A/n. So, I watched a bootleg of the Lea Michele/Jonathan Groff original Broadway production of 'Spring Awakening'. I know, I know, bad Kaelynn, but I live in freaking East Tennessee. I won't be able to even come close to being exposed to that kind of culture until I'm out of high school. So I'm desperate.
Anyways, I really liked the song 'The Guilty Ones', which Melchior and Wendla (Jonathan and Lea) sing after having sex. And, on that note, no, there is no sex in this. I do not write smut. It's just REALLY HEAVY making out and crazy hormones. But I had the idea to kind of blend it with a Klaine fic on the way home from my grandmother's, and I was like, 'HUZZAH! Klaine fic in the making!'
And this is kind of like, sexuallyfrustrated!Klaine, but it's not in the comedic, 'Oh, get on me' way. It's the intense, dark needy way, and I'm VERY happy with the result. Review, please.
And, also, this was really, really fun to write. *wink*
...
His voice in his ear, the warmth of his guitar-roughened hands on ivory hips, the feeling of their lips colliding sweetly.
Kurt Hummel's sleeping mind conjured images that pleased him to no end, and he shifted restlessly in his slumber, throwing the blankets off of himself and to the floor.
Intensity. But then, Blaine was always intense, whether they were talking about Broadway musicals or more serious matters such as suicide statistics among gay youths. Kurt inhaled sharply when he felt those hands reach up the back of the too-large, white button-down that he often wore to bed, caressing his back in an achingly slow fashion. Yes, Blaine was intense, and it was driving Kurt insane.
Those hands, those hands that were so dexterous and skillful, slid up to his shoulders under the thin material of his shirt, making him exhale breathlessly, and he gripped at Blaine's upper body like a life preserver. The dark-haired boy before Kurt removed one hand and pulled them both down onto the bed, and suddenly Kurt was on top of Blaine.
Kurt found himself taken aback by the beauty of being so close to someone else for the first time; he'd never done anything remotely close to this with another human being in his life, unless you counted the Karofsky incident and his make out session with Brittany, which he didn't. Because this time it mattered, it counted, and it was glorious.
Those nimble fingers moved to the buttons on Kurt's top, slowly undoing them and letting the shirt's sides flutter airily after the task was done. Blaine put his hand on the back of Kurt's head and pulled it towards his neck, where Kurt began to tenderly kiss the soft skin there.
For Kurt, this contact wasn't about lust, but the need to show Blaine how much he meant to him. He gasped against Blaine's Adam's apple as the older boy ran a hand through Kurt's hair and down to the small of his back.
"Blaine," he whispered. "I'm not ready to go all the way." The innocence and slight shame in his voice was noticeable, much to Kurt's dismay.
"I know, Kurt. All we need is this."
And then Kurt awoke, sweating and panting, his eyes wide. He still felt the same yearning that he had in his dream, that wanting to be with Blaine in more than a friendly way; to touch, to inhale, to kiss.
The seventeen-year-old sat up in his bed, bringing his knees to his chest and biting his lower lip. Glancing at the bedside clock, he noticed that the time was around three. Kurt looked beside himself at the sleeping form of his roommate, and turned to lie on his side facing the opposite way.
He lay awake until seven o'clock that morning, shaking under his blankets, wanting nothing more than to get out of his bed and walk three feet to the one beside him, where the object of his dreams lay, defenseless and beautiful.
…
Unbeknownst to Kurt, Blaine was having a similar dream concurrently, in which the roles were slightly reversed.
The first thing he kissed was his nose; that nose, the one that was pointy and adorable and one of Blaine's favorite features of Kurt's. He moved his lips further down to Kurt's neck, which was rigid with anticipation, and suckled slightly on the flesh there. To his delight, Kurt released a breathy moan, and Blaine moved back up to his face, where he cut off Kurt's sigh by pressing his lips to that of the smaller boy.
Blaine pushed the boy against the wall, and captured his mouth in his once again, biting the supple lower lip and pulling a bit. Kurt ran his hands along Blaine's sides, before catching the bottom edges of his sleep shirt and pulling slightly up, as if asking permission. Nodding, Blaine stepped back, and the boy in front of him tugged the shirt over his head. He stared in awe for a moment before putting his hands on Blaine's waist and holding him close.
