Safety Net

            He had been torn between waiting in for Blaine's daily phone call and making his way into the city to meet his mystery dinner guest.  Gerry had stubbornly refused to break the anonymous note-writer's confidence, and Douglas had found himself steadfastly refusing to read anything in to it.  That was until he found himself subconsciously matching ties, shirts, suits and shoes in his head. 

A part of him, one that should have been a lot smaller than it was, had allowed himself to fantasise that it would be Blaine, and seeing the youth in the flesh through the window of Barbarini's did something strange to Douglas' chest.  He found himself walking past the restaurant and stopped a little way down the street out of breath and sweaty palmed. 

            This is it then.  This is the moment that changes everything.  There is no going back after this.  You have to be the adult here – you have to set the boundaries.  Go in, be a gentleman and talk to him – this may just be an innocent meal between friends.

On February 13th.

See – he didn't choose Valentine's day!  Stop reading too much into things.  Pull yourself together – you are a grown man over twice his age for goodness sakes! 

He took a couple of calming breaths then turned around, straightened his tie, and headed into the restaurant.

            As always, Blaine took his breath away – he had a couple of moments between the maître d‘ taking his winter dress coat and leading him to his table to take in the sight of Blaine.  He was radiant in the soft candlelight and for a moment Douglas allowed himself to pretend this was a date.  He managed to shake the thought away by the time he reached the table and his eyes once again locked with the warm amber of his companion's.  He thought he saw relief in them but it could have been a trick of the light.

Blaine stood, the perfect gentleman, upon seeing Douglas and waited until the older man had taken a seat before retaking his.  Douglas smiled gently at him.

            ‘Thank you.'

The soft timbre of his voice was so much more in person and Douglas found that he had missed this – the simplicity of dining together; of breaking bread and conversing.  But there was a fragility there that he suddenly could not bear.

            ‘Whatever for, Blaine?'

            ‘Coming.  I…I wasn't wholly sure that you would.'

            ‘I'll admit – your note intrigued me.'  Douglas noted the faint hint of colour as it brushed Blaine's cheeks highlighting his cheekbones in extremely attractive way.  He licked his lips.  ‘I would have come immediately had you signed your name to your request – I was not certain that I was going to show myself until I found myself outside.'

He was not sure why he teased Blaine, but he found that he liked the way his companion's lashes brushed the apples of his cheeks when he looked down in embarrassment.  He found that he was even more fond of the way Blaine's eyes darted back up to capture his own – hypnotising and swirling with reflected flames.

The sommelier broke the spell and Blaine deferred to Douglas'

            ‘far greater age and expertise'

when it came to choose the wine for the evening.  Douglas found himself having to clear his throat when he saw the light smile twist Blaine's lips – the lad was teasing him back.

            Years ago Douglas would have been nervous dining in public with another man – but with Blaine it felt right somehow.  Perhaps it was the lad's age – perhaps everyone assumed Blaine was his son or nephew.  Perhaps it was because New York had changed, or that everyone there was too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice?  Or perhaps it was because Douglas no longer cared what anyone else thought? 

-+-

            ‘So, Blaine, what brings you back to New York?  I'm surprised you didn't mention a visit when we spoke yesterday.'

Douglas took a bite of his sirloin as he waited patiently for Blaine to finish his sip of Bordeaux.  They had discussed all manner of things but nothing of real consequence, and Douglas had finally reached the limit of his patience – Blaine did not seem willing to broach the topic naturally and it was killing Douglas not knowing.  He glanced at the almost empty bottle on the table – perhaps it was a combination of needing to understand what this was and wine.

Blaine seemed about to speak when the sommelier reappeared to replace the empty bottle with a fresh one.  The tiny Italian man made pouring wine an art form but Douglas felt impatience rumbling as the gentleman took his time. 

Douglas took a sip himself once the sommelier had left again, and glanced over the rim of the glass at Blaine as the young man cleared his throat.

