There are voices, quiet murmurs like waves washing up on shore. All sound is hazy, but slowly, slowly becoming clearer.

“…back…afternoon?”

“…think…and…”

Kurt feels like he’s coming up for air. He takes stock, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Pressure around his middle, almost unbearable heat, voices in an unfamiliar language. No. Familiar. Quinn. Blaine.

Kurt cracks open his eyes. Quinn is standing next to him, her hand dangling, fingers brushing absently along an animal hide in front of him. He’s in bed. He has no recollection of how he got here, but he knows that it’s Blaine behind him, holding him as though he might roll off the raised mattress at any moment.

“I’m up,” he croaks. His throat burns, head pounds.

“Good morning.” Quinn’s voice is gentle. Her hand comes up, fingers trailing across his forehead. “Blaine says you were quite upset last night. Would you like a day off from our lesson?”

It’s tempting. The urge to lay in bed and wallow is strong, but Blaine will probably insist on staying with him, and at the moment Blaine is nuzzling and kissing the back of his neck and it’s…it’s too much right now. He can hardly think when Blaine’s lips touch his skin.

“Blaine, please,” Kurt says, without much conviction. It’s embarrassing, knowing Quinn is right here. With home fresh on his mind, he half-expects to find her looking at him angrily. She isn’t, of course. Her expression is calm, expectant. “Can you tell him I’m okay? Please.”

She relays his message. Blaine stops, his hold even loosens, but only so he can press Kurt onto his back. Blaine hovers over him, clear eyes studying his face. Kurt’s mouth opens, but he says nothing, heart quickening. Blaine’s fingers sweep a slow path under his eyes, trace along his cheekbones, and Kurt isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. Blaine’s finger finds his mouth, outlines his upper lip. Sometimes when Kurt’s with Blaine, he feels like a hare pinned by a fox. Sometimes Blaine looks at him like he wants to eat him, but so tenderly.

Kurt’s chest aches, sudden and sharp, and he looks up at Blaine pleadingly, all previous thoughts fly out the window. He needs Blaine’s mouth in a way he never has. He feels scooped out and breakable and he needs Blaine. He needs something. He needs.

Blaine’s mouth finds his in an instant, too hard at first, but he eases up, kissing softer. Blaine’s lips part his, not with tongue, simply by the movement of his mouth. Kurt’s eyebrows draw up, hands come up, search blindly for something of Blaine to hold on to. He finds arms and his fingers clench; saying without words to please stay here, please don’t leave.

Blaine’s kisses are sweet. Lingering pecks become longer, drawn out presses of lips, until they don’t leave at all. Their lips slide against each others slowly, faces tilting in tandem, angles changing at an almost lazy pace. Kurt begins to relax when Blaine’s tongue traces his lower lip. Kurt lets out a tiny hum and opens, letting Blaine in. Blaine’s tongue penetrates his mouth and Kurt welcomes it with another small moan. Blaine responds in kind, presses down against Kurt’s body, exploring his mouth and biting lightly at his lips and whatever calm Kurt had been feeling leaves him, replaced with tingling anticipation.

The kissing turns hungry and Kurt succumbs, letting Blaine take what he wants, wanting him to. Blaine must sense it because he is relentless in his pursuit to drive Kurt absolutely out of his mind. They kiss until Kurt is breathless, until his lips are numb. Blaine‘s body brushes against his crotch and he cries out in surprise at the sharp ache and how good it feels.

Kurt pushes and shoves his way out from under Blaine. He has noticed one common denominator for when he becomes hard, and it is nearly always when he and Blaine are kissing. He can feel it on Blaine sometimes, too, and has wondered more than once if it’s some kind of punishment for wanting something so abnormal.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sliding to sit at the opposite side of the bed. His face is hot with embarrassment, stomach doing flips, breathing labored. Blaine is looking at him, eyes dark and serious, lips swollen and hair sticking up every which way. Kurt did this. Kurt put that predators gaze on Blaine’s face. He clears his throat, trying to breathe around the ache in his groin. “Perhaps you are a cannibal after all.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says. Kurt can hear the come back implied.

“No, Blaine,” Kurt replies firmly. “It’s embarrassing. Plus—gods, Quinn was here. We were kissing in front of Quinn.” He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Blaine just looks at him, and Kurt sighs.