Kurt raked a hand through Blaine's curly locks, which were still slightly wet from his before-bed shower, and groaned loudly.
Taking this as a good sign, Blaine grasped Kurt's shoulders, turning him towards the bed and gently laying him down on his back. He laid himself on top of him, grasping the sides of that striking face and pressing his lips roughly against the smaller boy's. Unbuttoning Kurt's shirt, he sighed, "I love you."
"I love you, too," the other teenager responded, running his fingers over Blaine's back and leaving a trail of goosebumps. "Not too fast, okay?"
"I'd never do anything you weren't ready for, Kurt," Blaine assured him, unhooking the bottom button of Kurt's shirt and tenderly sliding it off of his shoulders. He suddenly leaned forward and kissed one of those shoulders. "We'll never have to do anything more…as long as I can touch you like this."
Blaine shot up out of his bed, gasping, his pulse racing. A droplet of sweat made a trail from his temple, down past his neck, and onto the bedspread below.
He checked the alarm clock by his bed, which read 3:10, before chancing a glimpse at the boy in the bed next to him, whose back was turned to him. Releasing a shaky breath, he lay back down and chastised himself. He shouldn't have been thinking of Kurt like that; he only thought of Blaine as a friend, and no matter how much Blaine wanted more out of the relationship, he had made a promise to himself that he wouldn't push the already damaged boy.
Sighing, Blaine turned on his side, and tried to think with his mind, not his body.
…
"Lunch, later?"
Kurt fidgeted uncomfortably, unable to understand the things that Blaine's voice alone did to him. He nodded slowly, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks.
Blaine just smiled, glancing up at the chemistry teacher, who was sitting at his seat grading papers, before speaking. "Fantastic. I have it on good authority that the entrée today will be chicken Parmesan." He winked at Kurt. "Your favorite, right?"
Does he realize what that does to me? Kurt thought, bobbing his head mindlessly. The wink Blaine had given him had shot electricity straight through his veins, leaving warmth in its wake. He broke out of his thoughts when he noticed Blaine looking at him oddly, and realized that he'd been nodding his head for half a minute. Stopping himself, he cursed his body and it's reactions. He scrambled for something remotely intelligent to say. "Yes, it's my favorite. It's quite a relief, also, that this school's food isn't atrocious. At McKinley, everyday, the food involved either noodles or soggy chicken patties."
Blaine chuckled, putting his hand on Kurt's arm. "Well, the enrollment here is steep- you can't honestly expect them to serve us gruel," he said, his hand traveling halfway down the other boy's forearm, before Kurt flinched away from his touch, remembering the thoughts that plagued his dreams the night before.
They both looked away, then, each boy full of words unspoken and urges not acted upon.
…
Kurt emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet and drying his messy hair with a damp towel. His torso, incredible in all its half-naked glory, was soaked to the point that Blaine wished to step towards him and run his hands over it, spreading the moisture before he pressed gentle kisses to the smooth skin-
"Blaine?" Kurt interrupted his fantasy, furrowing his eyebrows and snapping his fingers. "I asked if you wanted to take a shower."
"Oh." Blaine's voice was small and meek, his usual eloquence gone, and he blushed with embarrassment. "I mean, yes, I think I'll shower now."
Kurt shrugged, smiling a little at the boy sitting on the bed in front of him. He grabbed his deodorant from his bedside table before uncapping it and putting it on, and Blaine was hit with the smell of cherry blossoms.
It couldn't have been worse if Kurt had thrown his towel off and begun to dance. As soon as the scent hit Blaine's nostrils, his entire body went hot and itchy, just like it did every time he caught a whiff of Kurt's fragrance. He stood quickly, rushing past Kurt and into the bathroom without a word, shutting the door behind himself once safely inside. He turned the knobs inside the bath, and stripped himself of his clothes.
He reached a hand inside the stream of water, and Blaine jerked it back when his fingers were scalded, the fresh warmth of the steam around him and on his hands doing nothing for his hot-and-bothered state.
He debated for a moment, before leaning down and turning the tap to the left.
Yes, a cold shower would be much better.
