"Do not be afraid of the woods my child."

Kurt knows the voice of his mother like a song from his childhood, the feel of her fingers through his hair as he lies in her lap and she hums into the night.

He knows the cool handle of a knife, warmed beneath a pillow at night and the glance of moonlight off the bright blade before a child's eyes.

Kurt's father cleans his shotgun every night before supper, lets it rest heavy against his chair and when Elizabeth Hummel doesn't come home one night when the moon hangs, fat and swollen in the sky, he cleans it twice and lets it rest heavy in his heart.

"Do not be afraid of the woods my child."

Kurt knows what it's like to grow up the kind of fearless that only fear can birth. He runs until his legs won't move and until there is nothing rustling among the leaves behind him, if ever there was. Kurt climbs trees until he falls.

"Be afraid of what might you might find there."

Kurt carries his mother's knife in his belt and stands with his back to the darkest of the gaps between the leaves.

"Be afraid of what might find you there."

blood and heat and fur there's a scream and a sob and Kurt can't breathe he's heavy and trapped like a fly in a web spinning and spinning and wet with blood that isn't his there's teeth against his hand and one day it will scar there's a gunshot and a shout and the whimpering cry of an animal a lot less brave than it looked as a bullet thumps through its chest there's crying and breathing and heartbeats and breathe Kurt just breathe Kurt just

Kurt walks home too late one October, raising his scarlet hood against the heavy drops of water that bounce from the leaves and squints at the sky in distaste.

He still thrills in the noisy silence of the woods as they enclose him, the kind of loneliness that only comes when you know you're not alone. Kurt could walk the woods like he was born from them, eyes tight shut and blind fumbling through the branches, and he could find his way home.

The rain soaks through the canopy above him, bleeding through the uniform and into his skin until Kurt is fighting the urge to tear it from himself and feel the water fall against his chest. He blushes at the idea of abstract decadence, the shameless baring of skin where no one will see him and crosses his arms tighter over his chest.

It rains and rains until Kurt can taste it in the back of his throat.

Evening sunlight filters through the greenery, tiny spectrums catching among the water and the trees and somewhere overhead a bird screams out its bedtime song. There's the familiarity of apples and bracken growing in the dappled sunlight, and Kurt's feet scuff slowly along the damp earth.

The snap of a twig.

Kurt doesn't walk faster, he has no need. He has a knife against his waist and wayward son's audacity. He has mother killed by the woods and no more motivation is needed.

A man walks from the trees as suddenly as the stopping rain, fading into a startling clarity between heartbeats and falls into step with Kurt and a smile.

One of the huntsmen's sons no doubt, with a gun and three rabbits over his shoulder, a cigarette between his lips and a vicious tear in the dark of his jeans.

Kurt stares at the winding path ahead, his bag catching his hip hard with every step. He can feel the boy's eyes on his cheek and he burns.

"Do you want me to carry that for you?"

He's gesturing at the bag, bulging with textbooks and school papers. His voice has the woods in it and Kurt wonders if he's been there as long as he has.

"I'm fine."

His voice is higher than it should be, breathy and girlish and he blushes harder at the rumbling chuckle that meets his response.

"Didn't your parents ever warn you about walking in the woods at night?"

Kurt glances up at the glimpses of sky that flash through the branches, the watercolour myriad of violets and blues that dilute the moonlight. The bird screams its final warning and falls silent.

"I didn't know it was night."

His foot catches on an unfamiliar root and Kurt stumbles with the flashing sickness of vertigo, his ankles twisting beneath him.

An arm catches his and holds him.

They're chest to chest and Kurt's breath hitches inside him, the unfamiliar beat of a heart that isn't his pressing quick against his ribs.

"My name's Blaine," he says, voice as dark as the sky over them.

"Kurt."

The hand on his arm squeezes for a moment, sliding slow and deliberate down the red sleeve of his jacket to cup around his wrist and raise his hand. Blaine's lips sear into his skin and Kurt feels his teeth as he smiles.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kurt."

"Likewise."

Blaine holds his hand for a moment, breaking the catch of his gaze to turn Kurt's fingers with his own.

"You have a scar on your palm."

"My mother was killed by the wolves."

They've fallen into an easy companionship and Kurt finds that he is gladly accepting the hand that offers to help him down the rockier fragments of path. He stumbles once too often, slowing his footsteps to lengthen the way home an inch at a time.

"And you still walk in them alone?"

"I'm not scared."

He sounds like a child, defensive and hostile and the darkness hides his blush as Blaine turns to look at him. Kurt can feel the dark burn of his eyes through the night.

"Maybe you should be."

panting and rushing and four paws pounding into the earth following the tracks of a boy two boys no one boy a virgin with blood on his lips there's a howl of pain a shriek of unintended brotherhood there's blood and it hurts and wrenches as the bones snap and shape and a body becomes a body

"So what do you hunt when you're not walking boys home?"

Kurt finds himself emboldened by the rough feel of Blaine's fingers against his, something flirty and new teasing through his voice.

