It just fucking figured that the second things started to look up in his life, the fucking apocalypse would happen.

Kurt trudged down US-33, trying to ignore the fact that his feet were killing him and he was dirtier than he’d ever been in his life. He completely ignored the fact that he was wearing an honest-to-goodness backpack, because, seriously, he already wanted to die.

He was heading for Columbus in the hopes that he may find more survivors. There wasn’t anyone left in Lima.

He had been walking for three days now. Three days of silent roads, ghost towns, and dead things, their stench permeating the air whenever the wind shifted or he got too close to a city. Following the highway wasn’t the most direct route to Columbus, but he was afraid that he’d get lost if he didn’t have the highway signs to rely on. The last thing he needed right now was to get turned around in a cornfield and wander in circles until he starved to death.

He had considered heading west to Fort Wayne instead. While it was smaller than Columbus, it was closer, and the pull of not being alone anymore was almost enough to change his mind. In the end, however, he convinced himself that the extra day or two of walking was worth it. He also convinced himself that it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Dalton Academy was just outside of Columbus.


Blaine.

______________________________

In the excitement leading up to the wedding, no one had paid much attention to the weather reports. Okay, so storm clouds were massing, like, worldwide, and meteorologists were collectively shitting themselves with fear, but it all seemed like the usual overreaction. There was the wedding, and going back to school on Monday, and the news about Karofsky, and the decision to transfer to Dalton, and everything was so important and big and fast that there’s wasn’t time to worry about some clouds.

When the global lightning storm hit on Monday evening, everyone in the world who was outside or using any kind of device with an electrical component was immediately fried. People walking their dogs. People raking their lawns. People driving their cars. People talking on their cell phones, or typing on their laptops, or listening to their iPods - snap-crackle-pop, they were dead. Houses went up in flames; planes fell out of the sky.

There was no warning. There wasn’t even any thunder. Just the lightning, reaching toward the earth again and again, destroying everything it touched.


Kurt had retired to his room early on Monday, exhausted by the activity and sheer emotion of the past few days. Everything he owned had been hurriedly packed into carefully labeled boxes, his hope chest, and sturdy garment bags, ready for his move to Dalton the following morning. He was sure that he’d never be able to fall asleep, but he was out like a light moments after his head hit the pillow.

He slept through the whole thing.

Kurt jolted awake the next morning without the aid of his alarm. He cursed when he flipped the light switch and nothing happened, but he didn’t have time to worry about the house’s shoddy wiring. He shivered his way through a cold shower, moisturized, styled his hair as best he could without his blow dryer, and got dressed. He double-checked his room for forgotten items, peering under the bed and opening all of his dresser drawers. Satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything, he stood in front of his mirror, ran a hand over his damp hair, squared his shoulders, and headed upstairs.

In hindsight, he should have realized that something was wrong. Burt was an early riser, and usually the creak of the floorboards overhead alerted Kurt that his father was up and getting ready to head to the garage. He could usually smell coffee brewing and hear the sound of the morning news on the television. But today - nothing.

“Dad?” Kurt called as he reached the top of the steps and headed down the hallway. “Are you up? We have to start loading the truck. It’s a long drive and I absolutely cannot be late on my very first day. And I know you want to get back at a decent time to help Carole and Finn move in, so we really need to get going.”

There was no answer. Kurt peered into his father’s bedroom; it was empty. He doubled back toward the kitchen and stood perplexed, hands on hips, as he surveyed the room. No coffee. No power upstairs either, apparently. But did he smell…bacon?

He entered the living room and immediately spotted his father’s head over the back of his recliner. Had he fallen asleep watching TV again? (And where was that smell coming from?) Kurt strode across the room and stood between the chair and the television, pivoting to face his father. “Dad, I think…”

He gasped so hard he almost choked. His hands flew to cover his eyes and his head started automatically whipping back and forth in denial, his mind not wanting to accept what he saw before him. He started shaking, little tremors that almost immediately escalated into full-body spasms that wracked his frame so hard that his knees buckled and he thudded painfully onto the carpet. He scrambled backwards, attempting to get away from the sight in front of him, and hardly even noticed when his back hit the television set and he got a mild shock. He pulled his knees into his chest and curled up into a ball, a strange keening sound building in his chest and escaping from his lips.