…
I'm going to have to get up, Kurt thought as he lounged on his bed next to Blaine, listening to the older boy's snores echo in his eardrums.
Blaine had long since fallen asleep, his head having dropped from the pillow, to Kurt's shoulder, and finally to his delicate chest. Cocked at a peculiar angle, Blaine's body was at least two feet away, leaving his face dangerously close to ending up in Kurt's lap.
On the television before them, a bootleg DVD of the Broadway production of 'Spring Awakening' played noiselessly. Kurt had muted the volume subsequently to Blaine falling asleep, not wanting to disturb the teenager's slumber.
Figuring he'd be in the same position for a while, Kurt turned the volume up a bit, feeling like an accessory to crime. It was no secret that cameras weren't allowed during Broadway productions, and he felt slightly guilty that he was, in a way, breaking the theater honor code by watching an illegally uploaded recording of one of his favorite musicals.
On the screen, Hanschen and Ernst were sitting on the floor at the corner of the stage, Hanschen giving his infamous, 'I'm like a pussycat' speech and making the other boy uncomfortable. It was, predictably, Kurt's favorite part of the play; A, because Hanschen was a whole world of fine, and B, because it was a scene in which there was a sweet, gay kiss.
A gay kiss that, as it played out in front of his eyes, made Kurt long to press his lips to those of the boy lying on his chest. Since seeing the musical at the age of fifteen at a local theater, he had always wanted someone to kiss him like that. He wanted the kind of kiss that caused him grip to at the other person's back, fearing that if he let go, he would float away.
Terribly corny, Kurt reminded himself in his head, as Ernst professed his love for Hanschen.
Blaine stirred in his sleep, mumbling quietly, his eyebrows creasing. Kurt stifled a chuckle, muting the musical once again, trying to listen to whatever Blaine was murmuring.
"Oh, Melchior," Blaine nearly moaned, and Kurt felt amusement and, surprisingly, a twinge of jealousy. "Come over- Wendla is just a dirty whore- Ernst- Moritz, no!"
Kurt chuckled quietly, without thinking, and as a result of the jarring motions of his chest, Blaine's head ended up on his stomach, a mere twitch away from landing in Kurt's lap.
Blushing wildly, Kurt flailed his hands and began to quietly panic. He cursed Blaine for being such a heavy sleeper, and for not waking up when his head hit Kurt's shoulder the first time.
"Melchi," Blaine sighed, and, to Kurt's infinite horror, rolled over.
Kurt gasped, relieved, when the dark-haired boy landed face-up, his handsome face once again blissfully calm. His pink lips were parted slightly, beckoning to Kurt, and it took all the determination he could muster to keep from leaning down and claiming those lips as his own.
Blaine sighed again. "Mmmm. I love you."
The younger boy wished so badly that Blaine was talking to him. Kurt looked at the senior's defined face, his adorable eyebrows, his long eyelashes, and felt a flash of something white-hot in his stomach.
Want.
He cautiously reached down and stroked Blaine's cheek, feeling the smooth skin and a bit of stubble, from where Blaine had missed a spot shaving that morning. He touched the older boy's slightly messy hair, which was still damp from his shower, before caressing his neck gently.
Blaine's eyelids fluttered open then, revealing muddled hazel eyes. Kurt jerked his hands away from the face of the boy on his lap, and gripped the velvety red comforter below him.
Oh no. Oh no. He's going to think I'm a pervert. Damn, I'm such an idiot.
Kurt knew he should've gotten up while he still had the chance.
His face confused, Blaine stretched and inhaled deeply. His eyes finally began to clear, and Kurt saw understanding dawn on him. Blaine looked around himself slowly, before his gaze settled on Kurt's face.
They shared a silent exchange then, intensity radiating from both of them. Kurt began to feel dizzy, looking into Blaine's eyes and getting lost in them, wanting nothing more than to pull him up by his collar, kiss him, run his hands through his curls, and put his hands all over that muscular body-
"Kurt…?" Blaine questioned, and the teenager above him flushed darkly.
Clearing his throat, Kurt grabbed the television remote and unmuted the DVD, nodding towards the screen. "It's almost time for Melchior to get Wendla's letter," he said simply, turning his attention to the musical and feeling disappointed that their moment was over.
