Chapter Text
When Cooper first drops the script on the table in front of Blaine, he thinks he’s playing a practical joke on him. It’s been two years since he graduated from NYADA and moved down to LA to live with his brother – Cooper told him that Broadway is dead and the real industry is in film, but Blaine hasn’t been able to gain any success there at all. After two months, he had to get a job as a singing waiter just to bring in some cash so he could avoid that starving artist archetype, because his relentless auditioning for shows never even earned him a call back. He never even landed some ridiculous role as that guy that gets killed on NCIS. Not that they ever say it to his face, but producers all seem to have the same opinion of him – charismatic, likeable in that Mr Rogers sort of way, talented enough and yet missing that one thing. Blaine doesn’t have a clue what that one thingis, else he would have rectified it months ago, but one thing is certain – the whole super famous successful performer thing? Not really working out.
It’s disheartening to wait by the phone for weeks on end, over and over again, and always nothing to come of it, so Blaine is about ready to go get that teaching degree he was thinking about when Cooper comes to him with a proposition. It’s about Free Heart.
Free Heart is Cooper’s show. It’s also possibly the most overwrought, treacly piece of television that he’s seen in years and Blaine isn’t quite sure how it ever got green lighted by the producers, let alone turned into the hit show of the summer. Cooper really loves it, of course. Not that Cooper is any modicum of quality, but it does mean that Blaine can’t really say anything disparaging about it without hurting his feelings. When the pilot had aired, Cooper had been so innocently excited about his big break that out of some resuscitated loyalty to his brother, he forces himself to sit through every single episode and tries not to feel too jealous that even Cooper, replete with emotion tornado and pointing, can be a lead character when he can’t.
And then Cooper plunks down at his kitchen table one morning with no warning, all bright eyes like a puppy eager to please his master, and says, ‘You are going to love me for this, squirt.’
He slides across the table a script and Blaine looks at it, looks back at Cooper and says, ‘I’m not interested in running lines with you for three hours, Coop.’
And then Cooper just grins bigger and tells Blaine that it’s not that. Because, see, there’s a character on the show getting a new love interest soon enough and Cooper thinks that Blaine would be perfect for the part. And as Cooper talks portentously about the lengths he went to secure Blaine this audition (‘You should hire me as your agent, get rid of that cad you have now – ‘), Blaine sifts slowly through the script – and agrees.
It’s not that the character is some carbon copy of Blaine himself. In fact, the character is something of a bad boy with his leather and bad grades and don’t give a shit attitude. He’s rude and terse and utterly lacking in the manners that Blaine holds so close to himself. But Blaine sees himself in the character in the way he can’t quite bury his longing to be liked, in the way he feels he can never be good enough and so eventually he stopped trying. (Blaine hasn’t stopped trying. Not yet.) And when he walks into the room where the open auditions are held (almost lost a limb my ass, Cooper Anderson), for once his confidence isn’t a façade.
The producers like him. They smile and nod their heads a lot and whisper to each other like they think he can’t see it, and when they let him go they don’t mention a patronizing ‘we’ll get back to you’ even once. And when he gets a call back two days later he screams in the middle of his empty apartment and then he calls Sam and Tina and screams some more and they scream too and when the neighbours start banging on the walls he doesn’t even feel bad.
Turns out the producers like him even more than he could have possibly imagined, because when he gets to the second audition there are only six other contenders there. And for the first time Blaine thinks that he honestly might not be making all his hopes up in his head. And when he gets into the audition room and finds himself face to face with the creator of the whole damn show, he thinks he might just pass out.
They pull him in for a chemistry test next and that’s when he meets Sebastian Smythe. Sebastian is tall and good looking in that generic sort of way and wears a perpetual smirk as he casually bullies his agent into bringing him a mug of honeyed tea before their scene. He’s totally Hollywood, all jaded world traveller and confidence oozing from his pores, in the papers every couple of months for questionable behaviour involving sex and drugs. When he looks at Blaine, Blaine feels rather like a sparrow trapped under the gaze of a hawk. They do their scene together, some kind of argument brought on by Blaine’s delinquency – Blaine privately allows himself to appreciate the irony of Sebastian playing a goody two-shoes while Blaine is the bad boy – and the producers get a look on their faces that Blaine doesn’t know whether to like or not. And then Sebastian leaves without even a hand-flicked wave good bye, and Blaine feels the coils in stomach squeeze tighter.
They leave him hanging for a whole week this time before they give him the call while he’s moping on the couch marathoning Jersey Shore; when he hears that he’s got the job he completely forgets to scream at Tina and Sam over the phone and instead passes out on the couch for a whole three hours. When he wakes up, he thinks it was all a dream until he checks his phone history.
Everything turns into a whirlwind from there. His agent is ecstatic and so is Cooper and both of them try to take credit for the job while Blaine privately allows himself to be proud, because it was him that managed this. (He does make sure to hug Cooper extra tight when he sees him though. Credit where credit is due.) The producers want him to start filming as soon as possible, which Blaine thinks translates to a month but is actually four days. (He still feels like passing out every time they mention wanting him. Thousands of people auditioned for that role and it’s him that they want. Finally finally finally.)
And then suddenly he finds himself on set, standing alone in the middle of the asphalt while crew members rush into various trailers around him, and tries not to feel as hopelessly lost as he is. He has a map in hand which has proved suitably useless and his phone is blinking at him from the other hand, patiently reminding him that he was due in Costumes five minutes ago.
He’s late on his first day. He’s never going to live this down.
He’s just looking around for a PA to flag down for directions when he hears a voice behind him.
‘Hey! Are you lost?’
Blaine turns, apologies for needing helping already on his tongue, and stops breathing. Standing in front of him, a garment bag hooked over his shoulder and hip cocked casually as he regards Blaine, is an angel.
The more sensible part of Blaine’s brain rolls its eyes at his poor stuttering heart, because of course this man is entirely human, but he really is far too lovely for this world. Lovely bone structure, all sharp cheekbones and strong jaw line, mouth quirked curiously and a single eyebrow raised above his brow. He’s tall – taller than Blaine anyhow – with distractingly long limbs and a lean torso that leads up to a gorgeous slender neck. His brown hair is coiffed carefully on top of his head and he has eyes like a kaleidoscope of green and blue, staring right at him, clearly expecting an answer.
‘Oh,’ Blaine says stupidly. His mind, bogged down in sci-fi and fantasy movies of the past years of Sam’s friendship, frantically tries to come up with some kind of comparison that this man might fit. An elf of Rivendell, he thinks when he spots an adorable pair of pointy ear tips. Or an alien able to hypnotize poor fragile humans through a single glance of those eyes. Then he mentally slaps himself and sternly instructs his brain to pull it together because Blaine is a performer always, even in front of men so beautiful he finds himself speechless, and it won’t do to lose his composure now.
‘Yes,’ he says in answer to the man’s question and holds up his schedule. ‘I’m lost. All of the trailers kind of look the same.’ He shrugs his shoulders as though to say What can you do? and then adds, because he doesn’t want to be seen as entirely incompetent, ‘It’s my first day.’
