Phuh, I managed to update on a Thursday this time :p
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything you might recognize.
Kurt hadn't even considered going to Elliot's party. He wasn't in a particularly festive mood, and he didn't want to be their own personal party-pooper with his blues. But Rachel seemed determined to put a stopper to his plans of not having any plans this Saturday night, and occupied his bedroom with her nagging.
"I know that you are thinking about whatever the doctors are doing to you. But no matter if you are there or not, I will spend time worrying about you, and the others will notice. You might as well make an appearance, to reassure everyone that you haven't abandoned them in favour of a new group of more fashion-forward friends and to distract them from noticing my worries. Even I have limitations to my acting skills when my best gay is hurting."
"I'd rather poke them on Facebook," Kurt had insisted vehemently – if Facebook even still existed. He hadn't been logged on to that thing since Blaine told him he had cheated on him with someone he met on said social network.
"Elliot doesn't have an account. Besides, it's important to me that you come to this party. I want you to meet Hugh."
"He's sitting right there!" Kurt had laughed hysterically, and pointed at his partition, knowing Rachel's whatever-he-is was sitting in their couch and waiting for her. "I'll peek around the curtain and nod hello, if that's so important to you."
"No, I want you to make a proper first impression on him, and right now you are being a fool, and ridiculing me. I don't make stupid decisions, and being your friend is one of the smartest things I've ever done. Because Hummel's aren't quitters, and you are the only one who could keep up with me and even give me some competition. So get up and put some clothes on, because you are going to that party!"
"Dad used to say that nobody pushes the Hummel's around," Kurt smirks, quite enjoying the frustrated anger Rachel is trying to manipulate him with. She's silent for a long while, until she grabs his phone from the charger, and jumps back, away from his reach.
"I'll call your dad," she says. "If you don't come with me to Elliot's, I swear I'll call your dad and tell him everything I know. Considering that isn't much, I know he's bound to worry from the lack of details. So what's it gonna be?"
Kurt swears, but realizes he's lost, and rolls out of bed.
"I'm not changing in front of you."
"Don't try any funny business!" she warns him.
"We live in a loft. I'm not gonna climb out of the window," he huffs.
"Okay. Good," she nods, and marches out of his private corner.
He sighs deeply, and starts going through his wardrobe, wondering what to wear when you want to reassure everyone that you are perfectly fine without drawing attention to you at all.
"You have ten minutes, or I'm calling Burt!" Rachel yells at him. Good thing he has a few emergency outfits prepared, then.
It's not his proudest moment, when he steps out to join his crazy and her gentleman. He has to force himself to meet the Brit's eyes. The man is simply smiling at him, though, as if he's used to much more than Rachel's hissyfits and petulant gays combined.
"Hugh Watson. Nice to meet you," he extends a hand, and talks with an accent that vaguely reminds Kurt of Rory.
"Kurt Hummel. I'm sorry, I'm usually able to act like a 25-year old. It's just… It's been quite a month," he apologizes, the humiliation of how he acted finally catching up with him.
"No worries. Shite happens," he smiles. "There's always the possibility to get smashed," he says easily and chuckles.
Rachel shoos them out, and soon they are on the subway headed for Elliot's place. Rachel and Hugh discuss the differences and similarities between British and American underground, while Kurt stealthily observes them. He can understand the appeal, why Rachel would take a liking to this man. He is calm enough to survive the whirlwind Rachel is, but also confident enough to object if he doesn't agree with her. They laugh a lot, and Rachel seems to be talking more than she is patronizing or lecturing him, which is a nice change. Kurt loves Rachel, but to be honest – she can be a bitch and act like a little miss Knows-It-All. Less now than in high school, though. Hugh is also easy on the eye. He's a little plain looking at first glance, average height and build, nothing that makes him stand out. But if you offer him a second glance, you notice that he's actually really cute, with freckles and red curls. He gets prominent dimples when he smiles, his eyes are genuinely kind, and his attention towards Rachel seems honest. Good for Rachel, finding someone who isn't just attracted to the assumed glamour.
The party is in full swing, which isn't a surprise considering how much Kurt delayed this trio. As soon as Kurt is spotted behind Rachel and Hugh, everyone gets up to hug him, greet him, yell at him for his absence, or just make sure he's not a drunken hallucination. Kurt feels sorry for Rachel, who obviously was excited to introduce Hugh to her friends.
