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Entry tags:
Fic: Falling Is Like This - Chapter 1
Fic: Falling is Like This [1/5]
Characters: Kurt/Blaine pre-dating, Rachel, Blaine's roommate (OC)
Rating: PG-13 (entire story)
Spoilers: 2.14 (Blame It On the Alcohol). Incorporates some things we've learned about the characters from canon after 2.14, but no plot spoilers. Spoilers for the movie Love Story in chapter 3 and references to Brokeback Mountain in Chapter 4.
Warnings: language; sexuality but no sex or heavy stuff; brief (two-sentence), non-graphic reference to past violent incident
Word count: About 17,000 overall, 7,471 this part
Summary: The fact the he enjoyed kissing Rachel at the party is confusing for Blaine. But what's more confusing is Kurt.
Chapter Summary: Kurt wishes he could learn a new way to be angry, at least around Blaine.
Disclaimer: Characters not mine, except for the one I made up.
Author’s Note: My attempt at figuring out what was going on in the boys' heads during 'Blame It on the Alcohol' and why that argument in the Lima Bean didn't kill their friendship. Canon-compatible, even when I really didn't want it to be. This story is finished. I'll be posting one chapter a day until all chapters are up. More complete author's notes (including song information and links) will be posted as a separate entry at the end of the week.
Acknowledgements: Mountains of indebtedness to the amazing![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
verdandil
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Falling is Like This
Chapter 1: Monday, You Can Fall Apart
Kurt has managed to keep his cool for 41 hours and 34 minutes. But there is only so much even he can handle, and he's just found his tipping point.
"What's the harm in going out on one crummy little date?" Blaine says. He's completely avoiding eye contact with Kurt, focusing on shaking the sugar packet into his medium-drip.
Kurt is not usually big on blaspheming in other people's religions, but Jesus. Fucking. Christ. You really don't know why going on a date with Rachel Berry is a big fucking deal?
He leans across the tiny café table. "You're gay, Blaine." He can barely keep his voice steady.
Blaine keeps fiddling with his coffee, eyes on his hands. He snaps the lid onto its cup, pries it back off, whips the stirrer around – like if he looks up, Kurt will bite his head off. Which maybe Kurt will. "I thought I was. But I've never even had a boyfriend before." He risks a brief look up at Kurt. "Isn't this supposed to be the time you figure stuff out?"
And then the words just rush out of Blaine's mouth like air from a tire. "Maybe I'm bi. I don't know."
That's when Kurt loses it. Generally, Kurt likes that he can be witty and smug and totally on the offensive when he's pissed off. It makes people think they haven't hurt him, that they never will be able to hurt him, no matter how much they try. They might make his stomach churn with fear and despair, but if he hurts them back, they'll be too busy tending their own tiny wounds to notice that they've shattered him into so many little pieces that no apology could ever glue them all back together.
And rage – it's so much better than the alternative of hopeless sobbing.
He lets the words fly out before he can weigh them.
"Bisexual is a term that gay guys in high school use when they want to hold hands with girls and feel like a normal person for a change."
As soon as the words leave Kurt's mouth, he feels lightheaded and glowing and sick at the same time. It's like he has two bodies. There is his center, where his stomach feels queasy and his heart is clenched as tight as a fist – because he was just cruel to Blaine. But then there's the rest of him. His fingers are tingling and his head is buzzing and his brain just cries, wow, that's so much better – because no one can hurt Kurt Hummel without getting hurt back.
Kurt wants to vomit.
Blaine's face pales and his eyes seem smaller and he pulls his upper arms tighter into his sides. Kurt sees Blaine shrinking before him, and he hates himself for it.
Blaine looks up at him, latches his eyes onto Kurt's for the first time since this spat started. And Kurt wishes that Blaine's eyes were hot with fury, but they just look tired, and maybe a little afraid of Kurt.
Blaine's voice is hushed and weak, and he fumbles with his words. "Whoawawawaiwaiwait. Why're you so angry?"
Kurt's heard this question before, and it never means what it sounds like. No one, besides maybe his father, has ever cared why Kurt is angry about anything. Why are you so angry? invariably means Stop being angry so I don't have to think about why you are.
But Blaine says Why are you so angry? with such confusion on his face that Kurt realizes Blaine actually wants the answer.
