A/N Written for th Prompt Bang Second Wave 2022! AU; Blaine Anderson is a charter pilot who has been hired to fly a small group of people to a destination wedding on a private island off the coast of the Philippines. After a midair collision with an unknown object, the plane is forced to land on an uncharted island about a hundred knots from civilization, with a major storm bearing down on them. On board; Broadway's darling, Rachel Berry. Grammy award winning recording artist, Mercedes Jones. Oscar winning film maker, Artie Abrams. And reclusive fashion designer, Kurt Hummal. Can they survive until help arrives?
I did change the premise some, but I hope you all enjoy! Also, while it's not beyond the realm of possibility that one of you reading this will know anything about small airplanes, I am going to note that I did research different small crafts, in regards to seating, door location, and cargo hold. I do not specify which airplane Blaine is flying, probably because I took some liberties and combined two different types of Cessnas. When I talk about the cargo hold, let me explain that it's not as large as you may be imagining. It would be large enough for twelve carryon bags if there is nothing else in there. Since there are only seven people on the aircraft, and two of them are the pilot and copilot and wouldn't need a full sized carryon bag, we can pretend there are only five or six bags in the hold. This would leave room for a wheelchair, a case or two of water, a box or two of non-perishable food, blankets and pillows. A person can climb down into the hold, but they wouldn't be able to stand up straight. And yes, there is a restroom on the plane, but you should be able to figure out why they can't use it when you read the story.
Huge shoutout to gleefulpoppet for the fabulous artwork! Didn't she do an awesome job? And to my beta, darcangell23 (klainedreams24 on Tumblr)
Reviews always welcome and greatly appreciated.
…
Mayday
"Dios Mio!"
The exclamation filtered through Kurt's sleep-addled mind at about the same time that it registered the strange rattling sound coming from his left, as well as the shaking of his seat.
"What the hell was that?" a different voice called out, bringing Kurt even further awake. He'd taken an Ambien about a third of the way through the flight from Los Angeles to Manila, thinking the sleep aid would be out of his system by the time he got on the smaller charter aircraft, but apparently he'd miscalculated, because he'd fallen back to sleep about five minutes after they'd taken off from the smaller airfield.
"Bird strike!" the blonde man in the copilot's seat replied.
"I can't get the engine back online," the man with curly dark hair said from the pilot's seat. Kurt recalled the man had introduced himself as Blaine Anderson when they'd boarded. Despite the grave nature of the statement, the man sounded perfectly calm, as if he'd merely made an observation about the weather.
"Should we turn around and head back to the mainland?" the copilot asked.
Blaine nodded. "I don't think we have a choice."
"Is it safe to fly with one engine out?" Artie asked from behind Kurt.
"We'll be okay," Blaine replied. "We still have another engine to work with. It will be tricky, and a little rough going, but as long as that engine holds, it'll be fine. Both Sam and I have trained for this situation."
Blaine glanced back at them from the left side pilot's seat, and offered a reassuring smile. Kurt, who was seated directly behind the copilot's seat, felt his breath catch. He'd been a little distracted when they'd boarded the plane, and hadn't really paid much attention to the pilot as he'd settled into his seat. The man was gorgeous, with hazel eyes that looked like they were always laughing.
"I'm too young and famous to die!"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Stop being a drama queen, Rachel. He said we'll be okay. Take a chill pill and shut up!"
"Hmph! Unlike you, I don't believe in polluting my body with chemicals!"
Kurt glared at her. She was sitting behind the pilot's seat. "I take prescription sleep aids and migraine medication. I don't do drugs."
"That was rude, man hands!" Santana said from where she sat behind the petite woman.
"Yeah, Rachel," Mercedes added. "Besides, you hang out with a bunch of pot smoking artistic types!"
"I do not hang out with potheads! I told you, when that group of performance artists began lighting up, I left!"
Kurt rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples. His headache was already building listening to her. That had been part of the reason he'd taken the Ambien on the first flight to begin with, to shut her out. He shut her out now as the pilot spoke again.
"Sangley tower, this is tango three nine five, we have a pan-pan situation, one engine out. Requesting permission to return to base."
"Tango three nine five, pan-pan confirmed. Return to base. Tower will be on standby for further updates."
"Roger, three nine five altering course."
Kurt felt the plane lean and press him against the airplane's wall as they turned. He glanced over at Santana, who was frowning. "Hey, it'll be okay," he assured her. "We'll get there in time, even if we have to wait for the storm to pass. They can't have the wedding without one of the brides, after all."
She smiled at him. She was supposed to have flown out to the island with Brittany and their parents the night before, but there had been some miscommunication at work, and she'd needed to call in and mediate between her partners at the publicist firm, so had told her fiance to go on ahead, and she'd fly in this morning.
The wedding was supposed to take place in four days on an island that was privately owned by one of Santana's clients, who had offered them the use of it as a wedding present. Kurt, Rachel, Mercedes, and Artie were some of the first guests to arrive, each of them taking a few extra days to relax and take a break from their hectic schedules. They had all already made their plans before news of the tropical storm heading to the region had hit.
The storm was supposed to arrive later that afternoon, and run through most of the next day before passing on. The island they were staying on had a large sprawling mansion with several smaller out buildings, along with two massive generators and plenty of food, so Kurt wasn't too worried about riding out the storm. He could always spend the time reading, or sketching his next line of menswear.
The plane leveled off, but immediately began to shake harder than the tremble that had woken him. He heard the blonde man in front of him mutter a curse under his breath, though he couldn't be sure what exactly over the sound of the engine, which had changed from a constant low grade hum to the sound of a sneezing cat, and then a coughing sound.
"Sangley Tower, tango three nine five, pan-pan now a mayday. Our second engine is cutting out. We're attempting to restart."
"Should we panic now?" Rachel asked, sarcastically.
"Shut up Rachel!" everyone but the pilot and copilot said.
"Tango three nine five, mayday confirmed. Switch to emergency call frequency. All other traffic, maintain radio silence."
"I've got the engine back online," Sam said, "but not sure it's going to hold out long enough to make it back to the mainland."
"Are there any islands close by we can land on?"
"The closest with an airfield is about sixty knots east, at Cagayancillo."
"Sangley tower, tango three nine five, please advise on making route for Cagayancillo."
"Tango three nine five, Cagayancillo reports strong winds as the storm moves in. Storm has been upgraded to a cat one. If you think you can make it, we advise the use of extreme caution."
"Roger, Sangley tower. Changing course."
The plane rolled again as they banked, but as they began to level out, the remaining engine began coughing again, and then went silent.
"Crap," Blaine said, the first time Kurt heard any emotion in the man's voice. "Sangley tower, our second engine is now completely offline. We'll continue to try and restart, but I don't think we'll make it to Cagayancillo. If necessary, we may attempt to set down on one of the smaller islands."
