Kurt Hummel was used to not being touched.
With the exception of his best friend, Mercedes Jones, no one ever got so familiar with Kurt as to touch him, even for a friendly hug. Boys, especially—even his own father—made it a point to keep at least a good six inches of space between his body and theirs at all times. He and his father didn't hug a lot—the night he came out of the closet being the one glaring exception he could remember since early childhood—communicating instead with manly shoulder-grips in situations where hugging might normally be expected.
He knew, at least in his father's case, that it wasn't true, but he occasionally couldn't help but wonder bitterly whether they really were all afraid of "catching the gay" from him. Most of the time, though, he just shrugged it off. After all, he was used to it.
So he didn't know what to make of this boy who offered him a hand to shake. He wondered briefly if the boy just didn't know, but pushed that thought aside quickly; much as Kurt hated to admit it, he knew he set off the gaydar of everyone within hearing range as soon as he opened his mouth to speak. His voice was soft, and high. Even if it hadn't been, he was…well, he was pretty, for lack of a better word. So the boy just had to know, and yet he didn't hesitate to grasp Kurt firmly by the hand, didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable at the touch of his skin. The boy's hands were warm.
Blushing slightly, and feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the flood of bodies coming down the stairs, Kurt introduced himself as if he were a new student, and asked the boy—Blaine—what was going on. Blaine explained that the Warblers were putting on a performance, which was apparently a big deal. Kurt felt his eyebrow raise almost of its own accord when Blaine declared, "the Warblers are like rock stars."
Then he was claiming to know a short cut, and taking Kurt's hand again, and leading him through a beautiful, luxuriously decorated hallway with high, elegantly arched ceilings and beautiful marble floors. Kurt felt as if he were moving in slow motion. He gazed around him hungrily, taking in the grace and dignified opulence of the school with a tiny part of his brain while the majority of it zeroed in on the brand-new and entirely too exhilarating feeling of another boy's warm hand clasped comfortably around his. It was just a simple touch, and Kurt wasn't naïve enough to believe it meant anything. Still. It was the first time a boy had ever willingly held his hand, and he relished the small contact while it lasted.
Kurt was quickly growing accustomed to a multitude of casual touches.
There had been hints early on, he supposed. On the very day they met, he should have realized. The first thing Blaine had done after letting go of his hand was lean forward and casually flatten his coat lapel, before bursting into a heart-stealing rendition of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream." Since then, it had never let up.
A nudge of the elbow while they stood in line for coffee, a tap on the knee or the shoulder when they were talking and laughing together, sitting so close in a booth at Breadstix that their legs brushed under the table. Blaine found a million little ways to touch Kurt on a daily basis, and once the strangeness of it all wore off, Kurt realized just how much he had been missing, being so physically isolated for most of his life. He absolutely loved it, loved the feeling of another human being willing to make contact with him, any contact at all. He didn't stop to wonder whether it was Blaine himself or just the novelty of that level of warmth, ease and comfort and…implicit trust with another human being. He just knew that it felt like he had been starving for it all his life, and he hoped it would never stop.
Kurt was pretty sure he was going to go crazy if Blaine didn't stop touching him.
It was that damn duet that had done this, Kurt was sure of it. Before that, he'd been a bit smitten, sure. Who wouldn't be? Blaine was gorgeous. But until he'd opened his stupid mouth and said it to Mr. Schue, he hadn't known just how emotionally attached he was getting to Blaine Anderson. Now he couldn't ignore it: he was hopelessly, horribly in love, and now his heart rate spiked uncomfortably every time Blaine graced him with one of those oh-so-innocent, oh-so-casual, achingly platonic little touches.
That duet, though! Kurt had just been minding his own business, sitting in one of the common rooms and attempting to slog his way through the rest of his history homework, when Blaine had snapped him out of his study-daze and asked him for help rehearsing a song. An incredibly flirty, romantic duet. Kurt felt his heart flutter and his cheeks color up, but he shrugged the feelings off with a quip about Charlemagne and agreed to help Blaine out.
What a colossal, horrendous mistake.
Because their voices were blending together, sounding lovely and sweet and perfect, and okay…Kurt was kind of a sucker for music. It was how he had grown accustomed to expressing himself. There was a fire going, and the common room was beautiful and tastefully decorated, and they were alone, and…Kurt was swept away by the romance of it in spite of himself. He let the performer in him take over, strolling casually out of Blaine's reach with an impish look on his face and feeling a dangerous thrill in the pit of his stomach when Blaine followed his lead. They played cat-and-mouse to flirty Christmas music all over the common room, Blaine scooting far too close to Kurt when he leaned against the back of the couch, leaning in and crooning his lyrics right next to Kurt's ear. He could feel his breath ghost across his neck, and he danced away before he could let the feeling muddle his brain and let him miss his cue. Thank God for stage presence, he thought idly.