Skin against skin is a new kind of thrill.

Blaine smiles too much and too wide, one that doesn't reach his eyes but rather meets them.

"Rabbits mostly. Although it's been a long while since I hunted someone like you."

Kurt laughs.

"Should I be flattered?

"Unequivocally."

Kurt thinks of his father standing by the open front door, staring into the dark with one hand on his gun and his jaw set and can't ignore the incessant pound of his heart.

Holding hands with Blaine is equal only to running barefoot through the woods during the deepest heart of winter; to tumbling from the highest point in the tree where the weakest branch snaps; to standing with your back to the trees as the full moon rises.

"I found blackberries just over there earlier today."

"It's too soon for blackberries," Kurt argues, defying Blaine to know more about the wood than he does, "They never ripen earlier than Halloween around here."

"Would you like me to show you?"

He gestures off to the side and Kurt's foot catches. He swallows and pushes his hands deeper into his pockets.

Blaine stops.

Kurt turns back with a question that falters on his lips as Blaine turns his head, catching the breeze and every muscle suddenly tensed and alert. He raises a finger to his lips and Kurt freezes.

The foolish child's valiant idea of the woods will fade in time, and Kurt can feel cold sweat on his brow as Blaine shifts the gun into his hands.

"Stay here."

One hand presses Kurt's against the rough bark of the tree, their bodies close for a fragile second before Blaine slips silently away.

A beat of silence and the wood lies as still as it can be.

A howl rushes through the trees and down Kurt's spine, and he's stiff and grasping the tree beside him like it can save him.

He stands by the tree with his bag at his feet.

His heart beats on.

Another howl, closer than before.

Blaine takes Kurt's hand before he sees him. An embodiment of the darkness with a scratch across his cheek, Blaine is red-faced and sweaty and he catches Kurt's fingers and tugs him into a run.

The trees whip through his hair, leaves and mud and the panting at his side and on his heels with the heavy pound of a four-pawed creature thudding behind them, Blaine's hand covering his.

When they stop Kurt's chest is tight and there's dirt smeared up the startling red of his uniform, almost to the knees. Blaine's looking over their shoulder and wiping his face on his torn sleeve, pushing back the curls that fell over his eyes.

The path that must stay followed has faded into the distance.

When he looks back at Kurt, his eyes are dark, pupils blown and shining black.

"Look," he points, "Blackberries."

They hang opulent and glistening and almost repulsive, swelling with juice and bursting bright against the thorns, staining the leaves like blood.

Kurt catches his breath, taking a step towards the swollen bushes and brushes his fingertips over the berries. One drags and falls, splashing on the ground by his shoes.

He can feel the heat of Blaine's body behind him, not touching. His breath against the back of Kurt's neck and one hand cups his hip, fingers pressing and rubbing into the skin there. Kurt forgets how to breathe.

Blaine presses a blackberry to Kurt's lips, dipping his fingers into his mouth just for a second and dragging them out to trail slow and wet down his chin. They hold against his throat, against his pulse and the bob of Kurt's neck as he swallows.

He blinks hard against the suddenly stuttering of his heart, the uncomfortable tingle of arousal that burns at the base of his spine and makes him shudder. Blaine breathes behind him, nose against the back of Kurt's ear. Breathing him in.

Kurt grabs at the blackberries, snagging his fingers and raising one to Blaine's mouth, turning his head and lowering his eyes in a feeble, blushing seduction as Blaine licks over his hand.

Blaine chest hitches against his back, a shocked whine slipping past his lips and he's grasping Kurt's hand in a steel cage of fingers, pressing it closer to his lips, sucking his fingers deeper. He pulls them out with a wet pop and presses at the pad of his fingertips, at the swelling bead of blood spilling from the skin.

"I…the thorns –"

He tries but the words are gone and Blaine's teeth pull back in a snarl that shudders up Kurt's spine, and he's backing him hard against a tree, so fast that Kurt stumbles and falls and scrapes against the bark.

There's a gasping second before Blaine kisses him and his eyes flash almost yellow.

Then his tongue is forcing past Kurt's lips, pushing him harder and harder and ripping the air from Kurt's lungs until he's sobbing for breath, biting Blaine's lips and pushing at his shoulders but Blaine grapples him against the tree, wrists pinned against the wood and slots their hips together in a wild thrust that has Kurt fighting a shocked moan into his mouth.

Kurt struggles, kissing back with a violent feverishness that shocks even him and rakes his nails over Blaine's hands that trap him. He arches away from the bite of the tree, forcing their bodies into a hard press that makes Blaine growl into his mouth, letting him go and catching his thighs to lift and hold him higher, the aching hardness of Kurt's cock rubbing against Blaine's stomach and he twines his fingers deep into curly hair, tugging it backwards.

Blaine's fingers dig and grasp and squeeze, raking and dragging down Kurt's thighs and under his shirt until the cut of the tree against his back and the clutch of Blaine's hands are the same and one. Kurt's bucking into him, lost and helpless in the feral, burning touch of his skin and the torn shirt that Kurt wrenches over his head to abandon among the leaves.