"Roger, three nine five. We are tracking your transponder, but with the inclimate weather moving in faster than expected, we may not be able to send out rescue until it passes."
"Understood."
Kurt could hear Mercedes praying in the seat behind Santana, and Rachel muttering what he assumed to be a prayer in Hebrew. He watched as the pilot, Blaine, calmly tried repeatedly to restart both engines, monitoring the various gauges that were all Greek to Kurt. The engine on Kurt's side of the plane sputtered to life again, but continued to make the distressing coughing sound.
"Come on, baby, just hold on a little longer," Blaine said as he guided the craft. "I need everyone to make sure everything is stored and tied down, no loose items. You can put your belongings in the netting on the back of the seat in front of you. Be ready to brace for landing."
Kurt slipped the sketchbook he'd brought into the netting on the back of the copilot's seat, and tightened his seat belt. The engine coughed and sputtered again, but held on.
"I think we can set down on Calusa," Sam said, scanning the area with binoculars.
"I'm not sure we can bank into the landing strip. Besides, it's a private strip, and the runway is barely long enough."
"We can set down in one of the fields on the southside of the island. We're already lined up for that."
"Good thinking," Blaine replied. "Sangley tower, tango three nine five, we're going to attempt a soft landing on the southern tip of Calusa."
"What's a soft landing?" Rachel said, sounding panicked.
"It means a landing with little damage," Kurt replied. "As opposed to a hard landing, which means the plane is totaled."
Blaine glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Kurt. "That's a pretty way of putting it, although it's a little more complex than that."
"I don't think I want the complex description," Rachel said. "I don't want to die."
"We're not going to die," Blaine assured her.
Both Blaine and Sam focused on their instruments for the next long minutes, speaking to each other only when necessary. The engine on Kurt's side began to sputter, and cut out again as they made their descent. Kurt could see the small island they were hoping to land on grow larger in their front window, and could hear Mercedes praying again, and thought he heard Santana praying in Spanish as well.
"Brace for impact!" Blaine called out as the ground loomed before them.
Kurt assumed what he had always jokingly referred to as the 'kiss your ass goodbye' position, and said a quick prayer to whatever non existent deity who would listen. The landing gear hit the ground hard, and they were roughly jolted as they continued to roll over the uneven ground. The plane's back end kicked around, and Kurt was slammed into the side of the plane as the landing gear on that side buckled. Luckily this caused the plane to come to a stop, tilted precariously, but not on its side, as the wing held it up.
There was a moment of silence as they all took in the fact that they were on the ground, and still alive.
"Is everyone okay? Anyone hurt?" Blaine asked, releasing his seatbelt and carefully maneuvering out of his seat. The three women all shook their heads, but Artie let out a mild curse.
"I hit my head pretty hard, and my glasses broke. I don't think I have a concussion, but I'm bleeding pretty good."
"I'll get the first aid kit," Sam said, reaching under his seat. Blaine nodded, and looked at Kurt.
"What about you?" he asked softly.
"I think I dislocated my shoulder," he admitted. "And my migraine is definitely a lot worse now, but I'll live."
Blaine smiled at him. "Okay, I'm going to help the ladies off the plane, and then I'll be back to help you and Mr. Abrams. Once I'm sure there is no danger of fire, I'll see what I can do about your shoulder."
Kurt just nodded and closed his eyes.
…
Once everyone was off the plane and Blaine did a thorough inspection to make sure there was no imminent danger, he went back to where he'd left the passengers sitting under some trees. "Everyone sure they are okay?"
"Mr. Abrams doesn't have any indicators of a concussion," Sam said. He was a trained medic. "I'll keep an eye on him anyway, just to make sure. Mr. Hummel's arm is definitely dislocated. I'll need your help getting it into a sling. What's the verdict on the radio?"
"Long range aerial snapped with the landing gear. Short range still working,"
"What does that mean?" Mercedes asked.
Blaine smiled reassuringly at her. "It means that we can't contact Sangley tower, or any of the major towers more than fifty knots away, but if a S&R plane comes into range, we can give them our position and status."
In the short time they'd been there, the wind had picked up significantly, and the sky had begun to darken as the front edge of the storm began making its way into the area.
"Will they reach us before the storm makes it impossible?" Santana asked.
Blaine sighed. "Honestly, it's probably already too late. We'll need to ride out the storm."
"How?" Rachel demanded.
"We have two options. There is a small plantation on the northside of the island. The owner is currently out of the country. We could try to make it there before the storm gets too bad, but frankly, with Mr. Abrams' wheelchair, it will take twice as long than it would normally take on foot." He glanced apologetically at Artie. "The second option is to secure the plane, remove the seats, and use the emergency raft to cushion the floor, and ride it out on board. We have food and water to last five days, but we most likely won't have to wait that long. The storm is predicted to move out of the area by late tomorrow afternoon, early evening at the latest. As soon as it is safe to scramble S&R, they'll be out searching for us. At tops, we may have to spend two nights here."
They were silent again for a moment as they considered the options.
"Well, maybe some of us can take shelter in the house?" Rachel suggested. "I mean, the plane is a little small. If we three women walk to the house, it would make the plane less cramped for you four guys…" Her voice trailed off at the glare her friends were giving her.
"It's not a good idea to separate," Blaine said. "Partly due to the fact that you are unfamiliar with the island, and might get lost before the storm hits, and also because the searchers will be looking for one single pick up location, not two. The longer it takes to find us, the more fuel it will take, and a lot of the S&R pilots are volunteers, and don't get reimbursed for their time or costs."
"Well, then we all should go," she said, sounding defensive. "The house sounds like a much better place to weather the storm, no pun intended."
"Are you going to help carry Artie and his chair however far it is to the house, man hands?" Santana said, crossing her arms. At the sheepish look the smaller woman gave Artie, Santana knew the answer was no. "Well, if search and rescue doesn't find us before we run out of food, I know who to eat first."
"That's enough, Santana," Kurt interjected, wincing as he tried to push himself up off the log he'd been sitting on, momentarily forgetting his injured arm. "No one is eating anyone. And Rachel, we're all sticking together. Safety in numbers. So I suggest you shut up and figure out how you can be useful until we get out of here."
Blaine stepped in before a fight could break out. "Mr. Hummel, let's get your arm taken care of, and then Sam and I will get the plane secured and we can work out the best way to make everyone comfortable."
Kurt nodded, looking a little paler as he prepared for what he was sure was going to be a very painful procedure. "Call me Kurt," he said, voice sounding a little faint.
