Like A Firework
Chapter 1
"Come on, Kurt, just say you'll go." Mercedes flashed her best pouty face to her friend, who had his arms crossed in steadfast opposition.
"I said I would spend time with you, not go to some swanky party." Kurt turned his back to her and started folding up the blanket she had been using while she slept. He loved when Mercedes visited from Los Angeles, and was always the first to offer up his couch for her.
"But it's New Year's Eve. You were going to go to a party anyway," she pointed out.
"Yeah, a party with my friends. Where I know people."
"I'll introduce you to people. Come on," she pleaded again. "I'm still promoting my new album, and I'm supposed to perform my single."
"What kind of person throws a party for all of his famous friends to perform?" The idea made Kurt roll his eyes, even though a year ago, he would have jumped at the chance to go to such a party.
"A former show-choir-nerd-turned-rockstar. Please?"
Kurt sighed. "I don't know…"
"As soon as I'm done performing, we can go somewhere else instead. And you never know...maybe you'll meet someone special there." Mercedes was his number one supporter when it came to his love life. She was always trying to find him someone to date, but her standards were almost higher than his, if that was possible.
"Highly doubtful. But thanks for being optimistic."
Despite his protests against going to the party, Mercedes could be quite persuasive, and to neither's surprise, later that evening, he was walking arm-in-arm with her to the towncar she had at her disposal.
"Thanks for doing this for me," she squeezed his arm as they slid into the backseat.
He smoothed his jacket over the blue button-down that opened slightly over his chest. Mercedes had promised him that the color brought out his eyes and would surely attract good looking boys who could cure his months-long slump. He figured it was his pants that would more likely get the job done, highlighting his greatest features: his long legs and perfectly toned ass (thanks to his trusty Buns of Steel workout video).
"Anything for my best girl. So, whose party is this?"
"Blaine Anderson. He's a musician," she added for his benefit.
"Never heard of him," Kurt shrugged.
"I know you haven't. Still avoiding music?"
"I'm much happier now," he asserted. Only he understood the heartbreaking pain of something he had once loved so much turning against him.
"Are you?" Mercedes raised an eyebrow skeptically.
Kurt hummed but didn't answer, turning his head to watch the city pass by. He knew Mercedes tried to understand, but was still offended that he had not listened to her new album. He did feel bad, and tried to make it up to her in any way he could, like watching all of her interviews, buying her merchandise, and shamelessly promoting her on social media. He brushed off the guilty feeling that started to creep in and focused on the tall buildings and twinkling lights of his home.
Eventually, they pulled up to a gorgeous, sprawling home with a gated entrance. A long drive led to huge double doors where the car came to a stop.
"Swanky," Kurt commented, taking in the estate.
"I've heard it's his parents' house. They were singers, too."
Kurt and Mercedes got out and were immediately asked to pose for a photograph.
Other guests were heading into the house, but despite the freezing temperatures, most of the commotion seemed to be coming from the backyard where colorful lights flashed and loud music played. Kurt could feel the vibrations from the bass from the driveway.
He and Mercedes stepped inside, where their jackets were taken by an attendant and they were shown directly to the bar, much to Kurt's relief.
"Long Island Iced Tea, please," he ordered, knowing he would need something strong to get him through the night.
Mercedes was swept up into conversation after conversation and asked to pose for more photographs, into which she hauled a reluctant Kurt. She introduced him to anyone and everyone - especially cute boys – but Kurt really wasn't interested.
"I'm going to head outside, want to come?" she asked hopelessly, knowing already what his answer would be.
He shook his head apologetically, cringing away from the idea of live music.
"I'll see you later," he told her as the crowd parted them.
He ordered another drink and tried mingling again, but found it difficult to keep up with conversation having distanced himself from the entertainment world for almost a year. Carrying his drink, Kurt ventured up the grand staircase to the upper level of the gigantic house, where he found a short line of people waiting to use a restroom and a dozen closed doors.
