Chapter Summary: Consequences begin to show their faces.

A/N: Again, I apologize for how long it's taken me to get this up! School completely whipped me. Thankfully, the next few chapters should be out pretty quickly! And, after a month of deliberation, I've determined that instead of dragging the story out in twenty bajillion chapters, this fic will actually have a sequel. So, this part will end with chapter twelve, as I stated it would way long ago, and the sequel will be about eight or nine chapters. For those interested, I now have a tumblr (sunandrainfic[.]tumblr[.]com), if you want to get updates and previews of fic I write! I hope you enjoy, and thank you all for being so loyal and patient with me! I really don't deserve you all, and I'm eternally thankful you've all stuck with me.

It was a dream. Kurt knew it was a dream, misted with things familiar that he had never experienced before, even as it felt so real. Something was coursing through his veins like static, like broken pieces of glass tumbling painfully through his blood, underneath his skin.

He was thirsty.

Under his hips were the hips he was pressing into, slowly, rhythmically, his hands flat and hot against the skin they firmly slid down.

Up the stomach.

Past the ribs.

Over the shoulders.

Down the arms.

Sparks of that static flew up like broken glass, shot into his fingernails and up into his bloodstream as he stroked that skin; tanned, burning hot with fever and sweat and trembling underneath him. Blissed-out amber eyes, lidded with pleasure, burned into him as he slid his hands against fevered skin.

Up the stomach. Past the ribs. Over the shoulders. Down the arms.

Each group of muscles jerking as he passed over them, sparks pulling out of tanned skin, burning hot with fever and sweat and need underneath him. Quiet broken moans coming from an eternally-parted mouth. Kurt's tongue came out to lick his chapped lips.

He was so thirsty.

The skin under his palms grew warmer. Tanned skin, fevered, burning hotter than any human's skin could burn. His hands grew red and raw in the onslaught of such heat but still he touched, faster now. Up the stomach, past the ribs, over the shoulders, down the arms. Large, fast movements that pushed his pelvis into the body beneath him, that dragged out golden threads of sparking glass that threaded through his fingertips and up his arms and into his blood, that filled his mind with foaming pleasure that scrubbed against his brain and leaked out his ears, throbbed down his body and shoved into the needy, pliant limbs beneath him—and still he wanted more, he needed more, almost there just oh please a little more he was almost he was so thirsty.

"Kurt," Blaine moaned, voice so hoarse it was almost air. "Kurt, please…"

Faster, swiftly down the chest that arched into his touch, palms on fire, amber eyes beneath him so wide, so wide, they looked right through him as he pounded into the body beneath him, into the hips canting wildly up, the chest heaving and lifting into his palms, , the mouth parting and letting loose high, breath-painted whines, the amber eyes beneath him so wide, so wide, glossy with sex and sparking and draining of color and still so wide, burning through him as the tanned skin burned through his fingers, tears leaking out and down cheeks into the sheets beneath them.

"Take it," Blaine sobbed, "Please, take it, Kurt, take it!"

Lines of script stitched their way up his arms, in a language he couldn't read but he could feel, pulsating up his veins, and it felt like bound to me, felt like thirsty, felt like need it, felt like don't stop, felt like take it take it take it take it take me—

Someone's scream ripped out of his throat as the boy beneath him broke and the fire flooded into him like a crashing tidal wave—up his stomach past his ribs over his shoulders down his arms—and they shuddered together, hands clasped tightly in grips of marble as the one died and the other stopped breathing—

Kurt gave a strangled cry and jerked awake as Blaine suddenly recoiled up from his position on his chest, choking on a gasp. The air thinned itself into tiny ribbons as they coughed themselves to consciousness, locking eyes and staring at each other with bald, unconcealed terror. Kurt's lungs burned with the too-real memory of suffocating, and he pulled in air to horde it in his chest out of fear it might still be happening.

"What was—"

"A dream," Blaine interrupted raggedly, limbs shaking. "Just a dream."

Kurt studied him with wide eyes, the room growing tight around them as realizations crept up the steps of his spine like scratching fingernails.

"You had it too," Kurt whispered. He shook his head in forceful denial, panic threatening to drown him and he tried to move away. No, no, what did that mean, what did that—? Blaine moved fast, gripping the sides of his head to stop him and searching his eyes intently.