Kurt knows this is his opportunity. But his brain has absolutely no control of what comes out of his mouth. He doesn't talk about what happened Saturday night, or what's been happening for months, since the first time Blaine looked up at him on that spiraling staircase in Dalton and his eyes seemed to say, Oh, there you are. Kurt doesn't say that this is all too much, it's all been too much from that very moment: Blaine taking Kurt's hand, Blaine crooning at him to go all the way tonight, Blaine wrapping his arm around Kurt's shoulders, Blaine patting Kurt's knee, Blaine singing your eyes are like stars right now and looking at Kurt as if he really meant it, Blaine saying I don't want to mess this up but messing it all up anyway.
Kurt doesn't say any of that. Instead, he does what is easy for him. He flings verbal arrows and watches every one of them sink into their target.
Kurt sees that Blaine is trying not to cry. But Kurt doesn't know how to stop this.
And then Blaine storms off with a snide little pun about not saying "bye" because it sounds like "bi" and God forbid that anyone offend Kurt.
It's so unlike Blaine to be snarky. That's Kurt's job.
Kurt waits. He sips his mocha slowly until his cup is empty, then reaches across the table for Blaine's cup, which is less than lukewarm now.
Blaine is gone.
Kurt knows that Blaine isn't coming back, but he continues to sit there, letting Blaine's coffee cool further in his hand. He doesn't want to let it go.
------------------
Kurt knows he deserves this. He deserves Blaine walking away and he deserves to wallow in his own remorse while that stupid old couple at the next table glances at him uncomfortably. Maybe they're looking at him that way because they've never heard someone say "gay" and "bisexual" so many times in one minute, but Kurt prefers to think it's because they're horrified that he's been such an asshole to his not-boyfriend.
Kurt wishes he could learn a new way to be angry, at least around Blaine. He's not sure what that would look like, but he knows it wouldn't involve making sweeping and kind of bigoted generalizations. He wasn't trying to say that every high school guy who calls himself bisexual is really just gay and insecure. What he meant was that Blaine is.
Okay, that probably wouldn't have come across any better.
Still, Kurt can't get rid of the conviction in his gut: Blaine is, one, so desperate to make out with someone that he will convince himself that he's attracted to Rachel Berry just so he can and, two, so afraid of making out with someone he might actually be attracted to that he won't kiss Kurt.
Well, that's not quite true. Blaine tried when he was drunk. But Kurt tells himself that doesn't count, even if he wants it to. There is no accounting for taste when someone is drunk.
Kurt had dragged Blaine into an out-of the-way corner at Rachel's party because Blaine had been embarrassing himself in front of Finn, putting his arm around him and cooing about how cool it was that Kurt and Finn are brothers. Finn acted like it was fine, if a little weird but, frankly, it looked to Kurt like maybe Blaine was hitting on Finn. Not that Kurt had ever seen Blaine hit on someone outside of the Gap attack, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
So Kurt and Blaine sat in their safe corner, bouncing their heads to the thrumming beat of an interminable dance mix of "Like a G6," and Kurt tried not to look at Blaine too much. After all his dancing, Blaine's curls were starting to break loose and tumble over his forehead, and Kurt wanted to twist his fingers in them and gently tug Blaine toward his face and breathe in his breath before – okay, that's enough.
So Kurt was not looking at Blaine. He was looking over where most of the party was clustered with Brittany and Santana at the center, doing body shots off of each other. "Did I ever tell you that I kissed Brittany?" Kurt said.
Blaine was giggly as a little boy. "No way," he beamed. "Not my Kurt."
My Kurt.
Kurt forgot how to breathe momentarily, caught Blaine's eyes to decipher his meaning. Yes. Yes, I'm your Kurt, he wanted to say. But instead Kurt looked down at his hands, then back up at Brittany, and let out a loud, long exhalation.
"Yeah," Kurt said. "Coach Sylvester asked how I knew I was gay if I'd never even kissed anyone, and my dad was being unusually terrible at relating to his gay son, so I let Brittany come over and we made out on my couch."
It was only after Kurt said this that he realized he had let more slip than he'd meant to. He hadn't really wanted Blaine to know that he had ever felt that insecure about being gay. Blaine never had any doubts. Kurt wanted to be that way, too.
But Blaine didn't seem to pick up on Kurt's insecurities. His eyes were wide open and his jaw was dropping, dropping until Kurt could see Blaine's tongue and Kurt was really, really trying not to notice how delicious it looked. Blaine's eyebrows arched up so high they looked like they might just shoot off the top of his forehead at any moment.