Burt Hummel was hardly even recognizable. Later, when Kurt could think such thoughts without throwing up, he reflected that his dad resembled nothing so much as a piece of beef jerky. His entire body was blackened; with a small, detached portion of his brain, Kurt noticed that a wisp of smoke was rising from the top of Burt’s head. His clothes were melted to his body, and his body was melted into the chair, and saying that it was the most horrible thing that Kurt had ever seen did not even come close to describing it.

Some minutes or hours or decades later, when Kurt had the shaking and the breathing and the not-passing-out a little more under control, he peered out from between his fingers and stared at the figure in the chair. Taking a deep, quivering breath, he managed to squeak out, “D-Dad?”

No answer. No movement. No nothing.

Ignoring the voice in his head (of course he’s not answering, look at him, he looks like the guy at the end of the Bad Romance video, he’s obviously dead, dead, dead), Kurt cautiously crawled forward a few inches.

“Dad?”

Still nothing. The smoke continued curling lazily towards the ceiling.

“Daddy?”

Kurt didn’t remember much after that.

______________________________

After four days of walking, Kurt was at a crossroads of both the literal and figurative variety. He had reached the interchange just outside of Dublin, Ohio, and he had a choice to make.

If he continued on US-33, he’d head south into downtown Columbus. According to the signs, it was only another dozen miles or so - he could be in the heart of the city in about four hours. He hadn’t seen a single living person along the way, but he figured that any other survivors would have gravitated towards the largest nearby city, just as he had. He knew that his best chance of finding someone, anyone who was still alive lay in the city.

Kurt turned and read another sign. 270 EAST - Westerville. It was about fourteen miles, with nothing but shopping centers and country clubs in between. He crossed his arms and tapped a foot on the pavement, considering.

He knew what the sensible thing to do was. In his heart (his cold, dead, shriveled-up little heart), he knew that there was nothing for him in Westerville. He needed to get moving.


Blaine.

______________________________

When Kurt finally got around to calling 911, it took him a few minutes (and numerous button-smashing fits of rage) to realize that the phone wasn’t working. He checked his cell phone and realized that it, too, was dead. He let out a hoarse, angry cry that echoed through the house and slammed a fist on the kitchen counter. After taking a few deep breaths, he gritted his teeth, pulled himself together, and stalked to the front door, intending to knock on a neighbor’s door and ask to use their phone. He was completely unprepared for what he saw when he opened the door.

The whole world seemed to have turned gray. Everywhere he looked, all he saw was singed grass. Burnt trees. A house reduced to cinders. Scorch marks marring the pavement. Cars in the middle of the road with nothing but the charred frames remaining. A fine layer of ash coated everything around him; a small breeze blew sparkling eddies of soot into the air, making him cough violently.

“I don’t…” Kurt said weakly, wincing at how raspy his voice sounded. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Hello? HELLO?”

Nothing. Off to his left, he heard a sound and whirled, only to see what appeared to be a dead squirrel fall out of a tree and land on the grass with a thud. The second it hit the ground, it crumbled.

“Squirrelkebab,” Kurt muttered to himself, and started laughing hysterically, quietly at first, but gaining momentum until it seemed like his vocal cords would give out under the howls that were tearing their way out of his throat. He sat down abruptly on the step, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and was surprised to notice that he was crying.

Once he regained some semblance of control over his wildly careening emotions, Kurt started piecing together the evidence. He figured that nothing short of a concentrated missile attack or a natural disaster could have wreaked this kind of havoc, and since he doubted that he could have slept through a missile attack - or that anyone would even care enough about Ohio to actually bomb it - he decided on the latter. Those fucking meteorologists and their fucking clouds. Why didn’t they see this coming? Why didn’t they warn people?