            ‘I…hm.'  The little, uncertain huff resonated through Douglas and he found himself leaning forwards towards Blaine.  Their eyes met and it was as if his world had reduced right down to the table and the devastatingly handsome man opposite him.  Later, when he replayed the events of that evening in his head, over and over, he would be unable to recall who reached across for whose hand first – but he would remember with utter clarity the warmth of long, soft fingers entwined with his own.  He would dwell upon the reassuring brush of a thumb over the silky smoothness of the back of Blaine's hand and the way the younger man's breath had hitched slightly.  ‘I wanted to see you.'

His confession is soft and almost silent, but Douglas feels his body react.

-+-

            After dessert, coffee, and iced limoncello he feels something within him twist as the young waiter who had been giving Blaine eyes all evening jokes with him, and Blaine laughs lightly in response.  Sharply freezing bubbles writhe within his core and multiply as he watches, and later, much later, he will realise that it was at least partly because, deep down, he knows that the young blonde waiter would be better for Blaine – he is, if nothing else, closer in age to him.  But right then in the candlelight with the rich aromas of thyme, lemon, coffee, red fruits and sharp tannin enveloping them, and the alcohol warming his veins; all he knows is that he needs that look – that flirty and unself-conscious laughter to be aimed at him.  Not at the boy-waiter who looks like he would be more comfortable on a beach on the west coast – he is probably another want-to-be model or actor.

He watches as Blaine pays and makes silent plans to reciprocate the next evening now that he knows Blaine's itinerary.  He drains the remaining limoncello from his glass, then stands, and purposefully takes Blaine's overcoat from the waiter, holding it out for him himself.  Blaine's cheeks are glowing with alcohol but Douglas feels his companion's physical reaction to his gesture as his hand brushes Blaine's arm.  He only just manages to prevent himself from kissing Blaine's cheek and instead allows the waiter to help him with his own overcoat, then steps back and gestures for Blaine to lead the way back out into the bracing February air.  A small part (which should really have been larger) is grateful for the sobering effect of the wind, but he still finds himself holding out his arm for Blaine. 

            ‘Come back to mine for a coffee?'

-+-

            Blaine love-hates the way that Douglas' questions usually seem to be commands, and the way that his body always says “yes” before his mind can rebel, but with the warmth of the wine, lemon liqueur, and the fullness of a rich meal he can think of no better way to end the evening.

They get a taxi back to Douglas' and for the second time that day he finds himself outside Douglas' building.  Being the consummate gentleman, Douglas gets the door for Blaine and Blaine feels an uncomfortable pang of remembrance for when he used to perform that gesture for Kurt.  Bitterness creeps into his mouth and he shivers violently in response as the warm air from the foyer hits him.  He almost misses Douglas' concerned look and Blaine manages to shake his head lightly as Douglas calls the elevator. 

It feels so strange to find himself being stripped of his jacket again in Douglas' hallway, however, this time he is wearing shoes.  He giggles a little at the thought and has to grip a nearby mahogany ladder-back hall chair to stabilise himself as he fumbles the laces.

            ‘Coffee?'

Douglas' voice is like a lighthouse beacon and allows Blaine to focus again through the fog of his cluttered, jagged thoughts and he manages to nod before a dark thought reaches the surface.

            ‘Actually – how about a nightcap?'

He does not miss the slight surprise in Douglas' eyes as he takes in Blaine's appearance and Blaine forces himself to look adult and sober in response.  He feels a tremor of excitement as Douglas nods his head slightly and makes his way into the main living room instead of the kitchen.  Blaine follows, revelling in the feeling of his cold, sock clad feet in the thick, deep pile of the cream carpets. 

He had only briefly seen the living room before and he takes the opportunity to actually appreciate it this time.  One wall is papered with a pattern he cannot make out in duck egg and cream - the others are an inviting latte, and Blaine watches from the doorway as Douglas lights the four small bronze table lamps before making his way to the crystal decanter on the sideboard.

            ‘Bourbon alright?'  Douglas' voice is a little gruff but Blaine puts it down to the late hour and cold air.

            ‘Perfect, thank you.'