Of course, Blaine wasn't finished. The little game continued throughout the song, until Kurt had resorted to putting the couch between himself and Blaine only to have Blaine lean across it, eyes sorrowful and lips pouting around the words, barely an inch away from Kurt's own mouth, which must have moved of its own accord to finish out his part of the song, because for the next few minutes Kurt's brain sure as hell wasn't processing any coherent thoughts. Blaine was sitting beside him as they sang the last notes, the sides of their bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee, and Kurt suddenly felt a bit too warm all over.
For a moment, all they could do was look at one another and grin. Kurt felt goofy, but he didn't look away, because Blaine was grinning too, and he wasn't pulling away, and Kurt might have imagined it, but he could swear he saw a faint blush on the other boy's cheeks as well…though nowhere near the high, bright color he could feel burning on his own.
Then he looked away, and broke the spell, and departed with that last infuriatingly ambiguous, tantalizing line, leaving Kurt to blurt out his feelings to the first person who asked.
"No," he said airily, and with more than a little regret, "just a friend. But, on the upside, I'm in love with him and he's actually gay, so…call that progress."
Kurt was absolutely unprepared for this much touching.
He'd endured that horrendous party. He'd watched yet another boy he liked, loved, wanted, make out with Rachel freaking Berry, sing with her, flirt with her. He'd dragged said drunken boy home with him because he was too smashed to drive to his own house, and tossed him into bed before completely his customary nighttime skincare routine and crawling into bed beside him, feeling strangely tense and edgy.
He was comfortable with the idea of Blaine being close to him and touching him…but he hadn't shared a bed with anyone, ever. Even when he was little and had friends over, someone had always taken the couch or the floor. Needless to say, Kurt had not envisioned the first time he shared a bed with another boy happening quite this way.
Still, it didn't really count, right? They weren't together, they weren't sleeping together. Not in any sense of the word. Blaine was sleeping on his side of the bed, and Kurt was staying on his, and in any case Blaine was so drunk he probably wouldn't even know where he was in the morning, so it wasn't like he was really here in the strictest sense. Kurt rolled over onto his side, facing away from Blaine and staring at the wall. He counted backwards in his head from one hundred, trying to quiet his brain and shut out the heinous memory of Blaine and Rachel making out while he watched from the high-definition distance of two feet away. He was almost asleep when he felt something warm against his back.
His eyes snapped open. He experienced a perplexing combination of anxiety and butterflies as he felt Blaine snuggle against his back and wrap his arms around him, hands resting one on top of the other over his stomach. Every muscle he had was locked into place; he was terrified to move even an inch. What if Blaine woke up and freaked out? Just because he was gay and therefore (presumably) comfortable with the idea of cuddling with another boy in bed didn't mean he'd be comfortable with cuddling Kurt. What if he thought Kurt was taking advantage of him somehow? What if he didn't even know it was Kurt he was cuddling, what if he was picturing GAP guy or…or Rachel? What if—
"MMKurt," Blaine mumbled against his neck. Kurt suppressed a shiver at the feeling of Blaine's lips against his skin. "MCold," he went on."
"Do you…uh…need another blanket?" He asked softly, hating the way his voice sounded breathless and even higher than usual. Blaine pulled up closer behind him, twining their legs together and nudging cold toes underneath Kurt's shin.
"Mmmmno," he said softly, sounding as if he were drifting back into sleep. "You're warm." It was barely a breath against Kurt's neck, but he heard the words anyway. Carefully, uncertainly, he wrapped his arms over Blaine's, holding his hands against his stomach and relaxing into the embrace, willing his heart to slow down and stop trying to hammer right out of his chest. Blaine knew what he was doing. He knew exactly who he was holding. Didn't he? He had been talking to Kurt as if he knew. Kurt closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
"Kurt," Blaine breathed against his neck, snapping his eyes open and playing havoc with his heartbeat again. "Your th'best. You'rm'best friend."
Kurt laid awake for a long time, just listening to the sound of Blaine breathing and trying not to let himself think too hard about anything. If he let himself think too hard, he knew he would cry.
Kurt was entirely fed up with following Blaine Anderson around like a sad, lovesick puppy.