Kurt decided that the first order of business would be to find out if everyone he knew was dead. He started at Tina’s house. Dead. Rachel Berry’s. Also dead. He made a quick detour to Mr. Schue’s (ditto) before continuing on to the school, where he knew that most of the other Glee members would have been for football or Cheerios practice. He thought he had started to get used to the sight of people he loved being dead - after all, there wasn’t that much variety in the “burned to a crisp” look - but the sight of the football field littered with the charred bodies of people he knew, people that he saw every day, made him come undone again. Finn. Artie. Quinn. Puck. Brittany. Santana. Mike. Sam. Coach Beiste. Coach Sylvester. He sat in the bleachers until the sobs gave way to sniffles and he could force his stomach to stop trying to exit his body through his mouth.

He saved Mercedes’ house for last. He hovered outside for a few minutes, trying to work up the courage to go in, then took a deep breath and let himself in through the front door. He found her whole family sitting in the dining room, where they had apparently been electrocuted by the light fixture that hung over the table. Kurt looked at the remains of what had once been his best friend, his shopping partner, his confidante, his musical soul mate, and decided that there was nothing left for him here.

It was time to leave Lima.

______________________________

It was going to get dark soon, but Kurt was determined to reach his destination before he was forced to find a house or store (corpse-free, hopefully) in which to spend the night. He was tired of walking, tired on being on the road, and all he wanted as to actually get somewhere instead of this endless, mind-numbing traveling.

Kurt paused to tighten his scarf around his neck and peered down the road, wondering if he was getting close. The landscape was still depressingly monochromatic - he made a mental vow to never wear gray again - but he could see a darker smudge on the horizon. What was that? Most of the car and house fires had burned themselves out after the first couple days, so whatever it was, it must be big.

He started walking again, hardly noticing that he had quickened his pace and that his boots were making a clomp-clomp-clomping sound that echoed off of the surrounding buildings. He didn’t know why, but a feeling of dread had settled into his stomach, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was really, really not going to like what he found up ahead.

The breeze shifted and he was suddenly downwind from the looming pillar of smoke. Kurt got one whiff and immediately bent double over the gutter, vomiting for what felt like hours. He had smelled that stench before, had smelled it in his own house, that horrible bacon-but-not-bacon stink that, to him, would forever signify the end of family and love and comfort. For him, that smell meant the end of the world.

The wind shifted and Kurt could finally breathe again. He rinsed his mouth out with some water from his canteen - stolen from a sporting goods supply store, he had no compunction about theft now that, oh yeah, everyone was dead - and spat neatly into a storm drain. He readjusted his loathsome backpack on his shoulders and started moving forward again, wobbling a bit at first but getting steadier with each step.

He was breathing through his mouth now, just in case the smell made a reappearance, and he sounded like a Neanderthal but he couldn’t really bring himself to care at this point. The smoke, which had started out as a distant smear on the horizon, was now a thick, dense cloud, oily and acrid, and it was so close that Kurt was starting to get seriously freaked out about where it was coming from.

And then, suddenly, he could see exactly where it was coming from.

Kurt followed a bend in the road and abruptly found himself at the end of a long drive that was flanked on either side by tall iron gates that gleamed dully in the rapidly fading daylight. To the right, a sign reading “Dalton Academy Preparatory School for Boys” stood like a sentinel, untouched by the storm.

Beyond the gates, the school was barely visible behind the fog of smoke.


Blaine.


Kurt started to run.




Kurt ran down the long drive to Dalton Academy, coughing and spluttering as he choked on the thick black smoke billowing around him. He squinted, trying to see if the whole school was ablaze, or if there was some untouched part where he could find a way inside. As he drew closer, however, he realized that it wasn’t the school that was on fire, but a large pile of...something heaped up on the front lawn. The smoke shifted, suddenly blowing away from him, and Kurt saw a figure standing in front of the burning pile of…whatever it was. The figure turned around.


Blaine.


BLAINE!


Blaine’s face was completely blank. He was wearing his uniform trousers, although he had removed his blazer and tie, and the sleeves of his no-longer-white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His hair was mussed, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he held himself so stiffly he looked like a scarecrow.

Kurt thought that he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He hurtled down the drive, coat flapping and his scarf streaming out behind him, and called out Blaine’s name. For a brief instant, Blaine’s face lit up and he practically glowed, his eyes widening and his hands coming up as if to grasp at something. Then, like a shade being drawn, the joy was gone, replaced by a look of such despair and horror that Kurt, who had almost reached him at this point, skidded to a halt and stood still, suddenly uncertain.

