Last Ten

Nights Together

...

by padfoot

"Do you think your parents know I'm here?"

Blaine laughed at the whispered question, his chest vibrating beneath Kurt's cheeks.

"Shut up! I'm serious. What if we come downstairs in the morning and they're eating breakfast there and we have to explain that-"

"Kurt. Don't worry. I don't think my parents know that I'm here half the time. The odds of them noticing you are slim to none."

There was silence for a while. Kurt huffed out a breath, the warmth of it pooling on Blaine's skin.

"I notice that you're here though," Blaine added, sensing his boyfriend's discomfort. "And I love that you are."

...

Burt was frowning. He tended to frown a lot when Blaine was around. Kurt just hoped that Blaine hadn't noticed. Maybe he thought Burt's face always looked like that.

"He's dead to the world, Dad," Kurt pointed out. "There's no way anything could happen."

Burt's frown deepened.

"No funny business," he said. "The door stays open. And he leaves first thing in the morning."

Kurt rolled his eyes, looking down at his sleeping boyfriend.

Blaine was stretched along on side of his bed, lying on his side with his arms curling around a pillow, face buried in the doona he'd scrunched under his chin. Most of him was under the covers, all but one leg that hung out the side of the bed. His single visible foot was bare, dangling above the carpet in a way so stupidly cute that it made Kurt seriously wonder whether he could be developing a foot fetish.

"Yes, Dad," he answered, grinning when Burt left, turning off the light behind him.

...

"You're perfect," Kurt whispered.

"It's for you," Blaine replied into the darkness, his voice breaking at the solid truth and sincerity of the words. He wished he could explain it to Kurt. How much he'd changed for him, how much he'd found in himself – grown into himself and into something so much better than himself – with Kurt's help.

But it was impossible to say it all aloud, not matter how hard he tried.

"Whatever it is you seen in me, it's all because of you."

...

"He's gone!"

Blaine cracked one eye open, glancing over his shoulder at Kurt's wicked smile.

"I feel like we're breaking some sort of unwritten rule. I've only ever been allowed to stay here when I was actually asleep. And even then it was... iffy."

Kurt shrugged in response. Blaine didn't need to know that the rule was written. He also didn't need to know that Kurt had been planning this for days. That he'd been scheming rather evilly ever since that wonderful time last week when his Dad had let Blaine stay over, because he really truly had been asleep.

Ignoring his boyfriend's cautious expression – the way he was worrying his bottom lip, his nervous gaze fixed on the door – Kurt leant in a pressed a kiss to his cheek. Blaine didn't respond. Wicked smile now securely back in place, Kurt kissed a line across to Blaine's ear. He traced around the shell of it with his lips, just brushing it lightly, barely touching the skin. Reaching the earlobe, Kurt sucked it into his mouth, nipping it a little as he let it go. He could feel Blaine's body sagging against him, where his side was pressed to his chest.

"You're evil," Blaine murmured.

Kurt hummed in response, biting Blaine's earlobe again before moving down his neck.

"Evil," Blaine repeated.

...

"-owned a house with a huge stable, I remember. Your grandfather and I used to stay there as kids - with all our many, many cousins and brothers and sisters and such - and they'd all be crowded in with us. And the sounds of the animals would just be immense, the dear little lambs bleating their hearts out because we'd separated them from the mummies the day before, all ready for their tails to be docked and their ears to be tagged and all that jazz. And so of course we never got a moment's sleep in this stuffy shed-"

Blaine elbowed Kurt in the side, making him jump a bit as he woke up from the stupor he'd fallen into.

"You doing okay?" Blaine asked, leaning close to whisper in Kurt's cheek.

"Tired," Kurt breathed in response. "Bored."

Blaine lifted his serviette to his lips, pretending to wipe his mouth as he smothered a laugh.

"Not long to go," he promised. "We can escape at ten. Pretend we need to put the kids to bed and then just... not come back."

Kurt eyed the 'kids' in question. They were an eleven and an eight year-old, both of whom were some obscure relatives of Blaine's – sporting his silly dark curls and one with a very familiar nose – and looked like they were close to falling off their seats.