“I’m just going to go down for my lesson, okay? Thank you for—oh, what’s the point? You can’t understand me anyway.”

Frustrated, Kurt stands and makes his way down the ladder without another look back. It was already hard enough to force himself out of that bed, he doesn’t need Blaine’s sad face luring him back in.

Quinn is, indeed, at the fire pit, and Kurt can’t help but blush hotly when he sees her.

“I was wondering if I’d see you today,” she says.

“Uh, sorry, I—I’m not myself.”

“Why is that?”

Kurt’s jaw clenches. “Blaine brought me this…clothing chest, and a piece of David’s coat was in it. There were blood stains, and Blaine told me a lion had—I don’t even know. But he is dead, isn’t he? Otherwise he’d be here. And I asked you, Quinn, I asked you and you said you hadn’t seen him.” His voice picks up volume as realization sinks in. She knew this whole time and she had never told him.

“Kurt, no,” Quinn says gently, but he can see the guilt on her face.

“You knew.”

“I didn’t know for sure,” Quinn bursts, pausing a moment to control the emotion in her own voice. “I couldn’t be sure. I knew we’d found a man who had been badly mauled. He hadn’t made it through the night. But I never saw him, I never knew his name. When you asked, I didn’t want to make you feel worse. You were already torn away from everything you knew.”

Kurt is quiet for a long time. He believes Quinn; he knows she would never purposefully hurt him. He thinks about David and it feels like a lifetime ago. He mourns his old friend, or whatever David had been. But he wonders if it isn’t David he’s feeling so broken over. As his head clears he wonders if it’s the loss of home, or at least the idea of it. He thinks that was what David really meant to him, what he represented. Kurt’s last tie to his old life.

“Is it strange to miss somewhere you never really belonged in the first place?” he finally asks.

Quinn smiles sadly, pulling Kurt to her side. Kurt lets her, lowering his head to her shoulder.

“Not at all,” she says. “It gets better, though. I promise.”

----

When it was declared Kurt was to be banished for disobedience and defiance, he’d been given a short amount of time to pack. Sue told him she was being generous. Kurt had thrown a candlestick at her head. His packing time ended at that moment.

Either way, as a boy who had never spent a great deal of time outside the castle, he hadn’t been quite sure just what to pack. He had hurriedly stuffed his bag with some of his favorite possessions, including a book of stories that had belonged to his mother.

Her name is written on the front cover, and Kurt finds himself tracing the delicate loops of ink. Elizabeth Hummel. He doesn’t remember a lot about his parents, he was very young when they passed. One of his most distinct memories of his mother is when she would read to him, the way she always smelled faintly of flowers. The way his father would kiss them both on the forehead before bed. No matter what Kurt’s aunt Sue said of his parents, he knows they loved each other, and him. Such memories, faded though they are, have been a comfort growing up. He looks to them here, stranded in the Wild, so many miles from both lives he knew.

He’s reading the story of the girl who falls in love with a Beast, when Blaine settles in beside him. Kurt sighs and looks over.

“Yes?”

Blaine smiles and hands him a papaya.

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

Blaine doesn’t seem to mind, just rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder.

“Excuse you,” Kurt admonishes, but doesn’t make Blaine move.

He turns the page. There’s an illustration of the Beast transforming into a prince. “Why, when we kiss, don’t you turn into a prince?” Kurt asks. “Or at least acquire some manners?”

Blaine says nothing, instead reaching out to touch the picture, eyes lit up in wonder.

“Prince.”

“Prince,” Blaine repeats.

“Very good,” Kurt says, and turns the page. The next illustration shows the prince giving the girl a bouquet of flowers. “You see? This is how you properly court someone.”

Blaine doesn’t respond, simply nuzzles Kurt’s neck. Kurt rolls his eyes, nudging Blaine’s face away.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, pointing to the prince.

Blaine’s eyebrows rise.

“Kurt.” Kurt points to the girl.

“Kurt and Blaine?” Blaine asks, voice not much more than an awed whisper.

“Yes, Kurt and Blaine—well, except I’m not a girl and that dress is so old fashioned—hey, be careful,” Kurt says as Blaine takes the book from his hands. Blaine holds it up, looking from the picture to Kurt and back.