"You made out?" Blaine squealed.
Kurt breathed out a soft laugh. "Well, it was actually mostly Brittany doing the making out. I just kind of lay there."
Kurt giggled at himself. He could not believe he was telling this to Blaine. He was probably only telling it to Blaine because Mr. Perfect was drunk and acting a little like an idiot. So, for once, Kurt didn't feel quite so self-conscious about having a few flaws.
"And – ?" Blaine's wide eyes were egging Kurt on.
Kurt continued. "It was – interesting. Mostly awkward. But I made her tell me what it was like to kiss boys, and then for a while she was quiet and I closed my eyes and imagined it was Taylor Lautner and then – well, then it was really pretty good."
Kurt did not just say that. He blushed and glanced down, wondering which was brighter at the moment – his face or his red shirt.
Blaine looked back over at Brittany and Santana, and Kurt's eyes followed. Brittany was licking salt off of Santana's stomach, just below her belly button and awfully close to her waistband.
"Eh, she's bush league," said Blaine, and Kurt started to laugh before realizing that Blaine was probably too drunk to have meant the double-entendre. He got so focused on turning his laughter into a cough that he almost missed what Blaine said next:
"I could kiss you way better than that."
Kurt whipped his face back toward Blaine. Blaine had an impish grin and his watery, drunken eyes darted from Kurt's eyelashes, to his hair, to his chin. They stopped on Kurt's mouth.
Blaine's grin faded into a calm smile, his lips slightly parted. His drunken eyes were goddamn sparkling, and they seemed to sparkle a little more, the closer to Kurt's face they got.
Blaine's mouth was so close, Kurt could almost taste the alcohol on Blaine's breath.
Think. Blaine clearly wasn't, so Kurt had to.
Kurt forced out a light laugh. "I'm certain you could, Blaine." And in one light motion Kurt leaped to his feet.
He looked down at Blaine. "I'll get you a soda." To not collapse back onto the floor and throw himself at Blaine, press him against the carpet and steal a kiss for every day he has gone without – it took all the strength Kurt had. But Kurt Hummel was a performer before everything else, and if he couldn't perform under pressure, he wasn't worthy of the label. He made himself look stern, disapproving. He made himself tower over Blaine.
"Man," Blaine sighed. "Do that jumping thing again. You're lithesome." Blaine's neck craned back, exposing the throat that was usually hidden by uniform collar and tie, and Kurt's mind went close to blank. The top buttons of Blaine's Henley had fallen open, hinting at the chest beneath. Kurt could see nothing but skin, think of nothing but that he must not touch.
It could not be like this. It could not happen when Blaine was drunk. It was supposed to happen one day as they walked out of the Lima Bean, shoulders touching, and they got to their cars and Blaine realized that he didn't want to say goodbye.
"Blaine, I'll get you a Pepsi." Kurt made a brisk turn toward the snack table.
"No."
Kurt turned around and tried to give his most disapproving scowl to Blaine. He was not going to grab Blaine more booze.
Blaine registered the disapproval, cocked one eyebrow, smiled meekly, and lowered his eyes to Kurt's chest. "Red," he said, almost imperceptibly. "I want something that tastes red."
Kurt looked down at his red shirt and was pretty sure that Blaine was not talking about a Cherry 7UP.
The evening went downhill from there. Rachel called the game of spin-the-bottle while Kurt was pouring Blaine's soda, and Blaine went from sucking face with Rachel at the party to groping Kurt in the Volvo. Kurt really didn't think it could get any worse by the time he was dragging Blaine up the stairs. And then Blaine tripped on the last step, keeling them onto the landing. Kurt tried to hold Blaine up, but the momentum was too much and he ended up on his back, Blaine sprawled on top of him.
Kurt listened for stirring from his parents' bedroom, but there wasn't a sound except for Blaine's warm, boozy breath and Kurt's own heart pounding in his head. Their lungs heaved in time, pressing their chests minutely closer, then minutely apart. Blaine lifted himself up slightly, looking down at Kurt with a too bright smile and his curls all wild and – Oh, Medusa.
"Hello," Blaine whispered, a little shyly. Even though it was dark in the hall, there was enough moonlight that Kurt could see Blaine's eyes on his, could see Blaine chewing at his lower lip.
Blaine was heavy and warm and delightful and Kurt wanted to disappear into him. "Hi," Kurt tried to say, but he didn't hear any sound come out.