“Oh,” Blaine said. “Oh, no. Not you.”

Then, as Kurt watched, speechless, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slowly, almost gracefully, collapsed to the ground.

______________________________

Kurt sat stiffly in a high-backed chair in one of Dalton’s numerous lounges, watching the light play across Blaine’s face as he slept on a large, overstuffed sofa. After Blaine had passed out, Kurt had managed to drag him inside and light a fire, and he now sat waiting for Blaine to wake up.

This wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting. He had known that the odds of Blaine being alive were infinitesimal, but he hadn’t been able to help imagining elaborate scenarios in which he found Blaine and they fell into each other’s arms. In these daydreams, Blaine was overjoyed to see him, and it didn’t matter that everyone else was dead because they were alive and they had each other.

Kurt’s lips tightened as realized what a fool he had been. Not you. He was such an idiot. He sank lower in his chair and stared into the fire, trying - and failing - to keep the tears from running down his face.



A whisper: “Kurt?”

He must have fallen asleep. Weak light filtered in through the windows; the fire had burned itself out, and the room was chilly and still. He sat up straight, groaning at the kink in his neck, and looked haughtily toward the sofa, his mask of disdain firmly in place. Blaine was awake; he was staring at Kurt with round eyes and an unreadable expression.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Kurt said coldly, rising from the chair. “I didn’t want to leave before I was sure that you were okay. You’re obviously…alive, so I’ll be on my way.”

“NO!” Blaine was on him before he could react. He flew off the sofa, blankets trailing behind him, and launched himself so hard at Kurt that they both fell backwards over the chair. They landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, Blaine’s body knocking the air out of Kurt’s lungs, his weight pinning him to the floor. There was a moment of silence, and then Blaine spoke again.

“Are…are you real?”

Kurt squirmed out from underneath Blaine and sat up, ignoring the pounding of his heart, running a hand over his hair by reflex. Ugh. It was so dirty.

“Of course I’m real,” he said sourly. “Couldn’t you tell when you nearly broke my ribs?” He sneaked a glance at Blaine.

Blaine, who was staring at him with wide hazel eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. Kurt was disgusted with himself that he still found him so attractive.

“No, really, Kurt…you’re alive? You’re here? I’m not...imagining this?” Blaine suddenly looked so panicked that Kurt reached out and grabbed his hand, instinctively wanting to soothe him. He stood up, pulling Blaine with him, and led him back over to the sofa and gently pushed him down. Blaine immediately buried his face in his hands, his whole body shaking.

“Blaine...” Kurt hovered next to him, unsure what to do. “Are you…okay? I mean, I know that it’s the apocalypse and everything, and goodness knows I’ve had some serious mental episodes myself, but you’re not, like…”

“Crazy?” Blaine uncovered his face and gave a shaky laugh. “You know, I think I was for a while there. Everything since the storm has been so…”

“Awful?” Kurt suggested helpfully. “Horrible? Creepy and terrible and mind-numbingly bizarre?”

Blaine laughed again, sounding stronger this time. “Yeah, that about covers it.” He folded his hands in his lap and stared down at them, and when he looked back up at Kurt, his face was serious again. “Kurt, how are you here? Did the storm just hit Westerville? Are there...are there still people out there?” He waved a hand in the general vicinity of the window and looked at Kurt hopefully.

Kurt bit his lip and shifted his weight. “I...don’t think so. Everyone in Lima is dead, as far as I could tell, and I didn’t see a single other person - well, an alive person - the whole way here. I walked all the way, I was heading to Columbus to look for other survivors, but I...made a detour.” He sat down next to Blaine and tentatively reached out for one of his hands. Blaine immediately grasped it, twining his fingers together with Kurt’s. “Do you remember all those news reports? About the clouds? They were everywhere, all over the whole world, so if it was some kind of freak storm that did this, then...” he trailed off. It was too depressing to even say out loud.

“Then it’s probably like this everywhere,” Blaine finished for him. “But...you survived? How?”