Sam took charge, finding a flat, mostly sandy spot for Kurt to lay down in, and made him as comfortable as possible. "I'm sorry I don't have anything to dull the pain for you," the blonde man said.
Kurt just sighed and shrugged. "I'm familiar with pain. Let's just get it over with."
Blaine frowned at those words, wondering what he meant, but shrugged it off for later. He knelt down above Kurt's head as Sam took a position beside him.
"I'm going to pop the shoulder back into the joint, and then we'll put it in a sling so you don't pop it back out until a doctor can take a look at it." Sam carefully raised Kurt's arm, looking up at Blaine, who nodded, and positioned himself to hold Kurt as still as possible. What Kurt said next Blaine would later chalk up to stress.
"Normally I prefer to be on top."
Before Blaine could come up with any type of coherent reply, Sam wrenched Kurt's shoulder, twisting it back into place. The auburn haired man screamed at the sudden jolt of agony, and Blaine thought maybe the taller man had passed out briefly.
He helped Sam position the arm into the sling from their medkit, and glanced down at Kurt to see how he was doing. Glasz eyes slowly opened to look up at him. "Are you okay?" Blaine asked.
There was a momentary pause before Kurt replied. "I don't recall the locker shoves hurting that bad, but it's still not the worst injury I've ever had."
Blaine couldn't help smiling down at him. The guy was gorgeous, and he was pretty sure he might be slightly shocky from the pain and stress. "Come on, let's find you some place comfortable to rest while Sam and I secure the plane."
Kurt frowned. "Is there anything I can do to help? I don't like just sitting around when there is work to be done."
Blaine smiled at him. "After we get the tie downs secured, there will be things you can help with. For the moment, just rest."
He helped Kurt back to the log and sat him down between Santana and Mercedes, checked on Artie once more, and then helped Sam with the tie downs. These were four inch wide straps made of super strong industrial spider silk and steel threads. Usually they were used for securing fighter jets onto the deck of aircraft carriers. Blaine had bought them from a military surplus store. They crossed the cables over the top of the plane, criss-crossing so that one strap was in front of the right wing and behind the left, and the other the opposite, and then secured the straps to four sturdy looking trees. This would prevent the strong winds of the storm from flipping the plane over, or worse.
Once they were assured the plane was safely tied down, he and Sam, with the help of Kurt and the women, began removing the seats from the passenger area of the plane. Sam then inflated the emergency raft, which filled up most of the vacated space.
They got Artie settled, securing his wheelchair in the cargo hold. The next step was to cover the front window with a tarp, securing it with heavy duty duct tape, and then covering the smaller windows with thick plastic, also secured with duct tape, to prevent glass from injuring anyone if the windows should happen to shatter from debris in the storm. Once they were as protected as they could make themselves, Blaine and Sam retrieved bottled water and various non-perishable food items from the cargo hold, as well as blankets and a few more small pillows.
By the time they were all settled as comfortably as they could be in the plane with a snack and water, rain had begun lashing on the exterior of the plane.
Blaine had brought out the high powered emergency light he kept on hand just in case of this kind of situation, and hung it from the ceiling. It was bright enough to illuminate the entire interior, and he felt comfortable leaving it on for long periods, since he had extra batteries for it. Each battery was supposed to last up to twelve hours, but he wasn't planning to run it for that long at a time.
They sat quietly for a while, listening to the storm as it steadily grew more powerful, but some of them began to grow restless.
"Do you have a deck of cards on this tin can?" Santana asked. "I'm bored, and the sound of the wind is driving me insane."
"I have a couple decks in my bag," Sam said. "We could play Rummy."
Santana let out a snort. "I suppose it's too cramped for strip poker."
"Behave, Satan," Kurt replied. "I'm in pain, and my migraine is getting worse. One wrong word and I might just see how sharp those razor blades in your hair are when I strangle you with it."
"I thought these guys were friends," Sam murmured softly to Blaine. "All they do is bicker."
Blaine chuckled. This group did kind of remind him of The Warblers back in high school, the way they interacted. He glanced at Kurt, who had his eyes closed, and did look to be in some pain. Blaine shifted closer as Sam dug the cards out of his bag.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.
Kurt sighed softly. "Travel gives me migraines, especially when there are multiple changes in altitude. The change in barometric pressure from the storm doesn't help, either."
Blaine frowned in concern. "Do you have any medication you can take for it?"
Kurt nodded slightly. "It's in my bag in the cargo hold, but I was hoping to avoid taking it until we got to the island. I've been known to have some pretty strange reactions to some medications, including the one my doctor prescribed for my headaches."
"Strange how?"
Kurt cracked one eye open slightly. "Well, the sleep medication has made me not only sleepwalk, but hold full conversations and shop while sound asleep." He didn't add the fact that he seemed to lose all filters for a while after waking up from the Ambien as well. He just hoped Blaine hadn't heard his earlier comment about being on top. It had just slipped out.
Blaine raised an eyebrow at that. "What about the headache medicine?"
Kurt sighed again and closed his eye. "Let's just say I don't like taking it unless I can lock myself in my bedroom for a couple of hours. Especially when there are other people around."
Blaine looked confused, but shrugged. "Would some Advil or Tylenol work for now? At least relieve the pain from the shoulder?"
Kurt cracked the eye open once more. "It couldn't hurt."
Blaine smiled at him, and patted his uninjured shoulder as he went to the front of the plane and retrieved a bottle of Advil.
After making certain Kurt managed to swallow a couple of pills and drink some water, Blaine settled back into his spot, and they played Rummy for a while as the storm raged on around the plane. A few times the wind was so strong it shook the plane, but the straps held it in place. They could hear debris striking the metal body, but for the moment they were safe.
"So, how do you all know each other?" Sam asked after a while. "I mean, I know who you all are, of course. I've seen all of Mr. Abrams movies, and I have all of your albums, Ms. Jones. And Blaine is always reading the articles about your clothing line in Vogue," he said to Kurt. "But you all seem to know each other pretty well."
"We went to school together," Rachel said. "We were all in our school's show choir."
"Really?" Blaine said. "I was in show choir in high school, too. Where did you go to school?"
"McKinley High school, in Lima, Ohio," Rachel replied. "I was co captain of New Directions."
"No way!" Sam said. "Blaine was lead soloist of The Dalton Academy Warblers in Westerville, Ohio."
"What a coincidence. What about you, trouty mouth? Were you in show choir, too?" Santana arched an eyebrow at the blonde man.
"No, but I thought about joining at my school in Tennessee. Unfortunately, my family moved around a lot and I never got the chance."
"That's too bad," Mercedes said, smiling at him. "How did you and Blaine meet?"
