A/N: Do not own characters, merely rent. Have not paid rent in some time. not sorry.
Also: This is clearly a blow by blow 4.14 fic, loosely still based in the world from "Blaine Didn't Know He Was In Love"-so if you don't know why he's asking about Intergalactic space beacons, read that story. Otherwise, everything's either canon or SHOULD BE CANON. I took some liberties, but tried to keep it as close to the episode as possible. I didn't include anything from those Kitty spying videos, as I haven't seen them. So if Tina tells Blaine on her own time that she vapo-raped him, well, great, but this fic doesn't take that into account.
So far, and I'm not finished yet, this whole thing is about 13,000 words, so we've got a ways to go. Lots of sex. (what? I didn't say that).
Thanks so much for reading!
Blaine thinks he should have seen Mr. Shue asking the glee club to cover entertainment for the wedding coming. There's only so many proms, so many proposals, so many big events that they lend their voices to before it becomes expected.
He texts Kurt—they've gotten back into the habit of texting. They're friends, and friends text. They've been texting a lot lately, but friends text a lot, about what they have for breakfast, what they think of that girl's outfit on the subway, about the movie on lifetime last night. So he texts Kurt: Shue is having us sing for wedding. Duet w/ me? ;)
Kurt must be walking or in his apartment or in a boring class because he texts back immediately, Of course! We'll have to practice, though. Come to my house before the wedding; I'll be in my room, getting ready. ;-) Kurt always adds noses to his smiley faces. Blaine had started too, but he secretly likes seeing it when Kurt does it, when only Kurt does it, like it's Kurt's thing. He doesn't want to take it away and make it not as special.
Blaine smiles, reading the text over, biting his bottom lip, practice, they have to practice—just like the first time, when they practiced, for half an hour, practicing in Dalton's senior commons, until a group of freshmen came in—
Tina leans over, whispers something, and he nods, but has no idea what she says.
And Kurt will be in his room.
Shue is still talking. Jesus, this man never shuts up. He should still be in D.C., with the other windbags. That is not a charitable thought, Blaine reminds himself. Mr. Shue is a good teacher. He means well. And it is good now, when he looks down at his phone, he can still see kurt's last text. In his room, practicing. Kurt wants him to come over, to do a duet.
When Shue asks for suggestions on the group number at the end of the week, Blaine's hand shoots up.
"Anything Can Happen, by Ellie Goulding." He can't help but smile, and bite his lip again, and bounce a little. Tina throws him a look, and he shrugs. "What? The alumni will be back, and it's a wedding, and it'll be Valentine 's Day, and it seems—appropriate."
Ryder chimes in, "Yeah, Valentine's day. Anything can happen on Valentine's Day!"
Marley says something about the X Factor, and Fifth Harmony, and he's saved. He nods. Yes, he liked that version a lot too, but he doesn't say anything because Kurt mentioned that he didn't like a number of performances in X Factor, and he thinks Fifth Harmony's was one of them.
Still, that's the big number they start preparing, and Blaine feels a thumping in his chest, all week, and every time they sing the song he can imagine Kurt somehow moving closer and closer.
Kurt's coming; Kurt's coming; Kurt's coming home.
When Blaine comes over to Kurt's house before the wedding, he thinks he might split out of his skin. He isn't going to Sam's room, or to the living room—he's going to Kurt's room. He can feel Kurt's proximity, can feel the light of it, the beacon of it. He clenches and unclenches his knuckles around the hanger of his suit that he'll use later.
He's gotten out of school a little early to rehearse with Kurt, just an hour, but it'll mean that he can get dressed here. He'll be cutting it a little close, especially if he's going to pick up Tina, but still, the prospect of seeing Kurt, of singing with Kurt is too much to do what he's supposed to and play it safe. These steps are so familiar. Worn carpeting. He says hello to Sam in the living room, but his body is moving, magnetized, in a fluid line, and he can't stop even though it looks like Sam might want to stop and talk, and he thinks he makes a "Sorry, but I'm being pulled this way" face, and Sam laughs and makes a shoving motion, and then he's at Kurt's door, knocking softly, poking his head in.
