Disclaimer: I have no affiliation to Glee or its characters. This is fiction pure and simple.

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Waiting for Forever

Year Six: Iron

"Artie" Blaine sighed exasperated. He couldn't believe they were having this argument for the millionth time. "They are props. We need them to look authentic not be authentic."

"I'll have you know that you are compromising my vision."

"We are not spending $800 that we do not have on antique silver candlesticks."

"They were Alana's grandmother's candlesticks, smuggled out of the old country. When she catches her reflection in them she's reminded of how far she's strayed from the person she used to be. It is an integral part of the plot. If that scene doesn't work then the whole movie doesn't work."

"I'm not spending more than 50 bucks on them." Blaine snapped back. "Try EBay."

"EBay?" Artie choked. "Why don't you just slit my wrists right now and spare me the humiliation from all the mockery of every yahoo and film critic between here and L.A?"

Oh the drama! Blaine clasped his head in his hands rubbing at the throbbing temples. "Make it work."

"I don't know why you are making such a big deal out of it. You brought us in under budget last time."

"And you fought me every step of the way." Blaine remembered all the late nights they spent screaming at each other trying to find some middle ground between artistic expression and financial restraint. It had been slow trying to find a way to work together since they both had such strong opinions but the finished product had been worth every murderous impulse that involved a wheelchair and a bus he'd ever had. They made a pretty good team. Most times.

"I fought you because I felt oppressed, dictated to." Artie yelled sticking his fist in the air. "Down with the power."

"I need a drink." Blaine muttered. When their production meetings devolved into slogans and name calling, it was time to take a break.

Artie dropped his fist turning back into his amiable self. "That's a great idea."

"Harry? Julian?" Blaine turned to the two shell-shocked men in the corner. Even after three weeks of working with them, the interns they'd hired from New York Film Academy still overreacted to their fights. Harry especially. His already large eyes got comical while he cowered, looking like someone should call Social Services. "Beer?" They nodded in unison.

Blaine exhaled stretching as he stood at the open refrigerator. Pushing up the over long sleeves of the blue hoodie, he dug deep fishing out three Coors Light. Only three. Artie, the only Budweiser consumer was going to have something to say about this.

Enjoying the cool air, Blaine smiled preparing for round two. The fights he had with Artie were frustrating but exhilarating. It still amazed him that he felt this passionately about a project that was supposed to distract him from losing his voice but he'd gotten so caught up in the film making process that when Artie suggested they form a production company and make more movies; he'd jumped at the chance.

"We're out of Bud." He yelled turning round as the kitchen door swung inward.

"I don't mind."

Gasping sharply, Blaine stepped back, one bottle slipping from his slack hand exploding at his feet. "Sam" He exclaimed, swaying forward then pressing back the counter top digging into his back.

Sam stepped forward, his hand on Blaine's abdomen halting his momentum. "Careful"

"What?" Blaine asked stupidly, his brain turning to mush at the branding touch then he glanced down. Oh yeah! Feet. Glass.

He jerked his head upward. Boyfriend. "How…I mean uh…hi! Are you still growing? You seem taller."

Sam's smile was instant, warmth spreading to his sparkling green eyes. Dark cropped hair covered his scalp, a light growth of beard covering his face. Broad shoulders dominated and tan skin invited. He looked like a man, Blaine thought, a proper man, weather-beaten, windblown, a man who had lived and seen things. Christ! He was making him sound like those pirates on a cover of a romance novel, this must be what happens when you are celibate for a year…Wait, did that make him the swooning maiden in that scenario because that wasn't okay?

"This is mine." Sam slipped his hands around his waist tugging at the navy blue hoodie he wore. "It looks good on you."

Blaine flushed. The hoodie was Sam's. He'd snuck it out of his suitcase before he left for Nicaragua and he wore it around the house even after Sam's scent had faded and all that was left were memories, memories that barely held up against the years of staggering loneliness that followed. There were words he had to say, words he had promised himself he'd say next time Sam stood in front of him. Tongue-tied, he started and stopped several times, grasping Sam's forearms as he suddenly lifted him until he sat on the granite countertop lean body pressing between his spread thighs. Okay, swoon.

His eyes slipped closed as Sam stole a kiss, the brief brush of lips pushing reason aside. Blaine moaned, hands digging into Sam's shoulders as he arched into him, losing himself in the hot raw kiss that followed. Locking his ankles behind his back, he frantically rocked against him whimpering as big hands cupped his ass, hungry mouth nipping at his neck.

"Honey," Sam gasped tearing away, hot hand on his nape. "Your hair is really hard."

Startled, Blaine tossed his head back laughing; surprised he could think at all through the choking arousal. Before he could explain that after the previous year he'd had, taming his hair with gel had become the only part of his life that he could control, Sam ripped the hoodie off his body his t-shirt joining it on the floor. His murmur of appreciation made all the nights Blaine had spent at the gym punching a bag, working off sexual frustration or murderous impulses worthwhile. Speaking of murder…

"Artie?" He asked.

"They left." Sam held him close for a deep plundering kiss. "I have missed you so fucking much."

Blaine hummed, pausing to clear his head. If they stayed here, he'd soon find himself full of condiments. "Bed" He instructed tightening his arms around Sam's waist when he picked him up, placing him clear from the broken glass. He didn't want to get used to being toted around. He was a man dammit but boy did it feel good.

He stumbled back dragging Sam with him, losing his jeans, and locating his bedroom by touch. Blaine's breath caught as Sam crawled onto the bed too, bracing on his arms hovering over him. Every simple move made him shudder. The long strong body was ridiculous, teasing tan lines riding low on his belly revealing pale unblemished skin that made his mouth water. Pushing Sam onto his back, Blaine clambered over him exploring his chest with his lips and tongue. A raised ridge on Sam's abdomen stopped his descent and Blaine sat up hoping for a clearer view. He blanched finding a jagged wicked looking scar snaking down his torso, curling around his ribs.

