CHAPTER 12
He kisses me like it's my very first kiss; sweet, gentle and slow as if I'm a precious porcelain doll which needs the utmost care. He kisses me and it feels like it's home. As his lips caress mine, his arms wrap around me firmly yet carefully around my waist. Though the kiss is sweet, it's still insistent - as if he's trying to push through the sentiment of "you're mine" and "I'll never treat you that way" all at once. At least, that's all I can feel as I lose myself in the moment.
"You are the most amazing, breathtaking man I've ever met, Kurt," he says. I can't help but let a tear come down my face. He swiftly wipes it away as his hands hold my face firmly and he looks straight into my eyes. "I swear, if I ever see that asshole again, I'm going to kick his ass. Legal consequences be damned."
I laugh softly as he pulls me in again for a kiss, deeper this time, thumbs brushing on my cheeks as I reach around his neck letting my hands linger on his muscled shoulders.
He pulls away again and repositions me, tucking his head against mine with his breath right at my ear. I shudder at the contact. "That bastard was an idiot. I could kill him for hurting you," he says, voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm all right," I reply softly. And I somewhat believe myself. Emotionally, I've definitely come a long way since Adam and I work hard every day to not be that doormat I once was.
Blaine doesn't reply but seems to believe me as his fingers tangle at the hair on my neck. "It's his fault you don't believe compliments when you get them, isn't it?" His tone isn't accusatory, more like he's making an observation.
I can't help but feel uncomfortable. Sure, some of the reason that I don't believe compliments is because of Adam. But sometimes, it's more because I've never felt truly comfortable in my skin. I made it seem that way in high school - that I owned everything about myself and was unapologetic about who I was - but that was only partially true. Deep down, I wanted someone who could see through that and see me; my insecurities and everything that held me back, but help me see through the fog and help me realize that I was the man I always portrayed myself to be. Friends helped and even other guys I'd been with in the past made me feel wanted and desired and admired. But in recent years - but even more so in the past few months - I had started to realize that it wasn't about being desired by them, it was about being enough for me.
How can I explain that to Blaine? That my insecurity is rooted in wanting to be liked by other people but struggling to sometimes even like myself?
"I do believe you," I say. "I just… these things are never simple."
"These things?" he asks.
"Accepting compliments." Feeling like I'm good enough, I add silently.
Blaine kisses my neck softly and turns me to look at him. "You are wonderful, Kurt. You are beautiful and good and I would never want you to change. I never for a moment want you to think that you're not perfectly imperfect just the way that you are."
God, I feel a fire in me that - for once - isn't solely based on sex. How can he possibly know how to read my mind when I'm so lost when it comes to reading him? How can he know one of the deepest struggles I have is so rooted in something so facetious that I'm embarrassed to admit it but so thankful to hear him utter the things I've always wanted someone to say. I feel so exposed and yet so powerful all at the same time.
His eyes pierce mine as he keeps talking. "I will never, ever ask you to change. I accused you yesterday of being brash and not thinking of others and I think you think that I meant that as something you needed to change about yourself. I was wrong. You're passionate and you think on your feet and you are so kind and good and I was angry. I wasn't angry at you, but angry at me. You are one of the most generous people I know and I was jealous - I am jealous - because I wish I was more like you in a lot of ways."
I'm somewhat shocked by his statement. How could he - the man who had so much for so long and experienced a life I can only dream of - ever want to be me?
"Not being able to give the nonprofits the money that I knew was due to them killed me. Letting people down kills me. Letting you down kills me."
I smile. "You've done so much for us… for me," I correct. "You have taken something that could've ruined most other families - hell, most other people - and you've tried to do so much to pick yourself up by your bootstraps and continue on with your life on your terms."
"Tried…" he interjects.
"No," I say, grabbing his face and turning the tables and making him listen to me. "You are a good man, Blaine. Sure, you've struggled but we all have. This has made you stronger and look at how much you've done to change your life? It's something to admire." I pause to kiss his cheek. "I admire you."
And it's true. I do. Despite his infuriating way of being elusive and the way I wish I had more scruples when he seems to make me crumble at his feet when it comes to sex, I admire the way that he has handled being thrown into practical poverty following his family's demise. I admire how he has supported Martin, probably the person who has been closest to him for most of his life. I admire that he didn't just roll over and accept the life he seemed fated for as a victim of slanderous media and has done everything he can to shield himself - and me - from that hell hole.
"As much as you admire me, I admire you. How you're stubborn and smart and occasionally reckless. How you're bent on infuriating me with your taunting or teasing," he says with a smile, "you're extraordinary and I wouldn't… no, couldn't, change a thing about you."
