Better Than a Dream

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Sam was catching every eye in the room—but lately, when did he not? His short, sandy blonde hair was styled to give him that 'just rolled out of bed' look and he was dressed in a sleek black sports coat with dark denims and a nice collared white shirt. His unsure fingers fidgeted at the blue silk around his neck, earning his hand a sharp slap.

"Ouch. What was that for?"

"You're pulling at it again." Blaine didn't need to elaborate; he just readjusted the blonde's tie and gave him a reassuring smile.

Standing beside Blaine made Sam feel out of place—even more than he already did. Inside the small art gallery, Blaine seemed so at home and comfortable in his bold red denims and cheeky penguin scarf tucked below a matching black sports coat.

Everyone in the room carried themselves with the same confidence as Blaine. Even if Sam dressed just like them (which he did when the occasion called for it), spoke just like them (he tried his best, he really did), and mirrored their interests (what he could), he never quite felt comfortable around Blaine's artistic friends. They weren't mean to him, by far; most of them welcomed Sam with open arms, even when he said something awkward and incorrect.

But sometimes, Sam wished he could melt back in time to the days of glee rehearsals, when silly love triangles and learning new dance moves were the least of his worries.

"Sam, are you alright?"

The blonde hummed noncommittally and peered around the room. "Remind me why we're here. I don't wanna put my foot in my mouth."

"Julianne's art showcase," the shorter of the two supplied.

"Right. And Artie's going to be here, isn't he?"

"He'd better be or she'll pummel him," Blaine snorted. The idea of Julianne getting violent with anyone, especially Artie, was ridiculous, but boy did she have a set of lungs on her when angered.

As if on cue, a figure rolled into sight—"Sam! Blaine! You guys made it." Fist bumps were exchanged and Artie beckoned for the two to follow him further into the room full of mingling art enthusiasts.

Artie was the reason Sam and Blaine were in California— Off to pursue his dream of being a director, he'd first encouraged the aimless Sam to come along for moral support. The blonde easily became addicted to the sunny beaches and tanned joggers and over-appreciation of his finely sculpted body. After a failed attempt at getting into NYADA, Blaine joined the two and settled in nicely at UCLA.

"You look like you're going to fall over." Blaine's words were low enough for only Sam to hear as he steered the blonde to the side of the room. "Do you want a drink?" Without waiting for an answer, the curly-haired young man grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing server's tray and pressed one into Sam's hand.

"It's just stuffy in here," Sam whispered back, taking a tentative sip of his drink. "You know I hate wearing ties."

"You look good though."

Sam opened his mouth to thank Blaine, but in an instant, the other man's attention was gone. Blaine's hazel eyes were focused across the room on an all-too-familiar form.

Ethan Hughes—Blaine's on-again/off-again boyfriend of the past two years. There he stood, looking his best with his fluffed up black hair and piercing dark gaze, wearing a smug smile, his arm draped possessively around a tiny ginger boy.

"Do you want to leave?" They had called things off for good three months ago, but Sam could clearly see how the vision of his ex moving on affected Blaine.

"No. Of course not. I don't care one bit." Blaine's champagne drained in a matter of seconds once Ethan's eyes met his. "Crud, he's coming over here."

Ethan and his ginger date sidled up to Blaine and Sam with an easy grace. "Hey there," he offered, his smile slightly condescending as his eyes flickered over his ex. "Sam...I'm shocked they let you out of the sweat shop long enough to come tonight."

Sam frowned. He had never liked Ethan, but his compassion for Blaine always twisted his hand into being nice. "It's a gym," the blonde forced through a fake smile. He hated having his job insulted; maybe being a personal trainer wasn't anything special to the artsy crowd but he was great at it.

"Yes...well." Ethan waved off Sam's answer with a lazy gesture and focused back on Blaine. "You didn't bring a date?" he questioned, tucking his own in closer.

Blaine's lips parted but it was Sam's voice that cut through the tension. "Yes, he did."

Three sets of expectant eyes settled on the blonde, fixing him with hard stares. Blaine looked ready to strangle his friend for the lie.