Kurt nodded. “I went to bed super early on Monday, I was completely exhausted and wanted to be well-rested for...well, for my trip here.” There was a small pause as both boys contemplated the irony of this statement. Kurt laughed bleakly and continued, “My bedroom is in the basement, you know, so I was pretty well-insulated. All of my electronic stuff was packed up for the move. I think I was just…out of reach.” He twisted to face Blaine. “How are you still alive?”

Blaine shook his head, the ghost of a smile hovering on his lips. “I was in the basement too, believe it or not. You should see Dalton’s basement, it’s huge, and full of broken desks and old furniture and stuff, it looks like the Room of Hidden Things...” (Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes; was now really the time to be making Harry Potter references?) “Anyway, Wes and David had locked me in there as a joke, swearing that they wouldn’t let me out until...” He stopped abruptly, color staining his cheeks.

“Until...?” Kurt prompted, fascinated by the sight of Blaine actually blushing.

Blaine glanced at him and then quickly looked away. “Well...until I swore that I would ask you out on a date - a real date - within twenty-four hours of your arrival.” He noticed Kurt’s startled expression and rushed ahead, the words falling all over each other. “Which I was planning on doing anyway, but just not so soon! I wanted to give you time to settle in, get to know some people, start feeling comfortable here. I just...I just didn’t want you to feel pressured into going out with me.” His eyes pleaded with Kurt, willing him to understand.

Kurt felt his own blush creeping up his neck and onto his face, pinkening his cheeks and making him feel flushed. He ducked his head, considering his next words carefully.

“Blaine, when you first saw me, outside” - he gestured toward the front of the building - “you looked anything but happy to see me. You said…” Kurt gulped, remembering the shock of the moment. “You said, ‘Oh no, not you.’” He raised his head and forced himself to meet Blaine’s eyes. “You looked horrified, like I was the last person in the world that you wanted to see.” His voice quavered embarrassingly and he cleared his throat.

Blaine squeezed his hand so tight that Kurt gasped. “No, Kurt, Jesus, that’s not...you don’t understand.” He took a deep breath. “I really was pretty crazy there for a while. I fell asleep in the basement, and when I woke up the next morning it was so quiet that I thought everyone had left or something. I pounded on the door for hours, yelling for someone to let me out, and no one ever came.” He swallowed audibly. “I finally broke the door handle with an old axe - I’m surprised I didn’t chop my arm off in the dark - and charged out, screaming bloody murder, ready to kill the first person I could get my hands on.” He paused. “And then I realized that they were all already dead.” He gave Kurt a lopsided smile, the shadows of remembered fear lurking in his eyes.

“I went from room to room, searching the whole school, and all I found was body after body. Most of the students and staff were in the dining hall, but there were also some people in their rooms. I found David…” he stumbled over his words and continued. “I found David in his room, he usually Skypes...Skyped with his girlfriend on Monday nights. Wes had been studying with his headphones on, he hates...hated listening to their lovey-dovey crap.” Blaine stopped, his face darkening.

“I pretty much lost it at that point. I was wandering around the school like a phantom, except I was actually alive and it was everyone else who was dead. Everywhere I went, I kept finding more bodies. They just looked so...wrong, so out of place.” He scrubbed a hand against his face. “We had been studying ancient Rome in our history class, and our teacher had told us that the Romans cremated bodies in funeral pyres, as a mark of honor and respect. I decided that this was one last thing that I could do for my friends, I wouldn’t leave them laying around rotting inside like old meat, I would give them a fitting goodbye.” Blaine dropped his head into his hands again, clearly overwhelmed by the memory.

Kurt was stunned. “You mean you…got them all outside? By yourself?” He couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like; he had assiduously avoided touching a single body himself. Even his father’s.

“It took me almost four days. I…didn’t sleep much. Once I had them all outside, I said some words, and then...” Blaine sighed and glanced at Kurt. “Well, you saw. I was basically delirious at that point; I had somehow convinced myself that I was also dead and I was in some kind of especially twisted hell. And then you came running through the smoke, and at first I was so, so happy to see you. You were the one person I wanted to...well, anyway, then I realized that, if you were there, then that meant that you were dead too, and, Kurt, I just - I couldn’t stand it.” Blaine’s face was suddenly tortured, and he gripped Kurt’s hand even harder. “The idea of you being dead was almost the worst thing of all, because you’re so full of life, and I wanted so much for you to be alive, even if it meant that I would never get to see you again, and it just wasn’t fair.”