I can't help but grin. Hearing him say these things makes me feel validated in a way I haven't in a long time. But in other ways, he's honed in on the things I wish others would say about me. If Blaine, the guy I slept with and have spent time with but isn't quite my best friend, notices these things that must mean that others do too. And even if they don't say it, it doesn't mean it isn't noticed. And maybe it's high time I notice and acknowledge these things about myself.
"I wish I could carry you away from here," he says, interjecting my thoughts.
"Isn't that what we're doing? Being away from the world?"
He shakes his head. "No, I mean, away-away. Out of New York, somewhere away from other people where it could be just the two of us." He looks at me with a somewhat sad smile. "But I know how much you love it here. Every time I see you at The Center or even just around Manhattan, I can tell you were born for this place."
He really must know me better than I initially thought. I do love being in the city - even in outer Brooklyn where I wish I was living in Manhattan - but I couldn't imagine being anywhere else and being this happy. And I wish he and I could run away and he could get some reprieve from the troubles he's facing, but I can't leave Will in a bind - not to mention my father would not take my disappearance or impromptu trip with a man he's never heard of very well.
But who says we need to leave New York to be just us and escape the world? I pull his face into my hands and kiss his nose lightly. "We don't have to leave here to be alone, Blaine." I kiss him soundly on the mouth, slow and a little dirty. "Take me away," I whisper against his lips.
He doesn't say a word. He just kisses me and snakes his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. "I kind of wish you weren't wearing that stupid underwear right now, it's hard for me to take you seriously," he notes. I laugh. "But for now, I suppose we'll take advantage of the situation right now," he says
My chuckle dies in my throat as Blaine unbuttons my coat and slips his hand around my back and lays them gently on my ass. The light contact gives me goosebumps but soon I moan as Blaine's touch goes from light to luxurious as he kneads my ass in his hands. My breath shortens and soon Blaine's lips and teeth are at my neck, mapping out my neck with his mouth. The lapels of my coat are itchy against my skin, but I can't care as Blaine hoists me into his arms and I wrap my legs around his waist.
The motion propels us backwards, Blaine tripping slightly as we lower to the ground. If the impact hurt him, he doesn't seem to notice since he's making making his way down my chest and sucking every few inches, making my skin aflame with want.
"Fuck this," he says, pulling aside the last bit of underwear and practically ripping it in half. Our desire only seems to fuel the moment as I harden by the second and feel Blaine reciprocating beneath me.
I wish in this moment that we had lube or condoms - spit and desire alone won't be enough - but it doesn't seem to matter as Blaine firmly takes my cock into his hands and starts to work it over furiously. I lean back enough to move down his body and claw at his zipper - all while barely managing to hold it together as I watch Blaine's hand move back and forth, every second getting closer to release - and I remove his hard dick from his pants and boxers.
I start a rhythm as I tug on his cock but knock fists with him until he stops mid-jerk and takes us both into his hand. The contact and pressure is enough to make me moan like a whore and I lean back in total bliss as I feel myself getting closer and closer. I should be embarrassed that it could take about two minutes to get me off, but I can't care. I manage to look down at Blaine's hand working us over then look at his face; his eyes watching me with a lust that I can practically feel from my head to my toes.
"God, Kurt," he says breathlessly. "No matter when, you're always gorgeous."
That's enough to put me over the edge and it seems to help Blaine along too. With Blaine still practically fully clothed and me naked aside from a coat, we look positively ridiculous.
I should be embarrassed for the both of us that we finished so soon, but I can't seem to care. For some reason, this time with us in the middle of the garden of his former home, feels like the best sex that he and I have shared. It feels like… more.
And I'm okay with more. I'll always want more if it's with Blaine.
Thirty minutes after our release, Blaine and I are on our backs looking up in the trees as the day passes us by. I'm now wearing all of my clothes - I'm always thankful to carry around a messenger bag at all times or else I'm sure Blaine would've been fine with leaving my clothes in that seedy shop - and Blaine is tucked comfortably against my neck.
We haven't talked much since our mutual orgasms, but we don't really need to. Though we barely took a chip off an iceberg, things between us seem a bit more settled. And it still feels like more.
And it's glorious and terrifying.
The fact that he opened up - even the slightest bit - in a world where he obviously trusts no one makes this feel like it's a real thing. And it is real.
And how I feel about him is real.
I love him.
God, I love him. I haven't wanted to admit it before now for fear that my feelings were unfounded and that Blaine would never really let me in. But being let in even this little amount helps me know that this more that I'm feeling now could become even more. He trusts me, he needs me, he values me.
And I admire him, care about him, love him.
