Title: What Fools We've Been

Started: 10/26/11 2:25 a.m.

Finished: u/k

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or its respective characters.

Prologue:

Blaine had fallen head over heels for Kurt in high school after the countertenor sang Blackbird. The only problem was, Blaine wasn't the only Warbler moved by the performance, and somebody beat him to the punch. The next thing he knew Kurt was gushing over his first date with a boy and begging Blaine for advice. So he reluctantly slipped back into the role of mentor, and allowed his friend to be happy. He didn't trust James at first, but as long as Kurt was happy (a mantra that Blaine repeated to himself religiously just to live through the pain of watching Kurt with another guy) that was all that mattered.

They dated for the rest of high school and even moved to New York together, leaving Blaine stuck in Lima to finish out his senior year without his best friend in the world. And then Kurt called him at 2:30 in the morning the day before Regionals, sobbing about James cheating on him. Blaine listened, cried a little, and soothed his friend through the anger.

"You know, I don't think he's ever been seriously invested in this relationship! I mean he gave me a goodbye song when I transferred, but he didn't go to prom with me! And for God's sake he didn't even come to McKinley! You did! You know what, fuck him; I don't need him! And he sure as hell isn't getting this apartment! He can go live with his precious boy toy in a hovel somewhere. I'm better than that asshole anyway!"

"Damn right you are!" He agreed fervently, never wanting to confess his feelings more than at that moment. Just so Kurt could see that there was someone out there who would love him unconditionally, and would never cheat on him and break his heart. But he was vulnerable, and hurting. A confession like that would only confuse him. It was not the time. So Blaine kept it to himself, saying instead, "And why should Kurt Hummel have to settle for a man who wears midriff tops?"

His friend let out a harsh, breathy laugh. "I know, right?" He paused for a long time then, and Blaine just allowed him to process his thoughts.

"Thank you, Blaine."

"…You're welcome, Kurt."

So Kurt kicked the bastard out, and by the time Blaine graduated the apartment still had a spare bedroom, so like an idiot, he accepted Kurt's suggestion that they be roommates. When he moved to the city Kurt was still single, so he thought of it as an opportunity to act on the feelings that had been stewing inside for so long.

After Blaine had moved in they spent a whole day just exploring the town. Kurt showed him the hot spots, the best places to shop, best places to eat, and of course the best place to get coffee. Blaine thought it must have been fate talking; spending a perfect day together and closing it out with coffee, just like in high school. But just as he was about to lay everything out on the table, figuratively speaking, Kurt announced that he'd met someone the day before, and was planning on a date that weekend. Blaine was crushed.

That was two years ago, and since then Kurt had one boyfriend, a few one-night stands, and countless dates. Well, probably not countless, but to Blaine they might as well have been. Kurt didn't invite that many guys back to the apartment; so few in fact Blaine could count them on one hand. But when he did, he was loud. Kurt was…very loud.

Blaine was convinced by now that someone in the universe had it out for him, and was punishing him in the most vicious ways possible for not snagging Kurt up when he had the chance. He couldn't remember what crappy TV show he'd seen it on, but apparently there was an expiration date on asking out a friend before you remain permanently caught in the 'friend zone.' So in some sick, twisted way, it was When Harry Met Sally…but nobody was getting together at the end.

Chapter 1

"Blaaaine! Bla—ow! Blaine, have you seen my vibrator?"

Blaine closed his eyes and held his hand to his head. Worst. Roommate. Ever!

Kurt came storming out of his bedroom and started digging through drawers. Man on a mission.

"What kind of question is that," Blaine demanded. Bad enough to be hopelessly in love with a guy as gorgeous as Kurt. He really didn't need images of the other man touching himself to fuel his fantasies.

His friend threw up his hands in frustration. "I just can't remember where it was last time I used it."

"Well, typically, you place a vibrator—"

"You know what I mean!"

"Did you check the top drawer, where it always is?" Blaine stopped what he was doing and gave a reflective pause. "You know, we might be at the point of being too comfortable with each other if I know where you keep your vibrator."

Kurt rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers with a grin. "Oh yeah, I left it in the bathroom so I could use it after my shower!"

Blaine about snapped his pencil in half. Naked, dripping Kurt, writhing around the vibrator in pleasure as it—

"Why are you even looking for it? I thought you had a date with that Jacob guy the other night."

"I didn't sleep with him Blaine. Besides, I'm just bored."

"So you relieve boredom by relieving yourself."

"Exactly," Kurt agreed breezily, and waltzed into the bathroom.

Blaine held his pencil suspended in midair, horrified. "Wait a minute…you're not gonna use it right now are you?"