“Well not literally,” Kurt says. “Oh…”

Kurt turns and digs in his bag a moment, retrieving his drawing pad and a charcoal pencil.

“Don’t judge me, I’m not an artist,” he says as he begins to draw, charcoal sweeping over parchment. Blaine makes to sit next to him, but Kurt stills him with a hand so he can study his face. It’s all very rudimentary, solid lines and minimal shading. Kurt dresses Blaine in his usual garment, which isn’t much else than a pair of pants. He blushes as he draws Blaine’s pectorals completely from memory. Blaine’s muscles do not protrude obnoxiously; rather, he is beautifully lithe.� His arms, on the other hand, are deliciously toned. Kurt draws himself in something lovely that he doesn’t even have with him, wishing he had colored paints to illustrate what’s in his head.

When he finishes, Kurt holds the drawing up to show Blaine. “See. This is how courting is done.”

Blaine’s jaw goes slack, mouth open and eyes widened. He carefully takes the pad from Kurt’s hands, staring at the picture like it’s the most mysterious and wonderful thing he’s ever seen. Kurt blushes immediately.

“My teacher would have said that’s child’s work.”

Blaine touches his finger to one of the lines, pulling it back as though burned when he sees how the charcoal smears. He gives his finger a curious look, but seems to forget it completely when he looks back to the drawing.

“Kurt and Blaine,” he says, hushed, raising his eyes to look at Kurt.

Kurt simply nods, stomach churning and face still hot.

“Here,” Kurt says softly, reaching for the drawing pad. Blaine all but holds the pad to his chest, keeping it out of Kurt’s reach, mouth pulled into a petulant frown.

“Blaine,” Kurt pleads, gently prying it from his hands. He tears the paper from its binding and Blaine looks stricken until Kurt hands him the picture.

“Mine?” Blaine asks after a long moment.

“Sure,” Kurt says, quickly adding a yes in Maelin.

Blaine’s face lights up, looking from the picture to Kurt and back. He babbles something in Maelin Kurt can’t quite follow. Kurt listens regardless, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Blaine is so very easily amused. No one back home would have given a second thought to his drawing. No one would have cared at all.

When Kurt comes back from his lesson later that day, the drawing is tacked to the wall above their bed.

----

Blaine has Kurt read to him every night since Kurt showed him the picture in his book. They sit close in bed, Blaine’s arm around Kurt’s waist, his chin hooked over Kurt’s shoulder so he can see the pictures. Kurt knows Blaine can’t understand what he’s saying, but Blaine seems to enjoy it anyway.

Sometimes Blaine will tell Kurt a story of his own, and Kurt will get lost in the rhythm of his voice and the soft flow of words. He finds himself beginning to understand a little without having to think about it. Words don’t need to be translated, they just are. They start to have meaning.

Sometimes Blaine will doze off, snoring lightly against Kurt’s neck. During those times, Kurt will gently lay Blaine back against the pillows and blow the candle out. Blaine will reach for him even while sleeping, and because Kurt doesn’t want to wake him, he lets Blaine, curling up against his side to find his own sleep.

Sometimes Blaine will get bored or distracted and kiss Kurt’s neck. It starts with small, chaste kisses that turn into lazy, open-mouthed kisses that turn into light sucking. Blaine’s mouth will map a trail along Kurt’s neck, dip under his ear, sometimes down past his shirt, nudging fabric aside to kiss his shoulder. Kurt will shiver and try to keep reading, but the trembling will make his voice funny so Blaine will take the book from Kurt’s hands, and Kurt will let him, let Blaine tip him back into the pillows to kiss his mouth instead. Blaine rarely wears a shirt, and Kurt will sometimes have the urge to touch without knowing why. He never lets himself, though, too shy, and will hold Blaine’s hands instead, which feels a hundred times more intimate. They kiss and many times Kurt will end up on his side, breathing erratic and heart racing and unable to sleep for a long time after. He gets such a thrill from kissing Blaine. It isn’t the same as when he was sneaking around the castle with other boys. Here he is, on his own in the Wild, alone and adult with another man in his bed. There’s no one to tell him he can’t, no one to tell him to stop. It’s the freedom, not the defiance, and knowing that Blaine actually wants to for no other reason than he likes it.