"I was his flight instructor," Blaine said. "Before I moved to Manila with my mom to help take care of my grandparents, I worked as a flight instructor and skydiving pilot. Sam was one of my best students, and we became good friends. When my grandparents passed away, I inherited enough money to open my charter business, and Sam came over to help out."
"That's an awfully long way to move for a friend," Santana said, arching an eyebrow.
Blaine shook his head. "We're just friends. Sam is as straight as an arrow, and I'm not. End of the story."
…
For some reason those words made Kurt smile drowsily. He'd opted out of the card game, deciding to just rest and hope his headache didn't get any worse. He'd been drifting in and out of a light sleep for a while, the quiet murmurs of voices blending into the sound of the rain and wind beating against the exterior of the plane, creating a kind of white noise that lulled him.
He was jolted wide awake when the sound of ripping metal filled the craft, and the plane began to tip even further on its side. Several voices cried out as they were all tossed against the side of the plane. The emergency light tumbled from its mooring and was covered by pillows and blankets, throwing the inside into darkness.
"Damn it!" Blaine said, inches from Kurt's ear. "The wind must have shifted the plane, causing the wing that was holding us up to buckle."
Kurt lay perfectly still, not speaking as Blaine tried to sit up. The pilot froze as he realized that the soft cushion he'd landed on wasn't a cushion at all.
"Sorry. Are you alright? Is everyone okay?"
"I'll live," Santana said.
"Are you sure?" Rachel said. "I knew we should have tried to make it to the house."
"I'm fine," Mercedes said.
"Same," Artie chimed in. "At least the parts I can feel, anyway."
"Kurt?" Blaine said softly, not moving.
"I think I'd like my migraine pill now. I'm not hurt, but the jarring movement made alarm bells go off in my head, and I'd really like Quasimodo to stop."
Blaine nodded, but wasn't sure Kurt could see him in the semi-darkness, assuming the man even had his eyes open at the moment. "I'll try and find your bag in a minute. Let me just try and get everyone else resituated first, okay?"
Kurt sighed softly and nodded. He felt a moment of regret as he felt Blaine move away from him, and had a sudden urge to pull the other man back, suddenly chilled at the loss of his warmth.
They managed to reposition the raft without damaging it, and once again got everyone settled. Blaine slipped into the small cargo hold, using his smaller pocket flashlight to try and find Kurt's bag. He located it, and passed it up to Sam, along with a few more bottles of water.
Kurt found his pill bottles, and shook out two of the migraine pills, knowing he would probably regret it, especially in such tight quarters. He didn't know why he had weird reactions to certain types of medications. His doctor had once tried to explain about metabolism and chemical reactions and whatever, but he hadn't understood half of it.
What he did know was that the migraine medicine contained a stimulant that made Kurt, well, stimulated, and hypersensitive for a while after he took it. He took the pills with a reluctant sigh, and accepted the water bottle Blaine offered him.
"Thanks."
"No problem. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"
Kurt winced as he tried to get settled, jarring his injured arm. "Unfortunately, I don't think comfortable is attainable right now. I'd settle for at least less inconvenienced."
Blaine chuckled slightly at that. "Let me rephrase that. What can I do to help you get some sleep? Do you want to take your Ambien, too?"
"Oh god no! Do you want me to sleepwalk into the ocean?"
"Not particularly, no. Would it help if I massaged your shoulders and neck, see if that relieves some of the tension?"
Kurt bit his lip, hoping the other man couldn't see him in the mostly dark interior. A massage might have helped before he'd taken the migraine pills, but Kurt was afraid to find out what would happen once the meds kicked in. He could always tell the man to stop when the pills hit his system.
"Maybe just the neck?" he said.
…
Blaine sat down beside him and used his right hand to rub at the base of Kurt's skull, applying just enough pressure to relax the muscles, but trying to not cause any more pain. He could feel Kurt holding himself still, leaning away from him slightly, as if worried about making contact with any part of Blaine other than his hand.
"You know, this would be more effective if you relaxed a little. I promise I won't bite." Blaine thought he heard Kurt mutter something along the lines of ''what a shame,' but he couldn't be sure because the storm took that moment to unleash another torrent of rain. He did feel the other man relax a bit though.
They sat there in silence for a while as Blaine continued to rub Kurt's neck. The others had all settled down to try and get some sleep, so Blaine hadn't bothered turning the emergency light back on. It was late evening by now, a little early for bed usually, but the storm made it seem much later, and they'd been through a lot of stress that day, not to mention they were most likely jet lagged.
"Is this helping?" he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the others as he continued to rub Kurt's neck.
"The headache, yes, but I don't think I am going back to sleep anytime soon. I slept through most of the flight from LA, and the beginning of the flight here. I think I'm mostly awake now. If you want to get some sleep, I'll be okay."
"Nah, I'm good, I'll keep you company so you don't get bored."
"You really don't have to," Kurt said, and Blaine thought he heard a hitch in the other man's voice, and felt him shift away a little.
"I don't mind."
Kurt cleared his throat before answering. "O-okay, but I think you can stop rubbing my neck now. It really did help."
Blaine frowned, but slowly moved his hand away, a little disappointed. "Are you sure you're okay?"
…
Kurt bit his tongue to stifle the moan the sensation of Blaine's fingers brushing against the nape of his neck brought on.
He was fully aware that his last reply had been somewhat breathy, but he couldn't help it. The damn medication was working its way into his system, and he was definitely starting to feel stimulated. He tried to shift himself discreetly, but the movement caused his pants to press against his groin, drawing a whimper from him.
"Kurt?" Blaine asked, sounding concerned.
Kurt tried to think of something to say to assure Blaine that he was fine, and that he just needed to be alone for a bit, but didn't have any clue how to explain the situation without embarrassing himself. This was why he hated taking the migraine medicine when he couldn't lock himself in his room or something. Usually he would just strip his clothes off so they didn't make the situation any worse.
"Kurt, you're whimpering," Blaine said, voice concerned.
"It's the medication," he managed to gasp out. "I told you I have an unusual reaction to it. I'll be okay, I just need to be very still for a while." He hoped he wasn't talking so loud the others could hear him.
He felt Blaine shift closer to him, and managed not to flinch away.
"You sound like you are in a lot of pain," Blaine said, speaking softly, as if to a wounded animal, trying to soothe him. "What exactly does the medication do to you?"
Kurt let out a whimper as he felt Blaine's hand touch his shoulder, and couldn't control the shudder that went through him, causing him to arch his hips slightly, which put more pressure where he really didn't need any more pressure.
…
Blaine froze as he felt Kurt's reaction to the barest touch on his shoulder, and heard the way his breathing changed.
"Oh…" he said, dumbly.
"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered. "It's the stimulant in the migraine medicine. The hypersensitivity usually lasts about an hour or two, unless I…"
Blaine didn't need Kurt to finish the sentence for the picture to form in his head.
