AN: Purple prose is purple.

This is AU in the sense that here I don't think the Gap Attack or Rachel happened, because my Blaine has been holding himself back for a while now. You'll see why. Also, David's a bit strange, but I couldn't get away from my (now) running gag about Wevid looking at porn together. It's the only slightly amusing thing in this story, but I wonder if it isn't a complete fail.

Just in case it wasn't clear at first, I do not own Glee. This is probably a good thing, judging from this story, because we all need Klainebows to abound or we will curl up into little, whimpering balls of despair.

Blaine was deep in a slightly uncomfortable conversation with David about Wes's sudden obsession with vintage 1920s porn when he saw Kurt stride through the far side of the courtyard, a blanket tucked under his arm and a basket swinging from one hand. His mind wandered away from the topic of conversation – it wasn't exactly engaging – and his eyes followed Kurt. He wondered where Kurt was headed, and more importantly, why he hadn't invited Blaine along.

"Look, Blaine, I know that you're on this whole abstinence kick recently, or as you like to call it, 'we're just friends', and that it makes it hard for you to concentrate whenever Kurt's ass is walking out a door, but could you please pay attention to me? I'm seriously traumatized!"

"Traumatized? By 'small-breasted women with wide hips and too much body hair'?" scoffed Blaine, snapping his eyes away from Kurt's retreating figure. "Why are you even talking to me about this, David? You know I can't sympathize with your oh so serious trauma. And if you talk about Kurt that way again, I'm going to clue Wes in on just how much his new hobby bothers you."

"I do apologize," said David, slightly sarcastically. "It's just that if he gets anywhere within a hundred yards of you, your eyes zero in and remain locked on target until he's gone, and he obviously wants you too, so I just don't get why you haven't fucked him yet."

"One, Kurt's not like that. And two, I'm going online tonight and buying as much as I can to add to Wes's collection. He's going to be wallpapering your dorm room with the stuff," threatened Blaine.

"Ugh, Blaine! I take it back! I fully support your decision to cock-block yourself because Kurt's an innocent little putty-tat! Please, please, please don't threaten me with sepia-toned, totally un-hot wallpaper!" whined David, holding up his hands in the internationally recognized 'I surrender' gesture. Blaine didn't buy it for a second.

"You are being so very annoying today, David. Why don't you just ignore it? I mean, you don't have to look at it, right?" replied Blaine, knowing full well what David's answer would be.

"But we ALWAYS look at porn together. It's our thing," David whined, genuinely upset this time.

"Yeah, because Wes has somehow managed to convince you that jerking off together isn't gay in the slightest," smirked Blaine.

"It's not! We usually don't even touch each other!"

"Usually?" Blaine was now gaping full on at David, snark completely fled.

"Shit happens. But that's the problem with this vintage crap. I couldn't get into it and Wes had to help me out."

"Oh my god, Wes is a genius," said Blaine, smirk back in place. "Generally, David," said Blaine in his best birds and bees voice, "mutual orgasms that involve two guys fall within the realm of gay."

"That's so not true," replied David. "You've fooled around with half the guys in this school, and most of them are still straight."

Blaine cringed slightly, a familiar feeling of unworthiness sweeping through him, but he covered it up with a nonchalant, "Well, it was all gay at the time."

"Whatever. You're just jealous of my bromance. It's more commitment than you've ever had, and you've gone all middle class family values since Kurt showed up."

