Soon Blaine is stealing kisses any time he can. (Well, not stealing. Sam gives them gladly.) Any time they're alone for even a minute or two—at school...in the backyard...in church...
School is the trickiest, of course, and it's pretty much never safe to try for more than a quick peck. Just enough to leave Sam feeling tingly and craving more.
The backyard is better. There are trees to duck behind, and there aren't other people around constantly. There is the possibility of other people—Stevie and Stacey are never too far, their parents are just inside, and then there are always the neighbors to consider. Still, in the backyard they risk kisses that linger a bit. Kisses with open mouths and probing tongues. Sometimes, even, kisses where Sam just has to hold on tight to the back of Blaine's head, and lean against a tree while Blaine presses against him, where when they finally pull apart Sam is a little weak at the knees. Those kisses aren't too frequent, of course, because of the constant possibility of other people.
But the other thing they can do in the backyard that they can't do at school is really talk. Sam loves to hear Blaine talk. Partly he just loves the sound of his voice. Especially when he sings, which he does sometimes at church. Not just how everyone does, when they all stand and sing from the hymnal, but sometimes he plays the piano and sings at the front of the church, with everyone watching. But when he looks up from the piano it's only at Sam.
They're talking one afternoon after one of their weak-at-the-knees kisses, one that they pulled away from just in time to avoid being caught by Stevie. Sam asks, finally, "Do you miss him?"
"Miss who?" Blaine asks. Like he really doesn't even know who Sam means.
"Him. The guy. The one you got caught having s-..."
"No! No, first of all, we never did that."
"No?" Sam could have sworn Blaine said...Maybe his vivid imagination had gotten the better of him.
"No. I mean, we made out. We kissed and, uh...touched...some. He was...he had his, uh..." Blaine blushes. "He had his hand inside my pants when we got caught."
Sam can't help it, he looks at the area of Blaine's pants that he's referring to. It looks, um. A little bulgy. "What was his name?"
"Sebastian."
Sam listens for, but doesn't hear, a note of longing to accompany the name. Still, he asks again: "Do you miss him?"
"No."
Sam is relieved. It's what he wanted to hear, of course. But it does bring up another troubling question. "So...but you do make out with guys you're not...guys you don't care about?"
Blaine frowns. "I wouldn't say I didn't care about him. I'd say he didn't care about me..."
Sam takes his hand—he hates to see Blaine hurting. "How could he not care about you? You're the best."
With a glance in Stevie's direction, Blaine reluctantly disentangles his hand from Sam's. "I don't know for sure because he never really told me how he felt. But I'm pretty sure he was just interested in...you know. I think if we hadn't gotten caught making out he would have given up on me soon and started trying to get the real thing from someone else."
"That's terrible!"
"Yeah. But I'm glad, you know, that everything worked out exactly how it did."
"You are?"
"Well, I kind of regret some of the stuff I did with Sebastian. I mean, I wish I'd waited until I was in love. But that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't gotten kicked out of the academy, so..."
So...is Blaine saying he loves Sam? It sounds like it, but Sam doesn't want to guess that and be wrong. But if he is saying it, Sam doesn't want him to think he's the only one. "I...am glad you got kicked out too. You know, so we could meet and..."
"Sammy, I..." Blaine looks around and the kids are nowhere to be seen, thank God, and he strokes Sam's cheek. "I love you, Sam. I am so in love with you that...that I...God..." And for once Blaine is at a loss for words.
Sam doesn't know what to say either, so he fills the silence with a kiss, pulling Blaine close to him and holding him tight over the shirt but under the jacket. When he has to move his mouth away to breathe—only his mouth; he keeps their bodies close—he says, "I'm so happy you said that. Because I'm in love with you too."
After they say it that first time to each other, they say it a lot. But it never becomes trite or formulaic. Sam never tires of hearing Blaine say he loves him.
Blaine tells him quickly at school, between classes. Drawn out, in lots of poetic detail, when they're out in the backyard—when kissing is out because they'd be seen, but talking is in because no one is close enough to hear.
But when they're alone in the church...
When they're alone in the church they can say whatever they want. But that's also when they can do whatever they want. So talking is sometimes secondary.
Technically they're never totally alone in the church. Even during the week people come and go all the time—when the church isn't holding its own meetings or Bible studies, it's often renting out space to some community group. But there's one time period every week when the church is guaranteed to have only a single other occupant: Saturday mornings. That's when Pastor Ray practices his sermons, and he has made it very clear that he is not to be disturbed then.
And everyone's just afraid of him enough...or at least, the people who matter are. Miss Lila stays strictly inside the house when her husband is rehearsing. Their house and the church are on the same lot, and therefore share a yard, and she worries that even going out in the yard to garden might somehow be distracting. The ladies who clean the church and prepare meals for the meetings and so forth—they know not to show up Saturday mornings. And of course there are never any meetings then—the lady who does the office work knows not to schedule them.
Is Blaine afraid of his father too? A little, clearly. Enough to not flaunt his breaking of the rules. But any fear that he feels while carefully breaking the rules he manages to conceal from Sam.