Sometimes, though, it feels like something’s missing. Like there should be more.

And sometimes Kurt will fall asleep with Blaine’s arms around him and wonder how there could ever be anything else.

----

“So, have you decided to make it official yet?” Quinn asks.

Kurt glances up from the button he’s sewing onto a shirt. “Huh?”

“You and Blaine -- mates.”

Kurt accidentally jabs himself with the needle. “Ow, geez.” He raises his thumb to his mouth to stop it from bleeding. “What gave you that idea? I can still barely talk to him.”

“He talks about you all the time,” Quinn says. “Kurt this, Kurt that.”

“What about?” Kurt can’t help but ask, knowing his face is probably turning pink. He resists the urge to check for a hickey. He looks every morning if they’d been kissing, but his neck is always as perfectly pale as ever.

Quinn makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs a shoulder like it isn’t important in the least. “Oh, there’s a big hunting and trading trip in a week. Blaine told me to let you know, and to ask if there’s anything you want.”

“Trading? You mean to an actual city?” Kurt asks.

“Yes, we occasionally go to them for supplies.”

“Maybe I should go with them. They can leave me there,” Kurt says.

Quinn gives him a long look, and Kurt pretends he doesn’t see the disappointment there. He returns his gaze to the shirt he’s mending.

“Shouldn’t you learn the language first?” she finally asks.

“I suppose that would be ideal,” Kurt says, surprised by his own relief. There’s still time to make such a decision. He doesn’t know if leaving is what he wants anymore, a feeling that he isn’t keen to explore, but neither does he know if he wants to stay forever.

“There will be other trips,” Quinn says.

Kurt glances up and simply nods.

----

It’s the last night before the big trip and Kurt has prepared something for Blaine to take with him. He’s pacing, waiting not so patiently until Blaine is done with whatever it is he’s doing wherever he’s gotten off to. When Kurt finally hears the sound of someone coming up the ladder he stops stock-still, biting his lower lip in anticipation.

Blaine comes in, and Kurt opens his mouth to say something. Before he can get a word out, Blaine bows and extends a handful of flowers to him.

Kurt stands there, mouth gaping, all the words in all languages flown from his head. The flowers are hibiscus, bloomed in beautiful pinks, reds, and yellows. Kurt takes a small step forward.

“For me?” he asks in Maelin, without even thinking about it.

“For Kurt,” Blaine says, straightening with a smile. His smile is less sure than usual, eyes not quite meeting Kurt’s face. Blaine’s shyness seems to affect Kurt’s, and he reaches for the small bouquet as though in slow motion. Their fingers brush as the flowers change hands, and Kurt feels a tiny shiver along his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, again in Maelin, and lifts the flowers to smell them. He looks at Blaine over the petals, then turns, feeling his cheeks warm, to look for somewhere to put them. He has a wooden mug of water from earlier and puts them in it, bringing it to the shelf to display.� They’re such a lovely array of colors. Kurt takes a long moment to admire, waiting for his heart to stop pounding.

“I…made you something.” Kurt pushes past trepidation and picks up the small bundle from the end of the bed. “For you,” he says in Maelin.

Blaine’s lips slowly part and he smiles, taking the cloth from Kurt. He finally tears his eyes away and looks down at what he’s holding, unfolding it. There was a beautiful red tunic and dark pants in the crate Blaine brought him, and he’d cleaned them up, hemmed and mended them to Blaine’s size.

“I sewed them for you for the trip, to trade in,” Kurt says, having asked Quinn earlier for the exact translation.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, mouth curling up, eyes not much more than slits when he smiles. He starts to pull the shirt over his bare chest and Kurt quickly stops him.

“No, not yet,” he says in Maelin. “For the trip. To trade in.”

Kurt manages to wrangle the clothes away from Blaine, secretly touched that he likes them so much. Blaine tells him thank you several times, following him around with a besotted smile. He holds his hand out and Kurt takes it without protest, letting Blaine lead him onto the small porch. It’s only when Blaine motions for Kurt to climb onto his back that he begins to doubt Blaine’s motives.

“I’m not injured…”

Blaine motions again, more insistent, and Kurt gives in with a sigh. He lets out a tiny whine and climbs onto Blaine’s back, arms looped tight above his shoulders.

