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Beta-readers: lyingxiscariot (FFnet), FangirlingFanatic (FFnet), and stulti.

Summary: Blaine Anderson is a prostitute whose client is murdered before his eyes. He is thrown into witness protection together with Special Agent Kurt Hummel, whose job is to keep him safe. But, with nosy neighbours and a notorious crime family snapping at their heels, it's not that easy. Especially when feelings get involved.

Warnings: Dub/con, alcohol use, minor OMC death, mention of child abuse, mention of domestic violence, mention of various kinks

Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Sugar/Artie, Quinn/Puck, Cooper/OFC

Length: 65k; 16 parts altogether

Updates: Weekly on Sundays or Mondays


CHAPTER III: OF SPECIAL AGENTS AND ROOMMATES

"Excuse me?" Blaine said in a weak, shaky voice, unable to untangle his arms, just eyeing the man before him. He thought that his hearing must have failed him after the unpleasant landing earlier because there was no way he heard it right.

"I'll explain everything," Kurt assured him as he dropped his hand. "You can leave your bag here for now and we can talk in the living room. It will be much more comfortable there."

Blaine threw the bag onto the ground and followed the man through the kitchen and into the living room. It wasn't far, but Blaine's mind was racing faster than ever, and he managed to get a pretty decent theory of why this special agent referred to him as his husband. He didn't like it at all.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Kurt said as he sat down in an armchair and Sam dropped onto the couch. Blaine remained standing and neither questioned him. "If you don't mind, I would like to talk to Sam first, and when he leaves I will explain more about our living situation."

"Why?" Sam asked immediately, his eyes narrowing. "Sergeant Hall wanted me to make sure–"

"Sergeant Hall has no say in what happens here," Kurt cut him off. Though his voice was strict, his face remained friendly. "I have direct orders to not give any information to outsiders. It stays among me, my superior, and Blaine."

"Do you not trust me?" Sam asked.

"I don't trust anyone when it comes to protecting important witnesses; it's nothing personal," Kurt shrugged. "The fewer people who know anything, the better. You are here because it was your task to bring Mr. Anderson to the safe house. Now, I need to know if anything suspicious happened on your way here, and then your job will be done."

"Everything went smoothly," Sam answered reluctantly, glancing at Blaine, who was taking deep breaths.

"Perfect," Kurt said standing up. "It was nice meeting you–"

"Can I stay a little bit longer?" Sam asked, his eyes never leaving Blaine. The man attempted to smile at him, but failed.

"If you check the time on this plane ticket," Kurt said, giving an envelope to Sam, "you will see that you'd better leave now."

"A couple of minutes of privacy maybe?" Sam bargained, looking at the envelope. "I'm sure I can spare that," he said, giving Kurt a fake smile.

"Absolutely not," Kurt said. "It's nothing personal, I just can't risk you being a traitor. I would hate to come back in here to find Mr. Anderson dead."

"I would never–"

"It's okay, Sam, you can go," Blaine said, knowing that the fight was lost before it began. "I'll be fine. Tell Sergeant I'm grateful for what he did for me. And thanks for bringing me here safely."

"Fine." Sam sighed and stood up, defeated. "Take care of yourself, alright?" he said, giving Blaine a quick hug and shaking Kurt's hand politely. "And you take care of him."

"He is in good care," Kurt said, standing up. "Let yourself out, please. Mr. Anderson and I have a lot to discuss."

Blaine almost snorted. This man appeared as well-mannered as someone could be, but he was so obviously done with Sam that he might as well have told him to 'get the fuck out.' The three of them knew well enough that Blaine was in no real hurry to learn about his new situation, but they all acted as if something was on fire. Thus, Sam gave them one last nod and left.

Kurt tried to look discreetly out of the window as the police officer walked to the car, but Blaine caught him. The man felt Blaine's eyes and sat down in his previous spot, flashing him a short smile.

Blaine didn't like him. He was polite. And he also seemed sweet. He smiled a lot. Yet something felt off. He was too polite. His smile didn't reach his eyes. It was all fake.