Sam wasn't always a quick thinker and he often spoke before considering his words, but he knew exactly what he was doing in that moment. The blonde's arm slid smoothly around Blaine's shoulders and drew him near. "Blaine and I are dating now, actually."

Blaine felt his heart drop into his stomach. There was no way, just no way that Ethan would believe for a single second that he and Sam were—

"Hmm. I always suspected there was a little more going on between you two than you let on." Ethan rolled his eyes upwards and leaned against his ginger companion. "But Blaine always said you were just friends."

"We were." Sam tightened his hold around Blaine and widened his smile. "I just wanted to be sure you were properly out of the picture before I made any moves. I knew you'd be gone eventually, it was just a matter of waiting it out."

Blaine didn't know what to say or what to do. He was frozen from the shock of both Sam's lie (Sam never lied!) and Ethan's readiness to believe it (what did he mean he always suspected?!). His natural instincts lifted his arm and fitted it nicely around the blonde's waist. It was a simple gesture, but one they hadn't done in quite some time—back in the day, it seemed like Sam always had his arm around Blaine, but once Ethan came into the picture, the platonic affections faded out.

"Well good luck with this one," Ethan offered, gesturing casually towards Sam before turning on his heel and leading his date away.

"That went well." Sam lifted his glass to his lips and smiled down at Blaine. "Or not," he corrected, seeing the shell-shocked expression on the other man's face. "Now you're the one who looks like he's going to fall over. Do you need another drink?" The blonde laughed quietly and offered what was left of his champagne to Blaine.

"No, I'm...fine? I'm fine." Blaine shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with the tips of his fingers. "Why would you do that? You do realize you're going to have to act like my date for the rest of the night, right?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly and drew Blaine closer. "I know."

The evening dissolved into a composite of whimsy, art, and lighthearted conversation. Champagne glasses clinked together over talks of artistic expression and a twenty minute lecture about van Gogh (Sam really regretted his Doctor Who comment by the end of that). Julianne's pieces were a hit and her friends didn't spare on the compliments. Throughout the night, Sam kept Blaine tucked in close, his arms never leaving the other young man's shoulders or waist. Occasionally, the blonde's lips fell onto the side of Blaine's head for a fleeting moment. A few of their friends commented ("it's about time" was the overused phrase of the night). Artie merely huffed and rolled away, muttering about owing Mercedes fifty dollars.

Blaine hadn't drank enough to lose himself, but the young man was unsteady on his feet by the time he and Sam climbed into a cab. Alone and secure in the back of the yellow transport, he let the façade of a happy couple drop away. The dark-haired young man pulled his hand from Sam's and stretched his arms out. "You...are a pretty good actor," he mused, tipping his head back onto the seat. "Ever think of giving up those physical therapist dreams and joining me in stage classes?"

Sam snorted and cast his green gaze out of the window at the passing city. "I've never been a good actor," he mumbled to the glass. When Blaine implored him to repeat himself, Sam just smiled and answered: "I said the city looks amazing at this hour." (The clock was just peeking into three a m.)

The two arrived back at their apartment safely and headed upstairs. It was Artie's apartment as well, but he hadn't actually stayed the night there in months—not since he and Julianne got serious. Sam's arms locked themselves back around Blaine's waist the moment they stepped through the door—well, Sam stepped, Blaine's was more of a stumble.

"I'm okay," Blaine insisted, pushing the blonde's protective hold away. "I swear, I'm fine. I can make it to my room." When Sam continued to follow him down the small hallway, the young man spun around and cut his eyes up to his friend. "I said I'm alright. You don't have to follow me. I'm not going to pass out in the middle of the floor or anything."

"I'm not following you," Sam argued. "I'm walking you to your door like a proper gentleman does after a date. So stop being stubborn."

"Two problems with that: one, aren't you supposed to walk me to my front door—"

"—I live here too, so your bedroom door will have to work—"

"—and two, this wasn't a date."

