"That's it. I'm just done with girls."
Sprawled on his bed, clutching a cup of Captain and Coke (oh God, putting drinks in sippy cups had been a stroke of brilliance), Blaine turned to look at Sam, who was morosely contemplating his own drink. As usual, Blaine's parents were out of town, so the two of them were having a guys night, pizza, junkfood, video games, booze and sci-fi movies before sleeping till noon.
Star Wars IV was playing on the TV, but they both knew the movie too well for to be a thoroughly distracting experience and clearly Sam's thoughts had wandered to his recent breakup with Brittany.
They were both more than a little drunk, so Sam's serious, pouting expression struck Blaine is amusing and he bit back a laugh. "You don't mean that."
"No, see, I've been thinking about it," the blonde said, rolling his head to the side to meet Blaine's gaze. "I've had four girlfriends. I was Quinn's rebound - she was my first love, I think - and she went back to Finn. Santana was pissed off at Quinn and trying not to be in love with Brittany and I was convenient for her. It was great with Mercedes before mood way, but then I came back and chased her will she was seeing Shane and that was my fault and it was always kind of there until she left. And then Brittany…sweet, beautiful Brittany, liked being my girl until Santana found out, flipped and they got back together. I just want someone who wants me, who wants to stay with me. Ms. Pillsbury says I have 'separation anxiety that manifests in attachment issues' but I don't see what's so bad about it."
Blaine blinked, processing the words with a rum slowed brain. "I don't either," he finally agreed. "Wanting to be wanted, isn't that what everyone wants?"
"Exactly!" Sam said triumphantly, a relieved smile crossing his face.
Glad to see him grin, Blaine nodded. He'd been pretty down in the month since his relationship with Kurt had officially ended and Sam had been around to cheer him up when he was feeling his worst. It was time to return the favor. "I should probably warn you, if you giving up on girls, getting a date gonna be rough. Lima doesn't exactly have a thriving gay teen social scene."
He expected a huff of laughter or playful shove, but Sam just shrugged. "Guess I'll just have to wait till I get to college then."
Again, that struck Blaine is amusing and he swatted at Sam shoulder, but just kind of wound up with an arm draped across the blonde's chest. "It would probably help if you were, you know, gay."
Sam patted his hand and hummed. "Not gay…but not straight either. Don't label me, bro."
Not straight? "Is that a recent development?"
"Nah," Sam said easily, finger still brushing along Blaine's forearm, light enough to leave a trail of goosebumps. "I've known for years, but didn't really admit it until I was…working in Kentucky."
That may Blaine tense up slightly, even with the warm haze of alcohol. "Sam? Did something…."
"Oh! Oh no, nothing bad," Sam was quick to reassure him. "To be honest I kind of prefered when guys came into the club. They were less likely to grab my ass during a lap dance the women were. Kind of a double negative… Wait, that's not right…."
"Double standard?"
"Yeah. The bouncers watched the men like hawks, expecting trouble, when the soccer moms were the ones with the wandering hands. It was all kinda humiliating, you know. Some of the guys liked it, but not me. So, there a lot of parties, and I went, cuz there was free booze and I wanted to forget about body glitter and grabby hands…."
Sam never really talked much about his time as a stripper and when he did it was with a sense of bravado Blaine always wondered about…especially given his reaction the time Blaine himself had made a nasty comment about the boy selling himself.
Stripped of that façade, it was clear Sam had hated doing it, but had been willing to put aside his own feelings to provide for his younger siblings.
Shifting slightly, plane reached a little further across Sam to grip his shoulder in an emotionally supportive, one armed embrace.
"So anyway," Sam continued after moment, "there was this guy, Sean. He was a few years older, maybe 20, 21, but he thought I was 18, so... He was nice and he a lot of freckles on his nose. It was only making out, touching a little, being touched, but it was really nice. I like that… Human contact."
That was something Blaine had noticed. Sam was very tactile. Never inappropriate, but always quick to put a hand on his arm or back, to bump shoulders or knock knees or give a hug.
He touched other people too, but less frequently. Blaine hadn't even been aware that he made a note of that until he thought of it.
"I know," Blaine replied, squeezing Sam shoulder and feeling him shift slightly depressed into his palm. Between that and the alcohol fuzz, he didn't feel odd saying, "You can touch me. Not you know, a come on or anything just… I'm not expressing myself well…."
Sam didn't seem to notice the awkward phrasing. "Really?" he asked, eyes hazy but curious. "You don't think it's weird?"
Blaine shook his head. "No."
With that final reassurance, Sam bit his lip and looked pensive for a moment before rolling onto his side and scooting down a few inches. Then he wrapped a long arm around Blaine's torso, pulling them together as he pressed his face against Blaine's neck.
Reflexively, Blaine wrapped his arms around Sam and felt an answering sigh against his skin.
Truthfully, it should have been awkward, but it wasn't.
It didn't take long for both of them to relax into each other's warmth, nodding off each other's arms as the credits rolled on the TV.