Prompt: Eternal Flame- The Bangles

Kurt

"That's him."

"Where?" My friend Rachel scans the sidewalk, impatiently trying to look over the heads of passers by. "I don't see anyone. This guy? Is it this guy?"

"In the car," I snap, embarrassment burning my cheeks. "Now please, disappear."

"That's his car?" She gawps at the silver Jaguar pulling to a stop in front of us. "Oh my God, Kurt! Oh, can I say hi? Let me say hi."

"No. Go, Rachel. Now. I mean it."

"Fine," she says, merely taking a step back instead of leaving. "But I want to be introduced next time."

I make for the car, but Blaine jumps out his side and comes around, opening the door for me. "Hey," he says softly, his voice barely lifting over the noise of the traffic. "You...mmm."

He smiles, his nervousness clear and making him all the more irresistible to me. I want to try and return some kind of greeting, but my smile remains absurdly large on my face, to the point where it's impossible to speak, so I just slide into the car instead, forgetting all about Rachel, whose jaw is probably hitting the sidewalk.

Conversation doesn't happen once we're out in the traffic, either. It seems as though, outside of our usual coffee shop setting, neither of us knows what to say. It's awkward, but at the same time, it isn't, because I know the awkwardness stems from both of us feeling incredibly nervous. Blaine glances across at me several times and smiles, and in the end I have to break the silence.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh, well..."

"Is that rude? I'm sorry. I was just trying to think of something to say, that's all. Sometimes my mouth speaks before my brain can catch up. Sorry."

"No, It's just..."

"This is weird, isn't it? Why is it weird? I mean, we've talked a few times now, and you rescued me this morning, so it shouldn't be weird, but it is. It's..."

"Weird?"

"Yeah." I lean back in my seat a little, my heart pounding unusually fast. "Weird."

"Um... well, maybe it's because we both um..."

"Like each other?"

"Yeah." Even in the dark, he blushes. "That."

"I guess so."

The silence falls again, and lasts through two sets of lights. On the plus side, it gives me time to admire the plush and pristine car interior.

"Thank you for my flowers," Blaine eventually says. "They kinda made my day, so..."

"You're welcome. I sent them before we..."

"I figured. Which made them mean more, really."

"I'm glad."

"I mean, when I say they made my day, you'd already made my day by agreeing to this date, so... so they um...enhanced it, I guess."

"Good." My heart rate slowing slightly, I look out of the window to see that we're near to Central Park. "So, where are we going?"

"About that..."

"It's rude of me."

"No, not at all. I just... You see..." He signals and turns, pulling up in front of his apartment block. We've only been in the car fifteen minutes. "I was trying to think of where to go, and then I'd left it too late to get into anywhere because it's Valentine's and seemingly everyone goes out to eat, so..."

"Your apartment?"

"Yes."

"Right." I look up at the building and let out a breath. "Okay. Well, I can't say I've ever been back to a guy's place on the first date, but..."

"Do you want to call someone?"

"Huh?" I turn back to see Blaine looking terrified. "Why would I call someone?"

"Just to let them know where you are. If you don't feel safe, I mean."

"Are you going to jump me?"

"Goodness, no! I would never... No. I just want you to be comfortable, that's all. I would never..."

"Try anything?"

"Exactly."

Summoning up every ounce of flirtatious courage I possess, I give a small smile. "What a shame. I was rather hoping you would."

It works. I don't know why, because to me it sounds forced and unnatural, but Blaine gulps, gives a sharp nod, and then he's out of the car and opening my door for me, tossing his keys to a valet.

"Come up," he says, still slightly dazed by my comment. "We can...um... well, there's food."

"Okay. Aren't you going to say thank you?"

He frowns. "What for?"

"Not to me, to that valet."

"Huh?" He looks over his shoulder, as if noticing the valet for the very first time. "Oh. Right. Thank you, Greg."

"It's Ed, but you're welcome, sir."

"Ed. Right. Good." Clearly at a loss, Blaine looks to me, and I smile in the hope of showing him I'm not mad.

"Thanks. I just... my dad is... you know? He works a blue collar job and I see him, going out of his way to help people, and there's no thanks for his time or effort, just an expectation."

"I get that," Blaine says, and I think he's sincere even though he ignores the doorman and the elevator operator. "But these people are paid, Kurt. They're not standing here for the love of it."

"Minimum wage, most likely," I tell him once we're alone outside his door. "And you never know, Blaine, your thanks could make someone's day. You certainly made mine when you first spoke to me."

"I did? I thought I came off as rude."

"You did. And hot."

He opens his mouth to come back, but he's got nothing so instead he just lets me into the most enormous apartment I have ever seen.

"Holy shit!"

Blaine says nothing, still, but he must be aware that this is not your average living quarters; certainly not for a struggling college student in New York, anyhow. The apartment is vast, with high ceilings and expensive antique furniture

"This place is enormous."

"This is uh...this is the hallway," Blaine says stiffly. "Bedrooms are down there," he gestures vaguely to the right. "Office, Library, room that I don't know what to do with, bathrooms, all that sort of thing. Living room is this way."

