A/N: I'm on a real roll here (even if this one has been finished for a few weeks and sitting in a folder begging me to post it). I wanted to want to post this one up because I kept going back and forth on whether I wanted this to be a one-shot or not, and after my fifth time reading it over, I decided that that would be too mean; and I'd probably get messages and review about continuing it and I'd end up doing it anyways. So this is not the end, it's only the beginning.
Warning: Feels people. I'm tired of this on and off crap. Give me Klaine!
Disclaimer: Pretty sure people would know if this changed... More episodes and no final season in sight.
Enjoy!
Blaine felt the tension practically bleed out of his shoulders.
Nearly three weeks had passed since he last fully indulged in his favorite thing in the world. He had just been so busy with work that he did not get the chance to simply lie back and enjoy. Enjoy drinking in everything that sat before him.
...well, on top of him.
As it was, Blaine loved Kurt on top of him. Sitting in his lap with those impossibly long and beautiful legs straddling him. Kurt's hands on his chest, resting there or slightly stroking the spattering of chest hair that he had let grow out after high school. No longer needing to be concerned what others thought about it because Kurt liked his chest hair, thought it was sexy.
Blaine felt a smile pulling at the corner of his lips, staring up at Kurt as his fingers lightly massaged his chest, simply splaying out and curling back in with just a hint of nail.
On the bed, the light from the ceiling (set at a dimmer setting because Kurt still felt uncomfortable being stared at so much, he only allowed it because it was Blaine) glare blocked by Kurt's head and shoulders. The angle gave Blaine a perspective of being able to look at Kurt, while still being able to fill in the gaps he couldn't see in the low light.
He knew all Kurt's dips and curves from memory anyways; it made for an interesting game for Blaine.
Kurt's hair was only slightly mussed from Blaine's fingers, he was sure that his curls were nothing in comparison with how often he found Kurt's fingers running through them, breaking up the small amount of gel he had them held back with. Laughably less than what he used in high school.
Kurt, dressed down to a black muscle shirt (that Blaine knew was his but ignored it, just for the sake of Kurt wearing his clothing, which no matter how much he saw it—never changed how undeniably hot it was) and a pair of lounge pants (also Blaine's) rolled at the waist so that they would fit his slim hips. No shoes, no socks, probably no underwear, but Blaine was not going to complain. So what if Kurt knew where this was all going to lead to, all the more power to him for being prepared.
Kurt's eyes sparkled, his lips pulling back to match the smile on Blaine's, as if knowing the road that Blaine's mind was leading off to. Which he probably did, since Blaine was wearing sweatpants, and only sweat pants.
This, this was his favorite thing. Staring up at Kurt, knowing that he was sharing this space with the love of his life, that this is all either of them would ever need. Each other. That they could be intimate without being sexual. Even if the situation changed in the next few minutes and it did become sexual, that is just another connection that he shared with Kurt that no one else got to.
This moment was his.
Those eyes were his.
That body was his.
His heart was his.
Kurt was his.
No one was ever going to changed that.
Not even Kurt.
"I love you," he blurted, recklessly, feeling the tears prickling the back of his eyes as everything was coming back to him. "I love you so much, Kurt."
Kurt glanced away briefly, shyly, blushing, whispering back, "I love you too, Blaine."
"I'd do anything for you," Blaine continued, needing Kurt to understand before the situation progressed and it became too late for him to express that he truly meant everything he said.
Blue eyes glanced back to meet his, amused, disbelieving, "Really?"
"Yes," unhesitant, doubtless in his own devotion. "Name it."
Kurt laughed, shaking his head, "You can't just give me whatever I want, Blaine."
Blaine frowned, confused, "Why not?"
"Because," Kurt replied, rolling his eyes, "it makes this relationship seem very one-sided and makes me look selfish."
"Be selfish, Kurt," he said, looking straight into Kurt's eyes. He could feel the moment slipping away. He could not let it go yet, Kurt needed to understand. "I love you. What you want is what matters because it's what makes you happy... and if you are happy, then so am I; because I want you happy, Kurt. You mean that much to me."
Widened eyes stared back into Blaine's, shocked, disbelieving, and shaken to the core, a glint of building tears, "Oh... Please, then—"
Blaine surged up slightly, grasping for whatever was left of the moment before it completely melted away from them both, before either of them got too emotional. He shouted, "Anything!"
"Please," Kurt whispered, fingers curling against Blaine's chest, nails dragging over his sternum, "please, all I want, is you."
A chuckle slipped pasted his lips, shoulders falling back to the bed before another escaped him unbidden, "You have me." Hazel eyes rolled to the side, unable to look at Kurt any longer.
"Blaine, please, you're all—"
"You have me," Blaine whispered, not ignoring the other male, but not hearing him. "You'll always have me." Another chuckle escaped, this one wet with a sob, "Mind, body, and soul." This time, just a sob, feeling but not caring as the hands on his chest slipped around the back of his neck, "You have me."
