Hello everyone! It's been...difficult for me to let go of my boys, and many of you have been requesting a sequel, so I present you this. It began as a single scene and expanded outward from there, so I apologise for the disjointedness of this. I am planning on three parts. And as my last fic was winter, and this is summer, I'm considering perhaps writing a little something for each season. Please do let me know what you think: I would very much appreciate it! Thank you.
Sarah
)I don't own Glee and make no profit and blablabla.)
Blaine purposefully spoils his boyfriend. He is utterly powerless to resist. He luxuriates in the delighted reactions new scarves and little boxes of chocolates can instigate. It doesn't even have to be material gifts; lengthy cuddles, soft kisses after an arduous day, even such a simple gesture as an "After you," beget an equally enthusiastic response. Blaine just can't help himself. He endlessly pampers his boyfriend because he knows how thoroughly he deserves it. And Kurt: well...Kurt doesn't exactly mind. He could insist on paying the bill more frequently, or protest whenever Blaine opens a door for him or presents him with another meticulously selected gift. But he doesn't. He's aware of the genuine pleasure Blaine gets when he sees his face light up at those Burberry shoes or tickets to that play. And it's not as though Kurt never does anything for Blaine: he is always more than willing to give Blaine a massage after a skirmish on the football field, sing to him whenever he's dismayed, and select magnificent outfits for him because, honestly, Blaine's fashion sense is somewhat in the realm of the nerdy.
"Kurt? Kurt? Kurt!"
Kurt groans and rolls over in his bed to glance at the clock on his bedside table and notes that holy saint Francis, it's eight am...why is dad thumping on the door?
"Dad," he calls, his voice muffled in the depths of his pillow and lingering drowsiness of slumber. "It's finally summer vacation. Begone."
He can practically hear his father roll his eyes as he replies, "I know. But your, uh, Blaine is here."
"Salutations!" Blaine's voice chirps through the door and then he mutters something to Burt that Kurt doesn't catch but he hears his father's chuckle.
"I'll leave you boys to it," Burt calls, lumbering down the stairs.
It took him roughly a month to surpass his essentially instinctive displeasure toward Blaine. He was conscious of the fact that there was no legitimate reason to dislike Blaine on a personal basis; it was mainly just the element of this clown having his hands all over his baby boy that was the cause for dispute. But whenever it became clear that Blaine was sticking around - and that the two boys cared deeply for each other - he got over himself. Heck, even Finn loved Blaine: the pair had bonded enormously throughout the progression of their months playing football together after Blaine astonished everyone by actually being really good and joining the team.
Kurt sits up and looks at Blaine, who is leaning against the door frame, looking like a goddamn Calvin Klein model and so sexy it should be a felony. Kurt drags his eyes over the ensemble Blaine has opted for (naturally, Kurt had selected all the items during one of their shopping trips), and notes how fantastic Blaine's arms look in the tight polo-shirt, and also how the soft white cotton contrasts superbly with his tanned skin. When Kurt's gaze rakes over the pair of fitted denim jeans Blaine wears, a small smile spreads over his face.
It's all too convenient for people to make assumptions in regards to roles within Blaine and Kurt's relationship: namely that Blaine is the 'guy' and Kurt is the 'girl'. Neither of them have ever discussed it but they are both aware of it and of how it transpires. Kurt's all long legs, soft skin, impeccable fashion sense and subtle curves. In contrast, Blaine is toned arms, a great jaw, football and a general air of masculinity. But Blaine knows that Kurt is also excellent bone structure, an acid tongue and the sole person with the ability to reduce him to tears in front of them. (Blaine doesn't allow people to see him crying. Ever.) And Kurt knows that Blaine is all gorgeous eyes and long eyelashes, idealistic and hopelessly romantic, and a not so carefully concealed adulation for Kurt's stylishness.