He leads me to the left, and into what is essentially a huge space with couches in it. There are tall windows, giving a perfect view of the Hudson and the night sky, and then the room extends around to the right, giving way to a dining area and beyond that, a kitchen.

"It's beautiful."

Blaine shrugs, and holds out a hand for my jacket. I give it to him, and when he disappears to hang it, I slip my shoes off and sink into the carpet. I wander around, taking in photos of Blaine as a young boy, with another, older boy by his side.

"Is this your brother?"

"Yes."

"You look close."

"We were."

"You're not now?"

He stops on his way to the kitchen and pauses as if he's giving my question a great deal of thought. "I think we're perhaps not as close as we could be, which is a shame," he says eventually.

For a long time I stand there, looking out at the river but not really seeing it, as I process Blaine's weirdness. He's embarrassed about his wealth, and awkward when talking about his brother. Something is off, but he's not about to give anything away, and so I resolve to ask more on a second date, if there is one.

"I made pizza," he suddenly says, reappearing with two plates. "Because you said you liked it. So uh... yeah. It's almost done."

Not only is there pizza, but there's champagne to drink, and a dish of green beans, which really makes me laugh out loud. "Okay, that's a good one."

Pleased, Blaine settles back in his chair with a smile. "I wanted to give you your favorite foods. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Thank you." I raise my glass and we toast one another, before demolishing pizza in relative silence. It's strange, but eating in front of people I don't know has always bothered me, but not tonight, not with Blaine. Somehow, despite the many unanswered questions, and the not knowing, everything seems right; easy.

"Are those the flowers?" I ask, nodding toward the many vases on the antique dresser.

"Yeah. You like them?"

"They're lovely. I wasn't sure. You know, you order online and then you just hope they'll be okay. Then, of course, I had to hope there wasn't more than one Blaine at your workplace, since I didn't know your last name."

"Anderson."

"Oh, well now I know for next time." I smile brightly. "Oh, hey, that's funny. You're Blaine Anderson and you work at Anderson and Cole."

He raises one eyebrow, and suddenly it's all I need to know. "Oh my god it's your firm, isn't it?"

"Not mine, no."

"Your dad's, then."

"No." He sighs heavily and sets his glass on the table where he fiddles with it rather than look at me. "My mom's, actually. Nadine Anderson. Her grandfather started it. He was called Cole Anderson, but he switched it up so it sounded like he had a partner when the reality was it was just him in a tiny basement room when he first started out."

"Can I ask how come your last name is Anderson then?"

"My dad took my mom's name when they married," Blaine says softly. "Which was oh so progressive and liberal when they married in the late sixties, but the reality was that there was no way in hell my mom would have relinquished her hold on the Anderson name. Dad married into her family, not the other way around."

"Does it have to be any way? Surely a marriage is a union rather than one side dissolving into another."

"You'd think, but no. Dad married into the Andersons, end of story."

"Well, they all sound delightful."

"Ha!" Blaine looks up then, genuine mirth shining in his eyes. "Yeah, they're the absolute best," he says dryly. "Ah, come on, this conversation is dragging me down, and I don't want to end up maudlin tonight. Follow me."

I trail him into the kitchen, where he pours more champagne and sets a box on the enormous marble island. "Chocolate."

"Oh my god! Fancy chocolates." I want to protest, really, but I also know that money to Blaine clearly isn't the same as money to me, and anyway, they really are fancy. "I'm gonna die," I declare happily as I pop one in my mouth. "What a way to go."

He laughs, and looks over his shoulder at me. The light from the open fridge seems to highlight him perfectly, and I'm reminded again just how incredibly beautiful he is.

"I doubt you'll die, but I'm glad you like them," he says evenly. "I also have pie, and cheesecake, and ice-cream, of course."

"Really? Wow. That's amazing." He sets everything out with two bowls, and I hop up on the island to watch him. "You got salted caramel ice-cream? That's my favorite."

"Yeah. Uh..Kurt?" He steps closer, so he's standing in front of my knees. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"On your hip there." He gestures vaguely to my left hip, and I pull my sweater a little lower. Of both of us, he looks the most flustered and embarrassed, but he still holds me in a steady gaze.

"It's um... It's a little bruised, from where I fell." I hold my hands up. "But I'll survive, really. Don't worry."

He takes my wrists, holding my hands palms up. "You really hurt yourself," he says sadly, looking at the grazed skin. "Kurt..."

"It's fine, really. I was just...trying to make sure you didn't escape and..."

My sentence ends in a small laugh, cut off abruptly when Blaine raises my right palm to his lips, and kisses it. He keeps his eyes locked on mine throughout, and then kisses the left one, too. "I don't like the thought of you hurting."

My heart racing, I have to lick my lips before I can get any words out. "No, well, like I said, it's..."

"Can I see?"

"It's really nothing." It's not the bruises he needs to worry about, I think; more the flame of desire inside of me that is suddenly flaring very hot indeed.