Blaine sat up wordlessly, slipping his blazer off and throwing it onto the desk beside the bed. He stood and walked over to his dresser, from which he pulled a pair of gray drawstring sweatpants.
Kurt, who was staring at him, averted his gaze politely and listened to the sound of clothes hitting the floor. His blood was practically boiling from the adrenaline that pumped through his veins at the sound, and it took everything he had not to glance at Blaine out of the corner of his eye.
He did allow himself to chance a look at the older boy once he was sure he had on his pants. His mouth went dry as he took in the sight of Blaine's bare, amazingly sculpted torso, mid-change.
One of the things that had always attracted Kurt to Blaine was that he was muscular, without being huge, and he was reminded of this once again as Blaine finished tugging off his academy-issued button down. He looked lanky with clothing on, but underneath, his lean body was firm with muscle. The way Blaine's arms stretched over his head, flexing his biceps, made Kurt want to drool.
Expecting Blaine to put on a t-shirt like he usually did, Kurt turned his attention back to the dramatic lives of German teenagers. However, in a few seconds, he felt the bed dip slightly to his left, and Blaine was back on top of the blankets, his arms folded over his bare chest.
Damn his amazing body.
Kurt tried not to stare, but every few seconds his eyes would flicker back to Blaine's chest, taking in every detail; the slight dip at the top of his stomach, the little bit of jet-black hair, the pinkness of his-
Stopping himself there, Kurt blushed before looking at Blaine's face, which was completely intent on the movie. He nearly sighed in relief; at least he hadn't noticed him staring.
He nearly gasped when he went back to watching Blaine's body, instead of the DVD. For the first time, Kurt had become aware of Blaine's barely there- but there all the same- abs. They weren't as defined as the ones Kurt fantasized about most of the time, but somehow, seeing them and knowing they were there made his insides do somersaults.
Kurt tore his eyes from Blaine's body and got off of the bed, all of a sudden deciding that he needed to change into his sleep clothes. Making his way over to the dresser, he opened the drawer and pulled out his favorite thing to wear to bed- the white button-down that had belonged to his mother while she was pregnant with him, the sides of which billowed out around his petite frame whenever he wore it.
He shrugged off his navy blazer and unbuttoned his shirt before slipping it off. Glancing over his shoulder, Kurt saw Blaine's eyes flicker over to him and back to the television. He sighed inaudibly and pulled his mother's shirt over his head, then unzipped his slacks. They slid down his pale legs, and he tugged them off of his feet slowly.
Closing his drawer, Kurt debated before deciding that sans-pants was the way to go. After all, Blaine wasn't wearing a shirt, so they were even now.
He walked back over to the bed after throwing his school clothes into the hamper, sitting down beside Blaine again.
The older boy laid his head on his shoulder again, and Kurt felt warmth spread from that spot to the rest of his body, leaving his toes and fingers with a tingling feeling. And, after a few minutes, the familiar sound of Blaine's slumbering inhales and exhales filled Kurt's world, music to his ears.
…
"Blaine, what's wrong?"
His train of thought derailed at the sound of his name, and Blaine looked up to see Wes and David staring at him, concerned.
"What?" he asked, straightening up in his seat. His question echoed around the empty library, and Wes shot him a look.
"What the hell is up, man? You've been staring into space for about ten minutes," David said, and Wes nodded in agreement.
Sunlight streamed in through the windows of the library, temporarily blinding Blaine. "I don't know what you're talking about." He ran a hand over the dusty surface of the table in front of him. "I've been reading my book this whole time."
"Oh, yeah?" Wes asked, and suddenly grabbed the open book in front of Blaine, hiding it behind his back. "What's the title of the book?"
Damn them, Blaine thought angrily, and gritted his teeth. "Please, just give it back."
"Not until you explain what's gotten you so distracted," David answered, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked over at Wes, who shrugged.