A breathy laugh escaped the open door of the bathroom. "Of course not; I'm not addicted to it you know."

"I don't know, Kurt. I'm beginning to think I should cut you off. Pretty soon that thing will end up as your boyfriend."

His friend emerged from the bathroom with a mirthless laugh. "Yeah; won't it though?"

Blaine was a little taken aback at the lack of a snarky retort, but he let it go. He really didn't want to keep talking about Kurt and vibrators anyway. "So listen, I was thinking of doing a few original songs for tonight; I wanted to know what you thought."

The brunette grinned and happily bounded over to the desk, leaning over Blaine's shoulder. "Excellent idea! Which ones did you want to do?"

"Well, I was gonna open with their song, of course, but then I thought I could do In a Dream. Do a couple standards, then sneak in Precious somewhere—"

Kurt gasped and clapped excitedly. "Oh my God, yes! Precious is so beautiful Blaine; it's perfect for a wedding."

He blushed at the compliment, feeling a private sense of pride.

"Any other originals?"

"Um…well I was thinking about Feet First," he supplied, pointing to the next name on his list. He saw Kurt eyeing the song with pursed lips.

"Hm…well I don't know. Feet First is great, but for a wedding? Nah. In a Dream, Precious, and—ooh! I know! You should do Yours! I love that one!"

Blaine scoffed and circled the title. "You say that about all my songs."

"And what does that tell you," Kurt asked, and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Blaine's shoulders and trapping him in a hug. "You're a brilliant songwriter Blaine. These provincial coffeehouse managers and wedding planners have no idea how lucky they are to have you. And someday they'll be crying in their cash registers because you'll be a famous, chart-topping musician and they let you slip through their fingers." He concluded his little sermon with a smacking kiss to Blaine's cheek and a tight squeeze around his neck.

Blaine smiled woefully and covered Kurt's hand with his. Of course it wasn't Kurt's fault that every time he said supportive things like that it felt like he was tugging at the band-aid Blaine mended his heart with. But damnit did the words sting; especially when all he wanted to do afterwards was give Kurt a big hug and smother him with grateful kisses.

Instead he just leaned back into the touch, stroking his thumb over his friend's hand. Hands had always been their thing. Of all the guys that he'd seen Kurt with, none of them really seemed that big on hand-holding. And it was something that Blaine took a little vindictive glee from; being the only guy in Kurt's life that got how special that kind of connection was, and being the only guy who shared it.

"Thanks Kurt," he replied earnestly. "That always helps get me through these horribly cliché weddings. After they switch to a DJ I get so bored."

The thinner male laughed playfully. "There's always the open bar. Anyway that's because you're so pure of heart you don't think of weddings as a social occasion."

Blaine, puzzled, tilted his head upwards to meet Kurt's eyes. His friend shook his head in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how many opportunities you're missing to get laid? My God Blaine; the songs you sing, the way you sing them, and dressing to the nines? Just how many pairs of underwear fall the floor when you perform, I wonder."

He laughed uncomfortably. "I'm not that popular Kurt."

"How many brides have asked for your number again?"

"…Okay, four, but that's not the point," he defended, and tried to pull out of the hug. He'd found that it was harder keeping up the façade when they shared physical contact. "I don't like one-offs. It just doesn't do it for me the way it does for you."

"So who says it has to be a one-off? Say you meet someone you really like and invite him over for the night. You make him a fantastic breakfast the next day, offer a coffee date, and then proceed to sweep him off his feet, Blaine Style."

He shot Kurt a look. "I didn't know I had a style."

"Dapper Dork, of course," Kurt told him smugly. Blaine burst out laughing.

"Gee, that must be so effective," he said, still giggling.

"Hey, it worked on me." Kurt retorted.

Blaine froze, his stomach doing a flip-flop. "Really?"

"Sure! Well, you know, back in high school. When I actually had a crush on you and stuff," he said dismissively, and sauntered into the kitchen with a reminiscent chuckle.

Blaine felt that lump in his throat again. The one that always came up whenever Kurt chose to tactlessly remind him that his feelings of romantic inclinations were in the past. He rose to his feet and gathered up his music sheets, forcing back the anguish. "Well, that's good to know at least," he stated, trying to sound optimistic.

"Good! So you go ahead and find yourself a warm body. Then bring him back here and have yourself some well-deserved sex. I mean God, what's it been—"

"I don't really know," he interrupted, his cheeks flaming at the thought of elaborating on his sexual drought to Kurt. "So what are you gonna do all night?"