They both contrast and compliment one another. The fact of the matter is that they are equals within the relationship. Perhaps Blaine always does appear to be the one providing comfort to his weeping boyfriend after a sad movie, but Kurt is a significant source of solace for Blaine. He is the voice of reason when Blaine unintentionally allows his, at times, crippling insecurity to percolate to the forefront. Kurt is Blaine's courage.
And they both need each other in equally desperate measures. (Although neither feel that the other's parallels their own.)
Kurt rubs his eyes and reaches out in a wordless gesture of beckoning. Blaine is across the room and in Kurt's arms in a shot, and he presses his lips against the all-too-sensitive skin of Kurt's neck as they embrace. Kurt lets out a sound that's a little too high and shaky to be a mere sigh and asks, "And to what do I owe the pleasure? And it had better be good considering the fricking ungodly hour, might I add."
Blaine leans back and sits up, perched oh the edge of Kurt's bed, taking in his boyfriend's sleep-bleary face and bedraggled hair. "It's an absolutely stunningly beautiful day outside and I felt like a trip to the beach," he answers softly, extending a hand to place on the side Kurt's neck, thumb brushing his jaw and pinkie trailing along his collarbone.
"As lovely as that sounds, you aware that the nearest beach is about two and a half hours away, right?"
Blaine's hand slides up to cup Kurt's cheek as he replies, "Why do you think I'm here at this 'fricking ungodly hour', as you so eloquently put it? I know this great beach I used to go to when I was a kid - it's in this quaint, little seaside town, and it tends to be fairly empty most of the time. My father has a beach house there. I was thinking we could spend the night, if you'd like."
"Sounds perfect," Kurt remarks, smiling, twisting his head to kiss the slightly rough palm of Blaine's hand. "I don't know if dad will go for it, though. I suppose I could spin him a little tale." Kurt seldom lied to his father, only whenever he deemed it wholly necessary. However the prospect of a night with Blaine was absolutely tantalizing.
"There's no need to." Blaine informs him, "I told him that my uncle's staying there, which is true."
"Oh..." Kurt falters, the prospect significantly less appealing.
Blaine grins deliciously and, as though he read Kurt's mind, says, "I may have neglected to mention that he's staying in the little guest house beside it, so you and I would have the main house to ourselves. I suppose it just...slipped my mind. Whoops."
"Darling, I like the way you think. What's brought on this sudden hankering for the beach, though?"
Blaine shrugs and stands up, thoughtfully appraising the various photographs on Kurt's bedside table and pinned to the wall above his bed. He smiles as he is reminded of the moments captured in the various images - Kurt with his arms around his nervous boyfriend just before he played his first football game at a new school; two boys in formal attire with beaming smiles and glittering crowns placed upon their heads; a rather candid shot of the couple embracing after New Directions placed at regionals, with tears streaming down Kurt's face as he pressed his forehead against Blaine's and clung to him while their teammates fawned over their well-earned trophy; and a shot taken by one Burt Hummel. It had been the championship football game of the season and he, his wife and his son were in the third row of the stands, screaming for Finn and Blaine and the team. When the Titans battled their way to victory and the stadium exploded, Kurt had tossed the camera he'd been clutching at his father, and - quite literally - climbed over the people in the seats in front of them, clambering onto the football field, sprinting through the opposing team and the reveling Titans to the smallest - but by no means weakest - player on the field, tearing off his helmet and staring at him in a moment of complete and utter adoration and pride before throwing his arms around Blaine and crashing his lips onto his. Burt was aware that he perhaps should have been focusing on Finn, but he found himself...moved by his son's reaction and indeed, Blaine's performance, to the degree that he felt compelled to snap a shot of the slightly battered football player in the midst of twirling Kurt around - feet off the ground, in front of everyone - as the pair kissed fiercely.
"Alright. Why don't you wait downstairs while I make myself
presentable?" Kurt suggests, conscious of the state of his hair.
Burt invites Blaine to sit at the kitchen table as he whips up a batch of pancakes. ("Kurt allows me my little pleasures. Just so long as I don't load 'em with chocolate chips and slather 'em with cream.")