“Oh gods, please don’t make me regret this.”

Blaine follows the ledge around to the back of the house and climbs a makeshift ladder to the roof. Kurt clenches his eyes shut, body plastered as close as possible to Blaine’s back. It isn’t that he doesn’t like heights, it’s that he’s given all control over to Blaine. If Blaine falls, he falls. Kurt has always had a difficult time trusting anyone explicitly. He thinks he trusts Blaine—no, he knows he does, but this is really testing the limits.

Blaine climbs beyond the roof and into the thick branches above. It isn’t an easy climb, either. Kurt is jostled and Blaine’s body swings and swoops, taking Kurt (and his stomach) along for the ride. Kurt peeks, but can’t bring himself to look down.

Finally the motion stops, and Blaine helps situate Kurt in the dip of a branch. The thing is wider than Kurt’s body, but he’s still terrified of falling and refuses to let go of Blaine’s arm. He has Blaine in a death-grip, knuckles white and body pressed close.

“I’m afraid to move, we’re going to fall and I know I’ve been sad and I’ve complained, I’ve complained a lot, but I really am too young to die! I’m not ready,” Kurt says in a rush, forcing his eyes open.

He looks down and immediately regrets it. The ground seems miles away, what he can even make out of it through the branches, and his stomach does another somersault at the mere sight of it.

“Blaine, no. This might be romantic for monkeys, but I’m not a monkey, Blaine. I’m really not,” Kurt says, burying his face in the crook of Blaine’s neck.

“Shh,” Blaine whispers, rubbing a hand soothingly along Kurt’s back, keeping him close and murmuring softly into his hair. Kurt tries to make sense of what Blaine’s saying, focuses on his touch and his voice, low and calm, and little by little Kurt starts to relax. He stops thinking about where they are and instead he focuses on who he’s with.

Kurt’s grip loosens, his eyes open. He doesn’t look down, he looks next to him. Clear brown eyes meet his own, framed with those dark, thick lashes. Kurt’s breath catches in his throat and it has nothing to do with the tree he is sitting in.

Blaine tells him to look, rummages for something in the pocket of his pants, and holds out a handful of tiny, dried berries. Kurt eyes them, confused, and watches as Blaine holds them out with his hands cupped. There is the sharp trill of a bird and Kurt startles, looks up into the branches for the source, realizing belatedly that it hasn’t come from a bird at all. Blaine’s lips are pursed, eyes upward, searching. He trills and coos and whistles, making all manner of sounds Kurt wouldn’t have thought capable of a person. He wants to ask how Blaine is doing it, but doesn’t want to interrupt.

For once, Kurt is quiet. He listens and watches, waiting for whatever it is Blaine has brought him up here for.

A bird, bright red with startling black wingtips, lands nearby. It’s head cocks to the side, listening, and responds with a chirp of its own. Blaine replies. Kurt watches in wonder as Blaine appears to talk to the bird.

More birds begin to land around them in flutters of wings and joyous trilling. They’re so close Kurt is almost afraid to breathe and scare them all away. They become braver still, hopping right up onto Blaine’s arms, perching on his hands, pecking at the berries he’s holding.

Kurt looks at Blaine, eyes wide in disbelief. Blaine simply smiles back at him, such a wide, delighted grin that Kurt cannot help but smile in return.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, and nods minutely toward his hands, then to his own. Kurt must be getting awful used to reading signals from Blaine, because he knows exactly what’s being asked.

“They won’t come to me,” Kurt whispers, but holds out his hands all the same.

Blaine tips the remaining berries into Kurt’s palms, upsetting the birds from their human perch. They don’t go far, but they also don’t come to Kurt.

“See?” Kurt says, feeling a surprising spike of disappointment.

Blaine whistles again, face close to Kurt’s. He waits, looks at Kurt’s mouth. Kurt’s mouth twists into a doubtful frown, but he purses his lips like he watched Blaine do and tries to mimic the sound. It doesn’t sound very bird-like, but it does make Blaine smile. Blaine nods, encouraging, and whistles again.