The man immediately brightens. He smiles and rocks back on his heels a little and says, ‘Oh, you’re the new cast member, right? This is your costume right here!’ He jiggles the bag over his shoulder a little then gives a little salute that Blaine is immediately endeared to. ‘I’m Kurt Hummel, head of costumes here at the great ship that is Free Heart. Welcome!’
‘I’m Blaine Anderson,’ Blaine says and resolutely ignores the strength of Kurt’s grip on his hand. ‘I play – ‘
‘JC, I know.’ Kurt heads off in the direction of a nearby trailer and Blaine trots behind and absolutely does not look at Kurt’s ass. ‘I’ve been thinking up costume designs all weekend. Tricky character you’ve got there.’
‘Oh?’ Blaine says. ‘I kind of just figured that you’d put me in leather jackets and ratty jeans every day and send me away to film.’
Kurt lets out a disparaging little snort as he pushes the door open to one of the trailers. The inside of the trailer is much larger than Blaine expected and although it’s cluttered with racks of clothes and accessories and shelves of files, the entire place is meticulously organised. Kurt says, ‘Well, sure, if we just wanna go the generic bad boy route, but then I may as well be dressing cardboard. JC has a lot more depth than that.’ He eyes Blaine appraisingly. ‘I’d think that the guy the producers have been raving about for the past week would understand that.’
‘I – yes,’ Blaine says. He hopes his blush isn’t obvious. ‘I just never thought of it in terms of, um, clothing, I guess.’
The garment bag swings down from Kurt’s shoulder and he unzips it to toss Blaine a holey flannel and a pair of pants that Blaine knows will be too long from just a glance. He points at a little partition in the corner of the room that Blaine can change in.
‘Everything JC wears is a part of his character,’ Kurt explains while Blaine tugs his polo over his head. It occurs to him that he’s now half naked in the same room as this ridiculously good looking man and the heat floods to his cheeks. Kurt continues, ‘If you don’t want your character to be a complete stereotype then you can hardly dress him as such. That’s like some self fulfilling prophecy.’
‘Right,’ Blaine says hesitantly. ‘I’ve never really... thought of it that way.’
Kurt makes a humming noise. ‘You will. Just need a little experience to smooth your way, that’s all. Do the clothes fit?’
‘Yeah,’ Blaine says. He steps out from the partition and spreads his arms wide for inspection. He can feel the tag tickling at the back of his neck and he doesn’t feel at all like himself in the cheap, worn clothes – but he supposes that’s the point.
Kurt smiles approvingly and moves from his position leaning against the desk – so casually hot, god – to fix him up a little. He’s so close that Blaine can smell him, clean and clear like rain, and he tries not to let it go to his head. Does he really need to be this near to make adjustments? He’s so close his nose is almost brushing his neck.
Briefly he wonders what would happen if he asked Kurt out on a date; they don’t know each other at all really, they met all of five minutes ago, but Blaine already likes him. He likes Kurt’s style – if nothing else, he can see friendship between them. God he hopes for something else.
He tries not to focus too much on the way Kurt’s long fingers gently pull and tug at his clothes over his body, sending thrills of heat right through him whenever he connects with skin. But he looks down when Kurt reaches up to pop the collar of his ratty flannel shirt and – there, on his left hand is a simple gold band with a tiny diamond set directly into the top. Blaine blinks. He almost makes a comment on how nice the ring is when he finally makes the connection, and he realises: Oh god. Kurt is married. As surely as it had begun, Blaine’s rising hope plummets to the floor and cracks at his feet.
And then – well there’s that mystical comparison Blaine has been searching for. Kurt is a Siren, as gorgeous and alluring as the Northern Lights, but in the end Blaine’s temptation will only end in destruction – even if it’s not Blaine’s own.
He wonders what would have happened if he had been so rash to ask Kurt on a date. He probably would have laughed in his face, he thinks miserably. His husband is probably just as beautiful as he is, only maybe he’s a doctor, or a scientist from NASA or one of the hundreds of celebrities milling about in this city. Or maybe he’s not even gay – God, he’s probably married to some supermodel who is as smart as she is beautiful. Nobody that Blaine could ever compete with. His good mood slips away like the sun behind a cloud.
‘Blaine?’
Kurt is staring up at him. He’s stepped further away, Blaine notices, and his fingers are twisting anxiously in front of him. That damn ring is glinting.
‘Yeah?’ His voice sounds strained.
‘I was just saying that you’re ready to go,’ Kurt says uncertainly. ‘Hair and makeup will be waiting for you. Do you... do you think you’ll need help finding them?’
Blaine thanks years of stiff family dinners for his ability to put on a show smile on command. ‘No, I’ll be fine. I ran into them earlier when I was trying to find you.’
‘Oh.’ Kurt bites his lip and looks shyly at the ground. Blaine supposes it would be horrendously arrogant to think Kurt might possibly look disappointed. ‘Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.’
Blaine turns away to leave, but before he can go far Kurt calls out, ‘Just – I’ll be here all day if you need help getting around or anything. Or if you just want to talk. Come back and see me, okay?’
One half of his mouth quirks up in a smile and then he reaches forward and closes the door in Blaine’s face.
Day one: commence.
Blaine only has one scene to film that day, so he has no reason to go back and see Kurt for any sort of official, costume-y business. He tells himself that as a professional, he should be restrained. More house cat, less eager dog. At lunch, he almost gives in when he sees Kurt hurrying across the lot with a phone to his ear, but then Cooper ambushes him wanting to know all about how his first day is going and the crisis is averted. (Blaine is approximately three sentences into his recount when Cooper hijacks the conversation with a tale bemoaning how his co-star – a lady named Rachel Berry – won’t go out with him. Blaine doesn’t think he’s ever gotten so much talk in before.)
By the end of the day when the sun has long since hidden behind the tall buildings, Blaine is so exhausted that he can hardly see straight. He belatedly decides that acting is hard work and he really should have become a teacher, because five year olds are less bratty than Sebastian Smythe in a temper. Blaine should try method acting so that he wouldn’t feel guilty about giving Sebastian a piece of his mind. Cooper would be delighted.
He’s just bipped his car open and is daydreaming of that wonderful couch waiting for him at home when he hears an already familiar voice call his name.
He turns to see Kurt hurrying towards him, car keys swinging from his fingers and a pleased smile on his face. ‘Blaine, hi!’ he says. ‘I was afraid I was going to miss you.’
‘Kurt, hey!’ he says, wincing inwardly at the puppy-like eagerness of his tone. ‘What’s up?’
‘Oh, I just wanted to know how your day went.’ Kurt smiles. ‘I didn’t see you again after this morning.’
‘Oh, yeah, well.’ Blaine shrugs. ‘I wouldn’t want to distract you from your work.’
Kurt bites at his lower lip and Blaine watches, suddenly dry throated, as two shallow teeth marks appear. ‘I wouldn’t have minded.’
Blaine swallows and makes himself look Kurt in the eye. ‘Right,’ he forces himself to say.
Kurt shakes himself suddenly and gives a laugh that is far too nervous for the situation. ‘Well, obviously it’s too late to catch up now, so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?’
‘Yes! Yes, of course!’ Blaine winces at his obvious eagerness, but it only makes Kurt smile wider.
‘Great! Well, I’m due back at home, so...’