"So beach house, huh?" he asks, cracking some eggs. "I'm sure you boys'll have a great time there. Make sure that Kurt gets his sunblock on all over, he's never been great at that. It's just that he burns like a albino in the Sahara, you know..."
"I'll make sure that he is adequately protected," Blaine states, fiddling with his sunglasses before rashly adding, "Against sun, I mean."
Burt raises his eyebrows and sighs, knowing that it's now or never. He's had the talk with Kurt. But now there's also the boyfriend. And he needs to make sure that no physical or emotional pain befalls his only (biological) child. Burt places the bowl he'd been holding down on the counter and strides over to the table, standing over Blaine.
"Speaking of protection," he begins reluctantly. "...You know what I'm gonna say here, right?"
Blaine laughs, despite himself before nodding.
"It's just...I don't know whether your parents have..:"
"They have. I can assure you that I am well aware of...everything. Not that it's necessary. Um, Kurt and I aren't..."
"You haven't?" Burt asks, curious and mildly relieved, yet with slight surprise at the revelation. Although he found the notion of Kurt being...active with anyone well beyond the scope of his fathoming ability, he spotted the way in which the two boys gazed at one another. And in addition to that, he remembered what it had been like to be seventeen and in a relationship.
"I suppose I'm quite...old-fashioned in that respect," Blaine admits. And it's the truth. Both he and Kurt had certainly engaged in activities of a sexual nature, but they hadn't done IT. Although they had exchanged I Love Yous, Blaine felt that he wanted Kurt to be aware of the immense magnitude of his feelings for him before they had sex. To Blaine, love had many forms. He loved his parents, he loved his friends, he loved John Lennon (although everyone assumes he's a Paul McCartney sorta guy) ...being 'in love' was a completely different situation.
"So he's mentioned. But, you know, you're still...a guy and all. And my son is a good-looking kid..."
"I know. I just don't want to...rush into anything." Blaine feels slightly uncomfortable having this conversation with Kurt's father, of all people. Particularly considering he hasn't even discussed it seriously with Kurt. But Burt appeared relatively unruffled.
Burt smiles, impressed. "I'm glad to hear it."
Kurt joins them and the three men enjoy Burt's magnificent pancakes and the effortless tide of dialogue, until Finn emerges from upstairs, his slumber disturbed by conversation and the scent of pancakes.
"Saved you some, buddy," Burt assures him as Finn's eyes flit about the room like a ravenous animal stalking his prey. "On the counter there."
"Awesome. Thanks," Finn greedily grabs his pancakes and joins them at the kitchen table. He glances up before realizing they have a visitor. "Oh hey, Blaine!" he exclaims cheerfully through a mouthful of food. "What you doing here, man?"
"He's taking Kurt to his dad's beach house," Burt replies as he clears Kurt and Blaine's plates.
"Speaking of which, we had better get going, huh?" Kurt says, standing and going to pick up the bag he'd hurriedly packed before Blaine beats him to it.
"Thank you for breakfast, Burt," Blaine calls, sliding the strap onto his shoulder. "And for loaning me your son."
"Just take care of him, okay?"
"It's not as if I'm actually in the room or anything," Kurt remarks sarcastically, throwing a rather dirty glance in his boyfriend's direction.
Burt hugs his son and says, "You stay out of trouble, you hear? I'm sure you will. But just - "
"Yeah, yeah, dad. I've had the speech. And fear not; I'll be sure to call whenever Blaine and I need bailed out of prison."
"That's my boy. Have a good time, kiddo. Both of you."
"We passed that sign fifteen minutes ago, Blaine."
"No, we did not."
"Would you just cease your stubbornness, surrender your pride, and admit that you have no idea where we are and ask for directions, already? For christ's sake, this is ridiculous! And oh my god, did you see those people sitting outside that house? I was under the impression that dungarees had been outlawed due to the offense that they pose to the vision of the general public. ...What if they chase after the car, oh my god, what if they're serial killers? This is getting a little too Stephen King for my liking."
