Kurt’s mind spun whenever he permitted himself to ponder everything that had happened over the past few weeks.  It was all so much.

Running away from the safehouse had been an epic fail, but in the best way.  If he was honest with himself, Kurt had always planned on encountering Santana—he was too curious about his old friend, too hopeful that somehow he might make a difference. 

Of course, in the end it was Brittany who had made the difference.

He couldn’t be happier for them, more thrilled at the way everything had somehow worked out, except…

Except.

As tempting as it was to chock the entire situation up to another of life’s rare miracles—to delight in his friends’ happiness and in finally being reunited with the man he loved—there was still the rest of the world.  The rest of the world that didn’t want them to have any of this on a stupid, prejudice technicality that was entirely out of their control.  They were still trapped, and despite how hard Kurt fought to ignore it, anxiety was building within him each day.  He felt as though the four of them were being dragged down a dark path against their will, and Kurt knew instinctively that he wouldn’t like what they found when they reached the end.

Sometimes Kurt really hated his instincts.  They were usually right.

And then there was Blaine to deal with.  Not that Blaine could ever, ever be a burden to Kurt, but it was clear that the other man was unsettled now in a way that he hadn’t been before, and Kurt felt at a loss to help him.  He trusted Santana, but it was impossible—maybe even a waste of time—to explain the why and how of that trust to Blaine… especially when he was battling such strong misgivings of his own about their situation, even if they were slightly different in nature.  Blaine was already too unhinged, and Kurt was unwilling to trouble him further in fear that his soulmate might lose it altogether. 

That aside, Kurt understood why Blaine felt the way he did about his high school friend.  Blaine had been betrayed horribly, unspeakably in the past, and Kurt would never fault him for his caution.  He was careful to tread lightly when he and Blaine gathered with the girls to discuss plans and strategies, hoping—praying—that Blaine would come around in his own time.  When Cooper inevitably approached Blaine before their departure from the safehouse, Kurt had pushed once and then left it alone, offering only love and support in the wake of the brothers’ confrontation even though the outcome was not what he had hoped or would have chosen for himself.

There had been entirely too much to contemplate and a surplus of time to think since their return to the mansion.  The four of them weren’t sure what to do and had eventually come to the conclusion that there was really nothing they could do for the time being—only be patient and hope that the others would come around.  Kurt wished they’d thought to settle with Wes how everyone would proceed once a decision was reached.  Did the resistance expect them back at the safehouse in a few days to hear an answer?  Would they send a representative, or some kind of sign?

The last thing Kurt anticipated was to be called to the dungeon room (as he’d taken to calling it) after five long days of waiting to find at least fifteen members of the resistance, looking haggard, dirty, and tired but very much determined.

Among them were Finn, Mike, David, Mercedes… and Cooper.  Brittany and Blaine, who had been engaged in a game of chess on the patio when the guard came to get Kurt, were already enmeshed within the group, faces bright and smiling, though Kurt saw Blaine’s eyes narrow briefly when they chanced upon his brother.  Kurt shot Cooper a small, apologetic smile before turning his attention elsewhere.  He spotted Santana standing off to the side observing the group before her, looking much more reserved and calculating than the rest.

“Kurt!” Finn called his name, and Kurt couldn’t help but return Finn’s grin as he found himself engulfed in the arms of his new stepbrother.  He never would have expected to feel such kinship to another person—formerly a stranger—so quickly, but he couldn’t deny the attachment he now felt to the larger man, the elation within him every time he so much as thought or heard the word: brother.

Mercedes approached next, offering a much looser, warmer embrace. 

“I didn’t expect you guys to just show up here!” Kurt exclaimed.  “Does this mean…?”

Mercedes shook her head, face falling a little.  “The vote was split, and there were some—“ she hesitated before seeming to settle on her next word “—disagreements.  In the end, it was agreed that anyone who wished to could leave, and the others could remain safehouse, secret intact, or choose to return to The Olde World.”

Kurt nodded.  “I didn’t see Wes?”

“He wanted to come, Kurt, but he had to stay back to smooth things over.”

“He totally supports you, dude,” Finn added.