Kurt wiggles his fingers as he turns away and his ring catches the light of a nearby street lamp. Blaine slumps against his car as Kurt disappears from sight.
A crush on his first day of work. Good work, Blaine. Just brilliant.
--
By the end of the first week, Blaine has officially met everyone he needs to meet. On the second day, Rachel Berry accosts him while he’s eating lunch and when she introduces herself (all in one breath, ‘Hi, I’m Rachel Berry, I’m sure you’ve heard of me but for the sake of tradition or if you happen to have been living under a rock I thought it would be polite to introduce myself – ‘) he idiotically blurts out, ‘Oh, you’re the one who refuses to date Cooper.’
She fixes him with a brilliant smile and says, ‘Yes, well, as attractive as your brother may be, I am firmly of the position that dating your co-stars is extremely unprofessional and I rue the day when any circling media shark accuses me of compromising my integrity by engaging in a publicity relationship.’ And then as an afterthought, ‘I’m already dating someone anyway.’
‘Oh. Well, I’m sorry he’s being so persistent,’ Blaine apologises, but Rachel only sends him another dazzling show smile and informs him rapid fire that it’s an excellent acting exercise to allow Cooper to feel as though he might ever have a chance. Then she flounces away again and Blaine allows himself to feel just a little bit shell shocked.
Later, he recounts the tale to Kurt, who laughs and informs him that Rachel is a very acquired taste. ‘She’s very sweet though.’
‘She’s very intense,’ Blaine says, ‘but I think I like her?’
Kurt looks at Blaine approvingly and Blaine feels strangely as though he’s passed a test he didn’t know he was taking.
Another week goes by and Blaine finds himself searching for tiny excuses to go visit Kurt during the day. His jacket has loose stitches everywhere, so he has to go get that fixed, but when he reaches Kurt’s trailer, the man stares at him and tells him that the loose stitches are there on purpose – his character is a broke badass. Did you really expect him to look pristine? Honestly, Blaine, I do actually put thought into my costumes, you know.
His pants don’t fit right; the tag is itching his neck; these battered shoes are practically falling off his feet. Can’t he just let the costume people quickly sort it out? Blaine is sure that everyone thinks that he’s a right diva for complaining about things so silly. He would fear for his job’s stability if the director didn’t keep raving on about his chemistry with Sebastian, the praise lighting in him like a piece of sun to keep him warm. He knows it’s downright stupid to allow himself to get attached to a co-worker like this – you’ve known him less than a month, and being so gorgeous doesn’t stop him from being very firmly married – and yet he feels drawn to Kurt as surely as though the man holds a leash around his neck, and he just can’t resist.
Kurt comments one day as he glues the soles of Blaine shoes, ‘You know, Blaine, when I said you should come see me, I didn’t really mean times when you were supposed to be working.’
‘They’re setting up a new shot,’ Blaine says offhandedly from his position on a nearby counter, swinging his feet. ‘It’ll take a while.’
‘They generally need the actors to fix the light,’ Kurt says dryly.
‘They have stand ins.’
‘I just – ‘ Kurt bites his lip (an altogether too distracting habit of his). ‘I don’t want to compromise your work just because you think I might – need company or something.’
Blaine tries not to feel like it’s a rejection. He doesn’t drop by as often after that.
Three weeks later, Blaine’s first episode airs and his co-workers take him out for a drink to celebrate. The club is too loud and smoky for Blaine’s taste and he spends most of the time at the bar waiting for his co-workers to realise that the man of the hour is missing. Kurt joins him before long but they only have the chance to chat for a couple of minutes before Rachel stumbles onto the scene and whisks Kurt away with a delighted shout. Blaine feels his loss sharply and promptly finds that another drink is quite a fine way to achieve that numb non-thinking enjoyment he’s searching for.
The next morning, after he’d loosened up enough to get dizzy with alcohol, Blaine is downing his second cup of coffee at the kitchen island when Cooper bounces into the room, laptop balanced precariously on his arm.
‘Good morning, Blainey!’ he sings. ‘How are you feeling on this fine day?’
‘I think something died on my tongue,’ Blaine says and raises his eyebrows at Cooper. ‘You drank a lot more than I did – where the hell is your hangover?’
‘Trick of the trade, squirt,’ Cooper informs him. ‘You’ll learn soon enough.’
‘What, celebrities don’t get sick?’ Blaine mutters. He nods his head at the laptop. ‘What’s that for?’
Cooper beams and puffs up like a rooster. ‘Well,’ he starts and Blaine rolls his eyes. ‘You might want to sit down for this,’ he continues and Blaine very carefully does not say a word. Cooper mimes a drum roll and then after much posturing shouts, ‘It turns out that my baby brother is pretty much the media darling of the whole of America right now!’ He flings his arms out with a flourish and his laptop tilts dangerously.
Blaine blinks. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The news sites, squirt,’ Cooper says excitedly and thrusts the laptop at his nose. ‘The gossip rags. The blogs, Blaine, oh my god you should see the blogs. Anyone who is anyone is creaming themselves over you right now.’
Cooper jiggles the laptop impatiently and Blaine takes it hesitantly. He knows Cooper, and he knows that Cooper likes to declare himself the king of Hollywood after any positive review (and sulks monstrously at the many bad) so it’s likely to be nothing, but when he sees the sheer number of tabs Cooper has open, his jaw drops. ‘Cooper – there’s got to be over twenty articles on here!’
‘Mhmm.’ Cooper bounces on his toes. ‘And every last one of them has announced you to be the hottest thing since Justin Bieber’s last tailspin of destruction.’
Blaine scrolls through the first article a little dazedly, a loud gossipy piece from an LGBT news site with the blaring headline Blaine Anderson takes Free Heart by storm – and maybe he’ll take Smythe too! and makes himself stop just as the comments come into view. He doesn’t want to know what they say. The next article is much the same, and the next, and the next after that. Random quotations jump out at him (Anderson brings a new depth to a trope that has been done to death - ) and he makes himself read and try not to feel so lightheaded. Cooper is hovering at his shoulder and making sounds as though he is very pleased with himself (the younger Anderson is just as charming as his older brother) and Blaine honestly doesn’t know if he could make a noise if he tried.
(JC is somehow lovable despite having no redeeming qualities whatsoever...)
He didn’t consider before now exactly how huge an opportunity a show like Free Heart could be. He knows the show is big, because Cooper spams his email with really far too many reviews for it to be a small deal, but Blaine is surprisingly oblivious to pop culture sometimes. If it isn’t trashy reality then he mostly sticks to his Golden Age of Hollywood classics. Now he thinks that his head might have been even deeper in the sand than he knew. The queer politics blogs he keeps track of occasionally make references to it, mostly snide comments about the only queer character on the show having nobody to express it with; Blaine had almost fallen out of his chair when his own name had appeared on the screen without warning two weeks ago while absentmindedly working his way through one of said blogs. ‘Mainstream shows like Free Heart are too big not to buckle to the pressure of the unrepresented crying out for representation, so to appease us they give us characters like Sebastian Smythe’s practically neutered Alexander, who do nothing more than help fill in the minority bingo card. (Maybe that will change with the introduction of a rumoured bad boy, played by gay actor Blaine Anderson? Probably not.)’
