Heads on a Science Apart

He should have known better. The fact that they were mutual friends with Sebastian threw up red flags, but like the naive idiot he was, he ignored them. Besides, with Kurt in New York, and Brittany in whatever fantasy world that existed solely in her head, it was important for him to have gay friends to talk to, especially in the wastelands of western Ohio.

So he friended him. It was just Facebook. It's not like he was changing his relationship status or anything. And they talked. It was fun. Eli was a Warbler, but a new one, so there was no sense of betrayal that Blaine usually felt every time he saw a red-and-blue profile picture on his Wall. He asked about the teachers, the old students, the graduating class of 2012, the annual tradition of defacing the statue in front of Crawford County Day. Nothing serious.

Sure, Eli liked a lot of his posts. Like, a lot. And he commented on nearly every picture. Like those jeans. You should wear red more often, it makes your skin look fantastic. God, they don't make 'em like you at Dalton. And maybe he smiled when he saw those comments. He shouldn't feel guilty for being flattered. Heck, Kurt was in New York, the gay capital of the East Coast; surely he was being hit on every day.

So when Eli asked him to meet him at The Lima Bean—These online-only conversations are SO 2009, Blaine!—he agreed. He was lonely, and Sam and Artie and the New Directions were great, but he needed new friends. Someone that was just his. Not Kurt's, not McKinley's. His.

They laughed. They talked. They made fun of each other's coffee orders—I totally had you pegged as a latte kind of guy. They got their drinks to-go and wandered around the park, swapping stories and bumping shoulders playfully. It was what friends did.

Until Eli wrapped a hand around his elbow and pulled him to a stop behind a large oak. They were completely hidden from the rest of the people in the park. He sent a wistful smile at the tree; he and Kurt had spent a good deal of time here the first summer they were together, back when their relationship was new and fresh and immediate. Before he could tell Eli that story, the Warbler seized his face and crashed their lips together, not even flinching when their coffee cups fell to the earth with a silent boom.

In a moment, it was over. He was numb. Eli smirked and laced their fingers together. He wanted to be angry, to be sad, to be confused, but all he could feel was the burning, fulfilling sensation of togetherness that just barely eclipsed the crippling guilt. I have a boyfriend. The words fumbled out, possibly in a language that only mimicked true English. Eli didn't seemed fazed by this revelation, so he repeated it. I really don't want to hurt him.

He doesn't have to know.

He knew he'd heard those words before, back when he was stronger, back when he had a reason to ignore them. But that was a long time ago.

They separated.

---

They didn't meet again for over a week. They confined their communication to Facebook messages only, and everything was fine. Except it wasn't. Because now all of Eli's comments were laced with an unmistakable undertone of I want you.

It was a sensation he understood. He knew what it meant to want, to want so badly you put yourself on the line in ways you never thought you could. He knew because he still felt it.

But now he wasn't sure who for.

---

I love you.

The dial tone didn't return his sentiments.

---

What's up, sexy?

You want to come over?

No. No I don't.

No I can't.

No I shouldn't.

He got up and left the choir room.

---

Of course Eli would live in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Bellefontaine. Of course his house would be gorgeous. Of course he would be unbelievably gentlemanly as he opened the door. Of course his bed would look ridiculously comfortable. Of course his bed would be ridiculously comfortable.

He was nervous. He'd never been in the bedroom of another gay guy—other than Kurt's—before. It was stylish, and relatively neat, but otherwise it looked like a typical teenage boy's. Eli sat beside him, dressed simply. Dressed in clothes that probably didn't take a long time to put on, and probably wouldn't take a long time to take off.

Except that sort of thing doesn't matter.

And then Eli's hands were on his face, and their lips were connecting, and their bodies were moving back, back, back against the bed. Those long, tanned fingers wove through the gel easily, like a shark swimming through water, and god it's been too long. The Warbler's body covered his, and his hips rocked down harshly. He didn't even recognize the gasping cry that came from his own gaping mouth, or the fact that his hips canted upward in search of that long-forgotten friction.

He didn't end up doing much, though; he mostly laid there and let Eli work down on him, grinding their aching hard members together through their clothes until they were sweating and panting and oh so light-headed.

But when his eyelids fluttered shut with a passionate intake of air, piercing blue eyes swarmed through the black, tears lighting them up like stars above the ocean.

His own eyes blew wide as he climaxed, and before he knew it he was running, running, running, down the stairs and out the door and to his car and away.

This is cheating, Kurt.

No. This is cheating, Blaine.

He was lucky he didn't crash.

He almost wished he did.