Kurt keeps trying, and as he does a few of the birds swoop and settle onto his arms and palms, heads tilting this way and that at the sounds. They eat the berries right from his hands. Kurt watches in awe, marveling that these beautiful, wild creatures are so close. They’re so colorful and sweet. Kurt turns his head to say as much to Blaine and finds Blaine staring at him, a warm, unreadable look in his eyes. His mouth is drawn in the softest of smiles, and the way he’s looking at Kurt is somehow so intimate it makes Kurt forget the birds a moment.

“They’re eating right from my hands,” he says stupidly, hushed.

Blaine touches his nose to Kurt’s cheek and rests his head on his shoulder. Kurt shivers a little and looks back to the birds, remembering the bite of their claws against his skin and the weight of their little bodies. He watches them with stilted breath until the berries are gone and they lose interest, flying off to nests and hallows for the night.

The sky has already started changing color. There are enough gaps in the leaves in front of them to see the stretch of jungle, seemingly endless, dyed now in reds and oranges. Blaine holds Kurt as the sun sets and Kurt feels like his worries and the weight he has been carrying disappear with it. The trees become nothing more than silhouettes, the sky shifting into deepening shades of blue, and Kurt feels at peace.

Blaine carries him back down. Kurt holds tight, though it isn’t from fear this time.

“Thank you,” Kurt says in Maelin. Blaine lays him down on the bed and moves to stand, but Kurt doesn’t let go. He gazes up at Blaine, thinking to himself that even after the rainbow of birds and the glowing sunset, that Blaine is the loveliest thing he has seen all night. Kurt tugs Blaine onto the bed, pulls at his waist and arches up to kiss him. It’s always been Blaine to kiss him first, before, but Kurt knows what he wants. He wants the perfect way their mouths slot together, the slide of tongue, the taste and the tiny sounds.

Blaine responds immediately, climbing onto the bed, body poised over Kurt’s. Kurt fists Blaine’s hair with one hand, the other still pulling at Blaine’s side like he might leave otherwise. Blaine’s mouth is hot, inviting, lips deceivingly soft for the urgency with which they move against Kurt’s. There’s the bite of teeth, nipping at Kurt’s lower lip, at his tongue, Blaine’s mouth sucking and hungry and Kurt submitting to all of it, wanting it so badly. Blaine sucks at his tongue and Kurt’s fingers claw down the back of his neck without meaning to.

Blaine’s mouth moves from Kurt’s and trails a wet path to his neck. Teeth scrape across his skin before Blaine’s lips clamp and he begins to suck, sending shivers and sparks along every nerve. Kurt squirms, softly hums because it feels too good. Everything is too warm. Blaine sucks harder and Kurt’s hands unconsciously knead his neck, his shoulder, tipping his head back. He feels the sudden pressure of teeth and lets out a small cry. Blaine moans in response and moves from Kurt’s neck to kiss him, even more demanding than before. Kurt’s fingers thread through Blaine’s hair and he kisses back, so hungry for more than what Blaine is giving him.

When Kurt feels how hard he’s gotten he turns his face from the kiss with a frustrated huff, eyes glaring at the ceiling, and silently curses his embarrassing affliction. He starts to pull away, but Blaine throws his leg over his, straddling him.

“Blaine, I’m—”

“Shh.” Blaine presses a finger to Kurt’s lips, drags it across his lower lip, cradles his jaw and kisses him again.

Kurt’s eyelids slowly lower as he gives back in to the heady taste of Blaine’s mouth, but flash open when he feels Blaine’s length pressed right alongside his. Hard. Blaine is hard. And he seems to pay it no mind, unashamed that Kurt can so obviously feel it. Something about that realization tugs low at Kurt’s belly, makes him want what they’re doing even more.

Blaine rises up a little and Kurt whimpers, tries to follow and re-claim his mouth. Blaine grunts softly in protest, pressing Kurt back into the mattress. His fingers pluck at the buttons of Kurt’s shirt, hurriedly undoing them. Kurt doesn’t understand, but lets him, even when he yanks too hard. Kurt will mend it later. Blaine pushes Kurt’s shirt open and runs his hands over Kurt’s chest. His palms span so much skin, Kurt wonders how he never realized how big Blaine’s hands were. Kurt shivers and delights under Blaine’s touch, letting out a surprised little whimper when Blaine’s fingers brush over his nipples. His body jerks, his hands reach to push Blaine’s away because it’s a funny feeling he isn’t sure he likes. Blaine’s hands bat his away, pinning them down when he becomes more insistent.