He shook his head, watching Sam's car drive away. He was imagining things. Of course this Kurt guy was all those things. It meant working, being professional. Blaine knew better than anyone that masks were necessary at any job. This had to be Kurt's.

Kurt checked his wristwatch. "I'll give it another five minutes and then we can leave."

"Leave?" Blaine frowned. "Where are we going?"

"To another safe house, the one we will be staying at," Kurt said. "Too many people know about this place. The driver and Officer Evans," he explained, seeing Blaine's confusion. "I know you probably want to trust him but–"

Blaine shook his head. "Not really. I don't know him well. It was just…"

"Comforting having someone you know here?" Kurt offered when Blaine lost his words. The man nodded. "I've worked in witness protection for a while now, and I haven't seen anyone who wasn't scared, to be honest. Being uprooted from your life is hard. Especially for you."

"Why me?" Blaine frowned. He didn't feel special in any way.

"Normally it takes weeks to arrange witness protection, and these witnesses are aware that soon they might be asked to move away from their homes. You were told you were coming here only a few hours ago, then taken home straight away to collect your belongings."

"Why didn't I have to wait?"

"Simple: the Changs and the murder attempt," Kurt shrugged, checking his watch again.

"I know they are some crime family, but why is everyone freaking out about them so much?"

"Let's just say, their crime witnesses don't live long," Kurt said and stood up. "I think it's safe to leave now. Please, grab your bag and then we will go to the garage where my car is waiting."

"I left it by the front door," Blaine said, looking around. There were two doors leading out of the room, but he couldn't remember which one they came in through.

"This way," Kurt said, and left the room first after turning the lights off, Blaine following him closely.

The bag had been moved, Blaine noticed as soon as he saw it. It was either Sam's doing, or someone else had very silently gone through his stuff while Kurt had distracted them. Either way, he decided not to tell Kurt about his revelation and pretend that everything was fine. He threw the bag over his left shoulder and trailed behind the special agent into the garage. As promised, there was a car there.

"It's a half hour drive, give or take, so you can lie down on the back seat if you want," Kurt offered, seeing Blaine opening the front passenger door.

"I'm okay," Blaine said, blushing at the indirect comment about his abused ass, and took a seat by Kurt's side with the bag resting on his knees.

"The other house is nicer actually," Kurt's voice filled the silent car as he started the engine. "It's smaller, but that only makes it cosier in my eyes. Two people don't need many rooms, right?"

"No, they don't…"

"Mhm. And it's also lighter, the walls in the rooms, I mean. I don't like dark walls. I was once working in this horrid house painted in such dark colours it almost gave me depression."

"Oh..."

"The report I received said you didn't have the best living conditions, so it will be a nice change. I'm sure you will like it."

"Yeah…"

"Am I bothering you?" Kurt asked, stopping at the red light. "Because I can stop talking if you want. I just thought you might appreciate a distraction."

"I'm sorry, Agent Hummel, but reminding me about my shitty apartment isn't doing a good job of distracting me," Blaine said, wishing he could have restrained himself from snapping. After all, they were set to live together and he didn't even know for how long.

Blaine could feel Kurt's eyes on him for a moment, but didn't look at him. "I could tell you about this one time my step-brother set our Christmas tree on fire."

"Or maybe you could tell me about all this?" Blaine asked getting impatient. He didn't know where it came from, but his hands started shaking slightly and this time not from nerves. "You called me your husband and explained nothing. I don't want to be kept in the dark anymore."

"I know it's irritating, but I have to follow the protocol–"

"And revealing the whole husband thing in front of Sam was following protocol?"

"No, I mean, not really, I just–" Kurt got visibly flustered. Blaine almost enjoyed it.

"Tell me about the Christmas tree," he cut the man off, having no wish to listen to his excuses.

"Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Why don't we start over and introduce ourselves?" he asked, and when he didn't get a response, continued, "My name is Kurt Hummel, I'm twenty eight. I've been with U.S. Marshals since graduation, so for five years now. Spent the last three years specializing in witness protection. Now, your turn."