To tell the truth, Blaine was distracted by the boy whose chest he'd fallen asleep on the previous night. He couldn't stop going over everything from their night together in his mind; the way he'd fallen onto Kurt's shoulder (embarrassing), the way he'd ended up with his head in his lap (even more embarrassing), and the look they'd shared upon Blaine's awakening. But mostly, he found himself enchanted by his visions of Kurt, standing petite and angelic in the doorway of the library, crooking a finger seductively and wearing that white shirt that drove Blaine to the brink of madness.
"Hello?" Wes asked, waving a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Anderson. The earth people need you."
"Please just leave me alone," Blaine pled, the pleasant images from moments before dissolved by Wes's voice.
His two best friends exchanged worried glances. "Is this about…Kurt?" David asked timidly, and put his other hand on Blaine's shoulder. Wes walked around the side of the table and sat down on its surface, looking at Blaine intently.
Blaine sighed. "No," he denied, scrambling for some sort of explanation. "It's…it's…"
"…Kurt," Wes and David finished at the same time. They looked at each other and nodded knowingly. "We knew it."
Kurt's face flashed through Blaine's mind, and his imaginary Kurt winked at him, smiling slightly.
"No, it's not Kurt." Blaine's tone was firm, yet unconvincing, and Wes shook his head.
"That's a lie, and we both know it," Wes began.
"No, I swear to you, it's not."
"Yes," David said, "it is. You think we don't notice the way you guys glance at one another when the other isn't looking? The way you always manage to walk around shirtless after school hours? The way he always wears the outfits you compliment when we go into town for a movie? Please."
Blaine shook his head, wishing that he didn't have to be so painfully obvious. "You know that we're just friends. Kurt doesn't need a boyfriend right now. And I. Don't. Like him."
"Ah, but you do, Monsieur Anderson. And, by the way, Kurt may not need a boyfriend, but he certainly wants one." David smirked at him, crossing his arms over his blazer.
"Can you leave me alone for awhile, guys? Please?" Blaine begged them, tired of their accusations, no matter how true they were.
"Why? Do you need some 'Blaine time'? Thinking about Kurt again?" Wes joked, and Blaine scowled, shooting him an obscene finger gesture.
"Why don't you two go make out with each other?" Blaine asked scornfully, and they both turned red with embarrassment and anger.
Wes rolled his eyes. "You know those rumors aren't true."
"Says you."
"C'mon, Wes," David said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go. Leave the princess alone to think about her sweet prince."
Wes snorted as they began to leave the room. "You know that Kurt would be the princess, right?"
David smiled slyly. "Do I smell a bet? I've got twenty bucks on dominant Kurt."
Blaine gritted his teeth again as they left, leaving the library door to swing shut behind them. But, before it had closed completely, Blaine caught another glance of his fantasy Kurt, standing there and smiling knowingly at him.
…
If there was one thing Kurt was good at, it was picking songs that represented his feelings well, and then proceeding to sing them to anyone who would listen.
Which was exactly what he was planning on doing as he walked into the Maynard Dalton Memorial Auditorium that Saturday afternoon, carrying a CD and whistling the tune of "Defying Gravity" to himself. The prospect of singing for the heck of it had put him a good mood, and he had found a song that was exactly what he was looking for.
Looking around, Kurt saw that the place was deserted. He made his way through the dark auditorium and felt his way up the stage stairs. He felt along the wall for the large switches that controlled the lights, and pushed them down, giving a grunt with the effort.
A single spotlight was centered on the stage, shining on a black grand piano, just as Kurt had hoped. He didn't know the auditorium nearly as well as McKinley's yet, and would have had no idea as to how to manage the lights if the switch hadn't worked to his liking.
Still whistling, Kurt jumped off of the edge of the stage, landing lithely before spring up. He began to walk down the aisle and to the control room, stopping when he reached the door. He knocked twice to make sure, before wiggling the doorknob. The door opened easily, revealing a darkened room. Kurt flipped the switch beside the door and walked over to the controls, before finding the correct place to insert a CD. It slid in easily, and began to load as Kurt hurriedly ran out of the room and down the aisle.
He climbed onto the stage just as the intro violin and piano began. Kurt grabbed the microphone from the stand nearest him and switched it on as he remembered the previous night with Blaine.