"Hey, hey," he hushed, "hey, it's okay, it's okay."

"Blaine, we had the same dream!" Kurt cried, voice rising uncontrollably as the echo of the feeling of Blaine's body going limp underneath him crowded his thoughts. "We had the same dream and you died, how is—"

"It's okay," Blaine's voice was soft, soothing. "Kurt, it was just a dream, it's okay." His hands moved down Kurt's neck to his shoulders and leaving a trail of warm, fuzzy calm seeping into his skin. "We're fine. I'm right here. We're fine." Kurt's eyes closed without his permission as Blaine caressed gently down his arm. "It was just—" His thumb grazed a spot on the crook of Kurt's arm and a quick tug of want gasped out of Kurt's mouth, his eyes flying open. Blaine froze, and Kurt followed his gaze to look down at the stitching on his arm.

In a language he couldn't read, but he could feel…

Blaine's face grew soft.

"What does it say?" Kurt asked, fascinated at the sudden change in his expression.

Blaine shook his head, a small smile and—was he blushing?

"It's not important," he murmured. "Something silly." His thumb stroked lightly over the very edge of the last letter. Kurt breathed in sharply through his nose. "I should get rid of it," Blaine said softly.

A pang of protest hit Kurt's chest. "Don't," he said, as surprised as Blaine when it slipped out of his mouth. Blaine watched him intently. "I like it," he admitted.

A beautiful, bashful smile lit up Blaine's face. "You do?"

Kurt nodded, unable to stop himself from smiling back. Blaine ducked his head, the blush climbing up his neck. "All right, then," he said to Kurt's sternum. His fingers took up their light stroking once again, skillfully outlining the stitching in the pale skin without ever actually touching it. Kurt's eyes fell half-shut in almost-sleep, his smile turning dreamy and the memory of the nightmare muted.

"You're cheating," he mumbled as he felt tiny, soothing ripples travel up his arm from Blaine's fingers. "Magic gives you an unfair advantage."

A small breath slipped from him as Blaine's lips suddenly brushed up his throat, electrifying down his veins.

"Still cheating?" he breathed into Kurt's skin. A high noise escaped Kurt's throat.

"So much!" he squeaked. "So much cheating happening right now!" Blaine giggled against his Adam's apple and adjusted himself on the couch, hips pressing comfortably against Kurt's own and lips trailing up his neck.

"Maybe there's something you can do to even up the playing field," he whispered against Kurt's jaw. The arousal that had been itching in his blood since the beginning of the dream spiked, and Kurt huffed a laugh, tangling his fingers in dark curls and bringing Blaine's lips to his own. Blaine groaned at the back of his throat and pressed down, suddenly, and Kurt gasped as pleasure flushed through his system and he felt his hips jerk upward—

"Oh! Dude! Did not need to see that!"

He jumped and sat up quickly, pushing Blaine back to a reasonable distance as their unwanted visitors came bounding into the room.

"Puck! Finn, what are you–?"

"Sorry, man," Finn said, shrewdly taking in the two in front of him with not-at-all-apologetic eyes. Kurt blushed hard. "Puck insisted."

"Your mom makes the best macaroni ever, dude. You can't just say stuff like 'my mom's making macaroni' and not expect me to come over and eat it." Puck threw his jacket unceremoniously onto the back of the couch, jumping over it and squeezing between Blaine and Kurt like the expert life-ruiner that he was. Kurt was going to strangle him.

"How are you even here?" he asked, incredulous and attempting to ignore the mortification setting over him. He crossed his legs uncomfortably. "Weren't you working at the garage today?"

"Burt let me out early and I went to Puck's," Finn shrugged. "Then Puck wanted to come here."

Puck nudged Blaine knowingly. Blaine buried his burning face in the cushions. "So, boys… what are you two up to this fine evening?"

Blaine's muffled snort did nothing to temper Kurt's incredulous glare.

"Noah," he said calmly, "if you do not vacate this couch within the next few minutes, I will slap you up the head so hard you'll be rushed to the hospital to be treated for blunt-force trauma." Puck laughed as Kurt attempted to unsuccessfully shove him away, swatting at him like he was a fly.