Kurt's sitting at his dressing table, doing something with his hair. He's just in his undershirt and dress pants. At first he just sees Kurt, and he smells Kurt, and he slips into the room and is so happy and trying not to look like too much of a sap that it takes all of his energy. The magnetized feeling settles now that they're both in the same room.
And then he actually looks at Kurt.
Oh man, this is going to be a problem. The last time Blaine saw Kurt he'd been so twisted up from—don't think about it don't think about it —that he hadn't been thinking about Kurt this way.
Kurt turns when he sets down his suit on the bed—the bed, the bed, oh man, oh shit—and Kurt's long neck flexes and flares. His shoulders are broad and his upper arms lift effortlessly as they comb an errant piece of hair back into place. His fingers, his fingers. Fuck, his fingers, opening him up, those long fingers, tracing him, his fingers-
"Blaine?" Kurt says, making a small questioning movement with his head.
"What? Oh, yeah, sorry. Just. You look really great." Blaine is having trouble because everywhere he looks is something else to look at.
Kurt smirks a little. "Dance class five days a week with a competent teacher will do that for you, I guess."
Blaine chuckles, because he remembers times last year when he had this exact problem, and there was that time when Kurt got into one pieces for a while—"No, I think looking ridiculously hot is a permanent condition for you." Blaine is surprised at himself, but he feels a little flare of pride too. Tell it like it is, Anderson, tell it like it is. That's right.
Kurt's eyebrows merely lift, and he tilts his head down and to the side with a small "hmm," and that is different. Last year Kurt would have flushed and choked a little bit. He turns back to the mirror. He says, "I chose a song that's fairly simple, so it won't take us too much to get it right."
"Great," Blaine says, as he shrugs out of his coat. Kurt gets up in one sinuous movement, swinging his long legs over the stool, and Blaine knows he's doomed, and they get to work.
An hour later they've gotten the vocals down and are working on a series of easy steps. It's not hard, like Kurt promised. But they've gone over it many more times than necessary anyway, and dancing around Kurt's room, using Kurt's hairbrushes for microphones, putting extra steps into it. It's so much fun. He feels a little bad because Tina's called a couple times and finally Kurt says that he doesn't think the schedule will give them enough time for Blaine to pick her up. They'll just meet at the church, and he'll just drive over with Kurt. She should be happy for him. But that's swept to the back of his mind, because Kurt keeps glancing over at him when he thinks he may not notice, Blaine doesn't say anything about it, but he holds it close to him, anyway, biting his lip against it, letting his hand linger a little longer because of it. When they dance they're holding hands, recklessly backing into each other for some light grinding before stepping away again, gripping at hips and backs, and Kurt does that hip shimmy—the same one he does to wiggle out of really tight jeans.
Mostly, though, they're joking, laughing. "What the hell kind of move was that, Anderson?" says Kurt, panting, laughing, his head thrown back, his eyes glimmering.
"The two step, the two step!" Blaine lurches forward, pressing his forehead against Kurt's shoulder, wheezing and laughing.
"You can take the man out of Dalton, but can't take Dalton out of the man—" Kurt grabs Blaine's shoulders and stands him upright. "Like this, B, like this." He makes Blaine move with him, holding his shoulders and then holding Blaine's hips for him.
Blaine inhales into Kurt's neck, inhales the smell of Kurt's sweat, his aftershave, his bodywash. He wishes he had enough time to separate all the scents out so that he could pinpoint the exact smell of his cells, his very skin. He murmurs, "Is this fancy New York Dancing? Are you teaching me trade secrets?"
Kurt snorts. "I'm teaching you things you already know." He brings his head back and gives Blaine a look.
Blaine grins. "I can't help that I'm a natural." He takes Kurt's hand off his hip and gives him a spin. "C'mon mister fancy pants. Let's give this song one more go."
