A 1920s!Klaine drabble.
Author's Notes: This was originally written for slashthedrabble.livejournal.com, prompt #341 obsession. However, it doesn't meet the word limit, so now I have to come up with a new fill for that prompt. Thought I'd post it anyway. Deals with suicide, so please heed that warning.
It's unhealthy, to be sure.
What's even more certain is the magnitude of risk attached to the whole endeavor. They both know that despite the precautions they take, they can't hide forever.
Something so all-encompassing as this affair is difficult to contain.
Difficult is an understatement. It's near impossible for Blaine and Kurt to remain quiet as they fuck each other senseless. And it is only because of the consequences that weigh heavy on their hearts and in their minds that they manage to swallow the whimpers and soft mewling noises that threaten to burst from them every time their mouths so much as brush together.
They try to hide it, try for years, and they go home and dutifully lay down with their respective wives – women whose company they once enjoyed. Maybe they even loved those women, but that time and those feelings have long since disappeared.
And then everything explodes. Their obsession boils over. There's shouted accusations and crying and smashed glass glittering against mahogany floors, and the nights spill into weeks that become swirling, hellish, upside-down months.
Finally, they can't take it anymore. They can't figure out how to live amidst the chaos. They can't figure out how to live in a world where they are no longer able to play the parts set out for them – the roles of two perfect men who fuck women, not each other.
What it comes down to is two simple events.
Blaine holds a gun to his temple, pulls the trigger.
His dead eyes watch as Kurt does the same.