"What happened?"

Sam sat up giving him an easy smile. "Honey…"

"Less calling me honey, more explaining."

"I was in Managua for a couple of days picking up a shipment. Run into a street gang. There was a kid maybe ten-years-old outside my hotel, looked like he'd taken a pretty bad beating. I thought I could help him. When I tried to talk to him, he run and I chased after him took a wrong turn into this barri…" Sam stopped mid word. "You don't look so good."

"That's because I feel sick." Tearing his gaze from the horrible reminder, Blaine pulled on his boxers – this wasn't a naked conversation - then leaned against the headboard taking deep calculated breaths. "You could have died. You could have died and I would be here, completely ignorant."

"I didn't."

"You could have."

"Blaine," Sam settled next to him kissing his forehead. "I'm okay."

Until the next time. "Why didn't you tell me you were in the hospital?"

"I didn't want you to worry. That's the same reason why you didn't tell me, right?"

Stunned, Blaine met his earnest gaze. "How did you find out?"

"Artie let it slip in one of his 'Blaine is a tyrant' emails a few months ago. You know he calls you Napoleon?"

"If I left all the decisions up to him, we'd be bankrupt." Blaine protested.

"So are you like some big time producer now?"

Blaine let himself be distracted, trying to replace his version of normal over the horrific images of knives and blood, Sam's blood. "Hardly. The first very short movie we made 'Ode to a Small-town Somebody' was a critical success even if it made like - negative dollars. But because it was so well received it was easier for me to find an investor to back our new project."

"So you're done with Broadway?"

"No." Blaine searched his eyes wondering if that's Sam really wanted for him. "You know the theater has always been my first love. I'm just taking a break for awhile."

"Cool. I got you something." Sam scrambled off the bed, dashing out the room. "Close your eyes."

"I am not five and this is not Christmas morning."

"Close them." Sam yelled.

Reluctantly, Blaine closed his eyes still straining to listen. For all he knew he'd open his eyes to find Sam gone and that all this was a cruel, cruel dream. Breathing shallowly, he waited until the dip on the bed in front of him restarted his heart. A large object placed in his lap.

"Open"

"Holy fuck!" Blaine exclaimed, running his hands over the pitch black, polished double neck guitar, his eyes following the stylized 'S' and 'B' that formed the body. "This is beautiful. Where did you get it?"

"I made it."

Blaine's head popped up so hard his neck hurt. "You made this?"

"Yeah" Sam placed his hands over his, drawing them over the intricately carved wood. "It's like us. This side is a little rough around the edges just like me…" Blaine could feel the pattern, bumpy curves weaving into the wood. "And this other side is smooth, refined like you. We may be different but we make beautiful music together." Sam plucked the strings sending vibrations up Blaine's arms.

"Oh, I think you are the smooth one." Blaine focused on their hands even as his vision blurred, he cam to a scary realization. He just knew when Sam left again he was going to come apart. No matter how hard he had worked to get his emotions, his entire life back under control, it was going to shatter. He had to be ready. Biting on his lip he asked, "How soon are you leaving?"

"I'm not."

"What?"

Sam's hands tightened on his. "Don't get too excited but I got a job at a Non profit Child Advocacy Center in Harlem. At some point I'm going to need to think of college, which is even more terrifying at my age. Uh! I also got an apartment. A friend hooked me up with this guy – don't worry I had him fully vetted – he's not a serial killer but he's a shut-in. Dude hasn't left his house since his wife was killed eight years ago which works for me. I will be his link to the outside world; in return my rent is way cheap." Sam swallowed, peering at him. "You could get a little more excited."

"You're staying?" Blaine had heard all of that, but still. What? "In New York?"

"Yes"

"Oh my god! I mean oh my…"

"Use your words." Sam joked.

Infuriated, Blaine's fist shot out connecting with Sam's shoulder. He groaned as this - despite Sam's emphatic 'Ow!' - resulted in more pain than he inflicted. Placing the guitar carefully to the side he shoved Sam onto his back, straddling him. "Why didn't you tell me you were looking for a job here?"

"I didn't want to get your hopes up incase it didn't work out."

Sam was staying! Boneless, Blaine slid down, lengthwise, his head on Sam's hard chest. The thump of his heart under his ear was real, his warm skin rubbing against his permanent. What did this mean? Tilting his head back he left Sam to decide, "What happens now?"

Sam simply smiled, fingers stroking his lower back. "Go out with me?"

"Like on a date?"

"Yeah"

"After everything we've been through you want to date?"

"I know we are doing everything backwards and upside down but I want to date you. I want to worry about what to say and how soon I can remove your silly little bowtie. I haven't been on a first date in…" He squinted his eyes in concentration. "Three years. So you're in for a treat."

"What happened your rigid timeline?"

Sam's hands cupped his face, thumbs touching his brows, lips. "I thought we could cheat time a little. Make sure we work."

"A test-drive?"

"Yes" Sam's hand swept down his body. "Honey, you're shaking."

"I just can't believe you're here. That any of this is happening."

"I promised you, I'd figure it out."

Blaine could hear it in Sam's voice, how proud he was that he'd made it to New York on his own even if it had been hard. How could he do anything but say yes. He wiggled on his body, kissing the curve of his fuzzy jaw.

"Is that a yes?" Sam asked

"Yes and I want lobster or I'm not putting out.." Blaine shrieked with laughter as Sam flipped him onto his back calling him high maintenance while covering his face with kisses.