A/N: Klaine! But one sided, poor Blaine. And I hope you enjoy! I don't own Glee.

The Siren and the Sailor

"Say, what's in this drink?" Kurt chimed in with that damn suggestive smile, leaning in so Blaine could see every inch, every tiny pore on his perfect, perfect face.

Honestly, honestly, if only Kurt could know how badly he wanted to take him like Karofsky had, drag another kiss from his lips. People said love is obsession, but this went too far. Kurt was every waking hour, every dream he had. And it was only the pills that kept him from taking Kurt as he was, leaning in, coyly smiling, not knowing who the deviant he was caroling with truly was. The deviant, his Blaine, wanted him in ways that would send Kurt back to McKinley, where the threat was only in kisses, not in sensations.

But maybe, just maybe, he could get past this awful curse Kurt had over him. (But probably not.) His eyes were like starlight, and his hair looked swell. And he kept telling himself that it might be mutual, it can be mutual, Kurt was looking at him in ways no one had looked at him before. Not the others, who had run.

Kurt was lucky the man came in. Blaine wouldn't be held responsible if anything happened. So the room left him while his polite persona quieted all his urges, his hopes and fantasies within him.

She was sort of a sweetheart, he concluded. She tilted her head and didn't accuse him of anything and asked silly questions. But she was disappointed when he said no.

"Are you capital-G gay?" She whispered, a magazine in both their laps as they waited outside the office. The receptionist looking onward, blankly and with a permanent smile. "Because I'm okay with that. I kiss a lot of gay people."

He shakes his head, "It's part of my treatment. I've got problems with love." Exactly, it's a problem with love, to sugar coat it. Really, truly, it's a conundrum. He isn't sure how he's supposed to think - as far as he knows, he's always been this way.

It got worse around Kurt, though. With Sam, he only had to be kissed once before Sam ran off. Kurt let him hold his hand, lean in and sit by him, so close their thighs rub against each other.

"I'm addicted to sex," The blond says, kind of loudly, "My boyfriend doesn't mind, but sometimes I have sex with other people so Santana has me go to her doctor. They think there might be something wrong with me. Other than hormones."

"They know there's something wrong with me," Blaine confides, "But I have to fix it myself." That's what this man says, that's what the other woman said. His parents say so, his brother says so, and he tells himself that he will, one day.

"Kurt was like that, too," The girl pats the crown of his head, like he is a lapdog and she is his master. He's frozen, he can't move. Kurtkurtkurt. "Always thinking he had to solve his problems himself. Maybe if he had me help, then he'd still be my dolphin." She frowns, but his attention was caught at his name, and it echoed about him.

"Kurt Hummel?" He whispers, almost reverently, knowing it's too good to be true.

"I made out with him. His dad got mad at him and Kurt taught me what birth control was. It turns out I don't need it, though!" Jealousy courses around his veins, swimming like a shark, snapping any logic and sense that he might have had left in him. Kurt was gay, he knew, and he knew kissing Brittany was probably a front for him but it's the thought of Kurt loving, touching, tasting someone. Someone like this silly girl, not someone like Blaine. And nobody out there was like Blaine but the man himself.

But silence is taken for encouragement, and the darling continues. "My hormones are messed up. I'll never have babies, but that's okay. Santana says she can have babies for me."

"I'm sorry," Blaine says, but isn't sure if that's what Brittany wants to hear. He isn't quite positive what anybody wants to hear, right now. When Kurt's on his mind, he's lucky to be speaking English and not French. Kurt knows both fluently. Blaine's learning. "Thank you, you're a good friend."

"Yay!" The girl cheers, "Would you like me to make you a bracelet?"

He would like Kurt Hummel, preferably on his bed and gasping for air, but he refrains from asking.

People rarely had visitors at Dalton - well, Blaine rarely had any. His parents supported him from afar, and his siblings were old enough to stay away. He never had many friends outside of Dalton, and the few friends never had a reason to drop by. It hadn't ever bothered him. After three years, he was more than used to it.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Kurt Hummel had a visitor weekly, if not more. They came in pairs, hordes, and individuals. Rachel paid her dues alone last week, and she dragged Blaine into their conversation. Gay marriages were the topic, and just as he had been almost distracted from the obsession, it came bursting back like a blizzard.

Kurt, in a suit, holding his hand, with a ring sparkling on it - the same ring that would tap his neck as they fell into for a kiss... honeymoons, a future, a white picket fence. He wondered if Kurt wanted children – they could adopt, have a surrogate, anything. He wondered what they would look like, in the future. It was vivid with a tint a melancholy, the pair of them with a little girl swinging off of their arms.

It was far more romantic than his other fantasies, and he wasn't positive if that was better or worse. This insane drive, need, compulsion for the boy he was squished next to, wasn't supposed to be more than sexual want. Now, his insanity wanted a future.

Rather than tempt himself further, he excused himself with homework to do. Loudly, Rachel commented to the angel as he closed the door. "He's far too polite."

This week, a blond boy without a face pushed past him to get to Kurt. The two boys exchanged a brief hug and jealousy sent Blaine to eavesdrop on the pair. The two voices conversing sent a shiver down him. Kurt's alone was sultry, inviting, but the other was familiar. That voice hadn't been around since Sam left. No one knew why Sam never returned from summer break.

Blaine knew – oh, how he knew.