He turns and finds that the wallpaper is actually a map of New York, and Blaine finds himself smiling at how utterly Douglas it is.  He notices other things too – the way that the table lamps are art nouveau works of art in their own right, reflecting the lily theme from the hall - but the thing that really catches Blaine's eye is the clock on the mantelpiece.  It is an intricate skeleton clock and Blaine finds himself drawn to the movement.  Above the fireplace is a large over-mantle mirror with a heavy cream and bronze frame – the darkness of the glass, and the flaking of the foil suggest age, but it aside from using it to ensure his hair was still perfectly intact and had remained un-ravaged by the wind, it does not hold his interest for long.  Instead his attention is captured by a small unassuming pen-and-ink picture in a frame – no more than a sketch of a small bird at first glance, however, under closer scrutiny one can see it is made up of a number of impossibly small gears – almost as if it were a design for a mechanical toy. 

The clink of ice against lead-crystal startles him slightly and he turns to find Douglas holding out a short tumbler containing dark amber liquid that smells of oak and warm fires in Winter. 

            ‘Sorry – I was distracted by your bird.'

Douglas smiles as Blaine takes the glass.

            ‘Just a sketch I did when I was in college.'

            ‘It's so detailed.'

            ‘Thank you.'

There is a moment when neither man moves, but it is broken when Douglas smiles slightly then gestures to the regency-style couch.

Blaine follows and takes a seat feeling suddenly nervous and a little overwhelmed.  He takes a sip to settle his nerves and is dimly aware that he must be drunk when he does not flinch at the strength of the alcohol.

-+-

            He is actually happy and relaxed and comfortable for the first time since before and he enjoys the warmth of his limbs.  They feel loose and his is tempted to dance but he really wants to prove to Douglas that he is worthy of his attention so he forces himself to keep still.  Douglas is smiling and Blaine finds himself simply appreciating his friend for the umpteenth time that evening.  His eyes are fascinating – he does not think he has ever seen such dark eyes before – they are close to Doug's but somehow they are warmer tonight, not frosted as they usually are.  He leans forward a little to get a better look – to try to see what it was about that specific moment that makes Douglas' eyes so warm - when he suddenly realises he is staring.  Mortified, he tries to look away but Douglas is smiling and it is so warm and genuine that Blaine cannot tear his eyes away from the man in front of him.  It is only when he notices out of the corner of his eye that both his and Douglas' glasses are empty that he finds the strength to reach out and gently take Douglas' from him.  He has to use every ounce of concentration to ensure that he does not wobble as he makes his way over to the sideboard – things are simultaneously in slow motion and fast-forward and he feels a little off.  The last thing he wants is to break a glass or, god forbid, the decanter, so he tries to concentrate as he pours out two more measures but his arms do not seem to be co-operating as well as he would like.

            ‘Charming.'

He is not certain Douglas actually spoke so he turns slightly and raises a questioning eyebrow.

            ‘Sorry?'

            ‘You.  You are utterly charming.'

            ‘Um…thank you?'

            ‘You really are you know.  That first time I saw you - you mesmerised me, Blaine.'

His heart is hammering in his ears and his thoughts are cluttered but he manages to make his way back to the sofa without spilling the whiskey.  Douglas' fingers brush his own as he passes over the glass, and Blaine finds himself craving their warmth.  He settles down close to Douglas – their thighs touch and the heat of them spreads up through his system.  He gently clinks his glass to Douglas' in a toast and Douglas smiles a little, questioningly.

            ‘What was that for?'

            ‘You.  Project Narcissus.  I realised we hadn't celebrated.'

The smile Douglas gives him illuminates the room and Blaine finds that he never wants it to leave and the inevitability of its departure is a physical ache inside him.  He feels the familiar threat of tears prickle in the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes so he forces himself to take a sip of the bourbon to stave them off.

            ‘Thank you for tonight.'  Douglas' voice is warm and Blaine bathes in it as the alcohol slides down.

            ‘No – thank you for showing up.'

            ‘I've missed this, you know.'

            ‘I missed you too.'

A hand brushes his thigh, but it must have been his imagination because Douglas made it clear last time that they are just friends.  But they aren't just friends, are they?  Blaine's mind whirrs as he desperately tries to piece together what this is before he makes a complete fool of himself again.  His mind helpfully gives him a brief show of the Gap Attack disaster and he grimaces.