"Okay." He shrugs and steps back a little. "I won't push you. But I do have some stuff that's good for bruises, if you want it. I think it helps them heal quicker. My assistant says it's nonsense but I swear by it."

Slowly, I lift the side of my sweater, and push the waistband of my jeans down slightly. The bruise is now a livid purple, as I thought it would be, and it covers a good portion of my side. Looking down at it, I see Blaine's trembling fingers come into view, gently tracing the outline. His touch is featherlight, prompting goosebumps to rise over my skin as my breath catches in my throat. I look up, to find him closer than he was, his eyes shining.

"I'll uh...I'll get that cream," he whispers, but neither of us make to move. He just stays there, looking up at me, and I stay looking down at him. The silence stretches, but the moment never breaks, and I know, however hard I try, I'm not bold enough to make the move.

"Do it," I whisper as his gaze drops down to my lips.

He gives a small shake of his head. "I can't."

"I want you to."

"No, I mean I actually can't. I can't reach." He looks back to my eyes and bites his lip as he smiles, endearingly shy.

"Oh." I slide off the counter and then I'm right in front of him, our bodies pressed together as he makes no move to step back. "Better?"

"Much. Kurt..." He closes the gap, grazing his lips over mine and giving a small sigh of contentment. He does it again, pressing harder, and then it's like the floodgates have been opened for both of us. I think it's me who pulls him in for a proper, deep, long kiss, but it could just have easily been Blaine; his hands frame my face as we kiss over and over, and I let my own hands slide around his waist and down to where the top of his ass swells deliciously in his pants.

I feel as though I could kiss him forever; there's no awkwardness now, just pure, heated want from both of us, and it drives me crazy. Pushed against me, I can feel Blaine getting hard, which makes me grab his hips and pull him even closer, making sure he knows I'm the same. Hell, if he wanted to, he could take me right there and then and I'd be more than willing. He doesn't, though.

The kiss slows- an act of remarkable restraint on Blaine's part because I was all for saying to hell with it and going right to bed, but Blaine pulls back, with one final, soft kiss to my lips, and runs a hand through his hair.

"We uh... we should eat that ice-cream," he says, looking utterly dazed and confused. "Before it melts."

I laugh, smooth down my clothing and stand up straight. "That's what you were thinking of?"

"Uh, no." He hands me a bowl and quickly kisses my cheek. "That is most decidedly not what I was thinking about, at all."

"What, then?"

Shaking his head, he steers me back to the dining table and pulls out a chair. "You know what, and I'm not going to say it."

"Tease."

"Tell me about school, instead. That girl you were with, is she your roommate?"

"Kind of. Our dorms are arranged in groups of six. Rachel shares a room with another girl, both of whom are on my course."

"Who do you share with?"

"No one."

"Really?"

"Yeah, my dad wanted me to have my own space. I was bullied in school, and I think he was worried I might end up with a roommate who was homophobic, or something, so he paid extra for a single dorm room."

"That's very sweet of him."

"You have no idea." I smile, thinking of my dad back home in Lima. "He's the best."

"Good. My dad was pretty cool."

"Was? He died?"

"Yeah." Blaine clears his throat and pushes his empty bowl to one side. "Yes he did. There was an accident and he... Well, he didn't make it."

"I'm so sorry." I reach out across the table, taking his hand and lacing our fingers together. "My mom died too. I was five."

"That's rough."

"Yeah, it was. Probably why my dad and I are so close."

"Yeah? Funny, it didn't work that way for my mom and I. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"You don't get along? What's she like?"

"She's focused, driven, successful, cold. She was always all of those things, except cold, you know? I have memories of her being a real mom; playing with us, bathing us, chasing me around the yard, laughing... She wasn't always like she is now. She just wasn't. It was a gradual change, I think. My grandparents insisted Cooper and I went away for school when I was seven."

"You were what?"

"Exactly. I think that was the start of the end for mom and dad's marriage, to be honest. They divorced when I was ten, and dad moved out to Texas, to live on a ranch."

"Wow, that's quite the change of lifestyle."

Blaine smiles, clearly still proud of his late father. "Right? It was heaven out there. Nothing but us, and the horses; all that space, the beauty of nature... Incredible."

For a moment, he looks so wistful that I am almost moved to tears, and once again I find myself more than a little intrigued by this man.

"Incredible," he whispers softly again, and then he seems to remember himself and come back into the room from wherever it is he's been. "Another drink?"

"Sure," I say, even though the two glasses of champagne have already made me lightheaded.

He hurries away, embarrassed, I'm sure, by his outward display of emotion, because when he returns with two glasses, there's a corporate, formal Blaine in place that I don't really care for at all.

"I need to make a call," he says, handing me my glass. "I'm afraid I didn't realize the time. I'll just be a few minutes, and then I'll call a cab to take you home."

He's gone before I can say anything, walking in the direction of his office, so I sit on the couch, the taste of him still on my lips, and wonder why he'd end such a wonderful evening so abruptly at nine thirty.