This last time they do the song they start out dancing, but Kurt tugs at him, maybe to show him another move, and they're singing "I just can't enough" and he's mirroring Kurt and Kurt's mirroring him, and he doesn't know who's starting which move, which jump is who's, "I just can't get enough," and, "this is a burning love, and I just can't get enough of you," and they're spinning each other, slap happy, laughing, "I just can't get enough, I just can't get enough" and then the song's over and they've ended up a breath's distance apart, hot eyes, heavy breathing, and he feels so needy, like he might break apart, so Blaine says, low in his throat, "I just can't get enough, Kurt, god."
Kurt's eyes are boring into his, and he inhales, almost to say something, when his phone buzzes and breaks the silence. "Shit," Kurt says, "That's my hour alarm." He looks at his phone and then back to Blaine, his gaze roaming everywhere from his hair to his eyes, and stopping on his neck. "You need to hop in the—in the shower. You're," he runs a finger along Blaine's neck, and it comes up wet, "You're sweating," he says in a whisper. His eyes come to rest on Baine's mouth. They're still so close.
Blaine wants to screw the wedding and keep Kurt in this room. "Kurt—"
"Blaine. Blaine," Kurt's shaking his head, taking a step back. "Blaine, No. No, I have a—well a sort of boyfriend."
Blaine rolls his eyes. "That Adam guy, you told me about him. I don't know why—it doesn't seem like you like him that much, if you were ok with a non exclusive relationship."
Kurt lifts an eyebrow. "Things work differently in New York."
Blaine steps forward and whispers in Kurt's ear, "If it's not exclusive, then what's to stop you?" Kurt's eyes flare and he inhales sharply, so he steps back, picks up his suit, and heads to the bathroom without looking back. He knows where the towels and extra toiletries are—he's been here enough times, he practically lives here.
In the shower he wonders why he would be ok being Kurt's other man, and why it's ok for Kurt to go back to this Adam in New York when the weekend's over. He knows Kurt will.
Blaine laughs. In the shower. Out loud. He sings, "I just can't get enough. This is a burning love. I just can't get enough of you." Kurt Hummel cannot get enough of one Blaine Devon Anderson-Warbler. Nor should he. Nor will he. Kurt may be stubborn. And he may be hurt. And he may be exploring his possibilities; he may have a new life in New York without Blaine and he probably sees this Adam character more often. Possibly Adam is nice enough.
But Blaine knows, and Kurt knows too, that he and Blaine are soulmates. They both know that what they have is more than a thousand Adams. And this year sucks for a million reasons, but like Tina said whenever she said it: they're young, they have time to figure out how to live, how to make things work. So Blaine is going to play by whatever rules Kurt wants to play by, because ultimately, they're going to keep coming back to each other.
When he gets out of the shower he realizes he forgot deodorant, and he can't find any extra, so he wraps a towel around his waist and pads into Kurt's room. Kurt's gotten most of his suit on, by this point, and Blaine casually leans against the door, posing just a little—because Kurt may not admit to working out but Blaine sure has—while he pretends not to notice Kurt pretty much devour him with his eyes.
When the silence has stretched out longer than he could make an excuse for, he says, "Do you have extra deodorant?"
Kurt pauses, then merely lifts his head an infitesimal amount and hands over his personal deodorant without a thought, without saying anything, making Blaine come to him. Blaine strolls over to him, on the other side of the room, the towel to shifting a little lower down his hips. He takes the deodorant from Kurt, keeping his eyes on Kurt the whole time, lifts his arms and rolls it on, watching Kurt watching him. "Thanks," he says, and hands it back.
They're magnetized to each other. They're each other's beacons. It's just the way it is.
Kurt is going to kill Tina.
She has been calling nonstop all afternoon. How does Blaine stand it? He doesn't seem to notice, either. Every-time Kurt starts saying anything even remotely personal—anything remotely hedging towards how lonely he sometimes feels, in New York, which he just can't come out and say, but which he knows that Blaine would understand, and which he's been wanting someone to understand—every single time Tina's called. Is this how Adam feels when he texts with Blaine? He didn't think it was that bad, but on Monday, when Blaine had texted and asked if they could duet together, Kurt had been having coffee with Adam and Adam had mentioned that game that some people play where they put their phone in the middle of the table and the first person who answers has to pay the bill.