            ‘Are you OK, Blaine?'

The warm weight of the hand on his thigh is distracting but he manages to nod.

            ‘Yes.  Yes.  Sorry – my… uh… my thoughts went somewhere for a minute there.'

Douglas looks concerned, and is it Blaine's imagination or is he leaning closer to him?  Blaine finds himself leaning in closer to Douglas and he can feel the warmth of the other man's breath against his lips.  That is all it takes.

            -+-

            He wakes up slowly, so slowly, and vows again that he will never, ever, have another drink.  It is warm under the pristine white sheets and goose-down duvet so he snuggles back down for a moment before the icy chill brings him to terrifying sobriety. 

He is in the guest room at Douglas' not in the hotel room he booked. 

He is naked.

Desperately he tries to piece together the previous night's events after they got back to Douglas' for a drink.  He remembers talking on the couch.  He recalls the comfortable warmth and how at home he felt and the look in Douglas' eyes.  The one that had made him want to never leave.

And rejection.

It is there – clear as day; he remembers Douglas' hand on his thigh and the way he had leant towards Blaine.  He had been mesmerised – that was the word he had used.  You were not mesmerised by friends.  They were not friends.  Blaine remembered keenly how desperately he had wanted to feel Douglas' lips against his own again – his body had been keening for it, and he had known then exactly what he had wanted – he had wanted Douglas.  He had wanted Douglas since the day he had first seen him, and, more than that – Douglas had wanted him.

Suddenly, more than breathing, Blaine needed to know.  He needed to know whether what was between them was real.  He launched himself out of bed and was about to head to the kitchen before he realised that he was nude.  Throwing his eveningwear back on he made his way out into the hallway and back into the kitchen he was almost as familiar with as the one in his parents' house. 

Douglas was there, immaculately dressed as always, reading with a mug of steaming coffee and a bacon roll and Blaine's heart flipped lightly at the homely sight and aroma.  He stopped in his tracks and watched for what felt like hours.  He took a steadying breath.

            What is the worst that can happen here?  I have a hotel room booked so if he kicks me out I have somewhere to go so it's not like last time but at least I will know. I need to know that this is not all in my head…

            ‘I think we need to talk.'  It came out strong and sure, and Blaine counted that as an initial success.

            ‘I know.'  Douglas' reply was resigned and Blaine frowned in response.  ‘I'm sorry about last night, Blaine.' 

The words stung like nettles and Blaine felt his skin prickle.

            ‘Why?'

            ‘I shouldn't have let…'  He trails off but there is something in Douglas' eyes that sends off a spark in Blaine's.

            ‘Shouldn't have let what, Douglas?'

            ‘I can't let this happen.'

            ‘Let what happen?'

            ‘Please don't.'

            ‘Don't what?'

            ‘Don't make me spell it out.'

            ‘Why?  I think someone needs to because I don't think we are on the same page here at all.'

            ‘I am scared, Blaine.'

            ‘What of?'

            ‘Me.'

He feels frozen in place on Douglas' kitchen floor, unable to breathe lest he shatter into a thousand fragile shards - but he needs to know.

            ‘I need to be the adult here.'

            ‘No.'

            ‘I'm sorry?'

            ‘No – you don't get to use age against me, Douglas.'

            ‘Blaine –'

            ‘No.  It's a feeble excuse and you know it is.'

He watches Douglas shrink before him and a part of Blaine feels horrible for causing it, but he knows simultaneously that this conversation will make them both stronger in the long run, regardless of its outcome.  He takes a breath.

            ‘What are you scared of, Douglas?'

            ‘Please let me be strong, Blaine.'

            ‘How is letting you deny this letting you be strong?  Explain it to me – I'm a child remember?  Sometimes I need an adult to explain things to me.'