Blaine rolls his eyes as Kurt rambles on about families of murderers and lotion in buckets and being too young and fabulous to die. He pulls over to the side of the road when he's satisfied that his boyfriend is correct. (About being lost, not about the serial killers.)
"I'm sorry, Kurt," he says, turning to him with an expression of mild embarrassment. "I haven't been to the beach house in years...I assumed that I'd just...remember the way."
Kurt sniffs petulantly and bites back an 'I told you so'. "Couldn't you have invested in a GPS system for this pretentious, over-priced car of yours?"
Blaine gasps, stung, and strokes the steering wheel of his Jaguar X150. He had purchased the car with a combination of money he had inherited after the demise of a doting, wealthy uncle, and money he had earned from the publishing of a short story of his in a book. "Cover your ears, baby," he says lovingly to his car. "You know that he's just jealous of our epic romance, Isabella."
Now Kurt's the one rolling his eyes and tutting. "Just head for that gas station we passed. I'm thirsty, anyway."
It's almost midday by the time they make it to Blaine's parents beach house. The seaside town is tiny and picturesque and looks slightly old-fashioned. Blaine parks his car in the driveway of a small but charming house that was literally on the beach. Kurt notices a smaller building beside it and assumes it's the guest house Blaine mentioned. They step out of the air conditioned car into the stifling heat of the noon sun. Kurt grins as he can hear and smell the sea and he hasn't been to the beach in years. Blaine smiles at Kurt's expression and chucks a set of keys at him.
"You go on in and check the place out. I'll get the bags."
The house has only one floor: a combined kitchen/living area with a table and chairs in the corner, a compact bathroom, two bedrooms, and a room with some bookshelves, a stereo, and a piano in it - all of which are beautifully decorated. Each room, excluding one (the bathroom) has large windows which exhibit the stunning view of the small beach behind the house.
"What do you think?"
Kurt snatches his gaze from the scene outside of the window of the bedroom he was standing in to see Blaine despositing his guitar case in the music room.
"It's...gorgeous," Kurt calls in reply.
Blaine enters and places Kurt's bag on the bed before adding, "For the sake of wholesomeness, this is your room and the other is mine. My uncle will most likely visit when he rolls out of bed and realises there's another car in the drive."
"We sleep in separate beds: that's the party line. Why is your uncle in the guest house and not here?"
"He's an artist," Blaine replies, joining Kurt at the window and slinking an arm around his waist. "And from the guest house, you can enjoy views of the cliffs over there. He thinks the vista is more inspirational. Anyway, why are we in here whenever all that marvellous beach is out there? Let's go!"
The boys get ready to venture into the great outdoors. Blaine's wearing black trunks and a pale blue, short sleeved shirt with the buttons open. Kurt's elected to go for 50's style swimwear and a white t-shirt. He sneers at Blaine's exposed tanned, toned body and says down his nose, "Pale and scrawny is where it's at, Blaine."
Blaine grins and takes Kurt's hand, "Silencio, sweetheart. You know you're impossibly gorgeous."
The day is swelteringly hot and the small beach is deserted for as far as they can see. Kurt initially refuses to get into the water, so they just lie on towels on the sand and converse together, inevitably resulting in a make out session and Blaine trailing Kurt's shirt off, slathering him in sunblock and dragging him to the ocean.
"Blaine, you son of a bitch, my hair!" Kurt yells, glaring at Blaine with an expression akin to that of someone who just received a slap in the face. He'd just been sitting there, minding his own business in the shallowest section of water possible, watching Blaine swim about and generally enjoying the seaside merriment when Blaine had splashed him.
"Come on, get out here," Blaine calls, wading backward into the sea. "What's the problem? Can't you swim?"
"Of course I can swim. I am just not terribly fond of having my impeccable hairstyle destroyed. And people pee in the ocean, Blaine, I don't want that near my face, thank you very much."