"I need something to drink if I'm going to survive this mayhem. I will be back, and you all will behave," he instructs them, and backs towards the kitchen, waving a warning finger playfully at them. Hopefully they will notice Hugh as soon as he is out of sight, and Rachel can parade her arm-candy. He gets his bottle of red wine out of his satchel, and opens the drawer where he knows Elliot keeps his bottle opener. He chooses one of his friend's inexpensive Ikea-glasses, knowing those in the front of the cupboard are made of crystal and bought in Prague, a gift from an ex. Even if that particular man didn't turn out to be a collector's item, Kurt knows Elliot cherishes the glasses. So he won't risk ruining them during a drunken party. They are saved for a calmer dinner or a quiet night nibbling Italian cheese and Spanish smoked ham. He should know; he's been treated to some of Elliot's calmer soirees.
When he returns, his suspicions are confirmed; Rachel and Hugh are surrounded by their friends. Kurt joins them, hearing the end of a sentence about Queen, but he's not sure if it is the band or the royal.
He shouldn't be so surprised to see Blaine among the guests, when he knows Elliot and his ex have bonded over their love for music and bizarre artists. But he still hadn't prepared himself to see him, and now he can't stop worrying if Blaine – who knows everything – will want to talk about it. Because Kurt is so not interested, he just wants to drink and forget for one night. Blaine doesn't acknowledge him, though, so that seems to be a blessing on an otherwise crappy night.
Later, though, Kurt has to admit he's glad he went to the party. It's good to see his friends again. Elliot has great music taste, his appetizers are delicious, Mercedes and Sam are too adorable in their still fresh engagement-bliss, Santana is surprisingly calm today, and Brittany has stopped shooting daggers at Dany – being pregnant in 7th month brought out the jealousy in her. The third glass of wine might also do something good to his attitude.
Puck slides up to him, with a beer bottle in his right hand.
"If anyone is giving you crap, I hope you remember that I'll kick their asses for you? I know you have steel toes on some of your boots, and I know you're badass. But if you need back up, I've got your back, okay?"
Kurt rolls his eyes at him, but smiles. It's actually sweet that Puck is still protective of him. Too bad he can't cure cancer.
Puck disappears to woo his lovely wife Quinn into dancing with him, or so he says. Kurt scans the room, and his eyes stop on Blaine. He's sitting in the same place as he did earlier, except now he has four empty shot glasses on the table in front of him. Kurt walks determinedly over to him.
"What's the matter?" he murmurs, and sits down on the armrest next to Blaine. It's not like Blaine to drink for the sake of getting drunk as quickly as possible. He looks silent and pale, and now that Kurt thinks about it, Blaine's been silent and distant all night. He's usually so cheerful, making everybody feel good, bringing sun and joy to wherever he is.
"I'm fucked," Blaine mutters. "Fucketifucked."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Kurt offers quietly, and scoots closer, in case someone should be eavesdropping.
"Nah, you have enough on your plate," Blaine slurs drunkenly. "I want to create art, not hate. Might move back to LA and Cooper."
Blaine's words don't make any sense, but still they manage to scare him.
"I'm taking you home. You need to sleep off whatever is eating you tonight, okay?"
Blaine shrugs noncommittally, and takes a swig of his beer. Kurt gets up to tell Rachel he has to help Blaine home, and then to say goodbye to Elliot and thank him for a great party. It's already way after midnight, so it's not too suspicious that he calls it a night, and hopefully nobody notices how he's leaving with Blaine or assumes anything.
"So, where do you live, which train do we need to get to your place?"
"I don't know," Blaine frowns. "I know Cooper's address, though," he beams proudly.
"That's good, but we don't need that now. We need your current New York-address. Or at least the right station."
"It's something with a station," Blaine nods determinedly. "Piccadilly Circus!" he grins triumphantly.
"Honey, I'm pretty sure you don't live in London."
"Hugh and Rachel live in London," Blaine says drowsily, and leans against the building. Kurt doesn't correct his weird conception, when it's more important to figure out where he should take him.
"Do you have your address written in your wallet?"
"No!" Blaine growls with round eyes. "The burglars might find me then!"