Blaine just looked at him silently for a moment, trying to stifle his hurt and to remember that David didn't really know how he felt about all that. Plus, he was right. When Blaine had come to Dalton, he'd been so excited to be away from the toxic public school environment and so pleased to be able to express who he was, that he'd basically whored it up for an entire year, not really realizing that that wasn't who he was until the shame and degradation of it had sunk deep into his bones. He'd made himself available to anyone who was interested, tried to get into the pants of anyone he could, and he was so charming that that was basically everyone, especially as he never objected to being used like a blow up doll by straight boys who were horny due to the lack of girls. He'd drawn a few lines, the most important of which was no Warblers, but even that he'd transgressed – he'd given Jeff a quick and dirty blow-job last spring after he'd won out over the boy in yet another solo audition. If Kurt hadn't come along, he'd probably still be doing it, and he probably wouldn't have even noticed yet how cheap and shameful it made him feel because the actual sex always covered that up, made him feel accomplished and worthy of the strange adoration he engendered in his peers. He didn't even really know what it was about Kurt that made him stop; David would probably say it was his innocence, but that had never been a factor for him before. In fact, he'd even made it a game at times to corrupt the boys who blushed and looked down when he flirted with them. No, not innocence. It was something more Kurt – a strong, intangible sense of himself that called forth a sympathetic yearning in Blaine to stop covering up his own self with cheap pleasure. And so here he was, months later, finally fully aware of how much he had degraded himself, and even more aware of the fact that he was in love with Kurt, but terrified of initiating anything. What if it was still the same? What if he still felt cheap and used, even by Kurt? That fear was steadily lessening: the more time he spent with Kurt, the more assured he became that the other boy loved him as well. But it wasn't gone yet, and Blaine usually kept enough distance between the two of them that he didn't think that boundary would be transgressed anytime soon. And, surprisingly, he was okay with that. There had been times, when he first began what he referred to privately as his 'new life', when he was worried that the lack of sex was going to set him off, make him do something stupid, make him either jump Kurt or respond to the advances of another boy. These had tapered off, of course – at first he'd had to fend off quite a few guys who were used to his easy availability, but the proverbial memo had gone around, so now only the sleaziest still made an attempt, and they were by far the easiest to resist. What worried him most was that Kurt would make a move before Blaine was ready, and he wouldn't be able to resist. Kurt knew, in a very vague sense, about how he had been before. Blaine had simply told him, 'I was a bit of a slut last year. I'm done with it now, but I don't really want to talk about it.' To which Kurt had replied with a slight widening of his eyes, and then a thoughtful nod coupled with an encouraging smile.

"Blaine? Are you okay?" asked David, finally realizing that Blaine's seemingly calm stare was lasting a little too long.

Blaine smiled faintly at David. For all their swiping at each other at times, he was one of his few true friends. He thought briefly of having a talk with Wes to make sure that his little porn games weren't going to cause either of them to get hurt. But not today; today, he was feeling low and the best way he knew to deal with that was, of course, Kurt.

"I'm fine, David. Listen, this has been fascinating, but I think I'm going to go find Kurt for the rest of lunch. Go strengthen your bromance with Wes; he's in the library studying for a Chem test and I'm sure he could use the distraction."

"Go get him," replied David with a saucy wink.

Blaine rolled his eyes good-naturedly and walked away from David, making his way out onto the grounds, guessing from the blanket and picnic basket that Kurt was stretched out under a certain old oak tree that he'd been enamored of since he first came to Dalton. And he was right. Kurt was sitting on his blanket, back to the tree, so thoroughly engrossed in his book that he didn't notice Blaine's approach. Blaine leaned against the tree and marveled silently at Kurt's beauty. His beauty literally shone out of him, highlighted by the early spring sunlight that glanced golden off his chestnut hair. His beauty had nothing to do with sex appeal, though he had quite enough of that to go around, but rather it was once again something intrinsic to Kurt, something that poured out of him at all times and made Blaine wish he could find a similar beauty within himself.

"I wondered where you'd got to," he said, and smiled happily when Kurt turned his sun-kissed face towards the sound of his voice, an answering smile gracing his lips.

"Just enjoying the sun. I feel like I've been trapped inside for years, not months."

"You've got quite the set up here," said Blaine, taking in Kurt's picnic. He especially loved the shawl. It was so Kurt.

"Well, you don't expect me to sit on the actual ground."

"Never. It looks comfortable. Can I join you?"

"Of course."

"I am so exhausted," said Blaine, stretching his arms out and yawning. It was true, he'd been up until 3 am finishing a paper. Plus, the mental flogging he'd given himself earlier had completely cancelled out his morning coffee. "Do you mind if I use your lap as a pillow? Maybe take a nap?"