“Blaine, it tickles,” he starts to protest, trying to free his hands.

Blaine frowns and pushes Kurt’s hands over his head, locking one hand around Kurt’s wrists. He whispers hot against Kurt’s ear, telling Kurt please. Kurt feels Blaine’s free hand back on his chest. Blaine’s fingers circle one of his nipples, rub teasingly around the center. Kurt squirms and whines, gasps when Blaine pinches. He wants to hit Blaine, tries to yank his hands free because how dare he. But then Blaine does it again and again, light pinches, little twists, and it’s like a direct line to where Kurt is so hard. He strains, squirms, not because he wants Blaine to stop, now, but because it feels so good, makes him ache.

Blaine has moved to the other nipple and Kurt can feel heat rush to his face. His hips arch, searching for relief he doesn’t know how to get. He just wants more and for it to stop. Blaine is looking at him, staring right at him. Kurt makes a strangled sort of sound and he begs without knowing what for. Blaine captures his mouth in a hard kiss and Kurt surrenders, opening his mouth for Blaine’s tongue, wanting.

Blaine’s hands leave his wrists, leave his chest. They tug instead at Kurt’s pants, pulling them down without warning. Kurt breaks away from Blaine’s mouth with a sharply drawn breath.

“Blaine? What—” He panics, swallows hard, tries to wriggle away so he can put his pants back on.

Kurt stops abruptly. Blaine‘s hand wraps around him there. Kurt gapes, but barely has a moment to process the feeling before Blaine is moving his hand. Kurt’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, wordlessly working at trying to say something, anything, hands abandoning his pants to grapple for purchase on Blaine. Blaine, whose fingers tighten just so, whose hand moves faster, who is staring right into Kurt’s eyes with an intensity Kurt has never seen.

It feels unlike anything Kurt has experienced, the rough skin of Blaine’s hand stroking him. It feels good, so good, that Kurt moans without noticing, long and low. His thighs tremble, hands grasp. He falls back on the bed, but his hips rock, greedy for more. One of Blaine’s hands holds him down and the other speeds up, doing something at the top, at the base, these little twists that make Kurt softly keen. It’s too much friction, too intense, and something happens, it builds up and spills out and Kurt is panting, crying without tears, pulling at Blaine to get him closer.

He’s panting lightly as the feeling dies down. When he comes back to himself he blinks slowly, gazing up at Blaine. Blaine’s eyes are dark and always on him. Kurt starts to speak, but Blaine kisses the words from his mouth. Kurt languidly kisses back. He feels boneless and wonderful and never wants Blaine to stop.

Kurt hears the sound of skin sliding against skin again and breaks away from Blaine’s mouth, wanting to see. Blaine lets him, mouth parted and eyes heavy-lidded. Kurt peers down and sees Blaine doing to himself what he’d done for Kurt just minutes ago. Blaine’s hand is moving fast around himself, the tip glistening and leaking with the same stickiness that’s still smeared across his own stomach. Kurt finds it on the sheets in the morning sometimes, remnants of dreams he never remembers.

Blaine noses his jaw, kisses his neck, hand pumping harder and chest heaving. Kurt is mesmerized by the sight, taking it all in. He whispers Blaine’s name, and Blaine bites back a moan, shooting hot across his stomach. Kurt lets out a loud breath.

Was that sex? Is that what sex is between men?

Kurt is surprised to find he’s unembarrassed. He always felt a sort of shame when he got hard, but he feels none of it in this moment. He touches his fingertips to the wet on his belly, curious. He frowns and holds his hand up to have a closer look. Blaine leans down and licks one of his fingers clean. Kurt blushes and makes a face, because that came from his body. Blaine, still breathing heavily, just grins.

“Gross, Blaine,” he whispers.

Blaine smiles, almost giddy, and scoops some up on his index finger. He holds it in front of Kurt’s mouth. They battle with their expressions until Kurt finally gives in and opens up. He sucks the stuff from Blaine’s finger and is rewarded with a look of longing. Kurt blushes. It doesn’t taste like much of anything.