But really, there is no way Blaine could be as annoying as Tina. "Blainers, when are you picking me up?" "Blainey, what color is the corsage?" "Blaine-ttes, are you sure you're picking me up?" and then, "Bl-aaine, maybe you and Kurt shouldn't do your duet if it's taking you this long to practice, I'm sure we could fill the slot with something."
And that's just when they're working on Vocals.
Finally he grabs Blaine's phone and tells her that he'll be the one driving Blaine over, because practice ran long. Then he shuts Blaine's phone off.
Blaine looks at him like the sun came out after a hundred years of rain, and Kurt has a hard time looking away. He had forgotten how expressive Blaine's eyes were. That's not true—he hadn't forgotten it, but he'd remembered it only in the past—how expressive they'd been in certain situations, certain past situations. Now here they are, beaming at him, reaching out towards him, and it's almost too much.
Almost, but not quite.
Part of Kurt wants to drown in them. Part of him wants to run because he'd screwed up so badly, before. He'd let Blaine down, before. He knows that it was Blaine's fault, for what happened, but it wouldn't have been Blaine's fault if he had been more reachable, if he had been around more. He'd been so caught up in fashion, in New York, and Blaine had suffered.
Blaine needs a lot, Kurt knows that. He puts everything he has into his love. What else was that stupid Gap attack? He throws everything he's got into one person. Kurt's not sure—he's not sure he can be what Blaine needs.
In New York he feels so small, sometimes. He feels so scattered. He won Midnight Madness, and he's making friends, but sometimes he walks down the streets and he feels so gloomy, he feels so depressed. There are days when he doesn't want to go to class, even though class, NYADA, these people (that he mostly doesn't like) was the whole point. He doesn't know what's wrong, and until he knows what's wrong he doesn't think it's fair to saddle Blaine with this weird, snuffling, oddly bent man.
Blaine looks at him like he's the fucking answer and how can he say, I'm not. I'm not the answer.
And yet, on the other hand, Blaine looks so good. Blaine looks like the place where Kurt could just bury himself inside and feel safe and secure and wonderful and happy and good again.
So they're dancing, they're touching and Kurt lets go, feels that little tight rock in his chest let go, just for a short time. It's unconscious on his part—first he's irritated, then frustrated, then mad as hell at Tina, then they're singing, then they're laughing, then they're dancing, then they're dancing even more—and then the knot in his chest is dissolving and it's not until his phone buzzes at him that he realizes he'd forgotten it was ever there in the first place.
He's told Blaine about Adam before. He told Blaine about Adam after the first few dates because he thought, there, ok, now we can be proper friends. I've moved on. I'm dating someone new. That's why he started texting Blaine again, regularly. When he told Adam about it Adam nodded and said, "Sure, sure. I mean, we're not exclusive, right?" and Kurt had said, "Blaine and I are exes, Adam, I promise. It's a good thing you and I are going out. This lets me talk with him safely. We're just friends. I promise, it's better this way." Adam had nodded.
So he told Blaine, and Blaine had squinted through skype, looking like he was holding his breath, "Does it feel like you're magneticized around him? Like he's an intergalactic space beacon?"
And Kurt had given him a blank stare. "Blaine. I haven't been reading the same comic books you've been reading." He pauses. "But no. I don't know. I don't think so." He grinned, trying to change the subject. "Really? Intergalactic Space Beacon? What have you been reading?" What was it Sam had said? Blaine was going around as a Bird of the Night? NightBird? In spandex? Probably in spandex, and Blaine's always had a good ass for that sort of thing, good legs for that sort of thing, in fact he's got a good stomach and good arms too, but if he's wearing a cape then it would hide it all. That would be a problem, he should probably get rid of the cape, and Kurt can feel himself sinking into a drawing for a superhero outfit that would show off Blaine perfectly-
Blaine huffed out, and said, "Well, I guess that's something." Then, he said, "Does he make you happy. I guess that's what I'm asking." Does he make you happy. What kind of question was that.