It had been a half reference at best, buried underneath a thousand words of snarky cultural commentary, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about it for the rest of the day. It had been the first time Blaine had realised that people would actually know who he was. And now... he’s everywhere. Blaine feels as though someone smacked him over the head with a mallet.
‘Your agent is totally swamped with calls,’ Cooper says smugly, dragging Blaine out of his stupor. ‘Rumour has it that Ellen wants to interview you.’
Blaine blinks. ‘Wow.’
‘You trended on Twitter for over three hours last night.’
Blaine blinks again. He doesn’t say anything at all.
Cooper’s head tilts. One way, and then the other. He taps a finger to Blaine’s head. ‘Are you home? Is anyone in there?’
Blaine manages a nod.
Cooper watches him for a moment more, just a little more contained now that the initial announcement is over, but Blaine can’t bring himself to respond anymore. He thinks he might be going into shock.
Eventually, Cooper drops Blaine’s phone into his lap and tells him that calling his agent might be a good idea. ‘You have a big couple of weeks ahead of you, squirt,’ he informs him, probably more ominously than need be. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.’
Blaine checks his phone after Cooper strolls out the door and isn’t surprised to see thirteen missed calls from his agent. A little thought itches in the back of his mind that now people know who he is he really should upgrade to a halfway decent agency, but the thought makes him feel terribly guilty so he stolidly ignores it. That’s a matter for another time.
He has two text messages from an unknown number. He thinks for a moment that creepy strangers are already trying to get a hold of him, but the first says, Congrats, stud. Not that I thought you would be anything other than perfect, but if anyone deserves success, it’s you.
And then directly after, It’s Kurt, by the way. I got your number from Rachel, who got it from Cooper. Hopefully this isn’t too awkward.
Blaine smiles to himself, and adds Kurt’s number to his phone.
--
Hi, Kurt. Thank you so much! I’m really excited.
You should be! Although something tells me you’ll be more modest about your success than Rachel.
?
Boasting didn’t quit for two months. And I LIVED with her, Blaine.
I’m sure it was well deserved.
It was. Doesn’t stop it from being annoying. How are you?
--
The next few weeks are insane. Blaine’s new publicist shuttles him between interviews and filming and even two photo shoots and Blaine is frankly surprised that he manages to catch any sleep at all. Two more of his episodes air and it doesn’t seem as though his popularity is diminishing in the slightest – rather, it’s growing every day. That first morning, Blaine’s Twitter following exploded from 112 to over 50,000 and the kind of things he saw in his feed had scared him off the network for a week before he had the courage to come back. Fans of Sebastian’s character hooked onto him fast enough to make him dizzy and now they have their own portmanteau, Jalexander. (He doesn’t like to think about the people who have latched onto himself and Sebastian.) The producers of the show are already discussing promoting him to a regular in the upcoming season.
And through it all is Kurt. Blaine likes the attention and he likes the challenge of acting and he likes the fact that he has a job at all, but before long, Kurt is officially the favourite part of Blaine’s day. Working with people like Rachel is amazing, while Cooper is a toss-up between wonderful and infuriating and Sebastian is always going to be trying, but Kurt is always there, as immutable and welcome as a sunrise. Blaine knows that he’s had a crush on him from the moment they met, but underneath those familiar nerves an easy friendship builds. There’s always that underlying attraction Blaine feels thrumming through his body like strings pulled on a cello, but he knows there’s so much more there than want for a pretty face. Kurt is whip smart and funny and wickedly snarky in a way that shocks Blaine more often than not. He learns quickly that although Kurt’s exterior is prickly, he can be startling kind whenever it’s needed and although he seems to have fun poking jokes at Blaine’s shellacked hair, never once does he feel any true judgment coming from him.
Blaine finds himself spending most of his lunchtimes sprawled against the wall of Kurt’s trailer while Kurt tries to talk around the pins in his mouth. On the rare occasion that he manages to convince Kurt to stop working for once and have lunch with the rest of the crew, they stay close together anyway. They’ll sit together and Blaine will try not to focus too much on the warmth of Kurt’s thigh against his.
Occasionally, Blaine manages to trick himself into the thought that Kurt might be flirting with him. It’s never anything bold, just tiny moments that must be his overactive imagination playing up on him, like when he’d been readjusting Blaine’s shirt and allowed his hand to slip right across the bare skin of Blaine’s stomach, or his habit of looking at Blaine through coquettishly lowered lashes while he talks. Kurt tends to physically hold himself at arm length with everyone he interacts with, naturally aloof in a way that suggests discomfort with contact in the past, but with Blaine he’s constantly in his personal space. Not that Blaine terribly minds, as he has always been overly tactile, though his mind has a tendency to go into overdrive whenever Kurt touches him. Looking at it pragmatically, Kurt treats Blaine the same way he would treat anyone else, albeit with more laughter and gossip. But there’s something different there. It’s not flirting – it couldn’t be – but it’s something.
Over the weeks, Blaine familiarises himself with Kurt’s quirks the same way one would studiously learn the principles of physics. Kurt loves lemon cheesecake but shuns Blaine for an hour when he admits to preferring strawberry. He swears religiously by Stephen Sondheim but then says, as though admitting a terrible secret, that he prefers Andrew Lloyd Webber. They find a fellowship in their shared passion of scripted reality shows and when Blaine calls it a guilty pleasure Kurt scoffs and informs him that he is entirely unabashed. He loves the rain, although he cried for an hour once when he ruined his Doc Martens by stepping in a puddle. He says that he misses it here in Los Angeles and he calls his dad every time it storms to alleviate the feeling of homesickness. (Blaine had had a minor freak-out and a triumphant thought of soulmates when he found out that they both grew up Ohio, barely two hours from each other. Then they’d spent an hour bitching about the Midwest and he’d felt strangely connected to Kurt afterwards.)
Blaine finds himself falling in love with the way Kurt jigs whenever he gets excited and his tendency to crack jokes in order to ease any tension. He loves the way Kurt seems to have a strange kind of grace while also acting as though he doesn’t quite understand his own body yet. He loves the way Kurt always forgets about the filing cabinet at the front of his trailer and stubs his toe on the corner. He loves the faint freckles that cover his entire face and his habit of pulling his lip between his teeth whenever he’s deep in thought.
More than once he wakes up in the middle of the night flushed and panting, his boxers sticky, his mind racing with images of Kurt’s long pale neck bared shameless and desperate up at him. He forgives himself for those because it’s hard to control your own psyche, after all. It’s harder to explain away the times he jerks off in the shower and tries to forget exactly how unattainable Kurt is.
On one of the many afternoons that Blaine spends in Kurt’s trailer, Kurt’s husband comes up.
Kurt’s mentioned his husband before, little throwaway comments that he clearly doesn’t consider before speaking, which makes Blaine wonder what it would be like to have someone so intertwined in your life that it’s no longer ‘my life’, but ‘our life’. (His heart pangs for want of it, and his brain rebelliously tacks on ‘with Kurt’ before he can cut off that thought.) But he never really talks about him, never raves or complains or says anything besides half considered thoughts.
So Blaine sits up and notices when he actually starts talking.
