It takes two to tango – that's what they always say. They're not wrong. The tango is a dance of passion. Passion and jealousy and anger. Hatred. Yet still they dance.
Blaine's out late one night – grabbing a drink with a friend turns into late night karaoke and stumbling through the streets, a desperate need for KurtKurtKurt and Kurt making him sleep on the couch.
Kurt calls Blaine one afternoon to say that Rachel needs him so he'll be staying there tonight, but when Blaine calls her – not to check up on him, not at all – she says she hasn't seen him in a week, so when Kurt get home the next day Blaine's distant, and every single little thing Kurt does makes him grit his teeth, clench his fists.
Kurt's up stupidly early one morning – he has to finish that presentation or there won't even be any point going in to work tomorrow – and him stumbling, sleepy-eyed, over Blaine's jeans which are crumpled in the middle of the floor escalates into yelling and fighting and tears.
Blaine tries to make up for it all one evening, spending the best part of the day finding recipes and buying ingredients, until Kurt texts him a quick excuse to stay out all night, and Blaine doesn't even know how to forgive him anymore.
On the nights when they are home together, though – when they're not out with their separate friends, living their separate lives – it's like Kurt's matches meet Blaine's gunpowder and they simply explode. It'll start with something small – why didn't you remember to pick up apples? – and it'll turn into every single little thing they've ever done.
There comes a point when something inside of them just snaps, because even though they're very definitely Kurt and Blaine, they never forget that they're also very definitely KurtandBlaine. That's when clothes are ripped off, mouths sloppy and wet on each other's bodies, never afraid to use too much teeth. Hair pulled too-hard, hands too-rough. It's messy, like they don't quite fit together any more – they've both grown, you see – but they keep trying to force it because they don't know a life without it.
There's passion, certainly, but they say there's a very fine line between love and hate. There are no sweet words exchanged afterwards – just their own sides of the bed and purpling bruises in the morning.
Blaine drinks more and more, starting earlier and earlier in the day and not caring at all.
Kurt stays out more – sometimes for days on end – and sometimes he asks himself why he bothers going back.
Yet still they dance. They smile for the audience as they push and pull each other – they make it seem so effortless: falling apart. Still they dance, because the show must go on.
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