"Oh," he said again. He glanced to where the others slept. It wasn't too crowded in the plane, but there definitely wasn't any privacy. The storm did provide some noise blocking with the constant wailing of the wind, and the drumming of the rain on the metal exterior.
"If you need to," Blaine started, but stopped himself to collect his thoughts. "I mean, I can give you some privacy if you want to…" Again the image appeared in Blaine's mind, expanding to include himself in the picture. He cleared his throat and shook the image away.
Kurt let out what sounded like a muffled choked sob. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't, not with my arm in the sling. I'll be okay. I just need to be very still."
"Okay," Blaine said, moving away a little to give Kurt some space. He sat there, staring straight forward, even though he couldn't really see anything in the dark interior. He heard Kurt shift, trying to get comfortable, and the little whimpers the man was making were slowly driving him insane.
After what felt like an eternity, but was probably no more than a minute or two, Blaine couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed two blankets and shifted closer to Kurt.
"What are you doing?" Kurt asked, sounding more confused than afraid as Blaine shifted behind him, pulling Kurt practically into his lap, being very careful not to jar his injured arm.
"Shh, I'm going to help you, but you have to try and keep quiet."
"Blaine, I-" whatever he was going to say was cut off by another whimper as the fabric of his pants brushed against him, and Blaine could feel his hips rotating, trying to find some kind of relief.
"Relax, Kurt. I'm just going to help. Bros helping bros, okay?"
…
All Kurt could do was nod, his head falling back against Blaine's chest as he felt the shorter man's hand find his zipper and ease it down, providing some much needed relief. He almost sobbed in gratitude.
The relief was short lived as Blaine lifted him just enough to push the pants down, freeing him more fully from their confines, before hastily covering them both with the blankets. The sensation of the rough wool on his over-sensitized groin was almost as bad as the material of his pants had been, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of Blaine's hand wrapping around him, and Kurt almost lost it right then.
"Shh," Blaine murmured against his ear, sending more shivers through him. "I can cover your mouth with my other hand if you want me to, if you don't think you can keep quiet."
Kurt could only whimper, and nod his head.
"Is that yes, I should cover your mouth?"
Kurt whimpered again and thrust into Blaine's fist.
"I guess that's a yes," he heard the dark haired man chuckle softly behind him, and a hand pressed over his mouth, smothering his moans as Blaine slowly began to stroke him.
Blaine's hand was soft, but firm as he slid his palm down over Kurt's length, gently cupping his balls, as if weighing them, before wrapping around him again and slowly gliding upwards, his thumb swirling around the sensitive tip, spreading the bead of precum that had gathered there, guiding it down the shaft, before repeating the movement; up, swirl, down. On the third he added a little twist of the wrist for added friction, and Kurt thought he would die from the shot of pleasure that sent through him.
"Even with my hand over your mouth you're noisy. Wish we were alone so I could hear you moan my name."
Kurt's hips bucked up at the words hissed into his ear.
"You're close, aren't you?" Blaine murmured softly, as he increased his pace, still in the same rhythm; up, swirl, down, with a twist on every third stroke. Kurt couldn't stop his hips from jerking, knowing Blaine was right, so close.
Suddenly the shorter man rolled them to the side, away from the others, making sure to keep the blanket covering Kurt and his hand, whispering harshly, "Let go now, Kurt! I've got you!"
And Kurt shattered as his release erupted from him, trapped by the blanket to keep their secret. He couldn't remember the last time he came so hard or so much, it seemed to go on and on.
"Shh, shh," Blaine murmured, and Kurt slowly became aware of the muffled keen he was making against Blaine's palm. The hand kept the sound from traveling too far, and hopefully the rain and thunder, which he hadn't been aware of until now, drowned out any sound that did escape.
Finally, his body went limp with exhaustion. He thought he may have dozed off a little, but was vaguely aware of Blaine moving away from him, and then returning a short time later with a damp cloth to wipe him off with, and then his pants being pulled back up and carefully fastened. He tried to help, but his limbs were leaden, and he heard Blaine murmur for him to just rest.
…
Blaine tucked a clean blanket around Kurt, removing the soiled one and hiding it under the pilot's seat to dispose of later. He then carefully settled down, leaning back against the side of the plane, heart racing as he thought about what he had just done.
He'd been half in love with Kurt Hummel from the first moment he'd seen a picture of him on Vogue dot com, and had followed his career for the last ten years. He'd started out as a fashion commentator at the magazine, and was still a contributing editor there, but eventually segued from writing about fashion to creating it himself. He'd designed clothes for Broadway stars, including Rachel Berry, as well as other celebrities, and even had created a gown worn by Kate Middleton.
He knew Kurt was something of a recluse, keeping his private life very private. Blaine knew that Kurt's father had been a Congressman, and that he was from Ohio, although he hadn't known until today that he had been from Lima.
There were rumors that he once dated rock star Elliott Gilbert of the band Starchild, and the British model, Adam Crawford. But then there were rumors of some kind of tragedy about five years ago that Blaine couldn't really find any information about, and Kurt had disappeared from the public eye for quite a while. He'd only reemerged a little over two years ago, when he'd created a gown for Mercedes Jones for the Grammy awards, but really hadn't been seen much in public. He was still creating clothes, but he rarely made appearances.
When Blaine realized one of his passengers was the Kurt Hummel, he couldn't believe it. He was actually face to face with the man he'd been fantasizing about for years. But when Blaine really got a good look at the pale man, the first thing he noticed was how frail he looked, how delicate. Blaine had wanted to scoop him up and protect him at all costs.
Instead he'd practically molested the man.
Well, Kurt hadn't actually said no, but he had seemed reluctant at first. If he hadn't had that medication in his system, would he have allowed Blaine to touch him?
Blaine sighed and settled down to try and get some sleep himself.
…
It was the lack of storm noises, along with the audible sound of whispering that woke Kurt early the next morning. He assumed it was morning, anyway. With the windows covered, it was hard to judge what time it was.
"Is the storm over?" he asked, voice husky from sleep.
"No, we're in the eye now, I think," Sam replied.
Kurt sat up, wincing a little as the action caused a little strain on his injured shoulder. He yawned and stretched what he could, glancing around the plane, and frowned. "Where is everyone?" Other than Sam and Mercedes, there was no one else on board.
"Your friend needed a little help answering the call of nature. Blaine offered to take him outside, said he needed some air himself. The ladies are likewise indisposed, I assume."
"How are you feeling today, Boo?" Mercedes asked, shifting closer to him as Sam checked the cargo hold for more water and food.
"Stiff, a little sore, but surprisingly the headache is almost gone."