They’ve been sitting in silence for a couple of minutes now, one of those comfortable, unpressured silences that Blaine thinks of smugly in his head as proof that they are destined for friendship, when Kurt says, ‘So Adam’s out of town all week next week.’
Adam is the name of Kurt’s husband. Like Adam and Eve, Blaine had thought gloomily when he’d found out. The perfect man. Blaine isn’t even religious.
Blaine’s heart doesn’t know whether to be sorry or pleased that Kurt will be alone all week, so instead he asks, ‘What for?’
Kurt gives a little laugh and says with a fond eye roll, ‘His band has a gig. In New York.’
The more vindictive part of Blaine wants to know if they’re really so terrible that the only half-rate bar they can book is on the other side of the country, but then he feels astoundingly guilty because it’s really not fair to judge someone that you’ve never even met. He asks politely, ‘So what’s his band’s name?’ and Kurt replies, ‘Adam and the Apples,’ and Blaine’s Mother Teresa resolve immediately crumbles. Adam and the Apples. He named a band after himself. Clearly, he is an aggrandizing douchebag.
Blaine would never name a band after himself.
Kurt pulls a thread tight, snips it off and gives a satisfied hum as he inspects his work. Then he says casually, ‘I’m not really used to being alone for a whole week. I’m expecting I’ll be pretty lonely all on my own.’
Blaine’s proverbial ears twitch to alert. Carefully, he says, ‘I’m sure Rachel will keep you company.’
After a moment, Kurt says, ‘I’m sure she will. But, uh, Blaine – ‘ He lets out a breath and Blaine watches the way his fingers play restlessly with the skin between his forefinger and thumb. ‘I was actually hoping that you might keep me company, Blaine.’
At those words, Blaine’s heart does victory loops. He hopes that Kurt doesn’t notice the obvious wagging of his tail. ‘Of course, Kurt!’ he exclaims. ‘I’d love to.’
Kurt immediately beams at him, an uninhibited smile that makes creases appear at the corners of his eyes and on the bridge of his nose. Blaine loves that smile. Like sunshine personified.
‘Oh, that’s great!’ Kurt claps his hands together excitedly. ‘Oh, this is going to be so much fun!’ he sings. ‘I have to take you out to a bar, get you proper drunk. I’ve been dying to find out what beneath that dapper 50s gentleman act you’ve got going on right now.’
‘I’m affronted that you think it’s an act,’ Blaine grins. His inner teenager girl glows under the fact that Kurt has been thinking about him. ‘I am the most transparent of people.’
Kurt rolls his eyes at him. ‘You’re an actor, Blaine. I’ll text you a time and place and we can meet up?’
Blaine hopes his grin isn’t too wide. ‘I look forward to it.’
--
Blaine is an idiot. Blaine is officially dubbed the biggest idiot in the whole of Los Angeles and he expects his trophy to arrive on the doorstep any day now.
Blaine is freaking out.
When he pulls up the courage to step inside the club, he stands a little awkwardly to the side and tugs at his blazer to stop it from itching at his collar. Back home, his room is a mess of haphazardly thrown clothing – pants and bowties and button ups tossed carelessly over his furniture. There’s a brogue sitting lonely on his bedside table and a blue polo hanging lazily from the corner of his dresser. Blaine will kick himself for the mistreatment later on, but right now he’s too frazzled to care.
After much painful deliberation, he’d decided on a nice plaid button up under a pale blazer over a pair of slim fit Capri’s. It isn’t so different from what he normally puts on, but he supposes that’s the consequence for making sure to be presentable every day.
Not that it really matter what you look like, he reminds himself sternly. Because you’re having a casual drink with a friend, not a damn proposal.
This bar is louder than they were back in Ohio. People crowd every table and the murmur of talk is as present as an extra conversation partner. The place is modern, sleek, with shiny tables and interestingly obscure glass fixtures on the wall. Blaine isn’t one to judge, but he can’t help but feel that the place reeks of pretension – was it really necessary to have blue lights instead of normal yellow? He looks like Mystique and he knows for a fact that he can’t pull off the whole sexy shapeshifter alien vibe. And seriously, that glass statuette looks like some kind of writhing tentacle monster. The artist should be sued.
Blaine’s nerves may be getting to him just a little bit.
He runs his hands over his hair and looks around for Kurt who, as it turns out, has already arrived. It’s amazing how much calmer Blaine feels at just the sight of Kurt’s familiar face, like cool water running over his hands, and he recognises some of his own nervous energy in the way Kurt is twisting his hands together on the tabletop in front of him, his lip caught between his teeth as he watches his own fingers turn. Blaine watches him for a moment in his corner by the door, watches the way the wrinkles in his forehead smooth out as he takes a deep breath, the way his chest expands and releases and his eyes flutter open with a new calmness. Kurt, of course, manages to looks effortlessly sexy under the stupid space age lighting scheme.
When Kurt spots him, Blaine’s stomach flips at the way his smile lights up his whole face. ‘Blaine!’ he says and stands up to grab Blaine into a hug that presses Blaine’s face right into his neck, his hands gripping tightly at his shoulders. He pulls back to inspect Blaine and smiles approvingly. ‘I like your outfit. Very gentleman chic.’
Kurt pulls Blaine down to sit with him before he has the chance to reply – ‘I like your outfit too, but I feel like your collarbones are really going to be a distracting point of the evening’ – and says, ‘So, what do you think of this place?’
Blaine really has always been far too eager to please. ‘I think it’s great,’ he lies.
Kurt raises his eyebrows at him. ‘You think? I would have pinned you for something a little more homely. Less... sparse, I suppose.’ He looks around the place and wrinkles his nose. ‘I haven’t been here before. Sebastian told me it was the height of class, but apparently we have different definitions of the word because all I can see is pretentious facial hair and enough glass to rebuild the Louvre Pyramid.’
‘You listened to Sebastian?’ Blaine asks with no little amount of surprise, because he’s pretty sure the whole of LA is aware of the animosity between the two of them. He can’t even count the amount of times he’s listened to Kurt snarl vicious comments about his co-star under his breath while he hands Blaine his clothes for the day. In fact, Kurt is more likely to refer to Sebastian as Blaine’s ‘meerkat lover boy’ than he is by his name.
Kurt rolls his eyes. ‘Please don’t remind me of my shame. I won’t make the same mistake twice.’
They order their drinks a couple of minutes later and then they settle down to chat. There’s a nervous energy between them while they approach their conversation; the atmosphere teeters on the brink between comfortable and awkward while the two of them try out this new dynamic tentatively, poking and prodding at the point in which a work friendship slips into something bigger, when two people seek each other out based on something more than just inescapable proximity.
Blaine is probably being a drama queen, but he feels as though this evening is somehow monumentally important, as though if it goes wrong then that will be the end of Blaine’s days lazing around in the back of Kurt’s trailer, the end of Kurt’s easy company. The idea upsets him more than it should and he realises that like it or not, this connection he feels to Kurt already puts them beyond work friends – this is just acknowledgment of the fact. Somehow, that makes it even more important that the night go well.