A loud snore from down the hall made Kurt jump in his skin. He rolled out from under Blaine, stood and pulled Blaine toward the bedroom, filled with dread.
"You're so pretty," Blaine gazed up at him when Kurt dropped him on the bed. Kurt towered over Blaine, scowling at him.
"I love it when you look at me that way," sighed Blaine. "No one ever disapproves of me – not the way you do." His gaze was so happy and soft and needy that Kurt wasn't sure whether he should laugh or melt.
Blaine reached out and hooked his hand around the back of Kurt's thigh, trying to pull him down. "Come here."
Blaine was a pathetically weak drunk. Kurt stayed standing, folded his arms together across his chest. "Blaine, do you need to pee again before you go to sleep?"
Blaine giggled. "Probably." But then he stopped giggling and his voice dropped, like, two octaves. "But I can't."
"What do you mean, you can't?" Kurt snapped. And then, horrified, he wished he hadn't. Don't answer that. Don't answer that. The words were perfectly formed in his head, but Blaine was raising himself up to his knees now, turning to face Kurt, inches away, breathing shallowly, and Kurt could not say a thing.
Blaine leaned into Kurt's ear, his voice unbearably quiet. "You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?" Blaine's hands were on Kurt's hips, drawing him in, and then Blaine was pressing into Kurt's body and –
Oh. My. God.
Blaine has his head on his steering wheel and he's trying to gather the strength to drive back to Dalton. Blaine Anderson, you are not going to cry. You are NOT going to cry. You are going to turn on the motor and get out of this parking lot and sing along to Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" and laugh at the irony the whole way back to Dalton.
Blaine breathes in.
Coffee with Kurt today was supposed to fix everything. That's what talking to Kurt usually does when Blaine's confused. Blaine is not good at introspection. He doesn't usually spend a lot of time questioning why he feels a certain way, or whether acting on his feelings is a good idea or a bad one. (Case in point: Serenading Jeremiah at the Gap.) But when Blaine talks to Kurt, things become clearer. Kurt has a way of making Blaine think more deeply about things, and sometimes Blaine isn't sure who he's learned more about since they became friends: Kurt or himself.
But that's not what happened today. God, no.
Blaine starts to cry. And once he starts, he can't stop. The tears are running out his nose and his breathing is jagged and shallow. His chest spasms, making him gulp so hard for air that the noise of it shocks him. He vaguely remembers crying like this when he was little, the feel of a cold wet washcloth on his cheeks and forehead as his mom held it in place and reminded him to breathe. He's lost his hold on the world – everything is spinning away from him, and he will never be able to grasp it again. It's moving too far and too fast.
Blaine's wondering if it's safe to say that these have been the worst two days of his life. That seems a little melodramatic. Maybe the most confusing?
He hadn't been planning to drink much at Rachel's party. These were Kurt's friends, and this was the first time he was really hanging out with all of them. He wanted to make a good impression. No – it was more than want. It was like food or shelter or clothing. He needed to.
But then they were all drinking like dogs and Blaine thought, Hey, no harm in indulging. Might as well fit in. And he was glad to have that excuse, because he'd been wound so tight since that conversation with Kurt, the day after the Gap attack,
about Kurt thinking that the one Blaine had wanted to ask out for Valentine's Day was not some closeted college kid who worked at the Gap, but Kurt.
It had been a cross between a punch to the gut and the warm, glowing feeling Blaine gets when he naps in the afternoon sun. It left him feeling giddy and inept.
The giddiness faded, but the ineptness stayed, haunting every waking minute and even, sometimes, Blaine's sleep. It took all his strength to keep up his usual confident, know-everything appearance. His teachers didn't seem to notice, the Warblers didn't seem to notice, his parents didn't seem to notice, Kurt didn't seem to notice. But there it was, coiling around his sternum so tightly it was a wonder that he could breathe.
So when, at the party, Blaine saw that everyone was heading toward trashed, he figured they wouldn't hold it against him if he drank a little, too.
Blaine was just going for a little buzz. But after his first drink, his chest was still tight and Kurt was still inscrutable. So he told Puck to make him something stronger, and when he drank it, it felt like lava was pouring through his chest and melting the band that had gripped his heart for these two weeks.