The closed doors called to him; the idea of a quiet, solitary room was quite appealing. When he was sure nobody was looking, he opened one of the doors as quietly as he could and slipped stealthily inside.
The door led to a thankfully empty, large bedroom. From the en suite bathroom and balcony entrance, Kurt guessed it was a master bedroom. There were few personal effects in the room but, from what little he could see, it belonged to a man with good taste. The temptation to snoop was too strong to resist, and Kurt was browsing the contents of a built-in shelf before he knew what he was doing.
His fingers toyed around in a bowl of guitar picks, feeling the smooth plastic and sharp edges, as he looked at the books stacked next to it.
Sticking out of one of the books was a letter, the only discernible words from its current position Dear Blaine, I am so sorry.
Kurt picked up the book and cracked it open to the page marked by the letter. As he was pulling the letter out to read, the door opened. He slammed the book shut and placed it back on the shelf hastily.
"Oh!" exclaimed the newcomer. Kurt turned toward the door, trying to look as innocent as possible, bringing his drink to his lips. The man standing there took his breath away. Short hair curled messily atop a soft, yet commanding face with near-perfect features. A buttery brown leather jacket spanned the width of his broad shoulders and the white t-shirt beneath hugged his trim waist. Jeans stretched tight across his hips and thighs and pooled at his ankles, giving away his shorter stature. The stranger looked to be older than Kurt's twenty-two years, but couldn't be a day over thirty. He gave off an effortless and confident vibe, and Kurt could not stop himself from feeling very, very interested in the man he mentally dubbed Dreamboat McTightPants.
"Usually when I walk in on someone in a bedroom at a party, they're a lot less clothed. But I have to say, I wouldn't have been upset to find someone as sexy as you in that state." Dreamboat McTightPants winked salaciously, and Kurt's attraction vanished instantly. He sighed. Another day, another asshole, he thought, rolling his eyes.
Dreamboat McTightPants – he might be an asshole, but he did look dreamy - closed the door behind him and took a few steps toward Kurt, who simultaneously walked away from the shelf. "Are you in the business? How did you land an invitation to such an exclusive party?" he asked with a cocky smile. Kurt now mentally shortened the nickname as Dreamboat came perilously close to becoming Dick McTightPants).
"I'm not, but my friend is. She brought me as her guest."
"Ah. I see." Kurt noticed the nod of recognition and the almost sadly expectant look in the stranger's eyes.
The man kicked off his shoes, flopped on the bed and stretched out with his hands crossed behind his head. Kurt considered leaving, but he was intrigued by this self-assured, and - okay, yes - dreamy stranger; he blamed it on the alcohol.
"So, what is someone as gorgeous as you doing up here alone?" His eyes followed Kurt, who was walking around the bed to check out more of the room.
"Big parties like this aren't really my scene. I don't even know who this Blaine guy is."
"Oh, you don't?" The pitch of the Dreamboat's voice rose as he sat up straight.
"Nope." Kurt popped the 'p' and gently ran a finger over a painting that was a starburst of dozens of shades of blue. "Plus, I needed to get away for a minute. I have this...thing...with music."
"Yeah." Dreamboat laughed, his self-pleased smile slipping away. "Me too."
"And what are you doing up here?" Kurt returned the question.
"I needed to get away as well. It's really difficult being this good looking." The cockiness was back.
Kurt only hoped a little bit that Dreamboat couldn't hear him mutter "insufferable." Sadly, spending time listening to this guy talk about how much he loved himself was still better than attempting to care about mingling at the party. And he was dreamy, damn him.
"So do you know this Anderson character? I hear he's a super mega rock star."
Dreamboat twisted his face for a second. "Something like that. Yeah, you could say I know him. Though sometimes I wonder exactly how well…"
"Ah," Kurt nodded. Dreamboat was probably another notch in Anderson's belt. "What's he like?"