Kurt shrugged one shoulder and grinned devilishly, plucking a grape from the fruit bowl on the little island in the kitchen. "I guess I'll get reacquainted with my boyfriend," he said with a wink, and sucked the grape into his mouth with just his lips.

Blaine turned around to pick up his guitar case and grimaced. Wonderful. So while I'm supposed to be concentrating on heartfelt songs about love and commitment I'll wind up picturing you fucking yourself on a vibrator. Yeah. Thanks for that, Kurt. Thanks a lot.

Meanest.

Roommate.

Ever.

Blaine slammed down his second Long Island Iced-Tea and gave a small hiccup, patting the bartender's arm to get her attention. "A-and who the hell does he think he is? Sending me out of the apartment just to get me laid, when all I want…is him! I could be doing him right now! Do you know what he's doing right now," he asked confidentially. "A virbator!" He frowned to himself. That wasn't right. "A varbator! Barbados! No! A vibrator! H-he's doing…a goddamn vibrator, a-and I haven't fucked a guy since…i-it's just simple math. I should be that vibrator! I want him so freakin' bad…"

A burly-looking man approached the bar, knocking on the wooden surface. "Missy? This guy giving you trouble?"

"No, I find him hilarious," the bartender replied, her face resting on her hand and looking thoroughly amused. "If the guests start complaining then you can haul him out, but for now he can stay here. I've already cut him off."

Blaine grinned at the young woman and reached over to pinch her cheek. "You're pretty awesome, Missy!"

"Excuse me," a soft voice called, and Blaine whirled around—whoo, spinny room!—to find a tall, willowy redhead giving him a roguish smile. "I heard you sing. You're so talented."

Blaine nodded with a grin. "Well thanks! I ge-get that a lot." He gestured to the two empty seats next to him. "Come on, have a seat. My name's Blaine."

"Kevin," the ginger replied, grinning eagerly as he sat down.

Blaine stared thoughtfully at a cocktail peanut. "So! Are you a friend of the bride, or the groom Kevin?"

"I'm the bride's brother. I didn't recognize that third song you did."

"Oh. Well that's because you've never heard it before Kevin," Blaine informed him, patting his arm then going back to the peanut. "I wrote it myself."

"You write your own songs? That's really impressive."

"Yep. Yep, I do, Kevin. And yep. Yep it is, Kevin."

"Uh…" His new friend chuckled awkwardly. "Can I ask why you're ending every sentence with my name?"

Blaine shrugged and flicked the peanut into his empty glass. "Kevin starts with a K. I like K. Knight, knife, kibble, kraken, Kurt…Kurt…"

"Oh, like in Sound of Music," the other man asked curiously, and Blaine smiled companionably at him.

"You betcha Kevin! Like in Sound of Music! Kaleidoscope, keelhaul, key, keyhole—"

"Kiss," Kevin suggested, his voice heavy and low.

Blaine slowly turned away from his glass and stared at the other man with a scrutinizing eye. He was pretty tall and slender, but not a stick. He had very striking green eyes, a from-a-box smile, and pretty cheekbones. His voice was low, but it was sweet and just slightly accented. His tux fit him like a dream, and he had a neatly trimmed waist to match his well-coiffed hair. All in all, Kevin was pretty damn cute.

"Okay," Blaine said amiably, and flung his arm out, catching Kevin by the neck and pulling him in. He missed his lips, instead landing on a petite ear. He tried to play it off like that was his goal the whole time, and whispered against it, "You wanna come back to my place?"

Kevin pulled back for a moment and grinned at Blaine like he'd just won the lottery. "Really?"

"Sure," he agreed, wobbling onto his feet. Kurt's always telling me to get laid, so I'll get laid. "Boy won't my roommate be surprised."

"O-oh you have a roommate? Maybe we should go to my place instead," the other man advised, but Blaine wouldn't have it.

"No no, it's fine. He'll be happy for me," he rushed to assure, realizing with a modicum of anger that it was probably true. Well fine. If he's happy for me, I'm happy for me.

Blaine clumsily ran his fingers up the lapel of Kevin's jacket, smirking broadly. "Let's get a cab, shall we Kev?"

TBC

EDIT: 14 alerts, 8 faves and no feedback? :( Aww; come on guys!

Oh my, bringing a boy back to the apartment; Blaine's all grown up! Why did I write this when I have all this other crap to do? …Honestly, I was feeling a little vindictive towards Blaine at the time, and it started out as a drabble. But then I got over it, and the idea expanded. So don't worry, 'Poor Blaine' won't stay Poor Blaine for long. ;) Again, sorry to spam your inboxes, but my brain's on hyper-drive lately; lol.