Blaine spends the first half hour quizzing Kurt on all aspects of his life that they never got around to talking about. Any pets as a child? (No, my dad’s allergic to most kinds of fur. So are my clothes.) Career aspirations as a kid? (I wanted to be a Disney princess.) Still in touch with any friends from high school? (Mostly Rachel, but there are still my girls that I keep up with.) That last one launches a tangent about Kurt’s experiences with a younger Rachel Berry, complete with dramatic storm outs and soliloquies about her inevitable stardom. Blaine listens and tries not to rest his hand on his chin and sigh like he’s lovesick while Kurt animates his conversation with lively hand gestures and keeps giving little half laughs whenever he amuses himself.
They order another round of drinks and Blaine asks ‘Dream job?’ and Kurt cocks his head at him.
‘Why are we playing twenty questions?’
‘Isn’t that what people do when they want to get to know each other?’
Kurt shrugs. ‘My general approach is to crack awkward jokes for a while and hope my partner finds it endearing rather than annoying.’
‘I think it’s cute,’ Blaine murmurs without thinking and Kurt’s eyes immediately drop as his cheeks pinken.
‘Oh,’ Kurt says.
Blaine clears his throat hurriedly and looks down. ‘I’m – I mean, I just think it’s a very, um, charming is all.’
Kurt looks at him for a long, calculating moment and Blaine fidgets with the napkin in his lap and doesn’t meet his eyes. Eventually, Kurt says, ‘Okay,’ and then goes on to talk about how he always thought he’d want to be on Broadway throughout high school until he stumbled upon costume design in college, which he calls a happy medium of fashion and theatre. Nothing changes at all – but now when Kurt looks at him from underneath his lashes, it doesn’t feel like an unconscious gesture. And when Blaine reaches across to grip at Kurt’s arm for emphasis, he allows his hand to linger longer than strictly necessary. The air is suddenly charged with something more than nervous energy; an anticipation almost, a waiting.
After a time, alcohol smoothes the way of their talk and Blaine’s interview-like questions eventually give way to a more natural conversation that meanders and dips and volleys. They talk over each other and laugh loud enough to gain disapproving looks from some nearby patrons, which makes them giggle and hush just long enough before a new topic catches their fancy and their conversation picks up speed again, fast and fleeting as a rabbit race.
‘My husband and I don’t really dance,’ Kurt laughs at one point, a peculiar staccato lilt that Blaine immediately falls in love with. ‘You should have seen the first dance at our wedding. Lots of butt wiggling and shimmying and permanently scarred guests.’
Ten minutes later they’re deep in discussion over Blaine’s success in Free Heart and Blaine is half way through talking about how he can’t believe everyone seems to like him so much when Kurt lets out a loud snort and asserts, ‘Of course lots of people watched! Because lots of people love you.’
‘Not that many people,’ Blaine says, amused.
‘Please,’ Kurt scoffs. ‘Like anyone doesn’t love you. You’re the ultimate loveable person. You make people sick with your likeability. You charm old ladies and street punks in the same sentence.’ His head thunks down onto the table and Blaine winces at the audible thump.
They people watch and they judge and Blaine finds himself laughing far too loudly at Kurt’s snarky comments. ‘My god, fedora, chunky glasses, struggling goatee and an oversized out of season sweater? I don’t know what I could say that could truly encompass that particular trainwreck.’ Then immediately after, ‘Oh my god, did someone actually go at those jeans with a damn knife?’
They order more drinks in obnoxious colours and Kurt is flushed and sweaty and grinning brightly and he only smiles wider at the way Blaine sputters when he attempts to take a shot of some anonymous neon liquid.
The more Kurt drinks, the less self aware he seems to become. He stares at Blaine, curious and catlike, while Blaine tells stories of his adventures in private school, and Blaine lets his eyes travel over his long body when he stretches over his chair to get closer. Blaine marvels at this new physicality of his, so loose and languid like every bone in his body has been liquidised. Kurt normally moves as though he controls every step he takes, as though he plans every movement of his muscles in advance. Now, he’s a pliable as soft rubber. Blaine likes it.
By the time they’ve been talking for three hours and the bar starts to empty out, Blaine is feeling high on alcohol and happiness. Kurt has dragged his chair around to sit closer to Blaine and has his hand resting on Blaine’s wrist while he stares intently at Blaine, as though there is nothing more important in the world than what he is talking about right at this moment. Only Blaine has forgotten what he’s talking about at this moment. At some point in Kurt’s speech he got distracted by the way Kurt’s tongue looks when it darts out to wet his lips every couple of minutes.
It’s gone one o’clock by the time the bartender finally approaches their table and tells them that it’s time to clear out. They stumble onto the street, giggling and breathless, grasping at each other’s shoulders for balance and tripping over their own feet. They stagger away down the street, too drunk and too excited, babbling over the top of each other as they pass underneath the blessedly yellow street lights.
‘Oh my god – Oh my god – ‘ Kurt gasps and brings his hands up to emphasise his point. ‘You did what?’
Blaine howls with laughter. Somehow, despite the debilitating embarrassment it had caused at the time, it is the funniest thing he’s thought about all night. ‘I sang to him!’ he cries. ‘In the middle of some dirty GAP in the middle of Ohio. And then he got fired and I have never been so humiliated.’
Kurt pats at his arm sympathetically, but his giggles lessen the effect of his comfort. ‘Oh, I’m sorry honey,’ he says altogether too gleefully and rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder in consolidation. He runs a finger under his eye to catch any escaped moisture. ‘For the record, I would have killed for someone to have serenaded me in high school.’
‘I’ll build a time machine,’ Blaine assures him. Then, in the way people do when they’re too drunk to hold a single conversation, he moans, ‘Oh god, there aren’t even any taxis along here.’
‘Irresponsible,’ Kurt tuts in agreement. ‘I live right round the corner. Wanna crash?’
Blaine is pretty sure that that is literally the best idea he’s ever heard in his whole life. ‘You, sir,’ he announces grandly, ‘are an angel come to visit us weaklings and I thank you dearly.’
Kurt laughs and bumps his hip off of Blaine’s and with his heart pounding in anticipation, Blaine follows him home.
--
It’s in the darkness of Kurt’s house that it happens.
Kurt’s home is comfortable and lived in. It’s also full of his husband. The mantle on the wall of the living room is full of pictures of Kurt, with a giant with an affable smile that Blaine recognises as his brother, of another older man wearing a baseball cap and a hand clamped firmly around a grinning Kurt’s shoulder – clearly his father. And there, front and centre, is another of Kurt, gorgeous in a suit and boutonniere, his arms draped loosely over the shoulders of another suited man, blonde and strong jawed, as the two stare into each others’ eyes. Adam, obviously. Blaine feels vaguely sick staring at the photo while Kurt sluggishly prepares the couch for sleep, and from the tightness in his throat he knows it isn’t the drink catching up with him.
By the door is a pair of shoes far too ragged to ever belong to Kurt. There’s a pot of half drunk tea on the kitchen bench and Blaine knows that Kurt’s loyalties lie solely with coffee; he can’t imagine Kurt ever being interested in the Big Bang Theory DVD on the couch’s arm and he’d eat his own hat if that discarded beanie belongs to Kurt. Everywhere, permeating the house as solidly as Kurt’s own presence (spotless floor and kitchen; the Judy Garland record hung on the wall; the houndstooth patterning on the couch), Adam is there. Blaine is sure that if he were to go to the bedroom where Kurt disappears to grab a sheet, he would only find more evidence of a life shared by two.