Blaine thought he saw Kurt tense up, and momentarily questioned the wisdom of what he was proposing. But he really was tired, and they were outside, and he really, really wanted to be close to Kurt right now. He needed the comfort to chase away the dark thoughts from earlier. So he waited, saying nothing. "Sure, why not?" replied Kurt in an airy voice after a few moments.

Blaine sighed happily and flopped down onto the blanket, resting his head on Kurt's thigh. "Comfy," he said dreamily, and then he closed his eyes and let the contact with Kurt wash through him. It went straight to his heart.

"Are you saying my thighs are fat?" It was said in Kurt's bitch voice. Blaine loved Kurt's bitch voice.

"No. Lean and muscular. Just how I like my pillows," he mumbled without thinking. Then he realized that that might be a little too physical of a description; he tried to avoid saying things like that to Kurt whenever possible. He hummed under his breath and added, "That came out slightly wrong." Kurt didn't respond so he let himself drift away, the heat at the back of his head and the sun playing over his face pulling him under quickly.

"I love you," he breathed, brushing his lips against mine. I sighed into them, completely overwhelmed, and he pressed his lips gently into mine, opening his mouth and teasing me sweetly with his tongue. I let him in, and the kiss became more passionate, more impossibly overwhelming. His hands were smoothly caressing my sides, holding me firmly, gently, lovingly. Every part of my body he touched became alive in a way I had never experienced before, and when he brought our hips together I knew that this was perfection, this was bliss. I felt washed clean, loved and loving, strong and supportive. Our thrusts became more heated, but there was nothing dirty about them, nothing shameful, nothing wrong. I had closed my eyes to revel in the beauty of his body and heart melding with mine, when he gave a particularly sharp thrust that swept through my soul and compelled me to open my eyes so I could see the love in his eyes at the moment we came together. I opened them and –

Blaine stared up at Kurt, love still thrumming heatedly through his heart, so it was a moment before he realized that something was wrong, something was different than it had been a moment ago. Kurt wasn't gazing lovingly down into his eyes; he was staring somewhere else, his jaw slack, a blush gracing his cheeks. And then it all came crashing down on Blaine. He remembered where he was, realized he had been dreaming, felt his own hand pressing into his erection. He froze. He had been jerking himself off in Kurt's lap, and Kurt was aware of it if the direction his gaze was pointing was any clue. Blaine felt despair wash over him. Now Kurt would know just how much of a slut he was; only someone truly cheap would randomly start jerking off in front of another person. Kurt would realize how dirty Blaine was, how spoiled, and he would never love him. The shame he'd felt before came back, intensified by his sudden realization that he would never be worthy of the one person who mattered.

He had to get his attention, but he was terrified of the disgust he would undoubtedly see in Kurt's eyes. There's nothing for it, though. It's all ruined anyway. He steeled himself and said in a horribly hesitant voice, "Kurt?"

Kurt didn't respond right away. His breath hitched and his eyes widened, and then he slowly dragged them up Blaine's body, finally meeting Blaine's worried gaze. He didn't look disgusted, but there was a strange glimmer of something that Blaine had never seen in those beautiful kaleidoscope eyes before. He couldn't quite place it, couldn't quite catalogue it.

"I'm so sorry," said Blaine, searching those eyes for some clue as to what Kurt was feeling.

"I don't mind at all," said Kurt. There was something off about his voice, a reserve that had never been there before. Blaine felt trapped by that reserve. He desperately wished he knew what Kurt was thinking, what that glimmer and that reserve meant. Then the meaning of what Kurt said hit him like an anvil.

"No?" Blaine husked out, hope turning his voice deep. He cast his eyes down, taking in his hand, which still lay frozen over his erection, and cringed internally. But maybe it would be okay, maybe Kurt would lean down and capture his lips with his own, maybe Kurt would assure him that he was lovely and loved, beautiful and shameless. Maybe Kurt, with his almost magical sense of himself and the ease with which he navigated the world, would turn this into something else, something different from what it had always been.