"Oh no?" Sam quirked his eyebrow at Blaine and pressed his hand against the wall behind the other young man's head. "I got you drinks. You held my hand. I pretended to understand what your friends were talking about. You told me I looked good. That all sounds like a date to me."

"But that was all...you know, for show. Fake."

"So you don't think I look good?"

"No. Yes. I mean—what? Yes, I think you look good, but..."

"...but?"

"But—I don't know. Sam, you're confusing me." Blaine folded his arms over his chest and tugged idly at his penguin patterned scarf. "Are you drunk?"

"I had one drink." The blonde tucked his fingers under Blaine's chin and guided the young man to look up at him. "I'm not usually this forward on a first date, but since you said this wasn't a date, I think I'll be safe to break my own rules."

Before Blaine could respond, Sam's lips fell gently onto his. The dark-haired man's heart pounded in his ears, making his head go fuzzy from a mix of champagne and holy crud, Sam is kissing me!. His arms loosened and fell limp to his sides, his entire body going slack under the soft sensation of Sam's embrace. His lips flushed cold with a loss of contact from the other man's and his eyes fluttered open to meet Sam's gaze (he didn't even realize he'd closed them). "I...what was that?"

"Ouch. I must be pretty bad at it if you don't know a kiss when you get one." Sam laid his hand over his heart and feigned being offended at the question. "Maybe I should try again." He leaned forward, but Blaine's hand pressed against his chest, stopping the advance—

"Wait. I'm just...confused. You're...you're what? Are you bisexual now or something?"

Sam laughed under his breath and cradled Blaine's neck between his hands. "I don't know. I guess. Does it really matter?"

"No, I suppose not, but..." Blaine let out a sharp breath and tried to avoid Sam's eyes, knowing full well he couldn't think properly with the look the other man was giving him. "How long have you felt this way?"

"Too long to stand here having this conversation when we could be..." Sam let his words trail off and glanced towards Blaine's bedroom door. "If you're not—" one of his hands trailed down and loosened the scarf around his friend's neck "—interested, then I understand." His lips ghosted along Blaine's jaw line and spilled heated breath onto the man's exposed neck. "We can just forget this ever—"

He never got a chance to finish his thought; Blaine crashed his lips against Sam's and tangled his fingers tightly into the other man's blonde strands. His free hand slid along the wall until he found the doorknob to his room and pushed it open. Without a word, he grabbed a hold of Sam's tie and pulled the blonde into his bedroom, then kicked the door closed behind them.

When Blaine opened his eyes, his first thought was: It was a dream. It wouldn't be the first time his imagination had gone wild and drawn up nighttime images of Sam ripping his clothes off. But this time, it'd felt so real. His muscles ached and his bedsheets were a tangled mess—but there was no Sam in sight.

Blaine certainly had no knowledge of Sam's after-sex behavior, but the idea of the blonde running off on his partner before morning seemed too ridiculous to even consider. It had to be a mistake, it'd all been in his head. The young man groaned and dragged his hands back through his bed-mussed hair.

"You're awake!" Sam's head popped up from beside the bed, a huge grin etched onto his lips. Clutched in his hand were a pair of Captain America boxer shorts and a pair of dark plaid ones Blaine recognized as his own. "I nearly didn't find them," the blonde continued as he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on the red, white, and blue boxers. He tossed the other pair to Blaine and crawled back over beside him. "You okay? You're making a funny face."

The young man just chuckled and tugged on his boxers, unable to wipe the goofy smile off his face. "I was starting to think it was all a dream. I woke up and you weren't there."

Sam leaned over and rewarded Blaine's confession with a chaste kiss. "Not a dream. Definitely not a dream." He brushed his fingers lightly over the other man's cheek and smiled down at him. "I'm going to make us some coffee." With that, the blonde stole another quick kiss and shuffled out of the room.

Blaine stared after his friend (boyfriend?) with a complacent smile. He pulled a pillow into his arms and curled around it, breathing in the unique scent of Sam that still clung to the fabric. "Way better than a dream."

Notes: Thank you for reading. This was written for a prompt on theblambang tumblr.