“I’m just glad to see you two,” Kurt said earnestly.  “And Mike, and David…” looking back over the crowd, Kurt noticed that it mostly consisted of Blaine’s friends, with a few faces he couldn’t yet place.  Sugar hadn’t come, he noted sadly, but neither had Sebastian—no surprise there.

Brittany finally dragged a reluctant Santana into the fray, and Kurt took a deep breath and braced himself for the moment of truth.  “Come on, you guys should meet Santana,” he suggested, taking both their hands and pulling them towards the rest of the group.

No, this wasn’t what Kurt had expected—but it felt right, a relief to have so many people he cared about here together.  For the first time in several long weeks, Kurt allowed himself to consider their predicament with something that felt dangerously close to hope.

*******

They held an informal meeting later that evening , which largely consisted of Santana divulging her story to everyone (rather uncomfortably, but Kurt thought he might be one of the few that could tell) followed by a discussion of what would come next.  Their previous plan for Santana to make a speech against rehabilitation at the upcoming campaign event was the first item discussed and solidified.  The group’s attention then turned to safety and security, as they were all well aware that this was bound to be an unpopular move in the eyes of most, primarily the very government for which Santana worked.

After the meeting, Kurt pulled her aside.  “Will they let you come back here, after?  Will you still have a job?”

Santana shrugged and took a lengthy drink of wine.  “It would be safer to find someplace else and lay low, of course, but I’ll have to risk it.  They can ask me to step down, but they can’t keep me from running.  Unless, of course, they have me arrested for treason.”  She sighed.  “I really don’t know, Kurt.  No one’s ever made a move this big before.”

He offered her a weak smile, unsure of what to say, and quickly excused himself as Brittany approached with some of the others.  Noticing Blaine standing in the corner with Mike, the two of them involved in an intense but hushed discussion, he headed that way.

As Kurt neared their conversation slowed to a halt, both of them glancing at him with half-smiles.

“Hey,” Blaine said, holding an arm out for Kurt to snuggle in against his side.

“Hey,” he offered in return.

“We were just discussing some of the training that might be needed,” Blaine informed him.  “Some of these folks are a little rusty.  You game?”

“What kind of training?”

“Weapons,” Mike supplied.  “Mostly guns.  Your man here’s a pretty good shot, he ever mention that?”

Kurt turned his gaze to Blaine, raising one eyebrow in amusement.  Blaine shrugged, flushing ever so slightly.

“I prefer my fists,” he protested.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not good.  I prefer swords, myself—I studied fencing in grade school—but they won’t be of much use here, I’m afraid.”

Kurt ran his eyes over Mike’s lithe body with a new appreciation.  He’d always considered fencing one of the more graceful sports, similar to dance in many ways—that was probably why it was such a popular choice for musicals and ballet.  It suited Mike, Kurt decided.

He looked up to meet the taller man’s eyes, purposefully avoiding Blaine’s.  “I’m alright with a gun; my father taught me to hunt when I was ten.  It’s been awhile, but it’s like riding a bike, right?  I don’t think I’ll need the training.”

“Kurt, I think it might be safer if…”

“I don’t need the training, Blaine,” he said more stiffly, still not looking over at his soulmate.

Mike frowned at them both.  “Santana said she wanted the two of you up there with her.  It’s going to be a fairly vulnerable position; you should both be able to defend yourselves.”

Unsure how to respond, Kurt’s eyes darted around frantically for an out.  “Finn!” he exclaimed gratefully, grabbing his brother’s arm and pulling him away from a desert table set up a few feet from where they were talking.  Finn looked dismayed, eyeing the cake longingly and snatching up a handful of cookies as he was yanked along, crumbs trailing behind him.  “We were just talking about weapons.  Weren’t you telling me the other day about that paintball league you started back in high school?”

Finn perked up a bit at this, immediately latching on to the topic, and Kurt finally stole a glance at Blaine.  His soulmate was staring at him, the look on his face somewhere between a glare and apprehension.  Feeling guilty, Kurt turned his attention back to his brother, feigning interest, asking questions to keep him talking.

Blaine wouldn’t be put off forever.  Kurt was certain he was in for a taxing evening when he and Blaine finally retired to their room.

*******

Kurt wasn’t wrong.  The door was barely latched behind them before Blaine started in on him, face tense with something Kurt suspected might be a very understandable frustration.