It feels absolutely crazy - it's moments like this where I understand that I sometimes just run with things and act instinctively, but in this moment it just feels right. Sure, there's still that worry that this whole thing could come down in flames with Blaine's family issues still looming, my career feeling solid but still not where I want it to be, and the fact that we're still not officially a couple to anyone outside of the two of us. But I can't think too much about that. Because in this moment, with Blaine at my side, I can't think of anything but now and how good this feels.
I glance down at him as his fingers make mindless patterns on the fabric of my shirt. Every time we're together we get closer - we start to better understand each other on deeper levels. Obviously Blaine has me figured out a bit more than I do of him, but we're getting there.
But I can see why Blaine treasures the time with just the two of us; it seems like the moment we're reimmersed with society he remembers that things aren't as idyllic as he wants them to be.
Blaine is still a man of many secrets - one with fears and pain and, clearly, guilt that I'm only now beginning to understand (and, in some ways, appreciate) and things between us certainly aren't perfect. He seems to still push me away (though it seems more as a mechanism to save me from himself and his worries), he sometimes uses me as a distraction (something I'm mostly fine with, especially now that I know it's rooted in true feelings and not just an avoidance tactic), and his general back-and-forth of his feelings (he puts walls up the moment after he's broken them down). It makes me dizzy sometimes. But the moments - like the one we had earlier, when he seems to be honest and open - that's what I hold onto when I'm questioning our relationship and feelings.
No, it can't be like that forever - I can't let it be like that forever - but I also acknowledge that he's dealing with a lot right now and his focus might not be where either of us wants it to be.
But I can tell that in recent days something has shifted. He has been more protective, more open, more willing to just be. I relish in this change, but I know based on history that it can change without notice and as often as the wind - and not because of anything with me. Though things with us seem solid, I know his world doesn't have the same level of stability. He's slipping and still struggling and right now, he's here with me at a place he shouldn't be - his family home.
But I'll go with him and be with him for this ride called his life. I won't ask him why he needs to be here. I won't ask him what we should do now that we're just laying in the grass looking at the sky as the sun falls out of view. I'll be here next to him.
Because I love him.
Blaine stops drawing invisible drawings on my chest and the lack of motion brings me back to reality.
"What?" I ask, unable to see his face to try to read his expression.
He looks up at me. "I want to go in."
"Go in?" I ask incredulously.
He nods against my shoulder. "Yes. Go inside. We've been here for a while and it seems like no one is here. No security cameras anymore, no one has walked past."
"Blaine, we'd be trespassing."
"We're already trespassing," he points out. "Besides, it's not like you haven't trespassed here before. It shouldn't phase you in the slightest."
I smile. "Are you sure about this?" I hate questioning him, but there are a host of reasons why this could go badly.
His response is to jump up and practically run toward the back of the house. I groan and manage to get myself up off the ground to chase him. My competitive nature can't let him have all the fun, and my curiosity really wants to know what this man is up to.
I manage to catch up with him at the back of the house at a wrought iron gate leading into, what looks to be, some sort of basement or cellar entry. "The service entry is the easiest way to get in without potentially setting off the alarms, assuming they haven't installed new ones." He jiggles the handle a bit and the door pops open. "Nice to know they haven't seemed to do much to the place yet," he says, bitterness creeping into his tone.
We walk through the gate together and I slip my hand into his. We're in some sort of pass through to the kitchen and cellar and the darkness is only slightly illuminated with light pouring in from the glass window in the door leading into the main part of the house.
Blaine's fingers tighten on mine as he pushes open the door and we're in the dining area of the house. He pauses and stops, taking in how different the place looks even though it hasn't been that long since he's left it. The furniture is all gone and the walls are bare. The only things that remain are the light fixtures and a wall of mirrors hung on the back wall. The windows seem to have collected a slight bit of dust with the blinds are partially askew and a film resting on the window ledges.
"Did you see what they're going to do?" he asks quietly. "They're turning this place into some sort of glorified resort; renting rooms in the famous Anderson estate and make up some sort of ghost story about this place and its history. They'll probably build a fucking gift shop and sell shit that some wacko on Etsy made that looks old but was really manufactured by some sweatshop in China!
And come Christmas this place will look like a fucking corporate Christmas card; packed to the brim with stupid tourists and they'll probably even get their own fucking 1900s-looking Santa to match the 'charm' of the place! They'll charge $80 a head for some bullshit Christmas event and place a disgustingly large tree on the lawn and parade it off like it's some sort of fucking Christmas miracle light show!" Blaine is yelling, his hand removed from mine at the beginning of the tirade and now shaking in fists at his side as he walks around the room.