Blaine rolled his eyes, but responded nevertheless. "I'm Blaine Anderson, twenty three. Been a whore since sixteen, so seven years now. Specializing in blowjobs and spreading my legs for men to fuck my hole. Pleasure to meet you."

"You shouldn't call yourself that."

"And you shouldn't act like you want to be friends," Blaine retorted.

He had no idea why he suddenly felt so defensive, since Kurt didn't seem to be attacking him in any way or form. On the contrary, the man was kind to him.

"I'll shut up then."

"Good."

And then it was finally silent except for the engine's hum. Blaine closed his eyes and focused on the sound. He was almost asleep by the time they arrived.

"Home sweet home," Kurt attempted a smile when he stopped the car by a house almost identical to the previous one, just a little smaller. "Once we are inside I will tell you as much as I'm allowed to."

"So not everything?" Blaine asked, climbing out of the car.

"There is no need for you to know everything. I'm sorry but it's–"

"Let me guess, protocol?" Blaine scoffed.

"We'll continue inside," Kurt whispered, looking around as they walked over to the house. Blaine just rolled his eyes.

Kurt unlocked the door and turned the lights on. The layout of the house didn't seem to be much different from the first sight, but, Blaine almost smiled, the walls were painted in lighter colours as far as he could tell.

"I'll go take a look around. Stay here," Kurt said after locking the door, and for the first time revealed the gun underneath his jacket. "It's just a precaution, nothing to worry about."

As soon as the man was out of sight, Blaine put his bag on the ground and looked around. This was his new home now.

Deep in his thoughts, Blaine nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the doorbell shriek right above his head. Through the side window he could see a shadow, but not who was standing there.

His heart sped up.

It could be them. Coming here to finally finish him off.

They wouldn't ring the bell, a small voice in his head reminded him.

There was only one way to find out. He opened the door before he could talk himself into a panic attack.

"Hi, cutie," a young woman dressed all in pink smiled widely at him. She wore a heart necklace and had a large matching heart in her hair. It weirdly suited her. "There has been talk on the street that someone was finally moving in, and when I saw you arriving tonight I thought I would skip the pilates I do before bed and come say hi," she said pushing past Blaine and into the house. Only then he noticed a box in her hands.

"I… it's nice of you, but it's not the best time, you see, we just moved in and–," Blaine hurried after her as the woman made her way into the kitchen as if she knew the house already.

"I brought you a cake," she said as she set the box on the table. "It's like four days old, but maybe it's still okay. I bought it for a friend's birthday party, but she cancelled the whole thing, so I thought I would keep it, but I'm on a diet so…"

"Uh, thanks, it's very nice of you…" Blaine said, lost. He kept glancing at the door, hoping for Kurt to come in and save him.

"I didn't catch your name?" the woman asked, looking expectantly at him.

"I…"

"Hey there!" Finally Kurt appeared, wearing the brightest smile. "Who do we have here, honey?" he asked, wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist. It felt surprisingly nice.

"I'm Sugar Motta, your neighbour from across the street," she said and extended her hand.

Kurt shook it politely, his left hand firmly on Blaine's belly. "I'm Kevin Thompson. And this is my husband, Brian Thompson."

"Hi," Blaine managed.

"Are you okay?" Sugar asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Brian isn't much into PDA. Sorry, honey," Kurt said as he released Blaine and moved to his side. "We moved here from Ohio so it's still new for us to be, you know, publicly together."

"Oh, well, you don't have to worry about me, I love gays. And I don't mean that disrespectfully. They are just very cute for me. I could keep one as a pet," she said, and laughed, seeing their shocked faces. "Just joking, come on, don't be so sensitive. Tell you what, tomorrow I'm having a street party where everyone is invited, so you should totally come. Bring some wine," she winked at them and without another word walked out.

They heard the front door opening and then closing. Blaine watched Sugar walking down the dimly lit street and into the biggest house on the block.

"She is intense–" Blaine began as he put the cake into the fridge. He noted that it was stocked with essentials.