If seeing him try to date Rachel Berry wasn't enough to put him off that course of action—which it most definitely was—his subsequent comments about Kurt's "sexy faces" certainly were. He knew Blaine didn't mean anything by it. He looked down at him, sitting cross-legged on his bed (the bed they'd been curled up against one another in just a few nights before, he tried not to remember), blinking up at him with this adorable expression, and he knew Blaine wasn't being facetious, or mocking him. He'd never try to hurt Kurt's feelings.
And wasn't that the most annoying thing about him? Blaine was terminally oblivious. He had no idea how condescending and hurtful he could be sometimes. He thought he was just being helpful. Kurt loved him for it, but he hated that he could never seem to get properly pissed off at Blaine when he was being a jerk, because he knew the boy would be shocked and dismayed to think that his actions were perceived that way.
That hadn't stopped him from ordering Blaine out of his room, though, and it didn't stop him from being ten kinds of annoyed now, when Blaine burst into his study hall with the rest of the Warblers for another impromptu performance of their opening number for Regionals. Does anyone here ever actually study? He thought as he brushed away the papers that had fluttered over him. He sighed, resigning himself to getting no more studying done, and grabbed his bag, joining the rest of them as they exited the hallway. Blaine pulled him in with hands grasping his arms, more casual touching that didn't mean anything but that a small part of Kurt still cherished. He rolled his eyes at his showy best friend and sang along with the high part of the background harmony.
Blaine directed him to a bench against the wall next to Pavarotti's cage that—he noticed with only a bit of ire—gave him a front-row seat to watch the Warblers dance as Blaine belted out the solo beside him. He was mildly impressed with the increase in the use of choreography for their performances; he supposed his early suggestions hadn't fallen entirely on deaf ears after all.
Blaine was practically in his lap, singing with his head resting backwards on Kurt's shoulder and his eyes wide and sad looking up at him. A couple of weeks ago Kurt would have been fighting a case of puppy love hysterics at a move like that, but this time he just smiled placidly at Blaine's antics and kept singing. If Blaine noticed the change, he didn't show it, just jumped up and pranced back into the dancing knot of Warblers, finishing out the song perfectly, as usual. Kurt lost interest in keeping up with the melodies and checked his sleeves before standing up and attempting to summon some enthusiasm for the performance. He was pretty sure he failed miserably, but at least he tried. He even managed to stifle a derisive chuckle at Blaine's cocky little comment at the end of the song. But just barely. He turned his attention to checking on Pavarotti as the Warblers and onlookers dispersed, going back to their studies.
"Where did you manage to find a Burberry-esque canary cage cover?" Blaine said, sounding impressed. Kurt smiled down at the little bird before replacing the cover.
"Canaries don't like cold weather. Especially Pavarotti," he said.
"So," Blaine said, an oddly expectant tone to his voice. "What'd you think of the number?" And there it was. Kurt adjusted the strap of his bag and got a firm grip on the cage handle, turning to Blaine.
"Can I be honest? Because it comes from a place of caring?" Blaine nodded. "Been there, done that," Kurt said, grimacing apologetically. Blaine was still smiling, but it looked more like the leftovers of an old, stale expression now.
"Look, Blaine, you're amazing. Your solos are breathtaking." Blaine shrugged with humility so false it made Kurt feel positively violent with annoyance. "They're also numerous." He started to turn away, but Blaine followed.
"Kurt, the council decides who gets the solos," he said, reasonably enough. Then, "do I detect a little jealousy?" Kurt wondered how it was possible to sound smug, amused, and condescending all at the same damn time. He turned back to Blaine.
"No, you detect a lot of jealousy," he said bluntly. "Look, Blaine, sometimes I don't feel like we're the Warblers. I feel like we're…Blaine and the Pips." And with that, he turned and walked away, feeling just a hint of regret at the look on Blaine's face under his elation that he had finally gotten that off his chest.
Kurt was just a touch confused.
He had given free reign to his annoyance with Blaine lately, no longer bothering to hold it in. He had quite possibly made an idiot out of himself by crying and singing about a dead bird in front of all of the Warblers, though he didn't regret it. Pavarotti deserved a good send-off. So why did Blaine suddenly want to sing a duet with him at Regionals?