Sam is the one who feels weird about it. Not just the fear of getting caught, though that's huge. If Blaine got sent away...well, he can't even think about that.
But it's also just...they're in church. And it's not that he...He really believes what he told Blaine the first time they met, that he doesn't think they can help being gay. But being gay and making out with your secret boyfriend in his father's church...they're not the same thing. Sam might not be able to help what he is, but he can help what he does. Or at least...he should be able to. He really does want to be good—it's just not always that easy.
Especially not when Blaine looks in his eyes and talks to him so sweetly...
They're in one of the Sunday school rooms—specifically, the nursery. It's the farthest away from the sanctuary, probably so churchgoers won't be distracted from the sermon by crying babies. Not that it's really a concern with Pastor Ray preaching—he's loud, all fire-and-brimstone in the pulpit—but of course the building predates the family's presence there.
There are cushions on the floor—for the children, obviously, but now it's Sam who is stretched out on top of them, with Blaine partially on top of him. Blaine has unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders; he's kissing his neck and stroking his chest. Sam is trying desperately to hold onto some sense of decency. It's all good so far, he tells himself—everything is above the belt, they're not doing anything wrong. Not that wrong, anyway. Yet. But Blaine's mouth keeps going lower and lower. It's on his collar bone now...now his chest...now his nipple. And he knows he should probably put a stop to what they're doing, but...but, God help him, it feels so good.
Blaine's mouth stops moving lower. It stays busy right where it is, sucking and flicking at Sam's nipples, making him moan and squirm. But his hands do continue their descent, and soon they're dangerously close to the waistband of Sam's jeans. Sam moans, "Blaine...please..."
"Please what? Please do? Or please stop?"
Please stop, that's what Sam means. Or is supposed to mean, he knows. But he can't quite bring himself to say that. Not that he can quite bring himself to say please do either. "Please..." he repeats.
"Please what, baby?" Blaine grips him by the hips—over the jeans. "Please tell me you want me to. But if you don't, at least tell me that now..."
"Believe me, it's not that I don't want you to..." That part of him that he's pretty sure Blaine's hands are headed for wants very, very much to be touched by Blaine. Aches to be touched by him, in fact. "It's just that..."
"Sammy..." Blaine removes his hands from Sam's hips, moves them to his face instead. He strokes Sam's hair and kisses his lips. "Sammy, you don't think...you don't think that your body is dirty, do you?"
"No, I showered this morning," Sam says. His attempted joke falls totally flat, and Blaine just looks at him, waiting for a real answer. Sam finds he can't even look in Blaine's eyes when he tries again: "No...I mean...maybe?"
"Sammy." Blaine holds him and kisses his forehead. Then he lets go and sits back, just slightly. "You're beautiful, Sammy. Inside..." He places his palm on Sam's chest, over his heart. "And outside..." He lets both hands roam...all over Sam's chest and stomach, his arms, his hips and thighs...though still over the jeans. "I love all of you, Sammy." He gently strokes one thigh and adds, "I really hope you'll let me love all of you."
And Sam does the only thing he can do at that moment: he nods his assent.
Blaine presses against him and kisses him slow and deep. His fingers fumble with the opening to Sam's jeans. He gets them open, and then he hesitates for a second, pulls away from the kiss, and looks into Sam's eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, but ultimately he doesn't—he goes back to kissing Sam, not on the mouth anymore but on the neck and chest again. His hands are pushing Sam's jeans down his hips, then gliding under the waistband of his briefs, but he hasn't touched it yet.
Sam is simultaneously eager and terrified. Ultimately the eagerness wins out and his hips—totally on their own, it's not like Sam consciously tells them to—arch up into Blaine's touch.
Blaine kisses his chest before he slowly pulls his briefs down, totally exposing him. And then he...he just looks at him while stroking his hips, touching him near but not actually on the part he's staring at so intently. Sam feels his cheeks flush—he's as hot in the face as he is down there. "Blaine..." he pleads.
"It's so beautiful."
Sam throws an arm over his eyes, because looking at Blaine looking at him that way is just too much. "Blaine..." he says again.
"But it is, Sammy. It's so...so pink and strong and healthy and—"
"Blaine, it's a..." He can't bring himself to say the word.
"I know it is, Sammy. And it's yours and I love you."
Sam peeks out from under his arm and sees that Blaine isn't looking at it anymore, he's looking at his face. In his eyes, now that they're uncovered. "I love you too."
"I'm sorry. This is making you uncomfortable," Blaine says, eyes still on Sam's, hands on his bare thighs. "I'll stop."
Sam takes his hand just as he's about to move it away. "Don't stop," he says. "Please." And he moves Blaine's hand closer...until it's almost there...and he has to take his own hand away and cover his eyes again because he can't really believe what's about to happen and seeing it would be just too much.
So he doesn't see Blaine's hand, but he feels it a second later...on him in a place no one's ever touched before...not that he's never touched himself there, but this is so different, it's so much better. And it...it almost feels even less wrong suddenly than when he's alone in his bed at night...though maybe that's just a rationalization, maybe it just feels so good at this moment that the part of him that would feel weird about it is being totally overridden...but for whatever reason, Blaine touching him there feels so right and so perfect...he knows Blaine doesn't think there's anything wrong with what they're doing, and right now he's inclined to agree.
