Pairing: Kurt/Blaine, Kurt/Rachel
Rating: NC-17/M
Story Warnings/Kinks/Tropes: Closeted!Kurt, inexperience, infidelity, angst
A/N: Title taken from Just Can't Get Enough - Glee Cast.
As Kurt turns into Rachel's street, coming to a halt outside her house and glancing at her pointedly, Rachel's hand creeps over onto his thigh, her smile sultry as she glances up from beneath her lashes. "Come inside," she says, her very tone suggestive. "My dads are working and my brother won't be home until six, six thirty if I ask him to pick up dinner. We'll have the house all," she kisses his neck, "to," her lips move up to his jaw, her hand on the back of his neck turning him to face her, "ourselves." She kisses him, freshly-applied lipgloss sliding slickly over his lips, her fingers tugging at the hair at the base of his neck, little pinpricks of pain as strands break free, caught on her nails.
"I can't, Rach, I have a shift at the shop and Friday night dinner, maybe another time," Kurt says, pushing slightly at her hip, hoping to get her to move. Instead she folds her arms across her chest and juts out her lower lip, eyes big and pleading. "Rachel, I'm not coming inside."
"You always say 'maybe another time'," Rachel whines, tossing her hair over her shoulder and narrowing her eyes dangerously. "Why can't today be that time, Kurt? Am I doing something wrong? Is it me? if you want to break up with me, do it now, instead of keeping me hanging on a string hoping today might finally be the day you want to come inside my house for the first time since we started dating! Yes, making out in the back seat of your car is very nice, if small, but whenever we try to do anything at your house one of your parents or Finn interrupts and I just want everything with you, Kurt." She threads her fingers through his, smiles, and for a moment Kurt wants to tell her the truth, let out the secret that scalds his insides whenever he kisses her, adjusts his voice, bypasses the bright and bold clothes in stores or joins in discussions about how hot various surrounding girls are.
But then he thinks about solem reporters and newspaper headlines, of the terrified people who end it all rather than face the pain another day, of the ones who die at the hands of those who think the only way to be is theirs, and he chokes on the words, acidic and crawling in his throat. "Rachel, this, us, it's serious," he says gently, stroking a thumb over her cheek and down her neck, catching at the corner of her sad mouth. "And I want to be completely sure that I," he kisses her forehead sweetly, "am head over heels in love with you before we take that step. I don't want it to wreck what we have, so I want to wait until I'm ready."
Rachel sighs softly, her breath gusting warm against his lips, and smiles softly, lips pink and shiny and eyes softened by love. "You are the sweetest guy I know, and I'm so lucky that you picked me out of those crowds," she says softly. "I know I don't look like the cheerleaders, like Brittany or Santana-"
Kurt isn't lying when he cuts in, "Rachel, you're beautiful."
She grins, bright and beaming, and says, "And you are the cutest guy at McKinley, and I love you more than anything. So I respect your feelings about physical intimacy and I'll keep on waiting for you." She leans up, lips brushing his ear, and whispers, "But I hope you know what you're missing," before she darts a kiss to his cheek and climbs out of the car, waving goodbye before sauntering up the driveway, an obvious extra sway in her hips.
Kurt waits until her front door swings shut before he lets his head thunk forward against his steering wheel. He can't keep this up, not when the mask has been set for two years now and every day he's desperate to let it fade into nothingness, to be himself and revel in freedom. But he can't. He has to present himself as the epitome of a masculine, mainstream straight guy, make singing and dancing something other boys around him aspire to, so it won't seem so odd when he applies to NYADA, inevitably gets in and makes it to New York. Only then can he let Rachel down gently and be who he really is.
Rachel would never forgive him if he dropped her now, and he'd lose the best friend he's ever had. She doesn't think it's odd that he prefers to hang out with her and the girls instead of the guys as much as possible, she sings with him and lets him teach her the chords to her favourite songs, never knowing he shares her thrill with them, she brings him soup and medicine when he's sick and earnestly plans their future together. Of course, she doesn't know they'll be facing that future as friends, rather than the power couple of McKinley high, already voted most likely to win Prom King and Queen, to get married, to start a family, to live life together.
He loves her. He truly does, he loves her beauty and her intelligence and her wit, every quirk of her personality, the way she chastised him for months until he started styling his hair the way she'd been nagging him to, the way she fits when he hugs her, the weight of her head on his shoulder when they're watching a movie or studying together. But as a friend, not as the great romantic heroine of the love story he pretends they are. They're not a novel, they're a blip in the narrative, something thrown hastily in to shock the reader, something that will ultimately fall apart to assist the big climax where one finds their happy ending.
The question is which one of them will find their true soulmate? Will it be Rachel, with a boy at McKinley who isn't hiding everything behind a lowered voice and bad jokes about boobs? Or will it be him, with some unknown boy who'll bring everything he hides to the surface and still love him despite his secrets, kiss him goodnight without the stomach-churning panic of being caught, bring him flowers and leave loving messages in his locker and text him in class despite a teacher's disapproving stare?