"Of course," Kurt sighs. He's tired, a little drunk even if the cool night air is doing its best to sober him up, and he just doesn't have the patience to figure out where Blaine lives. There's only one option left.
"Come on, you're going home with me."
"Wee!" Blaine squeals, and claps his hands happily.
He's awfully handsy on the train to Bushwick, and Kurt tries to discourage him. He's never been one for too much PDA, and especially not with a drunk boy he once loved and now and then has hooked up with, but currently try to establish a friendship with. But Blaine is relentless, and keeps crowding his private sphere, nuzzling Kurt's neck and running two fingers up and down the outseam of his pants.
Kurt more or less drags him to the loft, not an easy task with an uncoordinated drunken octopus currently possessing Blaine's body. While Blaine uses the bathroom, Kurt prepares the couch for him, finding spare pillows and a thick blanket. He finds a bottle of water and two Advil for him to take in the morning. But when Kurt turns around, Blaine is already sprawled across his bed, face down.
"So you're sleeping in my bed?" Kurt muses, and kicks off his shoes. "At least get rid of the bowtie and jeans, those won't be comfortable in the morning."
He retrieves the water and painkillers while Blaine clumsily steps out of his clothes.
"Why is it so wrong to be gay?" he whines, when Kurt climbs in from the other side.
Kurt startles at the unexpected question, and can feel his shackles rising.
"There is nothing wrong about being gay," he says coolly. He once looked up to the proud, confident and popular Blaine. He later learned that Blaine also was insecure and scared, marked by his past and not quite comfortable with his present. But it only made him more human, more approachable. He never struck Kurt as the self-deprecating kind. Something must be going on.
"Tim thinks so," Blaine mutters into the pillow.
"Who's Tim?"
"Nobody. Somebody. Doesn't matter."
"Hey," Kurt objects, and scoots across the mattress close enough to run a hand over Blaine's shoulder blades. "You've been a good friend for me the last weeks, helping me with my shit. Let me return the favour and at least offer a shoulder or an ear."
Blaine doesn't say anything, so Kurt waits patiently, resting a hand on his back to remind him he's there. He tries very, very hard not to think about how much skin he has in front of him, with Blaine only wearing boxers and an undershirt, sprawled like a starfish on top of the covers.
"Tim is my homophobic love interest in Beezwax," Blaine finally mumbles.
"Sounds complicated, and eerily familiar," Kurt muses, imagining a plot similar to Dave's confusion at McKinley where he first tormented him and then tried to woo him for Valentine's.
"He's homophobic off stage and love interest on stage."
"Aah…"
"Now that I'm gay, he doesn't want to kiss me. I made him feel uncomfortable after rehearsing for a month without problems," Blaine continues. It has always impressed Kurt, how he doesn't lose the ability to string a sentence when he's drunk. He gets chatty, sure, but he also mostly makes sense.
"Blaine? You've always been gay," Kurt gently corrects him. "And if this Tim was fine kissing you last week, this shouldn't change a thing."
"I know that!" Blaine growls, looking at Kurt with wide-open eyes. "Tell it to Tim!"
"Have you tried talking with him?"
"He doesn't know I'm aware of his appa… appre… apprehension!" he exclaims triumphantly, conquering the word. "I kind of overheard a conversation in a bathroom," he continues sheepishly. It must be a defeat for a gentleman to admit undapper behaviour like that, Kurt briefly snickers to himself.
"And now you're too polite to take the confrontation…"
"I don't want to quit the play," Blaine looks at Kurt with moist eyes. "I love it."
"I know you do. And you don't have to quit. We'll figure something out."
"I wish I was straight…"
"No, you don't."
"No, I don't."
Blaine shuffles around until he's resting on his side, curled up close to Kurt, with one foot tucked between Kurt's feet, and an arm draped across his stomach.
"I wish someone would actually want to kiss me," he sighs sadly, head buried in the pillow.
Kurt is sober enough to know better, but he's also still drunk enough to not care. He cradles Blaine's jaw tenderly in his palm, and looks at him for a moment to make sure it's okay. Blaine is looking at him with awe, eyes shining with unshed tears, but behind it also a glimmer of happiness. Kurt licks his lips, which makes Blaine's eyes dart in that direction, so he leans in and presses a tender kiss to Blaine's mouth.
One kiss isn't enough, and Kurt dives in for more. Blaine whimpers against his skin, clawing at his clothes to crawl closer.