Blaine felt like flying. Instead, he danced. The dancing stirred up love, and he wanted to share it with everybody. Blaine grabbed Finn to tell him how great he was for overcoming his awkwardness over Kurt's old crush and turning into a real, supportive brother, because Kurt is awesome and everyone should love him and why the fuck don't they? What the fuck is wrong with them? Except that you, Finn, do love Kurt and that just shows anyone who doesn't that they are big, fucking losers. But the gratitude Blaine felt was so overwhelming all he could get out was something like, "It is so cool that you and Kurt are brothers. Brothers!" and Kurt seemed ashamed of Blaine and dragged him off to sit in a quiet corner away from Kurt's friends.
Alcohol is supposed to make you stupid. It's supposed to cloud your judgment. But Blaine is pretty sure he has never seen anything so clearly as when he sat next to Kurt in that corner. How could he have never noticed the way that Kurt's cheeks constantly change color when he talks, pulsing from ivory to coral to rose to bone china as visual punctuation to his stories? How could he never have seen that Kurt's eyes are not green or blue or hazel, but goddamn cerulean? How could he never have noticed how quickly Kurt's face switches from inscrutable to inviting and back again?
And so Blaine said things, in his clumsy, drunken, virginal way. He said things because he wanted things, he wanted them with Kurt, and he knew if he had them, this freedom he was feeling wouldn't wear off with the alcohol. It would be his to keep.
But Kurt – Blaine doesn’t understand Kurt. He thought Kurt liked him. As more than a friend. Isn't that what the pre-Valentine's Day conversation at the Lima Bean was about? But Kurt just laughed at him, waved him off, stomped away.
Blaine adores Kurt Hummel and he needs Kurt Hummel in his life, one way or the other. But he doesn't think he will ever understand him.
Fine. So screw Kurt. He didn't have the right to ruin everything. Blaine was having fun at the party, and he was going to continue having fun. If that entailed leaning over Kurt to kiss an aesthetically pleasing girl during a game of spin-the-bottle, so be it. And it was nice. It was at least as good as what Kurt described with Brittany. Rachel's skin was almost as smooth as Kurt's if not quite so glowing, and her lips were soft and scrumptious and tasted like strawberry wine coolers. Maybe the fact that Blaine had one hand on Kurt's knee to hold himself up and that Blaine got a whiff of Kurt's hair spray and fabric softener – maybe that had something to do with why Blaine did not want to stop kissing, ever. Maybe. Who cares? It felt good.
And so Blaine attached himself to Rachel's mouth several more times before the end of the party. At first, he tried it while they were both standing and he had to lean his head really far down to kiss her, and it was kind of uncomfortable and pretty distracting and sort of weird because she is about the same height as his mother, and he wondered if this meant he should never date anyone taller than him – okay, why did Kurt have to come specifically to mind? – because he didn't want anyone who was kissing him to be as distracted by his height as he was distracted by Rachel Berry's height, because he was really not enjoying this kiss at all. Well, okay, her lips were still soft and tasted like wine coolers, but whatever had been there during spin-the-bottle was gone.
So he tried a couple more times on the couch, and again when she was standing on the edge of the stage and he was next to it, and those times were a little better. He liked the way she tugged on his bottom lip and giggled when she kissed him. It made him feel like a little kid, like when he used to play Twister with his friends and they'd get caught up in a giant knot and tumble over and laugh so hard they'd almost pee themselves.
Kissing Rachel felt good. But where did the goodness come from? Was it Rachel herself, all brass and ballsiness? Was it the physical sensation that came from knowing that someone wanted him? Was it because he was safe kissing her – love or no love – because no one was going to hurt him for it?
It was nice kissing Rachel. As nice as kissing a boy? He doesn't know. He has nothing to compare it with.
He might have eventually kissed that boy after the Sadie Hawkins dance at his old school, but instead they got the crap beaten out of them. That boy wasn't worth it – not 11 stitches, a limp that dogged Blaine through Christmas, and the ache of terror that grips Blaine's stomach every time he steps into a parking lot at night. The desire to kiss him had just been a curiosity, a vague want. It wasn't a need for that boy.
Blaine needed something to compare kissing Rachel with. He was pretty sure Kurt would be better, but why not find out for real?