He could see all of Kurt's white and rosy face, a smile on those soft lips that people couldn't resist. The boy - Kurt called him Sam, so he must be. How could Blaine not have noticed him before? His hair was only a touch blonder, his body only a smidgen thinner. He wasn't as pretty as Kurt, Blaine thought, but back then he didn't know Kurt. In the spring, it had been only Sam with those big lips and bigger smile.

"How did you know?" Kurt asked, his porcelain smile sliding into a nervous frown.

Sam's voice, softer than snow, explained, "I saw, Kurt. No one deserves to - to be forced upon." And how could have Blaine forgotten Kurt telling him about Sam, who punched and got a shiner for him?

"Thank you." Kurt whispered. "It means a lot to me." Blaine had gone up against Karofsky, even if he didn't use violence. If someone used words, they were stronger, braver than a swordsman. That's what stories had emphasized in his youth.

Sam scoffed, "I wish someone had been..."

And it clicked, suddenly it clicked. It made so much sense and it choked him and bled him out to dry. He was the Karofsky, the one forcing himself upon Kurt and Sam. He was the villain, not the hero sending "courage" through the distance between them. Blaine was the one Kurt had run from, not the savior or the answer. Oh, god. Oh dear god, what had he done?

"Sam..." Kurt whispered, his voice lower than the temperature outdoors.

"I don't want to talk about it." Sighing with relief, Blaine picked himself off the ground. He didn't want Kurt knowing yet - he didn't want... he wanted Kurt, and Kurt knowing wasn't going to get Blaine his wants. Never before had he been so ashamed of himself, his wants, his desires. He had been afraid of people finding out for the sake of it, but not out of shame.

"Did someone save you, though?"

"Like I saved you?" Sam laughed, a bitter scoff that didn't suit his innocent voice, "What I did wasn't saving, Kurt. That was my revenge."

"So you ran," Kurt dully said, "straight to wolves den."

Again, the laughter that Blaine hadn't ever heard before. He wondered if he was the cause of the bitter, mocking tone. "Just like you did Kurt. This place turned a blind eye to my harassment - they claimed it was innocent, nothing happened. My Karofsky's still here. Stay safe."

Blaine ran before anyone could see him, before anybody could know.

Kurt was packing his bags.

Of course he was leaving - why shouldn't he? The threat was dead, and all he knew was that there was another one here, waiting to pounce on him. All that was keeping him was Blaine, and seeing as the senior wouldn't even talk to him anymore, there was no reason to stay.

Karofsky was dead.

Suicide, the papers claimed, but it was hard to tell. The gunshot could have been from somebody else, but who would have killed him? There was nobody with the motive without an alibi.

Kurt cried when he heard, because what if it had been him? What if it had been Blaine? Even if Karofsky was a bully, he wasn't lost completely. Nobody was.

His roommate was packing with him - it was quite a task to do, seeing as Kurt had tried as hard as possible to bring everything he had to Dalton. But the job was almost done, and all the Warblers had come by to pay their dues already, except for Blaine.

But there he was, knocking the door. It had been over two weeks since Kurt had talked to him last, and he wondered if the silence was intentional or just a symptom of all the turmoil around them.

But Blaine couldn't stay away, especially after hearing why Kurt was going back to McKinley. He didn't say hello, just stared at the wreck of an angel walking to him. "I wish you would stay." He simply stated, as Kurt pulled him into a hug.

"I'm sorry," Kurt replied, "But this isn't my home."

"Is it the uniforms?" Blaine blurted, though he knew the truth.

"Blaine," Kurt smirked, a devilish thing that haunted Blaine's daydreams quite enough, thank you. "I don't know why anybody would stay with these things around."

"Please stay?" Kurt pulled away from the embrace and started zipping up the last of his many suitcases. "Karofsky may be gone, but there's still others there who'll bully you. You're safe here, Kurt." Blaine wishes Kurt didn't know this was a lie. Blaine wishes he himself didn't know he was a liar.

He needed his siren to stay – it seemed as if his whole world was the boy now. His crush on Sam had never been this bad, but then again, Sam wasn't anything compared to Kurt. Kurt was a singer, with a range higher than heaven and lower than hell. He was a beauty, lithe like a nymph running from a demon, and sultry. In him, there was a polar north to Blaine's south, and he couldn't help but be drawn to him.

"I'm sorry, Blaine. I really am." Kurt shrugged. "It's a risk I'm going to have to take. Besides, it's not like we're never going to see each other again. There's regionals, and all the invitationals Wes and Mr. Schue have planned."

He tried to hold himself from it, but the roommate had just popped out. There was no Karofsky here, but there was Blaine. There was Blaine, who needed Kurt so much, it was almost as if Kurt encompassed his entire mind. So he draw the taller boy in, held him against him too long, too closely, too wrong.

Kurt was pushing away, Kurt was holding his lips. And Blaine gave a tired smile. Now he knew, there wasn't a point in hiding. "Go home, Kurt. And tell Sam I'm sorry."

Blaine was ready to tear off, he was a runner, and nobody could have stopped him. But the boy whispered for him to pause, and Blaine, unable to resist, did so.

Kurt came up, punched him in the nose.

It was soft, and wasn't going to black and blue, but that it came from Kurt hurt him more than the punch. "That was for Sam."

"I'm sorry." Blaine whispered and walked away. He didn't have anything left in him for running. Eventually, everyone had to face their problems.

Kurt had faced his, so he ran.