"What were you thinking?" Blaine flinched when suddenly Kurt started yelling. "America's most powerful crime family probably has a bounty on your head already, and you are opening the doors the minute after you walk into the safe house? You almost blew our cover! What would have you said if she had started asking personal questions? You didn't even know your new name! Damn, you need to be more careful!"

Blaine gaped at the man before he gathered his thoughts. "She saw us arriving and came over to introduce herself. Should have I ignored the doorbell and pretended we were not here?"

"You could have waited for me to come open the door. I'm here to protect you. How am I supposed to do that when you go out of your way to sabotage it?"

"Am I a prisoner here, then?" Blaine challenged him and crossed his arms over his chest.

Kurt frowned, visibly taken back by the question. "What? No."

"But if I want to open the door, I can't? And if I want to go outside? Or talk to someone? Will you be by my side twenty-four/seven?"

Kurt took a deep breath. "How about we calm down and I'll tell you everything you need to know, and then we will set some ground rules. Everything will be clear then."

"Where do you want to –"

"Living room?" Kurt suggested, and showed him the way. The layout was really almost the same, Blaine noted as he carefully lowered himself onto the couch. "First of all, I'm sorry I yelled at you; it was very unprofessional of me. I only got… upset because you talked to a stranger without knowing your new identity. We would have had to try to get another safe house if you had told her your real name or acted suspiciously. It's not about locking you up and constraining your freedom. It's just that witness protection is not just me being your bodyguard. It's more complicated than that."

"I get it, I think," Blaine said, nodding slowly.

"Apology accepted then?" Kurt asked hopefully.

"Yes, we are… good," Blaine offered in return. "As long as you tell me what you expect from me and, you know, don't yell at me for not knowing the things you haven't told me yet."

"Point taken. I'm normally more composed, but this case came up suddenly and I barely had time to prepare, so I'm a bit edgy. It's also well after midnight, and I haven't had much sleep. I know these are poor excuses, but I hope you won't start hating me just yet."

"Like I've said, we are good," Blaine assured him, yawning. As soon as Kurt mentioned sleep, he felt his eyes getting heavier by the second. "But, I'm also tired. Maybe we could do this whole ground rules thing in the morning?"

"Hm? I thought you wanted to know what your life is going to be like here, and maybe something about Brian Thompson?"

"I did, I do, but I think it would all just fly over my head right now. And I already know that Brian doesn't like PDA, what more is there to know?"

Kurt laughed and looked at him sort of fondly. "Fine, if you are sure about it. I'm sure you've had a stressful day and could use some rest. There is nothing we can't talk about tomorrow. As long as you don't open doors to more strangers before we get to talk about things."

"I promise," Blaine said, standing up. "Um, do you know if there are any towels in the house? I didn't pack mine and I really want to take a shower before bed."

"The house is equipped with essentials so there should be towels, toothpaste and the like. We can go shopping for what we lack," Kurt explained. They walked upstairs, Blaine grabbing his bag on the way. "There is a master bedroom with a bathroom, a guest room, and a separate bathroom upstairs. I'll be staying in the guest room, but we will have to make sure the master bedroom looks like we both sleep there, in case someone comes snooping."

"Sugar looks like someone who would do that," Blaine said when Kurt opened the door to what, he decided, was the master bedroom.

The room was almost twice the size of his old apartment and was tastefully decorated. There were paintings on the light grey walls and a ceiling lamp that fit nicely with the furniture. Blaine saw a reading light by the bed and wondered if he would be allowed to check out some books from a local library.

"My room is right across yours," Kurt said. "If you need anything, come get me or just shout for me. Other than that, have a good night."

"Goodnight," Blaine said, and the doors were closed, and he was alone, at last.

Blaine put his bag on the bed and opened it. He didn't know what he expected to find, but the memory of his misplaced bag had been bugging him since they'd left the first safe house, and now he finally had a chance to look into it without Kurt's eyes on him. He didn't need to look deep; he immediately noticed what didn't belong to him.

Blaine dug into the bag and took out Sam's business card issued by the Chicago Police Department. He turned it around in his fingers and saw a phone number and a note, 'text me,' in hurried handwriting. Even though he didn't plan on texting the officer any time soon, the card stayed inside the bag. Just in case.