"This is for you, Blaine," Kurt whispered to himself. The intro faded a little, signaling Kurt, and he began to sing:
"Something started crazy
Sweet and unknown
Something you keep in a box on the street
Now, it's longing for a home
Now you can say what dreams are
Making the time to be lonely and sad
You can say what we are
Now this is the season for dreaming."
Kurt took a deep breath, preparing for the chorus, envisioning Blaine sitting in the front row, to hear all his sorrows, his doubts. To witness his love, and to be there to listen to him sing. His face anguished, he began to let all of his frustration out through song:
"But now, our bodies are the guilty ones
Who touch
And color the hours
Night won't breathe
Oh, how we
Fall in silence from the sky
And whisper some silver reply
Whoa oh oooh."
There was a pause, and Kurt prepared to sing the second verse, when he was interrupted by another voice, one he knew all too well.
"Pulses gone and racing," Blaine sang as he stepped out of the darkness of the stage right. He closed his eyes and Kurt gaped at him in disbelief, wondering how long he'd been there. Opening his eyes, he fixed Kurt with a smoldering gaze, before launching into the verse again:
"All fits and starts
Window by window you try and look into
This brave new you that you are."
He walked closer to Kurt, looking at him like he never had before, drinking in the sight of the boy he was in love with. His eyes stopped at those lips as they both began to sing together:
"Now you can say what dreams are
Wake me in time to be out in the cold
And who can say what we are?
This is the reason for dreaming."
They stared into each other's eyes, and felt all the intensity and desire from the moment they'd met and the months after build up into an earth-shattering feeling, one of complete need for each other. Blaine found himself longing to stop singing for once in his life, and just grab Kurt and show him how much he loved him. They chorused:
"And now our bodies are the guilty ones
Our touch
Will fill every eye
Huge and dark
All our hearts
Will murmur the blues from on high
And whisper some silver reply
Whoa oh oooh."
Blaine turned to Kurt, and, unable to resist any longer, wrapped his arm around his back and pulled him close as they began to sing the final chorus, staring at each other.
"And now our bodies are the guilty ones
Our touch
Will color the hours
Night won't breathe
Oh how we
Fall in silence from the sky
And whisper some silver reply
Whoa oh oooh."
At the exact same time, the two teenagers leaned in and shared a short, passionate kiss, and Kurt found himself gripping Blaine's back, feeling like if he released his hold, he would float away.
"And now our bodies are the guilty onesss."
The track faded into silence, and they were once again gazing into each other's eyes. Kurt felt euphoric, triumphant; his first real, consensual kiss, and it was with someone that he was completely and utterly in love with.
Blaine dropped his microphone and put both his hands on either side of Kurt's face, going in for another kiss. Kurt also loosened his hold on his microphone, and it dropped to the floor before rolling under the grand piano that Blaine had just pressed him against.
Bending him further over the piano and running his tongue over Kurt's bottom lip, Blaine unbuttoned Kurt's blazer and slipped it off. Kurt's hands knotted in his hair, and there was no longer space between their heated, yearning bodies.
Kurt suddenly detached his lips from Blaine's. Panting, his cheeks flushed with heat and desire, he breathlessly said, "You don't know how much I've wanted this, Blaine."
"Yes," Blaine answered, placing a hand on Kurt's cheek. "Yes, I do. Because I've wanted it just as much."
Kurt sighed contentedly as Blaine lowered his head and began to work on the tender flesh of Kurt's neck, lifting the skinnier boy until he was sitting on the piano. Kurt tore off Blaine's blazer and went at the buttons of his shirt, before hesitating.
"Blaine, I'm not ready to go all the way," he whispered against Blaine's half-bare shoulder, reminiscent of his dream.
"I'd never do anything you weren't ready for, Kurt," Blaine told him, his voice husky, using the same words as his own dream self. "We'll never have to do anything more…as long as I can touch you like this."
...
Reviews, please? I wrote this kind of to work out my writer's block on my other Klaine fic *cough, cough, read it! cough*
Please review, once again. And, also, I say again, listen to the song.
And would you be surprised to know that I'm fourteen years old, and not even in high school? (I started school late because of birthday deadlines) Whenever I tell people my age on here, they're like 'whoa'. But I've been writing stories since kindergarten, so...
And this was so fun to write. Bye!