"I have you," the man in his lap confirmed, trying to get a feel for what Blaine needed him to say next.
"You have me," Blaine whispered. Another sob, this one followed by tears, and a catch in his breathing, "I'd do anything for you, Kurt. I'd die if you wanted me to."
"No, Blaine! Don't talk—"
"I would. I'd die for you," a sickening sound came out of his throat, an almost hysterical laugh, "but you don't want me dead. You don't want me on the music award shows you like to watch. You don't want me walking the runway you worship. You don't want to hear my songs on the radio. You don't want me near you. You don't want to look at me. You don't want to talk to me..." another laugh, "You don't want me."
The other male stayed quiet now, not wanting to send Blaine into some kind of rage.
"I'm sorry," Blaine muttered, "I'm so sorry. I love you, Kurt. Please come back to me. Please be with me. Please love me."
A sad sigh slipped past his lips. This was heartbreaking. But this was not something that he knew how to deal with. After all, he did not know Blaine that well.
These were real emotions and it was sad, so incredibly sad that Blaine had to go through this alone. He really wished he could help, but there was nothing he could do to heal this man before him.
But he was just acting; this was just a show to him.
The young male sat up straighter, hands leaving Blaine completely, finally bringing the man under him to look at him again. Look at him and actually see him for who he was and not some fantasy.
"Mr. Anderson, should I go?"
Blaine stared up at him blankly for a moment before his vision cleared and he nodded, pulling himself up and out from under the other man's spread knees. "Yes, I believe that's best."
The young man nodded and rolled over to the edge of the bed and stood, gathering his neatly folded clothes off the lounge chair near the nightstand and made his way to the bathroom, to give Bla—Mr. Anderson some space to collect himself.
When he came back, Mr. Anderson's clothes just as neatly stacked as his own had been, the other man had collected himself. Not to say that Mr. Anderson was old, he was far from it. If anything, there were very near each other in age, but it was not his job to pry.
Maybe he would look it up later. After all, Blaine Anderson was a rising music star and his profile would probably include his age and more about his background than anyone but a select few had the right to know. Being a celebrity sucked sometimes. No privacy.
He smiled lightly at the other man, who had at least managed to look decently cleaned up despite having only his hands and the bed sheets to clean his face with.
Bla—Mr. Anderson returned the smile.
Joining him again on the bed he set the clothes beside him before bending down to retrieve and put on his shoes so that he could leave. But a thought struck him and, though it was not his place to pry, he suddenly needed to know that this man who he had shared only one night a week, over the last eight weeks with, would essentially be okay. In more than just the 'I'm okay' sense. Actually, okay.
Alive.
Free.
Loved.
"Mr. Anderson," he started, "it's really not my place to pry or push or anything like that. And I usually never do, because some shit just isn't my business. But..." he trailed off, fitting his left foot into his shoe. "I don't know what it's like to be loved," blue eyes turned up to meet hazel, "not the way I can see you love this Kurt."
Blai—Mr. Anderson stiffened.
"But that kind of love, is never given if it was not returned with some degree," he said, quietly. "So if I had someone who loved me that way... I'd want to know." He sighed when the other male looked away. "Again, none of my business... but maybe you could call this Kurt guy. Talk? Reconcile? At least try for the sake of saying you tried?"
Mr. Anderson didn't reply, only handed him an envelope that he knew held his pay for the night. A pay he honestly still did not believe he deserved. Every time he had Blaine call as a client, not once did they have sex.
Blaine always held him intimately. So very close.
Like he was cherished to the depths of his soul.
It was unnerving... because he was being paid for this.
"Tell you what," he said as he stood, backing his way to the bedroom door, "if you call on me next week, I'll come back, no questions asked and we can forget I ever said anything, and I'll go on being Kurt for you. But," he smiled, kindly, "if you don't, I'll know you'll be happy with that Kurt of yours. Okay?"
Mr. Ander—Ah, fuck it. Blaine nodded numbly, staring after him as he turned, with the most distracted look on his face. But still managed a, "Thank you... Kyle." before the other completely left.
As he left the apartment, a weight settled on him, as it always did when he left Blaine's apartment. The weight of the money in his pocket. The weight of the shame he felt for selling himself, more raw then when he actually slept with his clients, because Blaine knocked something loose in him. The weight of knowing that someone in this world could be loved so much and not even know it, maybe not even care.
He managed to keep himself composed until he was out of Blaine's apartment building when he broke down, tears slipping down his cheeks without control.
Why could he not have that?
Why did Kurt get what he did not know of? Not want?
Why was he lacking in that kind of devotion? Worship? Unadulterated love?
Why not him?
A sob escaped him.
Why not him?
A/N: Okay. I think this is going to be another favorite of mine. I'm just chalk full of ideas. It's kind of crazy when my muse gives me the ideas but no juice to actually write them until it all builds up. Good thing my job allows for a little sitting down.
Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed. Let me know what you think!
Until next time,
Anjel Starlight