Blaine's nails slash across his chest and the uniform falls in shredded flakes to the ground, buried under the dirt in seconds and Kurt cries out as Blaine's teeth dig into the chaste white of his collarbone, stretching down to bite across red nipples.

His fingers scrabble uselessly at Blaine's back, palming over the hot damp of his skin and back up to slide through tangled curls until Blaine's arching his head back and snarling, teeth flashing bright and sharp in the moonlight. His fingers tear at Kurt's pants, dragging them down over his thighs until he's bare and Blaine's skin is flaming against his, lowing his hand to cup where Kurt's cock bobs against his stomach until Kurt throws his head back with a strangled cry.

His throat is raw where Blaine bites across his shouts, eyes blazing with a savage immorality as their cocks slide together, rubbing roughly against damp skin that has Kurt jerking with every touch, folding into Blaine's body and clenching his feet into the back of his thighs, tugging him harder and closer and tighter until every breath was caught between Kurt's lips and every beat of their hearts sounded as one.

Blaine pushes his fingers into Kurt's mouth, rubbing them around his tongue until they were slippery enough for Kurt to feel them press inside him with a burning pressure that wouldn't ease or fade and he claws at Blaine's back, head thrashing as he whines in desperate protest.

Blaine's mouth is against his throat, hushing where his heart beats as he drags his fingers, twisting and pumping them faster until the fire bursts into hot sparks that clench at Kurt's joints until his mouth is open and panting against Blaine's cheek. He moans frantically, feebly against sweaty skin, rocking into the building torture at the base of his spine.

Blaine clutches at Kurt's thighs, spreading his legs wider, pressing his cock against Kurt's entrance and holding him open as he pushes hard and fierce and buries deep within him, their foreheads stuck and hair tangled, and there's dirt and blood streaked down their skin, harsh growls and the intense fix of teeth deep in flesh.

Blaine howls and it cuts through the night, cracking through the veins that throb in his neck and Kurt comes with a scream.

But it doesn't stop and he winds tighter and harder, building and burning and breaking over and over, nails and teeth and skin and something filthy and delicious with blood and fur and the bite of claws into his thighs.

Blaine cries out louder and darker, a hoarse whine as he fucks Kurt against the rough cut of wood, and sweat stings and burns through the broken skin of his back.

The wolves in the woods howl with their brother and Blaine's eyes fly open, bright and yellow as the moon.

Kurt is trembling and helpless, moving with Blaine's thrusts and every pound and slap of their skin together makes him jerk and shudder, hot flashes of pleasure that hurt.

Blaine's jaw twists, his spine cracking and bending and the teeth ripping from his gums are too long and shine too bright and the skin of Kurt's neck aches where Blaine bit and sucked and bruised.

A tear slips from Kurt's cheek and Blaine catches it on his nose, rubbing up the length of Kurt's face with a shuddering breath.

"Oh my darling," he says, "You should have listened to your mother."

Kurt chokes and gasps and his fists pound against Blaine's chest, he's struggling and twisting and fighting until he can't breathe and Blaine is laughing, pinning and holding him, hips against hips and hands raking down ribs until Kurt screams.

He thrashes until pure desperation breaks Blaine's hold and then Kurt runs and he runs and runs.

feet and thorns that cut and bite and hands that can bring you down until fingers scrabble in the dirt dragging your body limp and weighed down by the wolf on your back with the scar of your father's bullet in his chest and Kurt never did fear what he might find in the woods what might find him there and he's crawling and running and sobbing with handprints down his back and a wolf on his heels

His home glows through the trees like a beacon, the door flung wide to welcome the night.

Kurt sees the shape of his father's shotgun by the armchair. He finds it empty.

The door crashes closed and Kurt closes his eyes.

He feels Blaine under his skin, behind and in him like his own blood that sears through his veins. An animal purrs in the corner of his mind.

Oh, what big eyes you have.

Blaine steps closer, he brings the darkness behind him and the flames dance off his golden skin that shines through his torn clothes.

All the better to see you with.

Kurt steps forward to meet him.

And what big teeth you have.

He catches Blaine's mouth in a kiss that burns right through his heart, one that has Blaine stumbling into his arms with a gasp that growls, catching Kurt in his arms and hugging him close.

All the better to eat you with, my darling.

Kurt laughs against Blaine's mouth as his fingers tear, ripping the clothing from Blaine's skin and hurling it into the flames beside them.

Blaine stumbles backwards, crumples like a broken marionette.

the snapping breaking bend of bone that fit to human form only when they have to the wolf burning in the flames and a boy with claws and teeth curls and screams on the floor of a lonely house with the blood-streaked virgin at his feet he shrieks and burns in the agony of the moon and the wolves surround the house and scream alongside

Kurt wakes under the autumn sun. He's warm and can see the birds dart across the morning sky where he lies on his back in the woods.

Blaine raises his head from Kurt's chest and shakes dry leaves from his hair with a smile.

Human.

"Oh," he says, "There you are."