance at his question being dismissed. He huffs a little, but she glares at him, so he gives in and answers. “Kurt Hummel.”

His name sounds good rolling off his tongue. For so long his aunt had insisted his name was Kurt Sylvester, made him use it, which he had always resented. It was bad enough his mother and father were taken from him, but their name as well? Now, out here in the middle of nowhere, at least he can take back that part of himself.

“I’m Quinn Fabray,” she says. “Blaine, who brought you here, told me to tell you he apologizes for his… aggressive way of bringing you here. He had a feeling you were from the kingdom and said he couldn’t count on you being fluent in our language and not mistakenly attacking him or freaking out.”

Kurt snorts quietly, though he does secretly know that if a strange man had appeared out of nowhere, he would have been frightened. Gods know he wouldn’t be very efficient at attacking. More offensive than anything, though, was the presumption that that this Blaine thought he could just kiss Kurt as he pleased. “Is that all he apologized for?” Kurt asks.

“Yes. He also asked me to teach you Maelin.”

Of course that scoundrel didn’t apologize for the kiss. Kurt is about to give Quinn an earful about what Blaine did, when he realizes what she just said. “Maelin?”

“The language we speak here, it’s a common language. I’m the only one that knows your language fluently. A few others speak a little, but not enough to teach you.”

“Is that what the man—Blaine, was speaking earlier? It sounded like jumbled words,” Kurt says.

“Maelin is very similar sounding, and many translations are direct—”

“I’ve never even heard another language before today. What makes you think I can learn it?” Kurt crosses his arms. “Let alone want to.”

“Well, if you are as smart as you are stubborn you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“I’m not—”

“And if you ever want to speak with anyone outside your walled kingdom it would be in your best interest to learn it.”

Kurt’s face falls in defeat, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he says dully.

Quinn asks if he would like to start the lessons tomorrow, but as much as Kurt would like to rest, he would like to be able to communicate even more. So Quinn retrieves some kind of jerky, bread, and water for them to eat while she teaches him. He wants to refuse the food, but her remark about his stubbornness sticks in his head. Beyond that, he is actually extremely hungry. Despite the hollow feeling of his stomach, he eats in dainty bites with all the manners that have been drilled into him since childhood. Quinn goes over simple words and common phrases, like hello and good morning and thank you, makes him repeat them again and again and again. She says she doesn’t want to try and teach him too much at once, or he’ll never retain it.

As the day goes on, Kurt’s headache lessens. Maelin really is similar to his language and he’s beginning to catch on. He’s always done well in school, prides himself on his intelligence because so few of his classmates from families of power like his ever excel. They are lazy because they are spoiled. They may accuse him of the same, but he does not equate himself with them. He likes having superiority over others. The look on their faces when he wins a fencing match, when he receives top marks in mathematics, when he wears the latest fashion made from the most expensive cloth. People never underestimate you if they know you’re the best, and Kurt always wants to be the best.

Quinn leaves when dusk arrives, the sky’s clear blue melting into vibrant hues of indigo and purples, lightning bugs occasionally floating in through the open doorway to explore the house. She leaves the ladder in place, and Kurt stares at it for a few minutes. Even after Quinn’s logic and warnings, he considers leaving, but it is nearly nightfall and everything out here feels like a different world. It’s too open and wide and foreign. Kurt steps to the window and looks out at the ring of small fires in a clearing below, people coming and going, the smell of roasting meat and vegetables making his mouth water. He wonders if anyone will remember him up here, bring him something to eat. He wonders if he’s expected to go down and help himself. They are, most of them, dark-haired and strange, and if he listens closely he can hear them talking and understands very little of it.

He abandons the window and that world for the bed, gently shooing a lightning bug from his pillow before lying down, letting his mind wander. He forces away the feeling of homesickness that clenches his stomach and makes his eyes burn. He forces away thoughts of David and thoughts of that man with the honey-colored eyes-- especially of him. Blaine, Quinn had said. Such a fine sounding name for someone so crude. Kurt wonders if he’ll be back, and falls asleep staring at the open doorway, the muted sounds of the community below floating along the wind like a strange lullaby.

----

David has come for tea. Neither of them care to drink it, though, not when they could be doing other things. David’s arms are around Kurt’s waist, pulling him close and kissing him. Soft kisses all over his face, down his neck. That’s a peculiar place to kiss someone and Kurt tells him so, but David doesn’t pay any attention, just keeps kissing, and—

Kurt’s eyes open. The room is dark and too warm. It’s a nice warmth, though, and at first it’s almost comforting as his surroundings come into focus. He’s in the treehouse and—

There are arms around his middle, a body snug against his back, and a mouth kissing his neck. The kisses from his dream are real. They feel better than in the dream. The soft press of lips along his skin sends tiny shivers down his body, and Kurt realizes with a horrified start that his penis is hard.