"Really sexy, for one."
Definitely a notch in his belt.
"He's kind of an arrogant asshole most of the time, though. But I hear that once you get to know him, he's a sweet guy on the inside."
"I bet. Aren't they all?" Kurt had met his fair share of jerks throughout his college career. "Is his music any good?"
Dreamboat shrugged as he threw his legs over the side of the bed and perched there, watching Kurt intently. "It's all right. I'm pretty sure he's waiting for that big inspiration to strike. I don't think he's found that one big thing yet that will make his songs mean something." He paused thoughtfully. "What do you care, anyway?"
Kurt laughed. "I really don't, actually, I'm just not sure what else to talk about with you."
"Who says we need to talk?" Dreamboat winked again, seductively this time.
"Please," Kurt scoffed. "What makes you think I want to do anything like that with someone I just met?" But the Long Islands were taking their effect and the thought of hooking up was sounding better and better with each passing moment.
"It's New Year's Eve. Everyone wants someone to kiss at midnight. And we'd make a damn stunning pair."
Kurt played along. "You're right, we would. If I'm still here at midnight, proposition me again."
"Don't have to tell me twice. Now. Let's talk about anything but Blaine Anderson. Sometimes I wish I could just forget all about him."
After that, it was surprisingly easy to carry on a conversation. They talked for an hour, both eventually settling on the floor next to the bed. Kurt found that despite the rocky start, he actually really liked Dreamboat. They discussed movies and books, chatted about their shared love for fashion and adorable baby animals - anything except for music and Blaine Anderson
Aside from his cocky manner and initial too-flirty comments (which he abandoned as their conversation progressed), Dreamboat had quite a lovely personality. He was funny and matched Kurt's wittiness, a characteristic he'd been unable to find in other boys he had met in the city. His eyes, a glowing, brilliant brown, were expressive, an open book for Kurt to read, and genuinely conveyed that he was having an amazing time.
Kurt found himself, light and free after three drinks, drawing out the conversation so that he could still be around at the strike of midnight to see if the stranger would hold out on his promise.
"Do you live in New York, then?" Kurt asked as they discussed their favorite NYC cafés, discovering that they both loved the quiet Parisian café around the corner from Kurt's place.
"I visit often. I live in LA most of the time."
"That's where Mercedes lives, too. I haven't had the money to go out for a visit yet, but I hope to soon." He sighed dramatically.
"Such is the life of a broke college kid."
"Wait, Mercedes Jones?"
"You know her? She and I have been best friends since high school."
Dreamboat gave him a surprised and pleased look. "Really? Huh. I met her once when she was recording her first album. She's feisty, but a sweetheart."
Kurt laughed. "That's...very accurate."
Their hands brushed as Kurt moved to straighten himself, and their heads whipped up to look at each other. The heat that passed between them was undeniable.
"Want to go out on the balcony and watch the fireworks? They should be starting any time now."
Kurt could only nod and swallow dryly in response to the hopeful, husky voice.
Out on the balcony, they shivered in the cold winter wind, but Dreamboat pulled a blanket out from somewhere (Kurt didn't bother wondering where), and wrapped it around them both, pulling Kurt in close. They leaned on the railing of the balcony, with the sounds of the performances from the other side of the yard floating up toward them, but Kurt found he didn't mind one bit.
The fireworks began going off shortly after they stepped out, and the two men watched, shoulder-to-shoulder, awestruck.
"Those are my favorites," Kurt pointed out the huge, blossoming firework with sparks that seemed to fall all the way to the ground like a willow tree. "They remind me of love, a little bit. Or the love I'd like to have, anyway, you know? An explosion followed by a never ending shower of sparks that seem all-encompassing."
His comment was met with silence, and he realized that Dreamboat was watching him rather than the fireworks display with a strange smile on his face.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Kurt blushed. "I get a little carried away with romance and metaphors sometimes. Was that too much?"