There was no energy left in him to unpack, so Blaine simply closed the bag and put it on a chair by the bed. He knew he should probably worry about not having packed many clothes, or at least about hiding the cash and jewellery he had with him, but he left those thoughts behind when he entered the ensuite bathroom.

Just like Kurt had predicted, it had everything he needed, from towels to toothbrushes, from shower gel to toothpaste. In no time he was standing under a hot water stream, letting it wash his worries away.

Fifteen minutes were spent just standing there, doing nothing, thinking of nothing. Only when he felt like falling asleep right there and then, Blaine picked up a bottle of shampoo and began cleaning himself up for real. It took another twenty minutes before he was satisfied.

His hair was still dripping wet by the time he walked out of the bathroom and into his temporary bedroom. Without giving it another thought, Blaine locked the bedroom door, turned the light off, and fell onto the bed naked, his hair soaking the pillow immediately. He didn't care. He just threw the blanket over his warmed-up body and closed his eyes, welcoming the sleep.

But it never came. One second he was drained, hardly able to keep his eyes open. Next, thoughts were running rampant.

He tried to lull himself by imagining one of his favourite stories. In this one he was a powerful wizard whose mission was to save a handsome stranger from a demon. He couldn't hold the image for long, because another, a much stronger one, surfaced whenever he lost control. And one image led another until it was too much to handle.

He saw his client killed. Travis didn't pay, so he hardly had any money left, he should go out to earn more. But the mafia was looking for him. Maybe he could get away with blowing the killer once in a while, he couldn't speak with cock in his mouth. He couldn't speak with food in his mouth either. He couldn't afford food. He just needed money. He could proposition Kurt; the agent would get lonely babysitting him all the time. No, he looked too decent for that. That married college professor had also looked decent, but had fucked him like nobody's business anyway. If only he could attend college. If only he could graduate high school first. If only he had stayed home instead of running away.

"Urgh," Blaine growled into his hands, getting out of bed. He had been so exhausted he could have fallen asleep in the shower, and now he felt like he could move mountains. At least his mind could.

He needed a distraction. Something that could stop his thoughts from wandering into dangerous waters. Lying there in the bed in the darkness did nothing for his mental wellbeing; he needed to get out. A cup of tea sounded like a good idea. He hoped to find some in the kitchen.

After stroking the wall for a good minute he turned the light on. He almost laughed at himself for doing it the hard way. He had forgotten about the reading light that would have been much easier to switch on.

He fished a pair of clean underwear out of his bag and put it on. He didn't bother with any other piece of clothing.

The door didn't move when Blaine carefully pulled it. He tried harder, but nothing happened. He almost panicked until the memory of subconsciously locking the door before going to bed came back to him. It didn't take long for him to free himself at last, but it took some time to descend the stairs in the dark, unfamiliar house.

In the kitchen, Blaine went through several cupboards until he found a box of fruit tea. Glad it wasn't green tea that wouldn't let him sleep, he set it aside and went to boil the water. Not long after, he had a cup of tea steaming in his hands. He inhaled deeply and relished the smell.

Ready to go back to the bedroom, Blaine turned around just as Kurt appeared in the doorway. He jumped and dropped the cup, backing away until he hit the counter. Kurt, now wearing pyjamas, was pointing a gun at him.

"Shit, sorry," the agent apologised quickly, putting the gun away on the table. "I thought someone broke in."

"It's okay… I'm just not fond of guns," he panted, taking deep breaths in attempt to slow down his frantically beating heart.

"Of course you're not. Sorry again. I woke up and heard something downstairs, and since you were exhausted I thought you would be fast asleep."

"You were just doing your job," Blaine said, and looked down to see the mess on the floor. "Do you know if we have anything to clean this with?"

"I'll check," Kurt said, and moved from cupboard to cupboard, looking for cleaning supplies. In the meantime, Blaine collected the broken pieces. "I found a cloth we could use to wash the floor with."

"Good," Blaine said, throwing away the shards. He walked up to Kurt and took the cloth from his hands.