Sighing, Kurt moved his hand to rest it on Blaine's thigh, stroking little circles through the fabric of his jeans. Blaine's lips curled in a smile in response. And if Kurt's finger happened to stray a bit too far north, then it was all with the children in the mind. They needed to be escorted to bed after all. And then abandoned in favour of much less child-friendly pursuits.

...

Blaine was pretty sure he was drunk. He'd been feeling a bit tipsy after the third cup of something blue and sweet was shoved into his hand. He'd been perhaps almost positive that he was well on the way to inebriation when he'd downed that cider to a chorus of cheers from Sam and Mike. And then there'd been the shots...

So, in conclusion, Blaine was actually, really quite confident that he was probably a little bit drunk. Maybe a lot drunk. His head was spinning too much for him to really determine exactly where on the drunkenness spectrum he currently was. If only he could get hold of another cup of that glorious blue concoction and then-

Oh. That was Kurt. Blaine smiled up at him. He liked Kurt. He liked it when Kurt wrapped an arm around his waist, talking comforting little words of nonsense at him as he led him to the couch inside. He liked it when Kurt did other stuff too. The thought of the other stuff made Blaine laugh – loud and very, very noisy in the quiet little living room that Kurt was leading him into.

Kurt was warm and giggling and very pliant under Blaine's hands. It was nice, and as he and Kurt slumped down on a couch, Blaine didn't really want to do much more than curl up against his beautiful, warm, giggly boyfriend and fall asleep. Because Kurt was oh-so-comfy and lovely.

Except that, just as Blaine tried to settle into Kurt's lap – and why Kurt laughing, that was rude – he realised that his hands felt big and heavy. His hands felt like those Mickey Mouse gloves he'd gotten at McDonalds one time – and he was annoyed at them because what if he wanted to undo Kurt's jeans later, huh? What was he meant to do then? Mickey Mouse wouldn't be able to undo Kurt's pants, and that was good because Blaine didn't want Mickey Mouse's hands down his boyfriend's pants, he wanted his hands down there, but he was sure that hadn't been his intention when he'd first began trying to settle against Kurt on the couch in the living room of this strange, strange house...

Like a haunted house!

It was as if they were the only two people left in this empty room of this mysterious house and together they had to make it through the night and avoid all the ghosts and monsters that were probably hiding inside it. Unless it was like that episode of Buffy where the curse on the house actually made people just need to have sex all the time, and really would that be so bad?

Kurt was pretty and Blaine actually really wouldn't mind having sex with him forever and ever. Because his eyes were looking down at Blaine now, very affectionate and very bright and blue – blue like that wonderful blue drink!

Blaine wanted more of that drink.

Yum.

But he also wanted more of Kurt – duh – only Kurt didn't seem to want to move from the couch. The haunted couch! And then Blaine remembered that, if this house was haunted and it was his and Kurt's job to stay inside of it for the whole night and wait out the ghosts and fend off Mickey Mouse's threatening advances, then he jolly well couldn't go gallivanting around outside looking for delicious blue drinks.

Only it had been so, very yummy...

...

"My Dad's going to kill us."

"Shh. You're ruining the mood."

"There is no mood, Blaine. We're stuck in the middle of nowhere with no fuel and no food and no water. We're probably going to die out here. The mood cannot possibly be any more ruined."

"What if it started raining? That'd ruin it a bit more, I think."

"You're not helping."

"Or if we suddenly found out that that puppy who chewed on my finger last week was actually a werewolf and I'd been bitten and the moment the moon comes out from behind that cloud I'm going to turn into a deadly beast and try to eat you."

"Blaine."

"Or if some creepy man with an axe whose girlfriend once broke up with him by the side of this road came looking for revenge."

"Blaine, don't-"

"Or if a bear came out of the woods and it was massive and really, really hungry and broke into the car to- Kurt?"

Kurt let out a whimper.

"Are you scared?"

"No. I'm fine. My boyfriend's just being an idiot."

Blaine grinned, "You're so scared. I can't believe I scared you. I was joking. You're meant to be laughing."

"Well, let's just see who's laughing when an axe-wielding vengeful were-bear appears and kills us both."