This time, Blaine splashes him on purpose, grinning.
Kurt stands and carefully wipes the water from his eyes, advancing upon Blaine in a slow and terrifying fashion, stalking him. "I'm going to get you," he hisses.
Blaine's eyes widen and he bites his lip because Kurt looks really hot right now and whenever he's close, he can see the droplets of water clinging to Kurt's long eyelashes. He knocks Blaine down and the two of them thrash about in the water a bit - having a sort of mild and giggly fight - before yielding and sharing a wet and slightly sandy kiss.
"There's sand in your hair, you know..." Blaine murmurs with his lips dragging along Kurt's neck. "Surely you should having some sort of fit right now."
Kurt can't find it in himself to care.
That night, they sit on the back porch after dinner at the diner, with their feet dangling into the air, and the stars above them, and just talk.
"If someone told me a year ago that Karofsky and I would end up quasi-friends, I would have them what the good god they were smoking. It's funny how things turn out, huh?"
Blaine smiles gently and snuggles into Kurt's side. Karofsky hadn't given Kurt - or anyone, for that matter - any hassle since Kurt returned. The hockey guys still slushied the glee club and taunted Blaine and Kurt as though they deemed their open homosexuality a personal affront. But since Blaine had joined the football team and even befriended most of the members, the team tended to look out for the glee club: Blaine and Kurt in particular. (And they couldn't pass up a sweet opportunity to shove the hockey guys around.)
"I suppose it's pretty wacky for you. I mean...if I tried to envision the guys who made my life a torment even merely going a day without ridiculing me...my head would have imploded," Blaine admits, nodding.
Kurt inhales deeply and tightens the arm he has around Blaine in an almost unconscious act of protectiveness. Blaine's never entirely disclosed the details of what he went through at the school he attended prior to Dalton Academy, and Kurt's never urged him to as he's mindful of how difficult it is for Blaine to speak of such matters.
But he feels inquisitive and they're relaxed, so he allows himself to ask, "Do you think you could tell me what happened?"
Blaine closes his eyes briefly and sits back, looking at Kurt. He permits himself a moment to appreciate Kurt's almost unearthly beauty in the light of the moon and the stars, with his skin glowing and his eyes full of some unreadable sentiment.
"It's, you know, the...customary tale of high school torment: I was different, vulnerable, and people didn't like it. It began with taunting, which became progressively more vicious. And when I became...desensitised to that, it became more physical. I tried to be...brave...to keep my head held high. But...they broke me. One day - for some indefinite reason - some of the basketball guys cornered me at the back of the school and just...you know, battered me and left me there. Someone eventually found me, called an ambulance and I never went back."
Kurt blinks back tears and squeezes Blaine's hand because he doesn't know what to say.
"I was weak, Kurt," he says with his tone dripping in remorse and self-loathing. "I tried, but I couldn't - "
He breaks off and puts his hands over his face. His shoulders are shaking and Kurt almost gasps because Blaine seldom cries in front of anyone, and certainly never to this extent. He takes Blaine in his arms because he can't discern what else he should do. He wordlessly rocks Blaine back and forth strokes his hair. Finally, Blaine gathers the courage to look at Kurt, and his face is wet and he looks so dejected that Kurt pulls him into a fierce embrace.
"It doesn't matter, Blaine," he says softly into his ear. "It honestly doesn't. Because you faced it in the end: you came to McKinley with me."
When they're both composed, Kurt sways to an impulse and says, "Let's do something crazy."
"Pardon?"
He stands, trailing Blaine up by the hand. "It isn't even nine yet. I saw a flyer for a nightclub in the next town. We should go. Come on."
Blaine smiles and raises his eyebrows, "Kurt...are you okay?"
"Of course I am. I just feel like...I don't know. I'm having one of my diva-urges."
"Oh no, not a diva-urge. I don't know how to fight that."
Kurt grins, triumphant. "And rightly so. Let's go, then."