"I can do it, I'm the reason you dropped it," Kurt offered.

"It's okay, it's my mess after all," Blaine said, and went to clean the spilled tea.

As soon as Blaine turned around and ducked to clean up the mess, he heard a gasp coming from Kurt. "Holy shit, your back," he whispered. "I've read the report, but this… I didn't expect it to be this bad."

"It's just some bruises," Blaine tried to sound as nonchalant as he could. "A couple of days and it will go back to normal," he mumbled as he stood up to wring the soaked cloth into the sink.

"I have some ointment that helps with healing. Also, some painkillers."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Blaine lied, returning to the wet floor.

He could feel Kurt's eyes on him for a while longer, but soon enough he turned around and walked away. In a moment of weakness, Blaine wished he hadn't. It felt weirdly nice having him there to keep him company. But, as soon as the agent was back, he wished he was left alone. He no longer knew what he wanted anymore.

"I brought the ointment. I know you said you didn't want it, but please let me help. I'll only take a couple of minutes," Kurt said, toying with the tube in his hands.

"Can I at least get a cup of tea first?" Blaine sighed, defeated.

"Absolutely. Could you boil more water, please? I'd love some tea as well."

Blaine nodded and refilled the electric kettle, making sure there would be enough for two cups.

"So, why aren't you asleep? It's pretty late," Kurt asked while waiting for the water to boil.

"Couldn't fall asleep," Blaine gave him the obvious reason.

"Well, I see that. What kept you awake?" he pried again.

"Had lots on my mind," Blaine shrugged it off.

"After the first murder I witnessed, I couldn't eat for days, and I kept having nightmares for even longer," Kurt began. Blaine looked at him, curious. "It was scary. Every time I closed my eyes I saw what had happened. Everything reminded me of it. There was a couch in the room where it happened and if I saw a bed I would think of a couch and then it would lead me to thinking of the murder. It sucked, but it got better. It will get better for you, too."

"When?" Blaine asked.

"I have no idea. It differs. It may take a few weeks, a few months even. And after several years you might get a nightmare here and there. But it will soon stop controlling you like it's doing right now. And you know, the first days, and especially nights, are always the worst. Just know that you can come to me and I will try to help."

"Why would I come to you?" he scoffed.

"Because I'm here, I'm trained, and I care. And also… I know you wanted to talk about it tomorrow and we will, but I can tell you one thing now. I don't work on short-term cases," he said, eliciting a frown from Blaine. "The shortest period I spent with a witness was six months. So I would really like for us to get on well or at least try to tolerate each other, because we will most likely be spending a lot of time together."

"Half a year? Are you serious?" Blaine gaped, ignoring the electric kettle that had announced that the water was ready.

"Yes, and it might be longer; it's never certain how long it will take. Mike Chang could be caught today and taken to court in a couple of weeks, or he might be free for another year. Nobody knows. And it's not like you could talk to some therapist about it because you are Brian Thompson now."

Blaine didn't know what to say. Months spent living under protection with the special agent by his side all the time didn't sound tempting at all. He didn't have money and he doubted Kurt would be okay with him going out on his own to find clients.

He turned around and poured hot water into two cups filled with tea leaves. "Sugar?"

"No, thanks," Kurt said, and accepted the cup with another thank you.

Blaine stood at the counter and sipped the hot drink, immediately regretting it as he burned his tongue. "What happened with the Christmas tree and your brother?"

"You want to hear the story?" Kurt looked up with a hopeful smile.

"Well, if we are really stuck here for so long then I'd rather be friends with you than enemies," Blaine shrugged.

"I'm glad to hear that. It's much more difficult to work with hostile witnesses. I mean, I'm just doing my job, no need to take your frustration out on me."

"Do people do that often?"

"Not really. At least not at first," he said, and Blaine gave him a questioning look. "As I've explained, people normally are aware they are about to enter witness protection. So they are okay at first. But soon they get frustrated because they can rarely leave without supervision and they can't make contact with anyone they know. No friends, no family. Phone calls, emails, physical mail, it's all forbidden. If you contact anyone, you are risking your life, their lives, and the life of the agent or agents in charge of your safety."