Kurt had been listening to this with wide eyes, and despite the awfulness of Blaine’s words, he felt happiness swelling up inside him at the realization that he had been wrong, that Blaine did want him there. He cleared his throat and looked at Blaine with an arched brow. “So, just to be clear, you’re...happy that I’m alive? That I’m here?”

The look on Blaine’s face was so intense that Kurt might have been a little frightened if he wasn’t so fucking ecstatic. Blaine reached out, grabbed Kurt’s shirtfront in his free hand, and dragged him forward. Kurt almost pulled back out of force of habit, but before he could move, Blaine’s lips were on his and then he was incapable of doing pretty much anything.

Blaine’s mouth crushed down on his own, his hand leaving Kurt’s shirt to fist in his hair. His other hand came up to grasp Kurt’s jaw, deepening the kiss and biting Kurt’s lower lip. Kurt let out a moan. Blaine immediately let go and pushed himself back.

“Oh Kurt, oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to...to attack you like that!” Blaine babbled, actually wringing his hands in consternation. “I don’t know what I was thinking, I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, but I wanted it to be romantic, be the first kiss that you should have had, not just start pawing at you like a demented bear, I’m so, so, sorry…” Kurt stopped him by placing a finger on his lips.

“Shut up, Blaine,” he said succinctly, and this time, this wonderful, glorious time, Kurt kissed him.

He grabbed his face in both hands and pressed his mouth to Blaine’s, marveling at the way that Blaine responded, cupping the back of Kurt’s head with a warm hand and changing the angle of the kiss and opening his mouth. Kurt felt Blaine’s tongue slide across the seam of his lips and he parted them, shivering as Blaine’s tongue swept into his mouth, curling with his own tongue, daring it to reciprocate. Kurt tentatively sucked on Blaine’s tongue and, with a loud groan, Blaine pushed him back on the sofa so that he was covering Kurt’s body with his own.

Kurt slid one hand down Blaine’s back and into the waistband of his trousers, tugging at the white shirt until it came untucked and Kurt was able to press his palm against the small of Blaine’s back. Blaine groaned again, harsh and low, and started pressing kisses down the side of Kurt’s neck, making him shiver. Blaine sucked on his collarbone, hard, and Kurt made a startled sound and raked his nails down Blaine’s back. Blaine hissed through his teeth and bit down suddenly on Kurt’s earlobe, then released it and gave it a long, slow lick.

Kurt was panting, his own harsh breaths echoing in his ears, and he was so hard he couldn’t think straight. He wanted more, he wanted to feel all of Blaine against him, and he kicked out frantically with his legs until he managed to get them up onto the sofa and under Blaine.

Blaine shifted so that their hips were aligned, and suddenly Kurt realized that he could feel Blaine’s cock pressed against his own, and it was such an overwhelming feeling that he froze and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on to his control. He felt a feather-light kiss on his temple and Blaine murmured, “Kurt? Is this all right? We can stop, we don’t have to - ”

Kurt ignored him, lost in the sensations, and experimentally arched his hips upward. He and Blaine gasped simultaneously as their cocks rubbed together, and Blaine leaned down and fastened his teeth into Kurt’s shoulder. “Fuck. Oh, fuck. Kurt, oh my God...” Blaine rasped. His hands skimmed down Kurt’s sides and he pulled Kurt’s shirt up and over his head.

Blaine stared down at Kurt with eyes gone almost black with want. Slowly, he leaned down and rubbed his jaw over Kurt’s chest, then turned his head to the side and dragged his teeth over Kurt’s nipple. Kurt’s hips thrust upward violently, and he let out a strangled cry that echoed through the empty school. Desperate to feel Blaine’s skin against his own, his hands scrabbled at Blaine’s shirt until he had it off. Blaine immediately pressed his full length against him, and Kurt sucked in a breath at the newness of the feeling.