And…why was Blaine sitting in front of him with that completely unfamiliar look on his face? Nervousness…it really didn't sit well on his features. Why was Blaine reaching out his hand and grasping one of Kurt's, stumbling over his words and blushing? Kurt focused on the familiar feel of Blaine's skin against his, the warmth of hand on hand. It was comforting, anchoring. It also sent an all-too-familiar swarm of butterflies fluttering in Kurt's stomach, because it felt different, somehow. It was a simple touch, like so many they had shared since becoming friends, but it didn't feel friendly this time. It felt anything but casual.
"Kurt, there is a moment…when you say to yourself…'oh, there you are. I've been looking for you forever.'"
Kurt headed the sudden swarm of thoughts off before they could race too far ahead of themselves. Blaine had proven, time and again, that while he obviously cared for Kurt a great deal, his feelings didn't extend beyond friendship. Kurt knew that, he had accepted it. He was even starting to make his peace with it. So what was Blaine doing to him now?
"Watching you do 'Blackbird' this week…that was a moment for me. About you."
Kurt's mind seemed to have short-circuited. He let Blaine's words wash over him, not really taking in any of the meaning; his attention was still so intensely focused on the feel of Blaine's hand holding his on the table, on the feel of his thumb absently tracing a small circle into the skin on the back of his hand.
"Y-you moved me, Kurt." He had never heard Blaine stutter over his words in all the time he'd known him. Even when he was upset, he was flawlessly articulate. But now he was almost stammering. He watched, fascinated, as Blaine took a deep breath and let the rest of his short speech out on a single exhale. "And this duet would just be an excuse to spend more time with you."
Kurt's brain didn't have time to start bouncing off the walls with all the possible meanings of Blaine's words. There were a billion questions he wanted to ask, but they were all pretty much silenced and answered when Blaine leaned over, cupped his face gently with the hand not holding his, and kissed him.
He couldn't even describe what happened to him in that second. He felt quite sure Blaine had meant it to be a very soft, simple, chaste kiss. It felt like their lips had barely touched when he started to pull away. Kurt acted on instinct, because it certainly wasn't experience. He had none. He disentangled his hand from Blaine's and cupped Blaine's face in return, holding him in the kiss and kissing back with an enthusiasm he didn't even know he possessed. It was still simple, and soft: lips moving in sync and the whisper of breath across skin, the faint smells of coffee, hair gel, and—Kurt would have laughed into Blaine's mouth if he hadn't been shaken breathless by the sensation of Blaine's lips against his—spearmint. Well, he thought randomly through a haze of bliss, someone came prepared.
It seemed to last an eternity, but it was over much too quickly for Kurt's liking. He looked up at Blaine as they separated, feeling the heat rushing to his cheeks and hoping he wasn't gaping like a fish but knowing he probably was. There was another look on Blaine's face he'd never seen before today. It might have been his imagination, but he thought it looked like awe.
Blaine was sitting back in his chair, and Kurt winced internally when he heard the heavy thud of his own hand coming down on the table. He tried to regulate his breathing and not gasp like he'd just run a marathon, which is what he felt like doing. His entire body was tingling with the newness and intimacy of this completely unfamiliar touch. The misguided make-out session with Brittany and that harrowing experience in a McKinley High locker room didn't even cross his mind, not for a second. They were apples to oranges; there was no comparison between those moments and the one he'd just experienced. The tingling feeling on his skin was also a buzzing in his ears as he watched Blaine blush and look away and laugh and say something about practice. He didn't even have the presence of mind to be horrified by the lame words that fell out of his mouth in response.
"I thought we were."
Blaine leaned forward eagerly at that invitation-Kurt meeting him halfway this time-and they lost themselves in the exquisite feeling of their lips touching again, and again, and again.
Author's Note: I've had a severe case of "can't-get-a-damn-thing-done" for the past month or so, mostly caused by the fact that I was moving around a lot. I'm finally settled in, more or less, and I start classes on Wednesday, so I will no longer have tons of free time, but I will also have responsibilities I need to escape from, which should result in more updates. Funny how that works, right? Anyway, for those of you who have been wondering why the hell I haven't updated any of my multi-chapter fics in so long, the simple answer is that every time I sit down and attempt to write, I get a couple of paragraphs and then get stuck, or things don't feel right, etc. It sucks. But I have been working on the next chapters of Music for a Song, The Ugly Duckling, and FML. I've also written a bunch of one-shots and drabbles that I need to edit and put up, and I've been struggling and cringing through the second half of "Falling, And The First Time," which has been surprisingly difficult to write because...I just don't write legitimately M-rated stuff that often. Just...be patient with me. I PROMISE I will not leave you hanging on any of these any longer than is absolutely necessary.
~ The Raisin Girl