Blaine is completely unprepared for the jolt of possession, fast and hot as lightning, that shocks through him at the thought of Kurt in the arms of another man. He knows it’s selfish, he knows it’s rude, he knows he has absolutely no right to it, and yet - he doesn’t want Kurt loving another man. He doesn’t want Kurt living happily married. He doesn’t wantKurt with Adam. Blaine wants Kurt with him.
Blaine wants Kurt. Lusts after him in hard, blinding desire, wants to own him and belong to him and love him. He wants to make him laugh like no one else can, make him smile in a way that he doesn’t at anybody else, spend those mornings of domesticity with him, quietly and sleepily content, because of him. And he wants to fuck Kurt, long nights spent with his own hand flashing at him like photographs on a reel, wants to see that arch of his spine, to learn every inch of his skin, he wants to feel the heat of his skin so close to his own. Through the fuzzy drunkenness of his own mind, sharp as cut glass, Blaine wants him.
On the other side of the room Kurt re-enters, linen piled high in arms that aren’t quite steady, his head just barely peeking over the top of the pile. He drops the pile onto the couch right next to Blaine, stares at it for a long moment as though not quite sure what to do with it. Blaine watches him and can’t quite keep his eyes off the sharp slant of his cheekbones, or the way the antique lamp light sets his hair a soft bronze.
Kurt spends a few seconds fiddling hopelessly with the sheets, and then looks at Blaine. He just... looks at him. Blaine looks back and in the lamp light, Kurt’s eyes are the colour of hazy forests at dusk. The moment hangs between them, quiet and unadorned, fragile as a spider’s spun web.
Blaine isn’t thinking. It’s what he will say to himself later, a lame justification that means nothing, but he’ll say it all the same. He was drunk, at the tail end of a wonderful night out, and Blaine’s not thinking. He can’t, not when Kurt is standing so close to him and his smell is intoxicating and his eyes are mesmerising and Blaine wants him – and he’s just not thinking.
He kisses Kurt, hard and deep, too drunk for any kind of finesse or grace. He winds an arm around Kurt’s waist and pulls him close, another arm at the small of his back, kisses him harder, and he feels the way Kurt tenses under Blaine’s grabbing hands and hisbreath cuts off sharply while his hands come up in surprise. He makes a little noise in the back of his throat, a tiny squeak of shock muffled beneath Blaine’s mouth. Blaine pulls back and waits for the rejection and the rough hands shoving him away, the raised voices and barbed words, because he knows he just fucked up, knows that what he just did was so very far from okay and he feels sick with the trepidation. But Kurt stays still in his arms, wide eyed and breathing hard as he stares at Blaine. His entire body is vibrating – Blaine can feel it. The moment is frozen, delicate, and the only sound is their panted breaths.
Then Kurt’s hand comes up to pull at his jaw, run his fingers over the beginning hints of stubble, and he’s kissing back, fast and hungry and rough. He pulls Blaine’s bottom lip in between his own, nips at it with two front teeth, and Blaine feels the shock right through his body.
Kurt’s arms are strong around Blaine’s neck, tugging him stumbling and eager to the couch where they collapse on top of the still folded sheets, Blaine’s body heavy and solid over Kurt’s, pressing him into the cushions. Kurt’s lips are hard against his own, electric and warm and addictive. Blaine moans low in his throat at the tongue slipping along the crease of his mouth. His body drops boneless onto Kurt’s.
His mind is sparking and rushed and so confused, but far too distracted to try and stop and think right at this moment, because every nerve ending in his body is firing and he can feel Kurt’s lean chest against his own, his thigh drawn up next to him, his fingers exploring curious over the grooves of his spine. His insistent cock presses hard at Blaine’s hip and when Blaine shifts and their cocks line up, the white hot starburst of pleasure makes his eyes roll back in his skull.
Kurt pulls away from Blaine’s mouth, throws his head back and pants while Blaine nuzzles at his jaw, sucks wet open mouthed kisses down the long length of his neck. He jolts when Blaine sets to work on his beating pulse, whines when Blaine only sucks harder and his hand jerks up to wind itself tight in his curls. ‘Fuck,’ he pants.
Blaine rolls his body down onto Kurt and again he feels that flash of heat when his cock rubs against Kurt’s, sparking up against the friction of the layers of fabric between them. Kurt’s hips begin moving, a rolling and jerking and stuttering rhythm up against Blaine’s own. His hand is still gripping at Blaine’s hair and now he tugs Blaine from the crook of his neck back to his mouth where he kisses him persistent and keen. They’re too drunk, too uncoordinated to ever take any control of their movements, to try and balance their ruts in time with one another, and somehow it’s even hotter when they connect on random thrusts. Every cut off rush of pleasure adds to the swirling bank of heat in the pit below his stomach, building and growing and itching for release.
Blaine is so hot and Kurt is burning up underneath him too, his entire body feels like a furnace and Blaine can’t control his breath. He can feel his own body shaking and sweating while his ruts fall even further out of control as the curling heat in his stomach rises rapidly.
He comes and his muscles snap tense, his hips jerking while his fingers and toes rigid and he groans and allows the rushing wave of pleasure overwhelm him. Kurt moans underneath him and when Blaine collapses on top of him, he comes too.
Blaine is already slipping into sleep, so tired and content after his orgasm that he can’t even keep his eyes open. His mind is calmer now, no longer racing and jumping too fast for him to keep up, but still thrumming with happiness and satisfaction. Underneath him still, Kurt yawns and kisses quick and closed mouth at his clavicle. His hand strokes lazily across Blaine’s waist up to his shoulder. Blaine smiles, and goes to sleep.
--
He wakes when Kurt dumps him roughly onto the rug below the couch.
His brain immediately complains loudly. Above him, Kurt is already up and moving while Blaine’s head thuds dully against his footsteps, muted and deep and unpleasant. He groans.
Kurt’s footsteps get close again, quick and clipped on the floor, and Blaine’s head beats in time with the vibrations through the wood.
Last night hangs heavy in his mind. He remembers everything that they did - the long night spent laughing and chatting with Kurt in a bar that neither of them liked, how he had followed Kurt home to sleep, the way Kurt had looked at him in the moments before - well. Yes, he remembers everything about last night. His mouth still tingles when he thinks about Kurt's lips against his. The happiness settles over him like a blanket and he smiles as his fingers wind through the twine fringing of the rug.
Then Kurt snaps, 'Get up,' and his voice is as cold and expressionless as gunmetal and Blaine begins to realise that maybe things aren't as nice as he thinks they should be.
Blaine hauls himself onto his back and blinks his eyes blearily open against the really far-too-bright sunlight. Kurt is silhouetted above him, a severe figure of authority with his hands on his hips and his body held stiff and formal. Somehow, even with his face blocked out in black he strikes an imposing figure.
He yanks the still folded sheets violently out from underneath Blaine. 'Get up.'