Kurt watches idly as Blaine pulls his shirt the rest of the way off for him and wipes up the mess. Kurt would complain about Blaine staining his shirt, but he finds he really doesn’t care. After Blaine’s cleaned Kurt, he pulls Kurt into his arms and nestles into the bed with him. Kurt should be embarrassed or scandalized that Blaine would touch him in such a manner, but all he feels is relaxed and sleepy and…happy. Loved.

Kurt curls closer to Blaine, like he can hide from his own thoughts. Love? No. He tells himself to stop that line of thought immediately. He can hear Blaine’s heart pounding, or maybe it’s his, and he takes five even breaths to try and clear his mind.

Blaine starts kissing his hair, murmuring for him to sleep, and Kurt squeezes his eyes closed against such affection. No one has ever been so sweet with him. No one has ever made him feel good like this. Quinn has been telling him Blaine wants him to be his mate, but he could never figure out why. He still doesn’t know, but it doesn’t seem to change the fact that Blaine wants it. Wants him.

But Blaine is leaving tomorrow. Kurt isn’t even sure how long Blaine will be gone, but there could be new people where he’s going. Prettier, more interesting men and women, and what if Blaine stops wanting him?

�Kurt doesn’t want him to, he realizes with a start. He doesn’t want Blaine to ever do this with someone else, or hold them in his arms, or bring them flowers or dead animals or carry them about as he pleases. Kurt wants it for himself, more than home and a hot bath and all the fine clothes in the world. He wants Blaine, wants him so completely.

“I want to be your mate,” Kurt says in a rush, finding Blaine’s gaze and holding it. Blaine smiles at him uncertainly, and Kurt curses because he never once learned the word for mate in Maelin. Blaine simply smiles and kisses him soft on the mouth.

Kurt sighs. He knows some of the words in Maelin, thinks he could be intelligible enough in phrasing it, but he doesn’t want to have it come out wrong and be misinterpreted, or worse, unromantic. He’ll find out from Quinn in the morning and tell Blaine before he leaves. He’ll tell Blaine he loves him.

He loves Blaine.

In that moment when Kurt stops fighting and gives into the realization, it leaves him feeling lightheaded and giddy. He lifts Blaine’s hand, pressing Blaine’s palm against his heart. “I want to be yours,” he says, even if Blaine can’t understand him. “I am yours.”

There’s a persistent fluttering in Kurt’s chest and he can’t seem to get close enough to Blaine, tucking himself against the warm, familiar body. Blaine’s arms stay firmly around him and he kisses Kurt’s forehead, humming softly until Kurt falls asleep.

----

Kurt wakes to kisses and a murmured goodbye.

“Not goodbye,” Kurt mumbles, but he’s so sleepy, so content and warm. There’s a different warm now, and he tries to find the warmth he had before, but can’t. Still, it smells like Blaine. Kurt smiles and falls back asleep.

When Kurt wakes fully it’s to sunlight filtering in through the window and the faraway sound of birdsong. He stretches and yawns, contemplating going back to sleep, when he looks around and realizes he’s alone. His eyes blink open. He sits up, takes a better look around. There’s no one in sight, and the pack Blaine had been keeping propped against the wall to take with him is gone.

Kurt’s heart both seems to plummet and stop beating all at once.

He stumbles from bed and rushes to the doorway. Everything is quiet. Outside nothing looks out of the ordinary even if he half-expects it all to be as wrong as he’s feeling right now. He haphazardly pulls on a pair of shorts and climbs down the ladder, searching for Quinn, calls to her until she finally calls back, looking down from her home.

Kurt shields his eyes, squinting up at her. “Where’s—where’s Blaine?”

Quinn looks confused. “Kurt, they left hours ago…”

Kurt glances around without really seeing. “How—what direction? I can catch up, they’ll be walking, won’t they?”

“Kurt…” Quinn slowly makes her way down, brow furrowed. “I thought you decided you should learn the language first?”

“It’s not that. How long will they be gone?” he asks, realizing belatedly that he’s still shirtless. He can’t find it in him to care, though.

“A month. Maybe two.”

Kurt is stunned. It's so long. He missed his chance. He’s in a daze, scanning the area like Blaine will just be there if he looks hard enough. But there’s nothing.

Nothing at all.