"Why so eager, Hummel? Too worried about getting back to boning each other?" Huffing in a combination of annoyance and humiliation, Kurt grabbed one of the couch pillows and started attacking Puck's shoulder—and then cried out as Puck found another pillow and started retaliating. Blaine attempted to prevent world war from breaking out as Finn watched, entirely unhelpful.

"You know I called this, though," Puck said to him, as if neither Kurt nor Blaine were in the room. "I told you they were totally doing it."

"We were not—we're not 'doing it'!" Kurt hit him extra-hard with the pillow for emphasis. "And even if we were, it would be none of your—Blaine, stop laughing, you're just encouraging him!" he snapped, throwing the pillow at his boyfriend (his boyfriend!). Blaine sent an apologetic look his way as he caught it, shoulders still shaking silently. Puck turned his attention to Blaine, who began defending himself admirably.

Kurt let out a sharp sigh, starting to wish the walls they had built in Blaine's mind earlier hadn't been quite so effective; if Blaine had been able to feel Puck and Finn coming in, none of this would have been a problem and they could have gotten back to kissing already. Oh god, did he want to get back to kissing. He looked back at his step-brother, silently retracting his vow to buy him anything Day-Glo orange.

"What happened to 'I'm here for you?' 'I've got your back?'" he accused.

"Never said the second one," Finn said.

So much for brotherly solidarity.

Kurt bolted up, grabbing the pillow back from Blaine (who had somehow managed to get around the coffee table and on top of the lazy-boy), catching Finn as he ran toward the kitchen for cover. Blaine called out in warning as Puck, seemingly sensing his friend's trouble, came bounding over to Finn for back-up, tossing him another pillow. Blaine came over to rescue Kurt, who didn't really need rescuing but was grateful for the help, and then suddenly they were formulating attack plans. And they all had some form of stuffed weapon, and then there were sides and territories and war cries, and… at some point, it stopped being annoying and started being fun—because those pillows were hideous anyway, and Kurt couldn't breathe for laughter, and…

He had never done something like this before. Had never been a part of something like this before. Kurt looked over at Blaine, whose face was glowing with a giddiness that made him suddenly look years younger, and his heart swelled at the realization that Blaine must have done things like this when he was a kid—that there must have been some happy memories amidst all the careful secrecy and trauma of his childhood.

And Kurt was sharing that with him. Those happy memories, they were this moment: they were pillow fights, and laughing until you couldn't breathe, and hiding behind your boyfriend because you lost your weapon and he's supposed to protect you anyway, it's part of being a good boyfriend, and…

And they were boyfriends.

They were Kurt and Blaine versus Finn and Puck. They were us versus them. They were us.

This was what being an us felt like.

Blaine looked at him curiously, his grin staying like an afterthought on his face as he cocked his head. Kurt shook his head, noticing for the first time that his feet had stopped moving. He shrugged slightly and smiled, continued staring.

Blaine's grin grew soft, and the air seemed to be filled with the imaginary floating down of wrecked pillows. It tickled the sides of his neck as Kurt studied the contours of his boyfriend's face; his arms; his waist. Found himself remembering the beginning of the dream: the insatiable thirst, the firm planes of a body beneath his fingers, the heated skin on his skin…

His lips parted.

Together.

Blaine's eyes, glinting amber and studying him as languidly as Kurt found himself looking.

Us.

"…Doing it," Puck whispered loudly, shattering the moment.

Kurt clenched his jaw and shared a look with Blaine.

The pillow flew in a graceful arc high over the room, hitting Puck directly in the face.

"Oh! Shit's serious now!" Puck cried over Finn's laughter, and he picked up the pillow and moved to attack—

That was when the front door opened and Carole stepped through.

Kurt caught his breath as everything skid to a halt.

His step-mother surveyed the damage done to her living room with a resigned expression.

"And here I thought getting off work early was something to be happy about," she said. Puck shoved his two pillows at Finn, who failed spectacularly at hiding them behind his back. Kurt and Blaine traded looks.

Carole only sighed heavily and moved past them all.

"I'm sure those pillows will be on the couch where they belong by the time I come back down to make dinner," she called as she trudged up the stairs. Finn and Puck, who had systematically horded all of the pillows and cushions at some point during the fight, started scrambling to put them all back. "And Kurt, Blaine," Carole turned.