Blaine wobbles to his feet and a stumbles unsteadily over to the kitchen bar where he collapses onto the stool. He is aware, now that his brain is beginning to wake up, of the implications of what happened last night. His pants are crusted uncomfortably on the insides - he didn't have the self awareness last night to be embarrassed about coming in his pants for the first time since he was a teenager, but now he flushes at the thought. And Kurt is in an incendiary mood, obviously, and Blaine doesn't blame him. Kurt cheated on his husband last night and Blaine, Blaine was his accomplice. Blaine was the instigator, he was the one who kissed first, and the guilt floods him hot and unpleasant. He drops his head to his hand and moans.
When Blaine was seventeen, he found his first boyfriend in a college freshman named Jeremiah. He’d had the most amazing hair and stunning eyes and Blaine had immediately toppled into infatuation with his casual confidence. Jeremiah was older and so cool and Blaine had been too naive to recognise his disinterest. He had played with Blaine like a cat’s toy, let him believe that he loved Blaine too, but it really shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to walk into his house three months after they became exclusive to find Jeremiah in the arms of another man. They’d split that day and slipped out of each others’ lives too quickly to say goodbye. The memory settles ugly in Blaine’s gut, and he swallows hard. Jeremiah’s cheating had destroyed him as easy as paper crushed in the palm of a hand; he can’t imagine how hard it would be to face infidelity after promising lifelong trust to one another.
Kurt broke that trust the moment he kissed Blaine last night. Blaine turns to face him and is immediately cowed at the stormy expression on his face, dark and angry and violent. He watches him bite his lip, the beginning of angry tears turning his eyes glassy, and knows that Kurt understands that too.
And yet somehow, even with the phantom hurt twinging uncomfortably in his stomach, Blaine can’t seem to find it within himself to regret what they did. Intellectually, he feels remorse. Blaine is a homewrecker, apparently, which he never thought would be a label applied to himself. It’s not a nice feeling. But an insidious voice in the back of his mind whispers that if Kurt and Adam had had such a wonderful marriage, Kurt would never have got off with him. Nobody cheats on their spouse if they’re totally content. Things like that just don’t happen. And even deeper buried in his mind, Blaine can’t help but feel a sharp spike of triumph. Because this man that he’s been crushing on for weeks just reciprocated his feelings, no matter how drunk – it happened. Blaine won last night; he got exactly what he’d been hoping for.
‘You have to go,’ Kurt says. His voice is cracked like brittle glass. He strides over to stand behind the kitchen bar like a defence barrier and folds his arms tight over his chest, holds himself tall with his chin raised and his shoulders taut. Blaine wonders exactly what Kurt is protecting himself from. ‘I’ll um, I’ll call a cab and you can get your stuff and – and then you need to go, okay?’
Blaine bites his lip. He says, ‘Kurt – ‘
Kurt says, ‘No. Please just go. Please.’
Blaine takes a step towards him and Kurt steps back, practiced as a dance. Blaine watches the way his lips press so tight to stop them from quivering, the way Kurt’s arms pull at his sides as though he is physically holding himself together right now, as though if he lets go his whole being will shatter over the floor. But he can’t help the hair-fine fissures that appear in his composure, like cracks fanning over time-wearied porcelain. Blaine watches Kurt, who has always been so effortlessly poised and comfortable, fight for control over himself, and he feels sad.
And yet. ‘Kurt, we need to talk about what happened last night – ‘
Kurt exhales, loud and heavy. He says, and his voice is unnervingly calm, ‘As far as I am concerned, last night didn’t happen.’
Blaine continues doggedly on, ‘Well, lucky for you there were two of us involved last night and I remember everything, so – ‘
‘Blaine,’ Kurt interrupts harshly and closes his eyes tight. ‘I swear to god, Blaine, I am about to have a complete mental breakdown in the next minute if you don’t stop talking – ‘
‘But we need to talk about it!’
‘No, we don’t!’ Kurt cries finally, and those cracks of composure splinter into full blown gouges. His eyes flare open wide, shining with unshed tears. On the kitchen bench, his hands are curled into fists so tight that Blaine knows that his nails in his palm must be painful. ‘We don’t and we can’t because I am married! You don’t have any idea what commitment that entails, do you? Nothing can happen, Blaine!’ He shrugs helplessly and after the explosion a moment before, his next words seem especially soft. ‘Nothing can happen.’
Blaine replies equally quiet, ‘Something’s already happened, Kurt. Whether you choose to acknowledge that or not is up to you.’
Kurt’s eyes close again and a single tear slips out from underneath his lashes, His head drops low to his chest and in that moment, he looks so defeated, so sad, that Blaine’s chest aches to hold him. Even in the morning after, his hair dishevelled and skin grey with tiredness, he is heartbreakingly beautiful. Deflated, broken, but beautiful.
Eventually Kurt speaks, absentmindedly as though he almost forgot that Blaine was there. He says quietly, ‘Do you want to know what the worst part is?’ A humourless laugh and a tiny shake of his head and then even quieter, ‘The worst part is that I don’t even regret it.’
Something in Blaine stops. In his chest, new life breathes into the spark of hope that had been doused in their argument. ‘Why not?’ he asks carefully.
Kurt is silent for a long time as he stares at his hands before him. Finally, he whispers, ‘I don’t know.’
‘I don’t regret it either,’ Blaine says after a moment and Kurt’s mouth twists in some approximation of a smile and he says wanly, ‘You’re not married, Blaine.’ He shakes his head, frowns. Slowly, like trying to talk through a puzzle, he says, ‘I feel bad. I do, I really do, I – I know what I’ve done and I know I have no excuse and I feel awful – ‘
Kurt draws in a shaky breath, looks right at Blaine for maybe the first time all morning, his eyes disarmingly blue ringed with red. Blaine’s breath catches in his throat. ‘So why is it,’ Kurt says in a voice that trembles, ‘that all I want to do is kiss you again?’
The two of them are quiet then, just looking at one another, watching and waiting. Blaine watches the way Kurt’s chest jumps with irregular little hicks, eventually smoothing into calmer breathing, and Kurt watches the way Blaine watches him. Outside, a bird calls a sweet greeting to another and they hear a child’s delighted laughter in response. In that moment it seems hard to imagine life simply carrying on, as it always must do.
Eventually, Blaine says, ‘You know you can kiss me if you want to.’
‘I want to,’ Kurt replies.
In the end, Kurt steps out from behind his kitchen bench and walks towards Blaine slowly. His protective armour slips from his shoulders as he goes and when he stops just inches away, he is as vulnerable as Blaine has ever seen him. Blaine can’t seem to stop looking at his lips.
This time when they kiss, it feels more like a first time than last night ever had. Slow and deep and gentle, Kurt pulls Blaine’s body close to his, slides his arms around his shoulders and steps so that his feet crowd in around Blaine’s. Blaine feels the kiss right through his body and the knot in his chest slips loose as he relaxes into it, allows himself to get lost in the feeling of kissing and allowing himself to be kissed. Kurt’s lips are soft on his, his body is so warm and his grip is strong and sure.
When the kiss ends, Kurt’s eyelashes are still wet with tears but his cheeks are dry and his smile is steady. ‘Is this happening?’ he asks.
‘I think it is,’ Blaine responds, and in the quiet Sunday morning they while away their hours with soft kisses and touches and in the end, neither of them regret a thing.