            ‘Don't -'

            ‘Don't what?  Don't fall for you because I'm sorry to tell you this but it is a bit too late for that.'  He can feel the frustration rising in his blood and he knows he's losing control but he cannot bring himself to care.  Douglas' silence infuriates him and he feels himself raise his voice.  ‘Deny it, Douglas.  Deny it.  You have feelings for me too and you are too much of a coward to let yourself consider the possibility that I might be able to make you happy.'  The words fall around them like ash and Blaine finds himself walking towards where Douglas is sat seemingly frozen.  ‘I want to make you happy, Douglas.  Let me?'

He reaches out and takes Douglas' hand in his own and gently pulls the taller man to his feet.

            ‘What are you scared of?'

            ‘You're so young…'

            ‘It's what other people will think, right?  Let them talk!  It's not a new concept – there's no rule book.  I'm not a minor so it's not breaking any laws.  Stop.  Stop making excuses.  Please.'  Douglas' free hand strays hesitantly to Blaine's hip and Blaine moves in closer a little dizzy with the power of instigating.  ‘Does it look like I'm running away, Dougl-?'

It takes his breath away when he feels Douglas' lips press against his own and his hand pull him in closer until his body is pressed against the taller man's.  Douglas tastes like coffee and cinnamon and Blaine feels himself moan a little as he gives himself to the physical pressure of lips.  He cups the other man's stubbled jaw with his free hand as he guides Douglas' other hand to join the other behind him, freeing his other hand to slide up around Douglas' neck.  A thrill runs through him as he leads the kiss – opening his lips a little to encourage Douglas and pressing their chests together – but he does not relax fully until he feels the other man stop, then trail sweet kisses down Blaine's neck in a strange reversal of their last attempt at this - but this time they are both sober.  This time there is no miscommunication. 

Blaine feels Douglas' hands grip the material of his shirt, untucking it at the back, and Blaine turns his head back to meet the taller man's lips again feeling them tighten as they pull into an uncertain smile.  Blaine finds himself smiling back and gently rests his forehead against Douglas'.

            ‘Good talk?'

            ‘Good talk.'

Douglas' laugh is free and Blaine finds himself reciprocating – it is a funny kind of high for a moment, both lost in the surreal nature of how their heated argument descended into a make-out session.  Blaine closes his eyes as he tries to absorb what just happened but feels guilt nibble at him.  Douglas' hand gently lifts Blaine's chin and their eyes meet.

            ‘Are you OK?'  Douglas' eyes are dark and intense.  Blaine looks down.

He is not completely sure why, but somehow he feels a little dirty – as if he is somehow betraying Kurt, again – but Kurt is not his; Kurt is in Lima with his new college boyfriend at Mr. Schue's wedding.  Blaine is not doing anything wrong.

Blaine lets his eyes meet Douglas' again and he sees the worry beneath the warm chocolate and he can feel Douglas closing himself off again.  He cannot let that happen.

            ‘I'm fine.'  He forces himself to smile but he knows Douglas will see straight through it so he kisses him instead – it is soft and chaste but it seems to have the desired effect.

            ‘So…what now?'

            ‘Um… Happy Valentine's Day, I guess.'

Douglas laughs then, and Blaine feels like he has at least done something right – as confused as he feels in that instant he somehow knows that he will be alright so long as he can keep making Douglas smile.

            ‘I meant – would you like breakfast?  But Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Blaine.'

            ‘Oh!  Sorry.  Yes – breakfast would be good.'

He untangles himself from Blaine seemingly reluctantly and makes his way over to the grill.

            ‘What did you have planned for the rest of your mini break – which I am beginning to suspect involved wooing me…'

            ‘You suspect correctly.'  Blaine winks at Douglas as he fixes Blaine a bacon sandwich and some coffee.  ‘Seriously though – I didn't really plan much further than dinner yesterday.  I…I don't really know what I was thinking only that I was hoping…I…'  His eyes drop to his hands and he finds himself fascinated by his fingers.

            ‘No – you don't get to go all coy now, Mr. Anderson.  Not after that lovely speech you gave me.  We still need to talk about…whatever this is…but first - breakfast and some fresh air?'

Not for the first time he finds himself utterly grateful for Douglas.  Blaine meets his eyes and nods slightly, then consciously forces himself to push the niggling wrong feeling to the side and to focus on building the foundations with Douglas.