"You just said 'were-bear'."

"Shut up."

"I think it's cute. How scared you are."

"I'm not scared."

Blaine chuckled a bit, but didn't reply. In the silence, every sound outside seemed magnified. Every hoot of an owl, every crack of a twig, every drop of a leaf or seed onto the top of the car-

"Blaine?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we cuddle?"

"Because you're scared?"

"No. Because this way the murderous were-bear will see you first. And then I really will laugh as I watch it eat you."

"Ouch. That was uncalled for."

Blaine really did sound offended, but nonetheless he shuffled closer to Kurt, wrapping his arms around him and manoeuvring them so that they could both fit semi-comfortably, sprawled across the folded down backseat.

"You deserved it," Kurt finally replied. "For scaring me."

...

"Love you, Kurt."

Kurt's body tingled at the feel of Blaine's lips moving against his shoulder. He felt like he was glowing with the soft, tender words. Felt as if the warmth of Blaine's breath was them being sucked into his skin, absorbed into his body like a medicine, like air or food or water – taken in like they were essential and delicious.

"I love you, too."

...

Was it creepy?

Blaine thought it might be creepy.

He wouldn't ask then.

It was creepy and weird and stupid. He wouldn't ask. Definitely not. No. It'd be creepy.

"Can I leave you on Skype tonight? While I go to sleep?"

Well. So much for not asking.

Kurt's eyes widened a bit at the request.

Blaine felt like an idiot.

It was creepy. Of course it was creepy. It was dumb and stupid and creepy and Kurt thought he was dumb and stupid and creepy and as if it wasn't bad enough already that Kurt was all the way away in New York with all these wonderful, smart, older, taller New York men probably fawning all over him. No, if all of that wasn't enough, Blaine was also being ridiculously creepy, and really? He almost wouldn't blame Kurt for moving on from someone as creepy and young and annoying as he was.

He was being stupid. It was stupid. He was an idiot.

"Sorry, I'm- I didn't mean-"

"Yes."

Blaine stopped short. Blinked twice. Opened his mouth and closed it again. Blinked some more.

"What?"

Kurt looked a little nervous and shy and young, biting his lip and glancing over his shoulder to where Rachel was inevitably lurking as he answered, "Yes. Yes, I'd love to stay on Skype. For the night."

"For the night," Blaine repeated, taking it in. "Oh. Okay."

"Unless you don't want to. Unless you think it's... you know... creepy."

Blaine made a noise, half-laugh, half-sigh.

"I do think it's a bit creepy," he admitted. "But I love you. And I miss you. And I want you to be- here. Close. If you don't mind."

Kurt shook his head, his eyes so, so tender and loving as he said, "No, Blaine. I don't mind at all."

...

He sort of wondered how everything could go so wrong.

'Sort of', because his mind wasn't exactly fully functional right now. Not so dysfunctional that he was thinking about haunted houses and touchy-feely Mickey Mouses, but dysfunctional enough that he couldn't quite get his thoughts straight, couldn't quite comprehend everything that had happened to get him here and now and like this.

Couldn't quite work out when and how everything had gone so, so wrong.

And since when had this ever felt wrong?

Blaine thought back, trying to sort through muddled thoughts and flashes of memories. Trying to figure out if, ever before, Kurt had felt like so much a ghost beside him. Trying to figure out if, ever before, he'd felt like a towering brick wall stretched between them. Cutting them off entirely from each other.

A/N: This is unrelated. Just so you know.

Anyway, I've decided to do something special for Christmas because I have a lot of things to celebrate this year and all of you deserve to celebrate with me. So I've decided that I'm giving a Christmas ficlet to everyone of my readers who wants one. All you have to do is scurry over to my tumblr (padfoots-page) and click the link under the heading 'Padfoot's Christmas Gifts'. It will take you to survey to fill out, and based on your response to that I will write you a personalised fic and (if you live in Australia) post that to you along with a Christmas card. If not, you will get the fic dropped into your inbox or PM-ed to you or whatever. Because, well, why not?

So please feel free to go over there and fill out the form. I'd really love to get to personally thank you all for the wonderful support you've all given me, and writing is really the only present I can give.