So he tried again to give it a go with Kurt in the Volvo. When Blaine handed Kurt the keys, he grabbed onto Kurt's hand and tried to pull him in; Kurt was as immovable as a tombstone. When Kurt lowered him into the passenger seat, Blaine held onto Kurt's biceps and tried to drag him down with him; Kurt shook him off like a fly. When Blaine bent over Kurt's lap to show him exactly where the seat-adjustment lever is, Kurt yanked Blaine by the shoulders and tossed him back into his own seat (and God, that was startlingly hot). When they were waiting at a traffic light and Blaine put his hand on Kurt's thigh to thank him for not making him carsick and also to move in for a kiss, Kurt robotically removed the hand and placed it back in Blaine's lap.
"Apparently you'll make out with anybody when you're drunk," Kurt snapped. The words stabbed Blaine.
Blaine knew he should stop trying, but he couldn't. He was overcome by Kurt, and it was impossible not to try to close the gap between them. Even Kurt's scowl was stunning. It made Kurt's lips fuller, his eyes spark. His brows arched and Blaine wanted to disappear into the furrow between them.
Had he ever wanted anything so much? If he had, he certainly couldn't remember it. Just to kiss Kurt long and deliriously and all night – that would be enough to make this aching go away.
But Kurt was in charge, and he was having none of it. So Blaine lay alone in the bed and slept fitfully, drifting into dreams of Kurt's face and hands and skin, drifting back into consciousness and empty arms and a bed that smelled tantalizingly of Kurt. By the time the sun came up, Blaine was so exhausted that he finally passed out for three blessed hours and, when he woke up, even forgot for a sweet, too-short moment where he was and what he had done the previous night.
Then it all came rushing back, and Blaine wanted to be anywhere else but Kurt's bed.
Wasn't drinking supposed to make you forget things? Okay, so Blaine couldn't remember where his shoes were or how many drinks he'd had, and when he recalled bouncing around on stage with Rachel Berry, he could only remember that it was a song by some very gay eighties band, but not which one it was.
But the kissing? Blaine remembered that. And the want? Blaine definitely remembered that. And Blaine's hideous, drunken attempts at wooing Kurt? Oh, God, have mercy – Blaine was pretty sure he remembered all of it.
What he remembered most clearly, though, was the rejection. The way that Kurt wouldn't even look at him by the end of the night. How he turned his back to him and slept on the floor because who in his right mind would want to share a bed with Blaine Anderson?
Kurt, of course, acted like nothing had happened. He spoke soothingly and nursed Blaine's hangover with coffee and dry toast and rubbed his pounding head. It was exactly what Blaine needed, but he wished that Kurt would kick him out of the bed and push him down the stairs and throw him out the door.
Blaine deserved nothing less.
Because Blaine Anderson is supposed to be a gentleman. He is not supposed to have the hots for his best friend and, even if he does, he is not supposed to act on it because that would mess everything up. He'd promised himself, and he'd promised Kurt, that he was not going to mess this up.
And now, he's messed it up.
When he started talking about being bi in the Lima Bean, he was just trying to undo the weekend, to return to their old habit of talking unreservedly about everything except what they might or might not feel for each other.
It wasn't a proclamation of some new identity. It's just that kissing Rachel is nice – kissing Kurt would be nicer, but Blaine has clearly lost his chance on that one. And if kissing Rachel is this nice when he barely knows her, then maybe one day – once he's known her as long and as well as he knows Kurt – it will be electric. He can't know unless he gives it a chance.
If Kurt doesn't want him anymore, why won't he just let Blaine go?
So here Blaine is, collapsed on his steering wheel in a mall parking lot, exhausted from crying, slowing his tears by following his mother's old admonition to breathe.
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When Kurt finally leaves the mall, Blaine's car is gone. They'd parked next to each other and, where the Volvo once was, there's an empty space. Kurt gets this image of Blaine unconscious and bleeding in the driver's seat on the shoulder of US 33. Blaine's going to die because he didn't have his afternoon coffee and was crying too hard to see the road, and it's your fault, Kurt Hummel.
Kurt gets into the Navigator and tells himself to stop being so hysterical. Still, he can't stop himself from picking up the phone and texting to Blaine, "I hope you're OK," even though he's pretty sure that he's the last person in the world Blaine wants to hear from right now.
It's a few minutes before Kurt's phone buzzes.
From: Blaine Warbler
I'll talk to you later.
4:43 PM
Kurt sighs, puts down the phone, and turns the key in the ignition. In the best of all possible worlds, maybe Blaine would have said more. But they're not living in the best of all possible worlds, and Kurt is pretty happy with what he just got.