Reaching up to grab a fistful of Blaine’s hair, Kurt pulled Blaine’s lips back to his and kissed him, wet and sloppy, wanting to crawl inside Blaine’s mouth and stay there forever. His skin prickled and hummed, and his hips started jerking up of their own accord, the rhythm erratic and rushed as he tried to create the friction his dick so desperately wanted. The slide of the thin layers of fabric separating their cocks was torturous, and Kurt felt like he was going to go out of his mind.

Blaine’s lips suddenly left his and Kurt croaked out a sound of protest, which transformed into a moan as Blaine nipped his way down Kurt’s neck and chest. Blaine grabbed Kurt’s shoulders and pulled him upright, swinging Kurt’s legs off the sofa and kneeling between them on the floor. He looked up at Kurt and reached for the button of his jeans, keeping eye contact as Kurt drew in a shuddering breath.

“Is this okay?” Blaine asked softly, his hand pausing, and Kurt nodded his head wildly, not trusting himself to speak. Blaine unfastened the button, pulled down the zipper, and reached inside, tugging his underwear down and wrapping his hand around Kurt’s cock, pulling it free. He licked his lips, staring, and then glanced up. Kurt had closed his eyes and thrown his head back.

“Kurt,” Blaine said. “Open your eyes.”

Kurt opened his eyes and stared glassily at Blaine, his breath hitching at the sight of his dick in Blaine’s hand.

“Watch, Kurt.”

Blaine lowered his head and swirled his tongue around the head of Kurt’s cock, laughing quietly as Kurt’s eyes almost bugged out of their sockets. He slowly took Kurt into his mouth, sliding his lips up and down the length of the shaft at a maddeningly leisurely pace, and reached down between his legs to rub his hand roughly against his own dick.

Blaine continued the pace he had set until Kurt’s whimpers had turned into full-blown moans. Kurt felt like he was going to explode right out of his skin; nothing, nothing, had prepared him for the sight and feel of Blaine’s mouth wrapped around his cock, or how Blaine looked stroking himself through the fabric of his pants. He was quivering all over and heat was pooling in his stomach, spreading through his entire body. He reached down and threaded his fingers through Blaine’s hair, silently pleading with him to go faster before he passed out or died or started screaming.

Blaine groaned deep in his throat, and the vibration nearly sent Kurt over the edge. Blaine started moving his mouth faster, his lips firm on Kurt’s cock, and Kurt’s hips started thrusting up to meet him.

“Oh fuck, Blaine, I’m - I’m going to - ” Kurt came violently, shouting wordlessly as he stiffened, hands clutching desperately at the fabric of the sofa. Blaine was panting, his mouth still on Kurt’s dick, his hand working furiously on his own cock as he moaned. He suddenly threw his head back and tensed; he came with his hand still squeezing Kurt and his eyes closed and jaw set. He made a guttural sound that started low in his chest and rumbled upward, escaping between his clenched teeth. He slumped forward and turned his head to the side, resting his cheek on Kurt’s thigh and taking in a deep, shaky breath. Kurt reached down and laid his hand on Blaine’s cheek, closing his eyes as he felt Blaine’s face curve in a smile.

______________________________

Kurt and Blaine stood on the roof of Dalton Academy, looking south toward the city. Blaine had found an old telescope in the headmaster’s office and was holding it to his eye; Kurt thought that he looked like a young, deliciously rumpled sea captain.

They had spent the last couple days getting ready to leave, collecting supplies and poring over road maps. If Blaine noticed that Kurt was occasionally snappish and overemotional, he didn’t mention it; likewise, Kurt pretended not to notice when Blaine disappeared for hours at a time and came back with red-rimmed eyes. Certain concessions had to be made when everyone (almost everyone) you loved was dead and you were left behind, doing your best to find a new way of living.

“Do you see anything?” Kurt asked, reaching out to smooth an errant curl from Blaine’s forehead. They had debated what their course of action would be and had decided to stick to Kurt’s original plan of heading to Columbus. If they didn’t find any survivors there, they would try Cincinnati, or maybe Pittsburgh, and keep moving until they either found more people or were convinced that there were no more people. Blaine, of course, was unflaggingly optimistic about the whole thing; if he didn’t love him so much, Kurt might be inclined to hate him.