Blaine's hand is moving soon, but not like...When Sam does this alone, he does it quickly, so he can climax and be done. But that's not what Blaine is doing at all. Blaine is just stroking him, caressing him even. Like he just really likes touching it. Sam peeks out under his hand and sees Blaine is looking super intently again, with his lips slightly parted and his cheeks all flushed. He's so gorgeous. Blaine catches him peeking and says, "You're so beautiful."
"I was just—ah!—I was just thinking the same thing about you."
Blaine smiles. He glances at his hand, which hasn't stopped its caresses, and says, "You're still okay with this?"
Sam nods. "I was thinking, in fact..." Oh God, it's hard to talk at a time like this. Not to mention that he doesn't know quite how to suggest what he's been thinking. But Blaine's waiting patiently for him to finish, so his forces himself to spit it out: "I was thinking maybe I could...if you don't mind, I mean...I think I'd really like to, uh...touch yours too? If it's okay?"
Blaine nods seriously. "Yes. That would be...Yes." He hurriedly starts trying to unbutton his jeans using just his left hand, because his right is still on Sam. Sam realizes he should help, but he's a little stunned by what he's just asked, by what he's about to do, and by the time he's unpanicked enough to move, Blaine has managed on his own. The front of his jeans is open, and Sam can see the black cotton briefs underneath. He can see the hard bulge behind the black cotton briefs underneath.
It's not completely exposed, like Sam's is, which he's kind of glad for. Seeing it, just out there, all at once, might be too much. He reaches out tentatively and brushes his fingers lightly over the cotton. "Sam!" Blaine gasps.
"Yeah?" Sam asks him earnestly. "That was good?"
"So good," Blaine assures him. He takes Sam's hand and holds it against himself, still over the briefs. "Oh God, Sammy, so good."
"Could you, like..." Sam wants to touch Blaine, not his underwear. He can't quite bring himself to say this, however, so he tugs at them instead. Blaine figures out what he wants and peels his pants and underwear off entirely. Sam stares in wonder. All he can say is, "Oh my God."
"Is it...?" Blaine asks shyly, and it's so sweet because Blaine is never the one who's shy.
Sam nods and says, "Yeah. It's..." But he can't even speak, his mouth is too dry, and he swallows hard. And he reaches out again, no barrier this time between his fingers and Blaine.
Blaine moans, so low and sweet, when Sam's skin touches his. Sam wraps his fingers around and feels it move in his hand, even though both his wrist and Blaine's hips are perfectly still.
This—the way they're touching each other—is so close to the absolute limit of what Sam can handle right now. There are too many things to count that would make it too much, and one of those things is spoken commentary on what they're doing. So when Blaine starts to say how good it feels, Sam has to cut him off. And he does that by asking for the one thing he wants more than anything, the one thing that will add to what they already have without making it too much: "Blaine, kiss me."
And Blaine does. Blaine lies flat on top of him and kisses him harder than he ever has before. Their bodies grind together as their hands roam all over each other. Sam would miss Blaine's hands on his...where they were...if something else weren't touching him there now, something a thousand times better, namely, Blaine's...same part. Blaine's part that would have him saying Oh my God oh my God oh my God if only he could speak. He's imagined exactly this—almost every night, in fact—but the reality of it is so much better than his imagination.
So much better, in fact, that his brain doesn't really register that feeling in his gut that serves as a warning of what's about to happen. By the time he realizes what's about to happen, it's too late even to warn Blaine, much less stop. Not that he actually wants to stop. For a few seconds he can't worry about the mess or the fact that Blaine might be disgusted by him, he can only feel pure joy that far exceeds anything he's felt without Blaine.
When it's over, when he's limp and depleted and feels a pool of goo squishing between his body and Blaine's, that's when he worries. Blaine hasn't stopped kissing him—because he's sweet like that—but he has slowed down, clearly because he's bothered by what Sam just did. He turns his head to the side and says, "Blaine, I'm so sorry."
"Sorry?"
"I just...Your thing kept rubbing against mine, and it felt really good, but I didn't know I was going to...I mean, I didn't mean to..."
"Sammy...are you trying to tell me that you came?"
"You don't have to pretend you didn't notice. I mean, I got it on you..."
"Sammy!" He tilts Sam's head toward him and doesn't go on speaking until Sam looks him in the eyes. "Some of that is mine too, you know."
"Really? You...you did it too?"
"Yeah." Blaine kisses him sweetly. "And even if I didn't, I would never be mad at you for...Sammy, I love that you came. I love that we came together. I just feel like it's a really honest and natural way of expressing our love for each other."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Blaine kisses him again. "Absolutely."
"But...if I wanted to clean up now, you wouldn't think it meant I don't love you, right? It's just...starting to get cold and feel kinda weird..."
Blaine chuckles. "No, I won't take it personally," he says as he stands and starts to look around for the paper towels.