"Prejudice is just ignorance," Kurt pants, trying to ease Blaine with the words that once comforted him. "Courage, baby, don't let the haters get to you."
Blaine chokes on his own laugh, and chases Kurt's lips for more kisses. They kiss and kiss, even if a timid voice in the back of Kurt's head is trying to convince him how this is foolish. A different voice is belting out that Blaine needs this. Kurt lies down on his back, pulling Blaine with him to rest between his legs on top of him. They're both getting hard, just from this.
"Wanna blow you," Blaine whispers huskily against Kurt's skin, nibbling at his earlobe and creating goose bumps all over Kurt's body.
"No," Kurt shakes his head. No, he doesn't want anyone near him there, not so that they can see. He hasn't dared to look for himself lately, but he can feel the tumors growing, and he must look hideous down there. He doesn't want Blaine to be eye-level with his crotch. Or rather, his testicles. "No," he repeats, "like this." He eases his hands inside Blaine's underwear, and pulls the garment down his legs. Blaine takes the hint, and wiggles out of his briefs while trying to drag Kurt's pajama pants off of him. It's clumsily, and the alcohol in their veins isn't doing them any favours, but they manage to get naked. Kurt wraps his long legs around Blaine's body, and moans loudly when his body is arrested by the first pull of naked skin against naked skin. God, so good, Blaine always knew how to make him fall apart.
Blaine is shaking, and his face goes from smiling to worrying to wonder to smiling again. Kurt kisses the worry away, and when Blaine's hands wander down along his thighs, Kurt grabs him by the wrists, flips them over, and takes charge.
"No touching," he says playfully, trying to prevent Blaine's interest in touching him below the metaphorical belt. For once, his hands are not granted visas south of Equator.
The orgasm is like the ocean lapping lazily at him; the beach, fading in and out, but growing stronger for each return, until it grows to a storm he could drown in. Blaine is writhing under him, hands straining to get out of Kurt's firm hold, and he's prodded his heels in Kurt's back to encourage him to move harder, faster, stronger, quicker, more, more, more.
"I'm going to…"
"Yeah, me too…"
"Oh, I didn't know you were dating…"
Kurt's head snaps to his curtain, where Hugh is standing looking mortified – or at least the part of his face that isn't hidden behind two hands looks bright red and gawking.
"We're not dating," Kurt automatically corrects the Brit.
Unfortunately, Kurt's sudden movement is the last encouragement Blaine's body needs to let go, and he's coming wetly against Kurt's stomach.
"Oh God, oh God, oh my God," Blaine groans, and it's not the good kind of deity.
"I'm so sorry, Rachel said you were taking Blaine home, and sent me here to find a clutch she forgot earlier, while she powders her nose. She needed something from it before we're going to my hotel, you see, and now I'm rambling."
"Could you perhaps give us a moment?"
Hugh nods behind his hands, and backs out, not without bumping against a sharp edge and hissing in pain.
Kurt climbs off of Blaine, who hasn't said a word. He offers him a wet napkin, before cleaning up his own stomach. His once excited penis is now anything but interested in saluting. He quickly pulls on his sulking-outfit from earlier, and under his oversized McKinley-hoodie he finds Rachel's clutch. With a heavy sigh, he goes to find Hugh. The foreigner is pacing the floor, still looking flustered.
Kurt keeps an eye on the bathroom door, but all he can hear is Rachel singing.
"Could you please not tell her about this? She doesn't need to know, there really isn't anything to tell, just… Helping an ex scratch his itch?" Kurt whispers hurriedly, hoping Rachel won't walk out right now. If she sent Hugh in to his room, it must mean she didn't hear them, and with some luck she doesn't need to know they were ever there.
Hugh nods dumbly at him, and Kurt salutes him while hurrying back behind the curtain. He eases under his covers, just as he can hear Rachel saying something. A moment later, he hears the familiar sound of the heavy sliding door being locked.
"Phuh, that was a close one," Kurt exhales, and gets comfortable. "Good night!" he wishes his friend, before closing his heavy eyes.
"Good night," a voice croaks back.
When Kurt wakes up the next morning, the other half of his bed is cool to the touch, and there's no trace of Blaine ever being there.
Author's note:
Please don't hate me.
Have I ever written something without a happy ending?