Blaine reached up and caught Kurt’s hand in his own, turning it over to place a kiss in Kurt’s palm. “No, I can’t see anything. But that doesn’t mean that nothing is there.” He lowered the telescope and grinned at Kurt.

“Blaine?” Kurt inched closer to his side, smiling inwardly when he felt Blaine’s arm slip around his waist. “Why do you think this happened? I mean, so many people are dead, maybe everyone, but you and I are still alive? Doesn’t that seem a little...odd?” He twisted his head to glance at Blaine.

Blaine, looking thoughtful, stared out over the blackened treetops and then shrugged. “I really don’t know, Kurt. In the end it’s probably just coincidence, or luck. But...”

“But what?” Kurt prompted, curious.

Blaine reached his other arm around Kurt and pulled him into a hug, holding him close and resting his jaw on Kurt’s shoulder “It sounds really stupid, but I just have this feeling that someone, or something – call it God, call it fate, call it whatever you want – decided that we deserved a shot. Not that we’re better than anyone else or anything, but…” He was quiet for a moment; Kurt listened to the wind and enjoyed the feel of Blaine’s hands on his back.

“Ever since that first day, that first second I saw you, Kurt, right in this very building, I’ve felt like something big was about to happen. Not the apocalypse, I mean, although that was obviously pretty damn big, but something big for me, something huge and life-changing and scary and real. Something I’d been waiting for. And then there you were, and it was like something clicked inside me, and I thought ‘Oh, here it is.’ But then I just...waited. Waited for the right moment, for the circumstances to be right, because I thought I had all the time in the world. And if we hadn’t survived, if you hadn’t come here to find me, then all of that potential and hope and possibility would have been dead too.”

Kurt felt dampness seeping through his shirt to his shoulder and realized that Blaine was crying, although his voice remained steady. He hummed soothingly to Blaine, who pulled back to arm’s length and grasped Kurt’s shoulders. Blaine looked at him so earnestly that Kurt kind of wanted to cry too.

“I know we’ve both been through a lot of bullshit for who – and what – we are. But we deserve our chance just as much as anyone else,” Blaine stated firmly, giving Kurt’s shoulders a tiny shake for emphasis. “I mean, to find something with the potential to be so amazing, and then never to get to see what happens? That’s not right. A lot of bad shit happens in the world, but I believe that there’s a balance, that there’s good stuff too. I don’t know, maybe only so many laws of nature can be broken at once. And so many big ones were broken that our little one, the law that says that everyone should get this chance, managed to sneak through. And here we are.”

Blaine’s face, so serious through his whole little speech, suddenly cracked into a wide smile. “Kurt, you’re doing it again.”

Kurt, who had just been standing there, mesmerized by Blaine’s words, jumped a little. “What? What am I doing?”

“You’re giving me the Teenage Dream face.” Blaine chuckled and squeezed Kurt’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kurt said indignantly. “I don’t have a Teenage Dream face!”

“Oh, yes, you do,” Blaine said happily. “It’s this great combination of being awed by my very existence and wanting to rip my clothes off. I love it, it’s adorable.”

Kurt huffed and took a step backwards, his hands on his hips. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Blaine chased him forward and planted a big, smacking kiss on his lips, laughing when Kurt squawked and tried to push him away.

They tussled for a moment until Blaine recited some rule about rooftop safety (“Nerd,” Kurt said with relish) and they sat down carefully on the edge, letting their feet dangle and kick against the side of the building. Kurt leaned over and rested his head on Blaine’s shoulder. He could stay here forever.

“We can’t stay here forever, you know,” said Blaine, as if he could read Kurt’s thoughts. “At some point we’re going to run out of food, or one of us is going to get sick. We need to find other people.”

“I know,” Kurt agreed quickly. “It’s just been...nice, here, with you. I feel...safe.”

“Do you realize that the storm happened exactly one week ago? It’s Monday again, I counted the days.” Blaine shook his head in disbelief.

They sat for another moment, and then Kurt got to his feet. He reached out a hand for Blaine, and felt the now-familiar thrill when Blaine’s hand grasped his own. Kurt pulled him up and then helpfully brushed off the seat of Blaine’s pants with perhaps a bit more force than was actually necessary.

“Okay,” Kurt said decisively. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”