“Care to explain what that was back there?” he questioned.  “Why on Earth would you be against training?  You’ve always been a cautious person, perhaps even more so than me!”

Kurt sighed, lifting his eyes to meet Blaine’s.  “I’m not training, Blaine—at least not for any sort of battle.”

Blaine opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.  “I don’t understand,” he finally said.

“I’m a pacifist,” Kurt admitted.  “I won’t use a gun, not for that.  Not against another person.”

“A pacifist,” Blaine repeated dully.  Kurt nodded.  “Why?”

“It’s something I decided for myself a long time ago.  Way back in high school, actually.  It was the bullying, bits and pieces of what I’d heard about rehabilitation, things I’d watch on tv that turned my stomach.  I hate violence; it repulses me.  It’s… it’s a lot of things, Blaine; I don’t think I have an explanation that will be good enough for you.  It’s just… part of who I am.”

He really wished he had a way to make Blaine understand, make him see that Kurt wasn’t doing this to hurt him.   In the past he’d found that honesty was usually enough, though something told him that it wouldn’t be so simple this time.  But Kurt’s heart was bound, and his hands were tied.

Blaine looked like he was at least considering what Kurt had to say.  He no longer appeared to be angry.  This was good.

“Kurt,” Blaine stepped closer—half-dressed as they’d both been changing while they spoke—and took Kurt’s hands.  “That makes sense, I guess, but this is different.  This is important.  It could be… it could be life or death.”

Kurt nodded, squeezing the hands in his.  “I’m so sorry, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”

He watched as Blaine grew a little frantic, pulling his hands away from Kurt’s and fidgeting.  “That’s… that’s not good enough, Kurt.  Not for this.  I need you to be safe!  You either carry a gun, or you stay back.”

“That’s not your decision, Blaine,” Kurt said calmly.

“What, you expect me to protect you?  I can’t be worried about you up there; it’s too much.  This… this is crazy!” 

When he began to pace, Kurt reached out a hand to his shoulder to steady him, but it was shrugged off.  “Blaine…” he sighed.  “I would say that I don’t expect that, no, but I know that’s useless because it’s what you’ll be trying to do anyways.”

Blaine shook his head wildly, body tense.  “No, this is insane.  This is too much…”

“Hey,” this time, Kurt grabbed him a little more forcefully with both hands, successfully halting his movement.  “Hey,” he repeated.  “I know how scared you feel right now, remember?  I know it’s hard but we’ll get through this, and…”

Blaine’s hands came up to knock Kurt’s away, his eyes darkening further as he folded his arms in front his chest, seeming almost to shrink away.  “If you know, Kurt, then why would you do this to me?  Why put me through this?”

Kurt’s face fell, his careful demeanor beginning to crumble.  “It’s not like it’s a choice, Blaine.  It’s something that I can’t do.”

“I don’t believe that,” Blaine argued.  “You can, but you won’t.  You won’t do it for yourself, and you won’t do it for me!”

He turned then, walking away and yanking open the dresser drawer to pull out a pair of pajama pants, stumbling in his haste to get them on and nearly falling over.

“Blaine…” Kurt tried, his heart breaking.

“Please stop talking.”

It was clear that Blaine was purposefully refusing to look at him as he successfully righted his pants and made his way over to the bed, curling into himself on the far side, facing the wall.

“Blaine,” Kurt said again, more of a sigh.  He quickly got himself dressed and killed the light, stretching out beside Blaine as close as he dared and tentatively reaching out to touch his soulmate’s arm.  Blaine flinched away.

Unwilling to give up, Kurt scooted closer until they were flush together, spooning his longer body behind Blaine’s easily.  The smaller man trembled in his arms.  Concerned, Kurt reached up to gently trace Blaine’s face.  It was wet.

He’d never seen Blaine cry before.

Kurt clutched him tighter, and Blaine reached a shaky hand up to snag Kurt’s own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing hard.  They lay like that quietly for several moments, Kurt occasionally pressing kisses to the back of Blaine’s shoulders and neck.

“I can’t lose you again,” Blaine said brokenly, cutting through the silence.