"Wait, you said I wasn't a prisoner here and just now you said I will rarely leave the house without you. You contradict yourself."

"Not really. Look, it depends on a case. Usually, if a criminal knows what the witness looks like, it's strictly banned for them to leave without someone supervising. In your case it seems that they know who you are and what you look like. That's why we don't recommend you to wander off alone. It's your life that's in danger."

Blaine nodded in understanding. "Makes sense, sorry I lashed out," he said, and carefully sipped his drink.

"Your emotions must be all over the place. I'm sure you will feel better when you know what you are in for."

"You are right. Tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow we are having a lengthy conversation."

"Definitely. So… what do I call you? Agent Hummel or…?" Blaine asked, looking at the man expectantly.

Kurt swallowed his tea and answered quickly. "Call me Kurt when we are alone. We are living together after all. It's always good to get rid of unnecessary formality. Though I can call you whatever makes you comfortable."

"Blaine is fine."

"Brilliant. So, Blaine, what do you want to do after we finish tea?" Kurt asked cheerfully.

"Hm?"

"You said you had lots on your mind, so I assume you could use a distraction," Kurt explained. "A movie maybe?"

"Sure, why not. I can't sleep anyway. But, you don't have to stay with me. You can go to sleep if you want. You said you hadn't slept well last night. I would hate to steal sleep from you."

"I'm wide awake now, so I'd rather keep you company than lie in bed doing nothing," Kurt said. "I find it difficult to fall back asleep once I wake up. Unless you'd rather be alone. Just let me know and I'll be out of your way for the night."

"We can watch a movie together, I don't mind."

"Then we have a plan. Finish tea, tend your back, and watch a movie. Not exactly how I imagined the first night to go, but it doesn't sound bad, not at all… And it's not like we have to get up early tomorrow, right?" Kurt babbled. Blaine wondered at his sudden awkwardness.

He didn't comment, just took a few large gulps, emptying his teacup. "I'm done," he said, and watched as Kurt walked to the sink, grabbing Blaine's cup on his way.

"Perfect timing, I'm finished as well," Kurt said. "Let's save the washing for tomorrow."

"I can wash them now," Blaine protested, trying to suppress a yawn. His eyes were starting to feel heavy again.

Kurt put the cups into the sink and turned around. "No, what you need to do is lie on the couch on your stomach and let me help you."

"You are the boss," Blaine smiled, and followed Kurt into the living room. He lay down on the couch and Kurt handed him a cushion to put his head on. "Thanks."

Kurt knelt by his side, ready to tend his back. He took a good look first and only then spoke.

"The skin is slightly broken here," he said touching the spot in question tenderly, "so it might sting a little, but I promise I'll be gentle," he assured him, unscrewing the tube.

"Mm, thanks," Blaine mumbled sleepily.

"It always fazes me how a human being can do something like this to another," Kurt said as he started to spread the ointment on his back. Blaine winced as he felt a light burn at the first touch. "Sorry," Kurt apologised, but kept going nevertheless.

"It's okay, I've had worse."

"It's not the first time?" Kurt asked, surprised.

"No, but never this," Blaine stopped midsentence as a yawn took over his mouth, "much."

"Why did you let that happen?"

"The money. Pays well. Sucked this time, though," Blaine said, snuggling into the cushion.

"Why?"

"Can't pay when you're dead," Blaine explained, enjoying the numbness on his back as the ointment began to cool the skin. He closed his eyes because the light was becoming irritating.

"Well, at least now you have a chance not only to heal, but to stay away from your… profession. You won't need to work while you are in witness protection," Kurt assured him, and Blaine thought he heard sympathy in his voice.

"So nice," he said, but he wasn't thinking about the time off from his job. All he could think of was Kurt's fingers dancing on his back, gently, soothing his skin.

"Um, the marks go under your underwear, so maybe you could take care of that later? It would be inappropriate if I–"

Blaine made an affirmative noise in the back of his throat. At least he thought he did. He wasn't sure.


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