There's nothing I can say to make it easier for him. The best thing I think I can do for him is what he initially asked me to do what feels like forever ago - distract him.
"Truth or dare?" I ask, my tone calm and my voice soft.
Blaine turns to look at me, face crinkled with questions. "What?"
"You heard me," I insist. "Truth or dare?"
I know it's a distraction, but I also acknowledge that with the way that I feel connected to him the game is likely not going to continue for much longer. We're past the games and need to move on to real things; real discussions, real emotions.
I don't know if Blaine feels the shift like I do, but he at least gives in. "Truth."
I pause for a moment. "Why did you bring me here?"
It's something I had been wondering since he gave the address to the driver when we were in the car. What would possibly make him want to come to the place that he holds so close to his heart but he can never be a part of again? That just seems cruel.
He sighs, fisted hands relaxing at his sides. "I thought I was fine, leaving this place behind. But not after I read in Gothamist what they're planning to do to the place. It was my family's home and to watch it be eaten like that…" He steps in front of one of the mirrors and lightly touches the frame. I move forward to try and lay my hand on his shoulder when it flexes unexpectedly as he grabs the mirror's frame, brings it off the wall, and crashes it to the ground.
The sound is ear-splitting. The mirror explodes into a thousand pieces as soon as it hits the floor, but Blaine barely flinches. He just looks down at the broken glass and reaches down to grab a shard from the floor.
"Blaine?" I ask hesitantly. I have no idea what he's doing. This is the most off the cuff I've ever seen Blaine and, to be honest, it's a little terrifying. I knew he had experience in boxing and jiu jitsu, but seeing his strength and his destructive abilities was new.
He glances up from the piece in his hand and turns back to me. His eyes become red rimmed and it practically stabs me in the heart to see him break down his wall so much more than he already had today and let me see how vulnerable he is in this instance.
He turns away and runs toward the main room off the dining room and I quickly chase after him. This room used to house his sofas and I imagine that his family had once entertained their guests and friends in this space. The skeleton of a room left behind is bare like the other spaces but the rich wood paneling remains.
Blaine walks up to the wall with the most paneling and takes the shard and drags it across, noise sharp and jarring with every move. Though this place is empty, he seems hell bent on destroying the place as he haphazardly takes the piece of glass against every available wall in the room.
"Blaine please!" I say, scared as I see blood come from his hand with a particularly large scape against the wall.
But it doesn't seem to matter; he doesn't hear a thing. He's finally come undone and all of the things he felt for so long seem to have come out all at once. He calms for a moment and drops the shard - bloodied as it clinks against the floor - before jumping in front of the window.
I catch his arm just as he's about to throw his fist through the glass. "Blaine. Please. Stop. You're scaring me."
He freezes but I can still feel the tension in his muscles. He's barely holding himself back. And he's barely holding himself together.
"You don't have to do this," I insist.
His cheek twitches. "Yes I do."
I step in front of him, placing myself right in the line of fire. I gently cradle his face in my hands and look at him square in the eye.
"This isn't you. You don't want to see this destroyed. Please, let it go."
I watch the rage and fury burn out slowly as his breathing evens out and his nostrils stop flaring. After a minute, his muscles have relaxed and his shoulders sag.
He reaches forward and grabs my waist before tucking himself against my neck again. He breathes deeply before I hear one solitary sob emit from his mouth.
"Kurt.." he says, barely holding it together as he grips my waist as if it's his lifeline.
"You don't have to say anything," I whisper into his ear before kissing his forehead. He doesn't make another noise but breathes deeply against me, holding me as close as humanly possible.
"I'm sorry I scared you. I don't want you to think that I would… that I could…"
I shake my head. "I know you would never hurt me." I take one of his hands from my waist to hold it in mine before I remember the bloody piece of glass he had discarded. I turn over his hand and notice large gashes in the skin of his palm. I take the hem of my shirt and attempt to remove some of the blood from his hands. Blaine doesn't flinch but still remains tucked in at my neck.
"I wish you hadn't hurt yourself," I say as I give up the quest to clean his wounds; my shirt won't work as well as antibiotic ointment and a band-aid.
"It's okay," he huffs.
I touch his cheek as he lays against my shoulder. "It's not okay. I don't want to see you hurt. And I don't want to see you sad. I'm here for you." I have to practically bite my tongue to stop myself from admitting that I love him, but I know that it's too much right now; too much for me to admit and potentially too much for him to hear.
He's shaking as he remains glued to my side and his fingers dig into the skin of my back. His breathing is calm but I can tell he's barely keeping it together.