Kurt sucked a breath in sharply, closing his eyes against the threat of his own tears.  Tugging gently, he rolled Blaine onto his back.

“Hey,” he said, turning Blaine’s face toward his own with his free hand, almost losing himself in the glossy depths of Blaine’s familiar, beautiful eyes.  “I’m right here!  I’m real; I’m safe.  We’re okay.” 

He pulled their joined hands up to his face, pressing Blaine’s palm against it as if to accentuate his point, dragging it slowly down and across his own chest.  “I’m here,” he said again, a mere whisper.  Suddenly, Blaine’s fingers were threading through his hair, tugging him down roughly into a kiss, Blaine’s hands manipulating his body until it was covering Blaine completely.

Kurt returned the kiss with passion, tasting the salt of Blaine’s tears and feeling Blaine’s pain as if it were his own.  Blaine’s hands settled at Kurt’s hips as he scooted up against the headboard, until Kurt was more sitting than lying in his lap.  Kurt felt his arousal stirring as Blaine’s fingers slipped under the flannel of his pants to grab too-hard at his ass, felt Blaine already hard and needy, pressed against his thigh through two layers.

They didn’t speak anymore; it wasn’t necessarily.  Kurt rose up to his knees so Blaine could work the fabric down his body, crawling out of the offending clothing and taking the opportunity to lean over and grapple for the lube in the nightstand, slamming the drawer too-loudly the moment his hand closed around it.  Blaine was still fumbling with his pants, so Kurt squirted some lube onto his own fingers, reaching back to clumsily work himself open.

He heard Blaine gasp, felt more than saw his soulmate’s eyes on him in the darkness.  Kurt keened when he felt Blaine’s finger slide in next to two of his own, wriggling his ass back against it in a clear signal for Blaine to take over.  He did.

The sound of squelching from too-much lube was almost louder than Kurt himself as Blaine fucked into him with four fingers, their cocks rutting against each other with each jerky movement.  Kurt’s eyes rolled back in his head.  Some other time, he might have found the noise distasteful, but now it only seemed to add to their shared frenzy.

“Source, need you inside,” Kurt moaned, low and breathless.

In an instant Blaine’s fingers were gone, and they were kissing, all tongue and teeth.  When Blaine grabbed his hips and thrust into him, hard and burning and perfect, Kurt’s jaw snapped closed on Blaine’s lip, drawing blood.  Blaine groaned, pulling out and doing it all over again, Kurt more prepared this time and focused on licking into his mouth.

Blaine set the pace, rough but slow, sometimes fucking up into Kurt and sometimes choosing to maneuver Kurt’s hips down over him instead.    For Kurt it was a sharp and easy pleasure, and he rode it out as long as he could before his desperation grew too great.  Pulling Blaine’s hands from his body, he wrapped his own tight around Blaine’s wrists, pinning them against the headboard and taking over.

His muscles were screaming in protest after only a short time, unaccustomed to such a strenuous workout, but Kurt continued on, driven by his frantic need for completion.  He hadn’t ridden Blaine before, and the other man was making the most atrocious sounds—so different from when he was the one in control—and Kurt couldn’t help but revel in it, each groan-turned-whine spiking his pleasure.

It didn’t take long at all for his orgasm to overtake him, the accompanying depart from lucidity still a shock even after several similar experiences.  When he became aware again he was flat on his back, Blaine pressing his knees up into his shoulders as he pounded into him, eyes locked on Kurt’s own.  Kurt smiled, reaching up to cup Blaine’s sweaty face, fingers brushing tenderly against his damp curls.

Blaine tried to kiss him as he came, mouth stretching over Kurt’s in a silent scream, and despite the heat Kurt wrapped his arms around the other man as he came down, pulling Blaine’s body flush to his own chest. 

He could tell the moment Blaine was back with him, carefully lowering his legs as Blaine laid perfectly still, his breathing and heartbeat gently slowing. 

Kurt looked down at the man he loved, ran his hand through the tangle of Blaine’s hair, and swallowed hard.

“Blaine?” he broke the silence after several long minutes had passed.

“Yes?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Blaine turned his head briefly, placing a soft kiss over Kurt’s heart, then lowered it to rest again against his chest—both men content to stay just as they were meant to be for as long as they could manage.