Kurt had frowned. They were supposed to be talking about Blaine reading trashy comic books with too many busty ladies and not enough chisel-jawed men. "I don't know, it's only been a couple dates." Maybe it would be ok if he only read about busty ladies. No worry there.
And Blaine shrugged and said, through the grainy screen of the skype call, "Kurt, you always made me happy. That day I saw you on the stairs, your outfit. I thought it was the most adorable thing— you were such a bad spy." He laughed. "And then we'd go out to coffee, or go to the movies, and I'd wonder why the rest of my friends didn't make me feel like a million bucks the way you did. Even before I knew I loved you, you made me happy. I wanted to be around you all the time. I wanted to leap on furniture when you were around because I could barely contain myself, even though I couldn't have told you why... So yes, Kurt. I think he should make you happy. Even if it's only been a few dates."
Kurt had this feeling, watching Blaine try to hide his face with half his hand, embarrassed, like he should say something similar back. He opened his mouth, but what came out was, "I think I may have an idea for your next superhero outfit. Let me know when you wear the old one out."
And Blaine had said, "Kurt. I can never have too many superhero outfits. What did you have in mind?"
But even after they had devolved into laughter over an argument about whether or not to include a cape—even after the call had ended on good terms, Kurt had sat on his bed, knees to his chest, his face flushed, feeling wrong, feeling sick, feeling like he was a square peg in a round hole, and not knowing what the hell to do about it, and not knowing why, exactly, he felt that way. He could blame Blaine's call, blame Blaine, but he'd known all that before. Blaine had told him all about his feelings before, in almost those exact words, too. He thought, curled up like that, that he might always feel weirdly uncomfortable, and had a hard time remembering when he didn't. He remembered the fights he and Blaine had, the locker checks when Karofsky was still in the closet, the getting tossed into dumpsters, the days after his mother died. He thought about those.
But now, dancing in his room with Blaine, those are the furthest things from his mind. Why would he think of those very small, insignificantly bad times now? In fact, there's a moment during the second run through when he decides to pull himself up out of his funk when he gets back to New York. Clearly I was wallowing. Not enough sunlight. Not enough fresh air. I should try out for more clubs. Then Blaine takes his hand and spins him again and he lets out an undignified shriek, missing his cue for the next line, laughing, catching up.
The last dance is something all its own, and Kurt drowns.
When they stop dancing, when the music ends, when Blaine says, "I just can't get enough, God, Kurt," husky and deep, almost a whisper, Kurt feels like he's exactly where he should be, but he doesn't think about it like that. He just feels alive, in his body, his every cell humming, his every sense concentrating on the man in front of him. He's thinking about what Blaine wants (probably sex) what Blaine needs (someone to be there for him, emotionally, constantly), what Blaine's thinking about (definitely Kurt, probably sex, probably something like "soul mates", too, or "destined to be together," because Blaine's a diehard romantic).
When his phone buzzes Kurt looks away, looks back, and unconsciously chooses the easiest of any of those to focus on. It's been months and months since he's had sex, since he and Blaine have had sex. He's kept Adam at an arm's length for right now because they're so busy, because the apartment has no privacy, because he doesn't know exactly how to do things when the other person isn't Blaine, because they've only been dating for three weeks.
But here, the person is Blaine. And Kurt is here too, fully alive and fluid feeling, comfortable, happy, laughing the way he hasn't laughed since—don't think about it, don't think about it —since a long time. This is what life is, right? This is what it means to be alone, to be lonely. Taking what you can get. Seeing what that brings you. Sucking the marrow out of life even if it breaks your heart later.
He asks Blaine by touching him. He mentions Adam.
Blaine says, "If it's not exclusive, then what's to stop you?" and heads to the shower without a backwards glance.
When Blaine comes back out in nothing but a towel, asking for deodorant, Kurt's mouth goes dry and he hands his own over on autopilot, even though he would never, normally, allow anyone else to use his deodorant. Blaine holds his gaze. He knows. Kurt knows. They have no time, but they know.
A/N:Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are always welcome! Up next, the making out in the car, and the wedding, and the reception!