Kurt tensed.

"Congratulations, you two. I'd say 'try to do a better job of hiding it when your dad comes home', but I don't think anybody in this house hasn't expected this, so you might just want to tell him straight."

Kurt stared with wide eyes and an open mouth as she disappeared up the stairs.

There was a heavy silence.

Then: "Dude, your mom is awesome."

"Tell me about it," Finn was dazed. Kurt shook his head and moved to help them put away the cushions. The sooner they were done, the sooner he could get back to kissing his boyfriend (speaking of kissing his boyfriend, was his boyfriend aware of the things that tongue was doing to his mental state? Blaine had to stop licking his lips, seriously, Kurt was watching him so intently he was starting to get a headache).

Blaine came to join them, and his fingers brushed nonchalantly over Kurt's arm as he moved past him to pick up a pillow. Then lightly, quickly, over Kurt's neck. Kurt tried to suppress his smile as they brushed fingers again, and as Blaine passed by him, he surreptitiously brushed against Blaine's hip. In this fashion, (brushing hands and backs and legs, and thighs) soon, everything was back in relative order—and Kurt was more desperate than ever to get back to the kissing.

"And duty calls," Puck said as the last cushion was wedged back into the lazy-boy. Kurt prayed to the ceiling that that meant they would be leaving soon, and started plotting how to get Blaine up to his room without being too obvious about it.

"We're still missing Sam and Artie," Finn shook his head, and Kurt wanted to hit something. "We can't go team until they call up that they're ready."

"We've got these two!" Puck placed a hand on Blaine's head and another on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt shrugged it off.

"I think I've made my thoughts on that game quite clear," he scoffed. Puck frowned.

"Oh, come on, it's just like the epic pillow fight we just had, but with guns. You could totally rock it!" Kurt quirked an eyebrow. Puck rolled his eyes. "Then my boy tiny over here," Puck placed his other hand on Blaine's head and ruffled his hair (and god, Kurt needed to touch that hair and he needed to touch it now). Blaine playfully shoved both hands away, lips stretched in a wide smile. "He can be on your team and help you lose again, Finn."

"Thanks for the offer," Blaine started, glancing continually over at Kurt as he spoke. He licked his lips, seemingly unconsciously. "But…"

And fuck itall, Kurt gave up.

"But we actually need to go upstairs and passionately make out for hours," he stated firmly, focused fixedly on Blaine's parted mouth and ignoring Puck's surprised 'really?'. He grabbed Blaine (who had apparently gone limp with shock) by the wrist, and tugged him over to the stairs, and he probably would have been blushing furiously if he wasn't positive all the blood in his body was already pooling low down between his legs. "Maybe next time," he called as he made his way, single-mindedly, up to the second level.

Blaine made a small, helpless noise behind him and Kurt heard Finn speaking into the absence:

"…We can just play Smash one-on-one until Artie and Sam call."

"I totally called they were doing it," Puck muttered. "That was hot."

Kurt ignored them as he pulled Blaine down the hallway, opening his bedroom door and closing it almost as quickly in order to press him up against the wood and finally, finally pick up where they left off. His mouth covered Blaine's before his boyfriend could say anything.

"Mmph!" Blaine arched against him, winding his arms around his shoulders. It was harsh, and rough, and they needed it that way, they needed it now. Kurt felt a tongue pressing against his lips and he opened his mouth to grant it access, growling at the feeling as it tickled the roof of his mouth. Blaine tugged him closer. "Kurt," he said, voice not more than air. Kurt sucked the tongue in his mouth, hands moving down Blaine's ribs to his hips, lifting up the sweater to—

—hands grasped tightly in grips of marble—

Kurt jerked away, gasping in a breath as the image flashed against his eyelids. Blaine moved to grab his arms.

"What is it?"

—draining of color and still so wide—

Kurt shook his head violently, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Just a dream, it was just—

—up the stomach, past the ribs, over the shoulders, down the arms—

"No, no, no, no…."

"Kurt, calm down—Kurt—"

Hands were grabbing at him, something cool flowing up and into his veins, but his blood was boiling and his head was pounding—

–take it take it take it take it—

"Kurt!"