When this happens, usually in the morning, it is uncomfortable and strange every time. Kurt had asked one of the nurses what it meant, once, and she had laughed and told him not to worry about it, that it was just nature. Not only was that not an explanation, but the laugh had left him feeling humiliated. Kurt had been feeling self-conscious enough, and after the nurses’ reaction he was too embarrassed to inquire further.

Kurt feels more embarrassed than ever now and wriggles in Blaine’s arms. Blaine makes a low, questioning sound, and Kurt feels a hand right there over his pants, right where he is stiff, and oh.� Kurt freezes in confusion, held in thrall by the curious feeling from Blaine’s touch. It’s like an itch being scratched, the beginning of some strange pleasure unfurling. Blaine moans softly in approval and scrapes his teeth down the bony column of the back of Kurt’s neck. His hand moves, sending another jolt through Kurt’s body, making Kurt want to arch forward into it. Kurt lets out a tiny, surprised whimper, and remembers himself. He struggles to escape Blaine’s hold, scrambling out of bed when Blaine’s arms loosen.

“No,” Kurt says, follows up with an even more forceful no in Maelin. His penis aches and his heart is racing. He doesn’t know what that was about, but Blaine is not his anything and Kurt does not want to kiss him. He says this to himself a few times to make it clear, fists clenching, especially when he looks at Blaine. Blaine is still lying in bed, propped up on his elbow, eyes following Kurt’s movements. His curls are tousled and he’s frowning like Kurt’s betrayed him, but Kurt hasn’t done anything. He would have thought the slap from the day before would have sent the message that he is not interested.

Kurt crosses his arms, attempting to ignore the embarrassing bulge in his pants and the probable flush to his cheeks. His hair is likely a mess and his breath probably smells of skunk, and no one should be allowed to see him this way.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Kurt says. “And I don’t want you to kiss me. Or touch me. Understand?”

Blaine doesn’t, of course, rising from bed, and oh gods he isn’t wearing a thing. Kurt’s eyes are drawn to Blaine’s noticeably erect penis. In a weird way it almost makes Kurt feel better, knowing he isn’t the only one with this affliction, but at the same time he’s still unnerved to see Blaine completely nude.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to try and ask Blaine to put pants on. Blaine pulls a pair on before approaching him, a questioning look in his eyes.

“What?” Kurt asks, searching his mind for its Maelin counterpart. He knows he’s learned this one. “What?”

Blaine’s face lights up when Kurt says it in his language, and it’s enough to both melt Kurt’s nervous insides and make him want to never speak a word of it again. Blaine’s approach doesn’t let up, either, and with each step closer Kurt takes another step back, until his shoulders bump into the wall and there’s nowhere left to go. Blaine crowds in close, studying his face with a soft smile. Blaine says something in Maelin with Kurt at the end, and hearing his name with this strange lilt on the R makes him blush.

Blaine leans in to kiss him, and Kurt lets out a frustrated sound, bringing his hand up to cover Blaine’s mouth.

“Blaine, no,” he says in Maelin, making himself sound as fierce as possible. Blaine pulls back with those hurt eyes again and Kurt groans, exasperated. “Look, maybe it’s okay in your culture to find boys in the Wild and drag them off to kiss them, but it’s not okay where I come from! In fact, it’s practically against the law, so if you wouldn’t mind I would like some space.”

Kurt edges away from the wall and picks up his bag for something to hold between himself and Blaine. He grabs it wrong and its contents spill out, clattering to the floor. There isn’t much, but Kurt crouches immediately to gather it all up. Blaine crouches, too, retrieving Kurt’s favorite book and giving it a curious look. Kurt huffs and snatches it from him.

“Mine.” Kurt stuffs the book back in the bag. Blaine’s eyebrows raise and he picks up Kurt’s mirror next. “Mine,” Kurt says again, taking the mirror from him. Blaine grins and picks up one of Kurt’s shirts. “Mine! Honestly, Blaine, I can do this myself.”

Blaine ignores him, though, and scoots closer, looking at Kurt from beneath his lashes. �“Mine,” he says, pressing a hand to Kurt’s chest.

Heat floods Kurt’s face and he stares at Blaine. “I—I am not,” he finally protests, trying to ignore the way Blaine’s gaze makes his stomach do somersaults.

Blaine’s fingers trail down Kurt’s cheek and he stands, stepping back. He gives Kurt one last smile before descending down the rope ladder.

When Kurt’s heart calms down he realizes Blaine has taken the ladder with him.

“Not a prisoner, my ass.”