"Um hmm," she said, side eyeing him. "And does that have anything to do with the 'massage' the hunky pilot gave you last night?"
Kurt couldn't hide the blush. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Relax, Kurt. No one else knows. I only happened to realize what was going on because Berry kicked me as she shifted in her sleep. Just tell me he was a gentleman, and I won't scratch his eyes out."
"It wasn't like that, Mercedes. You know how I react to the migraine meds."
"So, he was taking advantage of the situation?"
"No! He was just trying to help me get comfortable." The explanation sounded lame even to Kurt, and Mercedes wasn't buying it, either.
"Sounded very comfortable to me."
Kurt just wanted to hide back under the covers. "I'm an adult, 'Cedes. I can take care of myself."
She studied him for a moment. "Even adults sometimes need someone to take care of them. Maybe you do need someone to take care of you. But, like I said, if he does anything ungentlemanlike, I will scratch his eyes out."
"I need to go," Kurt said, getting up and putting his shoes on, before carefully climbing out the door, which with the plane leaning towards that side of the aircraft, required him to carefully lower himself out of the craft and then duck to get out from under what remained of the wing.
The sky was still overcast, but it was light enough out for Kurt to estimate that it was probably about an hour past dawn. He'd actually slept for what he estimated to be more than eight hours, without a sleep aid, and that was after sleeping on the flight from LA with the Ambien. Kurt hadn't slept more than an hour or two at a time without a sleeping pill since being released from the hospital.
He pushed the memories away and found a place away from the plane to relieve himself, and quickly hurried back, almost colliding with Blaine as he rounded the airplane.
"Kurt, there you are. How is the arm this morning?"
"Stiff, but manageable."
They both stood there awkwardly for a moment.
"Look, Kurt," Blaine started to say, just as Kurt said, "About last night…"
They both laughed a little. "I'm sorry," Blaine began, but Kurt cut him off.
"Don't be. I actually haven't slept that well in a long while. Thank you."
"You're not upset?" Blaine asked.
"I could have said no at any time."
"Even with the medication in your system?"
Kurt took a shy step forward. "I knew what was happening, Blaine. Maybe it was a little awkward, considering we hardly know each other, but if I had wanted you to stop, I would have said so."
Blaine smiled bashfully. "Well, to make an awkward situation a little more awkward, would you be upset if I said I've actually fantasized about doing that with you for years?"
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
The pilot dropped his gaze to the ground. "I've kind of had a little crush on you since your first article on Vogue dot com."
"Wow. I don't know what to say to that."
"You have to know how attractive you are, Kurt."
"Well, I do try. You're no hardship on the eyes either, Blaine. Ever since Sam said you were once a Warbler, I've been picturing you in a prep school blazer and tie. I'm pretty sure we faced off against Dalton a few times back in high school. I wonder if we ever crossed paths before."
Blaine smiled. "I think I would remember seeing you back then, although my friends used to tease me about how oblivious I was about guys flirting with me."
Kurt laughed. "I, on the other hand, had the misfortune to always fall for the wrong guys, who almost invariably turned out to be straight."
"Ouch," Blaine said, leaning against the plane. "That must have had some rather unpleasant outcomes."
Kurt shrugged. "Well, the first guy I had a crush on ended up becoming my stepbrother, so that worked out okay." The smile faded from Kurt's face at the thought of Finn.
"What's wrong?" Blaine asked.
Kurt shook his head. "Sorry, thinking about Finn just brought up some bad memories."
"From high school?"
"No, more recent. Finn died five years ago in a car accident."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Is that why you took a break from fashion for a while?"
Kurt sighed, turning away from the other man slightly. "In a manner of speaking, I guess you could say that was part of it. Two weeks after Finn's funeral, I was walking home in New York, when I got jumped by half a dozen men and dragged into an alley. They beat me up pretty severely. I tried to fight back, but one of them slammed me in the head with a brick before someone scared them off."
"Oh my god, Kurt! How badly were you injured?"
"Well, I had a fractured skull, hence the migraines, and my right eye was also fractured. Two broken fingers, a broken wrist, some minor internal bleeding they had to repair with surgery. I was in a coma for almost three weeks. When I woke up, I had some short term memory issues."
"Thank god you're alive. Did they catch the guys who did it?"
"One of them got busted for another assault and confessed to attacking me as well, but I couldn't identify any of the other men, so they've never been charged for it, but two of the suspects are in prison on unrelated charges. For a while I was afraid to leave my apartment. Three years of intense online therapy, and the support of my friends helped. And then Santana threatened to drag me out, kicking and screaming, if I didn't attend her wedding as her Man of Honor. So, here we are."
Blaine laughed softly. "Yeah, here we are, stranded in the Pacific in the middle of a category one typhoon. We should probably get back inside the plane." As they had been talking, the wind had started to pick up again, and now there was a light smattering of rain drops.
They climbed back into the craft as the rain began to come down harder.
"There you two are," Santana said. "We were beginning to think you two were too busy getting busy to have the sense to get in out of the storm."
Kurt rolled his eyes at the Latina. "Just because your mind is always in the gutter, Satan, doesn't mean everyone else's is. I was just taking the opportunity to be away from you and your obnoxious obsession with other people's sex lives."
"So you were having sex, then," she said, smirking.
"Leave him alone, Santana," Mercedes said. "We're all going to be stuck in the plane for who knows how much longer. If I had thought about it, I probably would have spent as much time outside while I could have, too. Let's all just get comfortable and figure out how not to annoy each other until there is another chance to take a walk without having to swim for it."
They settled down and had a breakfast of dried fruit and granola bars.
"I would kill for a grande nonfat mocha right now," Kurt muttered, finishing off his water bottle.
"I'd settle for a medium drip," Blaine said, smiling at him.
"Bacon and eggs," Sam said, longingly.
"Eww!" Rachel said. "Fruit and granola are what I usually have for breakfast anyway."
"That's because you've always been squirrelly, man hands," Santana said. "Real people don't survive on berries and nuts. When we get to the island, I want lady lips to make his famous cinnamon rolls with extra butter in the buttercream."
"I can do that," Kurt replied, "if you stop calling me lady lips."
"Deal."
After they ate, they played cards for a while, chatting about various topics. Rachel was going on and on about the role she had auditioned for just before the trip, saying how she was a shoo-in to get it, that the producers had absolutely adored her. Artie was talking about a film adaption of a play he wanted to direct, and Mercedes talked about the new album she was releasing next month.
Kurt and Blaine were having their own discussion about movies, music, books, plays, and fashion. They agreed on almost everything, and even the things they disagreed about they could understand the other's point of view on.