"Should I…?" Blaine didn't really know what he was asking, besides some sort of guidance to help them out of this strange situation. His body felt frozen, waiting for Kurt to react. He stared up into Kurt's eyes, and Kurt stared down into his, and slowly, so slowly, the strange glimmer he'd noticed before changed into something all too familiar to Blaine. Lust.

"You should…keep touching yourself," said Kurt in an almost clinically cold voice. His eyes shifted away from Blaine's, and Blaine felt his heart break. Hope shattered in his chest and was replaced by a desperate desire to bring those eyes back to his own.

"Tell me what to do," Blaine wheezed like the slut he was. If this was what Kurt wanted, he would give it to him, even though the loss of those eyes and the lack of anything resembling affection in Kurt's voice and demeanor was killing him. If only he would just turn to him and kiss him, everything would be fine.

But no. Kurt's eyes remained fixed on his body. "Unbutton your shirt first. I want to see you." Blaine complied with shaky hands, his eyes so wide open, trying to read Kurt's expression, that he didn't notice the first tear as it slid down his cheek. He noticed the ones that followed, however, and he tried to hold back the accompanying sobs as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. His chest was heaving by the time he finished, and Kurt had yet to notice. He probably didn't care.

"Spread it away. Show yourself to me," said Kurt, and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force back the tears. He'd give Kurt a good show, if that was all he could do. You always give a good show, he told himself bitterly.

"Put your hands on your chest. Stroke yourself," Kurt said in an almost dead voice. Blaine watched Kurt's gaze and followed it with his hands, trailing them wherever Kurt seemed to want them, suppressing his own wants, his own frantic desire to yell out, 'Look at me! Kiss me! Make this something different!'

"Unbuckle your belt," commanded Kurt finally, and Blaine knew he would never get that. He would never be loved. He would always be used. He struggled to accept this, telling himself he might as well enjoy it if that was all he would ever have. The struggle made his hands shake as they worked at his buckle, but it was undone quickly. "Now your pants."

"Lift your hips and pull them off – pants and boxers." Blaine complied, clutching his boxers in his fists as he watched Kurt avidly take him in. He felt exposed and devastated, and yet, like the whore he was, completely turned on by Kurt's detached and almost cruel perusal of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was still a frantic hope that Kurt would turn to him with love in his eyes and kiss him, that he would bring him back into the beauty and assurance that he embodied, but he was feeling more and more distanced from that hope, and when Kurt said, "Touch yourself. Slowly," he realized just how foolish he had been to ever think he even had the right to walk in the same world as Kurt. This was the way it was supposed to be, the way it always would be. He would be splayed out for others' consumption, for others' whims, and the part of himself that wanted something more, something different, would gradually become weaker and more hollow until it disappeared entirely. When Kurt told him to move his hand faster, he did so, but he didn't stop the sobs that accompanied each jerk. He was letting that part of himself go, and each sob, each jerk, brought him closer to what he was meant to be. He came when commanded like a good whore, and squeezed his eyes shut as the tears streamed down his face. His body knew what he was, and everything else was just a vain hope. Gone.

"Blaine! What – " Blaine's eyes flew open at the sound of Kurt's voice. It was his usual voice, filled with worry and concern, not the detached commanding tone he'd had when he was using Blaine, but it was too late. Too little and too late. He stared into Kurt's eyes for a moment, wishing with everything he had that for one moment this could be fixed, but he knew it couldn't, and he also knew that if he let himself hope again, he would be completely destroyed when that hope was inevitably dashed. He had to flee, now, before that hope was rekindled. He pulled his clothing together as best he could, and ran away from Kurt deeper into the Dalton grounds.

AN: So yeah. Feeling like I may have written myself into a corner here. Any ideas on how they could come back from this would be greatly appreciated. Yes, I have no problem whoring myself out for reviews. I'm a sucker for approval, just like this version of Blaine. Love me.