"It's okay," I say soothingly. I rub his cheek again and I feel him take another deep breath. "I won't let you go. I'm here. Always."
I don't know how long we stand there like that, clutching each other, but before long we're both on the floor and Blaine is still trembling as we hold each other in a puddle on the ground. "You're not alone," I say as if it's our mantra, hoping with every time I utter it that he realizes just how true that is. "You're not alone, you have me."
He takes another shuddering breath. His hands move against my back and I feel the sticky warmth of his blood through my shirt. I grab his arm and pull it back around me so his wounded hand is between us. I take his hand in mine and bring it to my lips, kissing it softly. The hint of blood is almost salty and metallic but I don't think about that and wish that every kiss would heal the many wounds Blaine has right now - both on his hands and on his heart.
My eyes are closed as I kiss his hand but I can feel him looking at me and by the time my mouth has finished its mission, his breathing is calm, he has stopped shaking, and he's just looking at me with this look of… wonder, almost.
He moves his hands over me, stroking my arms, my shoulders, my back. This has become our ritual of comfort; we rely so much on touch to feel connected and whole. It's not just a distraction or a means to an end. It's just how we best understand each other.
Soon the movements steer from gentle and soothing to sensual and needy. Our legs twine together and we roll under each other, across the floor, until I'm on top of him.
I sit up, straddling him. I can feel his bulge beneath me and I move slowly against it, grinding our clothed cocks against each other. He groans and grips my hips while my fingers fumble at the fly of my jeans. A moment later, I have them off, and I lean forward and use my teeth to undo the button on his own pants.
I only slide them down to his thighs.
I don't have the patience for more. He's ready for me, and I for him.
Blaine moans again and clutches my thighs as I mimic what he had done earlier and take both of us into my hands. I begin to move up and down our joined shafts, and all the while I watch his face, watch the emotions play across his dark features.
His hands move from my legs and up across my body, slipping under my shirt to rub against my chest and navel, eyes still looking at my hand as it pumps away.
"Kurt," he rasps. When I drop my eyes to his face once more, a surge of pleasure moves through my gut. He's himself again, wicked and wild and fully present, and his eyes lock on mine with a force that shakes me to my core. He releases my waist and moves a hand up to my face. It's the same hand I kissed and nurtured only moments ago. His finger teases my lips, brushing back and forth across my mouth until I relent and open it for him. Then he slips the finger inside.
My eyes never leave his. I slide my tongue along his finger, and then I close my mouth and begin to suck. He growls and thrusts his hips, causing the movement of my hand to be faster, harder. My entire body burns with sensation, and I feel the pleasure building inside of me. I let out a whimper around his finger.
Blaine's eyes are so dark they're nearly black.
"Switch with me," he commands.
I obey, letting his finger slip from my mouth before carefully rolling us over and shifting my body under him. He gets on top of me and crawls so his dick is in my face and I realize what he's asking us to do.
Before I can think any more about it, he has my dick in his mouth and I practically scream at the contact. His hands clutch my ass as I pull his cock into my mouth, eager to reciprocate the amazing, wet heat of his mouth on me. This feels incredible as I greedily suck on his cock while he's sucking on me as if it was his job. He takes my balls into his hands as his tongue wraps its way around the head of my dick and slips a finger beneath them and lightly teases my hole.
The moan I make is loud enough to reverberate off the walls and Blaine stops sucking for one moment to look back at me; finger still teasing at my hole, only millimeters away from finding its way in. "Come for me," he says, eyes dark. "My sweet, naughty Kurt."
He puts my dick back in his mouth and with a few more forceful sucks and one finger expertly inserted into my ass, I come down his throat. He swallows greedily as I fill his mouth and ride out my pleasure.
I barely have time to comprehend how hard I've come until I feel Blaine's dick making its way back into my mouth and he's practically fucking my mouth - slowly, but gloriously. He's lifted up by just his arms with his legs on either side of my head, and I can sort of see him watching me as his dick goes in and out of my mouth. I hum around his length as it makes its way in and he groans before muttering, "Kurt, I'm gonna…. I'm gonna... " Then he explodes in my mouth and I'm all too eager to savor this moment. I suck feverishly until he's spent, his hips stilled and his legs practically collapsing in relief.
He pulls his cock away from my mouth before turning around and positioning his face next to mine. His eyes before were crazy with emotion, and now they look calm and as beautiful as ever. He strokes at my hairline and pushes a few away where they had crept into my eyeline with our release. He smiles at me and I can't help but reciprocate. I have never felt more deliriously happy than I am today.
But Blaine always seems to know how to make everything even sweeter. "Just like I said," he says, "no matter when, you're always gorgeous."