Around noon, the storm grew worse, rattling the plane, and large debris could be heard striking the exterior. Talk waned as they listened to the raging wind, and the constant beating of the rain. Thunder boomed occasionally. At one point it sounded like an entire tree struck the tail of the plane, and they were jolted as the craft shifted, but the straps held, and prevented them from being tossed around too badly.
By midafternoon, the sounds of the storm began to diminish, though debris still occasionally slammed the plane. As the storm slowly made its way out of the area, the change in barometric pressure once again had Kurt's migraine building, but he absolutely refused to take the medicine again.
Blaine noticed, and without a word shifted closer and began to massage his shoulders and neck.
Kurt smiled at him gratefully. "Thanks."
"No problem." Blaine continued the massage for several minutes as the others resumed the card game. When he spoke again, his voice was low enough so only Kurt would be able to hear him. "So, when we get back to civilization, I was wondering, could I buy you a coffee? Maybe dinner?"
Kurt smiled at him. "I'd like that," Kurt replied, and was about to say something else when an unexpected voice cut in.
"Tango three nine five, this is coast guard cutter seven five one nine one, do you copy?"
Blaine and Sam both scrambled to their feet and rushed to the cockpit area. Blaine put on his head phones. "Cutter seven five one nine one, this is Tango three nine five, we copy."
"Good to hear from you, three nine five. What is your status?"
"We soft landed on the southern tip of Calusa. Landing gear and one wing severely damaged, long range aerial out. Two minor injuries, but otherwise all aboard safe."
"Roger three nine five. It will be about two and a half hours before we can reach you by boat. The seas are still a bit choppy in the wake of the storm. How close are you to the beach on the eastern shore?"
"Not sure, probably about a half hour, forty five minute trek. One of our passengers is wheelchair bound, though, so might be a little difficult to meet you."
There was a pause before the coast guard responded. "Three nine five, remain with the plane, we'll take care of transport."
"Roger. See you soon."
"Roger, we'll contact again when we make landfall. Coast guard seven five one nine one out."
"Yes! We're getting out of here!" Santana said.
"Finally," Rachel said. "Where's my luggage? I need to make sure I look presentable, in case the press hears about our rescue and is waiting for us when we reach safety."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "You do realize that we'll have to leave our luggage behind, right?"
"What?" the diva screeched.
"He's right," Blaine said. "Unless you plan on carrying it yourself all the way to the beach. And even then there is no guarantee they will allow you to bring it on the boat. There will probably only be enough room for all of us and Artie's wheelchair."
Rachel gave Artie a calculating look.
"Don't even think it, man hands. I'll pitch you in the ocean if you even try to suggest leaving Artie or his chair behind for another boat." Santana glared at her. "I'm just glad I sent my wedding outfit ahead with Brittany."
"I'll make arrangements for the rest of the luggage to be recovered when we're safe on the mainland," Blaine said. "For now, I suggest leaving everything except a jacket or sweater and your toiletry bag, something small that you can carry and doesn't take up much room. You can put your IDs and anything important in the bag."
Rachel continued to mutter her displeasure as they all began preparing to be rescued. Kurt shut her out, the headache making him close his eyes.
"Can I get anything for you from the cargo hold?" Blaine asked softly.
Kurt shook his head. "You already brought my bag out last night. All I need to do is transfer my meds to my overnight bag, and grab my sketch book out of the pocket on the back of the copilot's seat."
"I'll get it for you. I think I have a plastic baggie large enough to put it in to protect it on the boat."
Kurt smiled in appreciation, but kept his eyes closed.
…
It was closer to three hours before their radio sparked to life once more.
"Tango three nine five, this is coast guard cutter seven five one nine one, our rescue craft is making landfall now. We have your transponder location. Rescue should reach you in approximately fifty minutes."
"Roger, seven five one nine one. We'll be ready for them," Blaine replied. He turned to the others. "Ladies, Sam will help you out of the plane. Artie, I'll get your Wheelchair ready as Sam helps Kurt out."
They nodded, and carefully exited the plane one by one. It was the first time they had a chance to examine the exterior of the plane since the worst of the storm had hit. There was debris everywhere, including a full palm tree resting against the tail of the plane, most likely the one that had jolted them earlier. The windshield was cracked. They must not have noticed the sound of it being struck during the storm. The straps had done their job, keeping the plane from being completely tossed around.
While they waited for the rescuers to arrive, they took turns answering the call of nature, and then found seats on fallen logs or boulders to wait. Blaine sat beside Kurt.
"You going to be okay to make the hike to the beach?" Blaine asked. The auburn haired man still winced from pain with almost every move, whether from the headache or the shoulder, Blaine couldn't tell.
"As long as I don't have to get back on another airplane for a while, I think I'll be fine."
Blaine laughed. "Are you knocking my livelihood?"
Kurt smiled softly at him. "No, just stating a fact. You are an excellent pilot. You did everything within your capabilities to keep us safe. If it weren't for my headache, I'd trust you to fly us again."
"Is there anything the doctors can do about the headaches, other than treat the symptoms?"
"Unfortunately, no, not without doing a very risky operation that could do even more damage," Kurt said with a sigh. "They say the benefit isn't worth the risk. I could go blind, or be paralyzed from the neck down, or worse. So, I deal with the headaches."
"I'm sorry." Blaine said.
"It's not your fault, so why are you sorry?"
"I don't like seeing people in pain."
Kurt just shrugged.
They talked about other things as they waited, and eventually, they heard people calling their names.
"We're over here!" Blaine called out, even as the others shouted as well.
Things went by rather quickly after that. The rescuers put Artie in a stokes, while another rescuer strapped his wheelchair to his back to carry it out. They were led to the beach, where a small landing boat was waiting. As Blaine had said, it was just large enough for all of them, and Artie's wheelchair. They were taken to a larger boat just off shore, and from there to Cagayancillo.
They were greeted by a few members of the press, and Rachel began to tell a tale of a harrowing ordeal, but Santana cut her off, saying, "It was rather boring, actually. We played cards to pass the time."
After Kurt and Artie were checked out by medical staff, they were led to a room where they could call their families and let them know they were alright, and then given hotel rooms for the night, compliments of the Philippine Government.
Once they were all settled, there was a knock on Kurt's door.
"Hi!" the glasz eyed man said when he opened it, smiling when he saw Blaine standing there.
"Hey. So, I was wondering, would you like to get that dinner now?"
"How about we make it room service?" Kurt suggested.
"Headache still bothering you?"
"Yeah. You don't mind, do you?"
"No, it's fine."
Kurt stepped back and let him into the room. It was what the hotel called a junior suite, with a small sitting area and dining table separated from the bedroom by a partition. The bathroom was also more spacious than a normal hotel bathroom, with a separate tub and shower stall.