Blaine's hands, Blaine's magic flowing through his veins, it was Blaine, Blaine, Blaine—

"Kurt, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong—please, I can't feel you anymore, remember, I can't feel you? Tell me what's wrong!"

It felt like his brain was overflowing with liquid fire, his blood was too hot, all he could see was blind, solid amber—no, no, all he could see was Blaine, Blaine on the floor, Blaine unmoving and dying, Blaine dead—

A loud, rasping noise filled the air, and Kurt realized distantly that it was coming from him.

"Kurt, please—!"

"My head!" he gasped, fingers grasping sightlessly at cloth, at Blaine's sweater. Cool hands came up to cradle his temples and Kurt gripped tightly at the wrists—this was Blaine, it was Blaine, living, breathing, not-dead Blaine—Kurt cried out as something too-hot invaded his skull. "No! Stop!" he clawed at Blaine's arms.

"What is it?"

"It hurts, stop!"

"What do you mean it hurts?" Kurt tugged at Blaine's arms, but they stayed where they were. "Open your eyes." He couldn't. "Kurt, open your eyes, look at me!"

He squeezed them shut before, with pure force of will, he pried his eyelids open—meeting Blaine's shocked gaze dead on. Someone let out a small whimper.

They started to slide shut again, but Blaine tilted his head up roughly, his thumbs pulling the lids open again. Fear started to paint his face as his amber eyes searched Kurt's face for something—Kurt didn't know what, only knew that he felt too hot, and looking at Blaine like this, those amber-glinting eyes, he was starting to feel so thirsty…

"Why…?" Blaine said, voice small and panicked. He backed away, dropping Kurt's head and pacing around the room before he was back, suddenly, cradling the back of Kurt's skull carefully in his hands. "No, no," he whispered, and terror clenched around Kurt's ribs as he wondered what Blaine saw. His mouth was so dry.

"What is it?"

"I must have done something to you, I must have… How could you…?"

"What is it?" Kurt snapped, feeling like his head was splitting in two. Oh god, he was so thirsty!

"Your eyes," Blaine said. "I—They look different."

"How different?" Blaine bit his lip and Kurt was suddenly seized with the desire to capture it with his own teeth. Oh god, he needed, he was thirsty, he needed—

"It doesn't matter," he said, forehead tilting to rest against Kurt's own. "We're going to fix this."

Kurt breathed out harshly against the urge to take—he didn't know what, but he was so thirsty and he knew Blaine had it, whatever it was that would quench his thirst, Blaine had it—

"How?" he rasped.

"Look at me." It was said softly, the lightest of silk against his ears. Kurt dragged his eyes to meet an eternal hallway of honeyed-ocher. Something locked him in, hands at the back of his head freezing him over, so hot and fevered as he was. It drew him in, down into eternity, colored amber, covering him in solid stopped-time.

"Just look at me," the hallways whispered, and fingers dragged lightly over his skull. Down his neck.

Cool, cool syrup coated his brain. Slid slowly down his veins.

He was lost. Stopped. Fossilized.

Kurt didn't know where he was anymore. But it didn't hurt anymore, either. It just felt better.

"Yes?" came the soft voice, echoing around his head.

"Yes," he breathed. It felt like relief—like he had been placed in clear, peaceful water.

Fossilized.

Safe.

"Good." The fingers were gone and his eyes fell shut, and Kurt felt himself falling against Blaine's chest, limp.

"What did you do?" someone was asking.

Oh. That had been him.

"I stopped it," came Blaine's voice, from some place far away. Kurt sunk downward. "It'll wear off in a few minutes."

Floating downward…

"I'll get rid of the magic in your arm. I've never left magic like that on someone's skin for so long. It must have bled into you in some way."

So warm…

"It must have been that."

A small, high noise sounded from the back of Kurt's throat. "No… don't get rid of it…" he slurred. "It's not that."

Deeper…

"I heard you… before that…."

Greedy black fingers grasped at him, pulling him down even deeper.

"You what?"

Something panicked snapped in the voice.

"Kurt—no, Kurt, wake up, what do you mean? What do you mean you were hearing me?"

Darkness laced his lips shut and he sunk into unconsciousness.

"Kurt! This is important! What do you mean you were hearing me?"

And he was lost.