It may have taken a lot to persuade Santana to not accompany him on his trip to search out the competition at Dalton - including a promise of dinner at Breadstix as long as she keeps her hands above the table - but it was worth it. He's alone in Dalton, surrounded by the students rushing to and form classes, by handsome boys in neat uniform and he doesn't know where to look, feeling giddy with delight, around people who don't know him, in a place where he can be himself.
Looking around, he catches the eye of a boy with dark hair, shoulders broad and waist slender beneath his blazer, and slinks through the crowd towards him, smiling at him. "Hi," he says, deliberately breathy, and the boy grins, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. "See, I'm thinking about transferring to a school with people who might understand me better, and I was wondering if you could show me around?"
"I'd love to," the boy says, and holds out a hand. "My name's Blaine Anderson." He looks a little stunned in his smile, and says, "I don't mean to pry but did it hurt?" Kurt knows it's coming as Blaine grins, eyes glinting with mischief, and adds, "When you fell from heaven." Kurt shoves playfully at him, and almost sighs in contentment when Blaine's arm loops easily through his and he says, "In all seriousness, you are gorgeous. Where'd you come from, Carmel?"
"McKinley, actually," Kurt corrects. "They don't make them like Kurt Hummel anywhere else." He knows he's being smug, but he can't help but preen under Blaine's attentions, his eyes drifting over Kurt's chest and waist and hips, and once darting lower.
"That they don't," Blaine agrees, and pauses in an alcove, drawing Kurt close, so close Kurt thinks for a dizzying second that Blaine might kiss him. "Listen, if you do transfer here, I hope you'll think about joining the Warblers. You'd be my ideal duet partner."
Flushing, giggling, Kurt tries to get over the obvious innuendo in Blaine's words and yanks his phone out of his pocket, pressing it into Blaine's hands. Grinning, Blaine inputs his number and hands it back, and Kurt can't help the thrill that shoots through him when Blaine's eyes glow as he receives Kurt's requisite Hey this is Kurt :) text. There's nothing quite like flirting with a handsome boy who is clearly interested in him. "I hope I'll see you again soon," he says, and then kicks himself. It sounds so stilted and awkward, not flirty like he wanted.
"I'll make sure of it," Blaine assures him, and that, right there, that is flirting. "But until then..." He pulls a neat rectangle of paper out of his satchel and presses it into Kurt's hands, "keep that under your pillow to remember me by." Turning it over, Kurt laughs aloud when he finds a handsome school portrait of Blaine smiling up at him, sliding the shiny, stiff paper carefully into his bag before Blaine's hand slides into his and he tugs Kurt after him, into the grand Dalton choir room.
And Kurt sits on the arm of a couch, swooning and blushing, as Blaine leads the uniformed acappella group on Teenage Dream, his eyes shining right at Kurt and his lips curving up in a smirk as he tries to tempt Kurt into giving in and going upstairs with him, letting this gorgeous boy strip him down and kiss the breath from his lungs, ready to give him everything he doesn't want to give Rachel despite how little time they've known each other.
This, being allowed to look and appreciate and flirt, is what he's always wanted, the feeling of freedom and flirtatiousness and joy, being a teenager with someone he finds profoundly attractive. Of course, the simple flirting isn't quite as good as having Blaine panting against his neck and his hands up the back of Kurt's shirt in the front seat of his car, the gearshift digging painfully into his thigh as Blaine's tongue traces over his neck, Kurt's fingers flexing on his shoulders.
"You should know," Blaine gasps hoarsely into Kurt's jaw, lips moving hungrily through the slight prickle of Kurt's stubble, "that I wouldn't usually do this. I'd get to know you, but you're just so...ugh Kurt." Grinning, Kurt kneads at Blaine's hips, drawing him into his lap and melding their mouths together. "I should go," Blaine says regretfully when they part again, both breathing heavily, hips kept carefully apart, gazing into each other's dark eyes. "There's a schedule and if I'm not back in for dinner they'll call my parents, and I really don't want to explain why I was in the car of someone I barely knew making out with them."
Kurt releases Blaine reluctantly, lowering his window so Blaine can bend over and kiss him again, sliding his tongue hungrily into Blaine's mouth. "Do you want me to climb back in there and stay with you for the rest of the day?"
"Yes," Kurt flirts easily, and Blaine laughs and grins, eyes shining as he kisses Kurt once more before he disappears into the school. Slumping down in his seat, Kurt sighs softly and ghosts a hand over his swollen lips, glancing down at his erection, obvious in his shorts. Cupping a hand over himself, he relives every second of Blaine, his soft breathy noises and his eager lips and his trembling thighs and his hips squirming and his hands shoved all the way up the back of Kurt's shirt, feeling at his shoulder blades. His heart starts and stops and stutters and he lets out a moan that echoes around his car as he comes, soaking the front of his shirts, a dark stain spreading across the fabric.
His head is still fuzzy when his phone buzzes twice in a row, two texts on top of each other, making the sudden weight of what he's done drop heavily down on top of him.
From: Blaine
5:13pm
Thinking of you ;)
[1 picture attached]
From: Rachel
5:13pm
Hey, why weren't you answering my calls? Are you on for a double date with Sam and Quinn on Friday? Breadstix, Quinn's treat :) xo