They sat on the couch to study the room service menu, but Blaine was curious about one thing.
"If the headache is still bothering you, why didn't you take the medicine for it? You're in your own room."
Kurt bit his lip, a slight blush reaching his cheeks. "I kind of didn't want to be alone tonight."
Blaine stared at him for a moment, the menu forgotten.
"Oh." They sat there in silence for a few minutes, before Blaine spoke again. "Take the medicine. I'll take care of you."
Kurt studied his face for a moment, then nodded, getting up to take the medicine. He had just swallowed the pills when he felt Blaine slip up behind him, one hand sliding around his waist, as he placed a gentle kiss on the back of Kurt's neck. He relaxed into the shorter man's embrace.
"I guess dinner can wait," Kurt said, turning to capture Blaine's lips in a searing kiss.
…
Kurt blinked his eyes open slowly the next morning, and smiled as Blaine's honey colored eyes came into focus.
"What time is it?" Kurt asked as he yawned and stretched.
"A little before seven. I called room service. It should be here soon."
"Sounds heavenly. I'm starving." They never had gotten around to eating dinner the night before. He studied the other man, only just noticing that he had showered, shaved, and changed his clothes. "How long have you been awake?"
Blaine shrugged. "A couple of hours. I made arrangements for a friend of mine to go out to the island and retrieve the luggage and take pictures of the plane for the insurance company."
Kurt nodded as he sat up. "I need to make some phone calls myself, try and figure out a way to get to the island before the wedding that doesn't involve flying."
"I've got that covered," the dark haired man replied. "Another friend is going to take you and the others on his yacht. You'll leave just before lunch. It will take a few hours to reach the island, but you should be there before sunset. I'll fly the others back after the wedding, and my friend will bring you back on the yacht."
"You did all that before seven in the morning?" Kurt asked.
Blaine smiled at him. "What can I say, I have a lot of friends."
"Thank you, Blaine. I really appreciate everything you've done for me."
"You don't have to thank me. I wanted to help you, Kurt. Now all you have to deal with is the flight back to the states."
Kurt frowned. That was a thought he didn't want to deal with right now. Long flights weren't nearly as bad as shorter flights, because he could always take the Ambien and sleep through it, and only have to deal with the headaches at the end of the journey, but it was still an unpleasant thought. What if the Ambien caused him to do something in his sleep he regretted? He'd been seated with Rachel and Mercedes on the flight from LA, so hadn't been too worried about the consequences, but he was supposed to take a different flight from the others back home.
He paused as a thought struck him. Where was home? He lived in New York now, but was that really home? The last few years it had felt less like a home and more like a cage his agoraphobia had built.
Lima had been home for so long because of his dad, but now that Burt had retired, he and Carole traveled more often, and Kurt had visited less frequently.
Where was home? And what was he rushing back to? It wasn't like he had a nine to five job he had to worry about. He worked from his apartment. He could work from anywhere, really. All he needed was his sketchbook and colored pencils, a laptop and a cellphone.
"Kurt?" Blaine's voice cut into his thoughts.
"Sorry, I was overthinking. Did you say something?"
"Breakfast is here," the other man said, indicating the wheeled cart just inside the door and looking at Kurt with concern. Kurt was a little concerned as well. Had he been so lost in thought he hadn't heard the knock on the door?
"Sorry. I don't know where my mind went all of a sudden. I'm just going to freshen up a little bit, if you don't mind setting the food out on the table?"
Blaine smiled at him. "No problem."
Kurt smiled back, and slipped into the bathroom. He relieved himself, and as he washed his hands, he studied his face in the mirror. Why was he thinking about home all of a sudden? Was it because of the way Blaine made him feel taken care of, feel safe? Safe enough to have actually slept through the night two nights in a row.
He washed his face, and went back out to the main room. Blaine smiled and held out a chair for him at the small dining table, before setting a grande nonfat mocha in front of him.
"You remembered my coffee order?" he asked, incredulously.
"It's a fairly easy thing to remember," Blaine said, as if it should be obvious. Which it wasn't. None of Kurt's past boyfriends had ever remembered, although Elliott had tried, he just kept forgetting the nonfat part. Elliott always had the same reply when Kurt pointed out the mistake. 'Just means there's more of you to love.'
"So," Blaine said, taking his seat across from Kurt. "What were you thinking about so deeply you were a million miles away earlier? Not regretting last night, I hope?"
"What? No! No regrets. Actually, I was thinking about a million miles. Well, eight thousand miles, give or take a few hundred." Blaine looked confused, and Kurt reached out to take his hand. "I was thinking about where home is. I used to think New York was home, but after the attack, it felt more like a prison. And as much as I love my dad, Lima hasn't been home for a very long time."
"So where is home, then?" Blaine asked.
Kurt shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I need a new definition of home. Maybe it's not a place. Maybe it's where you feel safe, and cared for. Or maybe it's where someone remembers your coffee order."
…
The wedding was gorgeous, set on a cliff overlooking the ocean at sunset. The brides were beautiful, Santana in her white satin pants and halter top, and Brittany in her lacy white sheath dress, both designed by Kurt. Mercedes had sung them down the aisle to A Moment Like This, and Rachel had started the reception by introducing the couple onto the dance floor and singing She's so beautiful. Kurt had given a speech and toasted the happy couple. The party went on into the wee hours of the night, even after Santana and Britt had disappeared back into the mansion and to their room.
At brunch the next morning, Kurt sat with Mercedes.
"You look a lot better, boo. How is your headache?" the diva asked.
Kurt smiled at her. "Much better, with both feet firmly on the ground."
"That's good. How about the shoulder? How did you manage to fashion such a stylish sling in time for the wedding?"
"'Always be prepared for a fashion emergency' is the gay scouts' motto, 'Cedes. And the shoulder is much better as well. The doctor said it should be fully healed in a couple of weeks."
"Have you talked to Rachel and the others yet? Told them you aren't going back to New York, at least for a while?" Kurt had told her about his plans the night they'd finally reached the island, and asked her not to tell the others until he was ready.
"Not yet," he said with a sigh. "I still don't know how long I'm going to stay here, I just know that I can't go back to New York yet. The agoraphobia isn't as bad as it was after the attack, but New York no longer feels the same. It was like being adrift on a stormy sea, waiting for someone to respond to my Mayday. But ever since the plane crash, I've felt more like myself, like someone finally heard my calls for help. Oh god, that sounds so corny."
"No, not at all," Mercedes said. "I get it, really. I'm happy for you, boo. Just remember, white boy, if that airjockey treats you badly, I will scratch his eyes out."
"Thanks, Mercedes," Kurt said, leaning over to hug her.
He didn't know what was going to happen in the future, but he knew that this was where he belonged, with Blaine.