Instead of responding, Dreamboat turned his attention back to the fireworks and pointed out a different one that spread out in a powerful burst, but in the center, a concentration of sparkling embers glowed and glittered. "I'd prefer a love like that one. The initial explosion, but even as it spreads out and covers everything, the burning passion is still left in our hearts."
Kurt breathed a sigh of relief that was tinged with wanting. He inched his hand closer to Dreamboat's, and as the fireworks intensified, realized that he still didn't know his name.
"What's your name?" he asked breathlessly as his fingers were tangled up in a tight hold.
Rather than an answer, Dreamboat whispered a countdown. "Ten...nine...eight…"
Oh, Kurt realized. Midnight. New Year's Eve.
They leaned in until the last number left his lips, colorful fireworks blasting behind them.
"So...It's midnight and you're still here."
"It's true." Kurt could feel his heart pounding throughout his body.
"Should we…"
Kurt didn't wait for him to finish his thought. He captured Dreamboat's lips, the blanket falling off of their shoulders as their arms wrapped around each other. The warmth was no longer needed, the heat passing between them enough. Kurt's hands slid beneath the leather jacket, glorying in the hard muscles beneath the thin t-shirt, but he could hardly pay what was beneath his fingertips any mind because of what was happening with his mouth.
The intricate dance of their lips and tongues was perfectly choreographed and made them both shiver with a longing for more. It had been so long since Kurt had been with someone in that way, and even longer since he had been with someone in that way who fit perfectly with him and could tell what he wanted just with the slightest touch or change of pressure. It was glorious.
Kurt was the first to pull away, albeit reluctantly, hands gripping tightly onto Dreamboat's hips as he suggested they move inside.
Kicking the blanket out of the way, they crashed back through the doorway to the bedroom and fell sideways onto the bed, landing them in the perfect position for Kurt to roll on top. Their bodies pressed together deliciously, and Dreamboat began kissing down
Kurt's neck as he busied himself with working off his leather jacket.
Soon enough, they were both free of shirts, the feeling of the soft hair on Dreamboat's chest against his own aroused Kurt even more.
"I wonder what the guy whose bedroom this is would think of what we're doing in here?," Kurt gasped out as his chest was mapped out inch by inch, sounding wanton even to his own ears.
"I have a feeling he wouldn't mind one bit," was the growled response against his body.
Dreamboat pulled back to take in Kurt's physique with dark eyes, but only seconds later, Kurt brought their lips back together in a desperate tug. The sinful noises escaping the man's mouth were almost enough to bring Kurt to the edge.
He trailed his tongue along Dreamboat's jawline to suck at the junction between his jaw and his ear. In response, Dreamboat arched his back and let out a small cry of pleasure, his fingers tightening and digging into the upper part of Kurt's ass. Kurt pushed back into Dreamboat's grasp on his ass and reached for the button on his pants, but just at that moment the door was thrown open by a very intoxicated-looking man with tattoos up and down his arms.
Kurt rolled off of his partner and grabbed his shirt, threw it on and tried to hide his red face. Dreamboat, on the other hand, just lay there with a groan, not bothering to cover the evidence that he had very much enjoyed their make-out session.
"Dude! There you are. I've been looking everywhere. Get your clothes on and get your ass out here. Everyone is waiting on a performance from their host, Anderson!" He shut the door behind him and the two boys made eye contact, chests still heaving.
Kurt's jaw dropped.
Blaine shrugged. "Secret's out, I guess." He slipped his shirt and jacket back on, rearranged himself in his pants, and leaned down to give Kurt one last steaming kiss before walking out with a wave and a wink.
What the hell just happened?
Kurt composed himself the best he could and went back downstairs in somewhat of a fog, found Mercedes and insisted that they leave immediately.
And if Blaine looked out in the crowd for a certain someone's face too many times during his performance, he'd never tell how disappointed he was not to find him looking back.