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Blaine drives back to Dalton. He checks his face in the mirror before he gets out of the car, and he looks like shit. He forces himself to smile, and he still looks like shit. He checks his phone and sees a text from Kurt and, while it's not the apology he wants, it's something. Still, he feels like shit.
Thankfully, he doesn't run into anyone on the way to his room, and his roommate isn't in. He undresses, wraps himself in a towel and walks down the hall to the showers. He shuts himself in a stall and turns on the water as hot as it will go and lets it pour over him. He doesn't sing.
When he gets back to the room, he throws on sweats and stretches out on his bed to delve into his notes on the Mexican-American War. But the next thing he knows, his roommate is shaking him awake and telling him it's time for dinner.
"Go away," Blaine murmurs. "I'm having a sexual identity crisis."
"Um, okay," says Justin. "But it's Indian tonight."
"I don't care."
"Mr. Holden will ask."
"Tell him I'm sick."
"But then he'll come check on you."
"Tell him I'm bisexual."
Justin is towering over Blaine, who still hasn't moved from his sprawling position on the bed. "Um, Blaine, even if that's true, it's not a reason to miss dinner." Justin scrunches his eyebrows together when he says this. Still, he somehow manages to not look very concerned.
"Like you would know," Blaine says tersely.
Justin plops down onto the bed next to Blaine and glares at him, but his voice is gentle. "What the fuck is going on with you, Blaine? You've been really weird since you got back last night."
Blaine props himself on his elbows. He really doesn't want to talk about this, but he's kind of said a lot already. And Justin is pretty cool. Not, like, best friend material, and way too obsessed with Star Trek and the NHL, and totally uninterested in any music but Rush, but he's trustworthy.
"Okay," says Blaine. "Promise not to tell anyone?"
"Why the fuck would I tell anyone?" Justin laughs. "No offense, but I usually have more interesting things to talk about than Blaine Anderson."
Blaine rolls his eyes.
"Fine," smiles Justin, raising his hands in the air in a perfect parody of surrender. "I promise. Now tell me what the fuck is going on."
"You've said 'fuck' three times in the last minute," says Blaine.
"Yeah, and I'll say it a whole fuck more if you don't talk."
Blaine sits up, pushing his back against the headboard. "I went to a party this weekend with Kurt and got drunk and made out with one of his friends."
"In front of him?" Justin asks.
"Well, yeah."
"God, you're an asshole."
"Why does that make me an asshole?"
"Because he's totally in love with you, Blaine. And even if you tell me you're not interested – which is bullshit, in my opinion – he's your friend and you don't treat friends who are in love with you like that."
"Justin, he's not interested in me," Blaine says.
It's Justin's turn to roll his eyes.
Blaine sighs loudly. "I know what you all say but he is seriously. Not. Interested. Okay? We're friends. That's it. That's all either of us want."
"Of course," says Justin. "That must be why he seemed upset today."
"He's just upset because it wasn't a guy I was making out with."
"Well, I kind of gathered that," Justin says. "I mean, that it was a girl. Given your sexual identity crisis. She must be really hot."
Blaine listlessly drops his hand to his pillow. "I didn't really notice."
Justin gives him a quizzical look. "You didn't really notice?"
"We were playing spin the bottle and she got me on her turn and – I was surprised. It was pretty nice. And I was really wasted. So I kept kissing her the rest of the party to see if it felt the same. And then this afternoon I was at the Lima Bean with Kurt and she called and asked me on a date and I said 'yes.'"
"In front of Kurt?"
"We're friends, remember? Two gay guys can be friends without trying to get into each other's pants all the time."
"I didn't say anything about pants."
"Kurt's just mad about the date because apparently I'm supposed to the role model for happy gay teens everywhere. But you know what? It felt good kissing her, and it's not like I'm gonna get kissed by anyone else anytime soon, so why not live a little?'"
Justin groans. The look on his face is full of – Blaine's not sure. Condescension? Pity? Understanding?
"Blaine," Justin says, "have you kissed anyone before?"
Blaine grabs a pillow and throws it at Justin's chest, but the thump it produces is extremely unsatisfying. Justin just smirks. "I don't see how that's any of your business," Blaine says.
"You just made it my business," says Justin. "Now tell me the truth."
Blaine looks down at his hands and starts picking at the callus on his index finger. "No, I was a kiss virgin before Saturday night."
"Okay, Blaine," says Justin. "I'm going to tell you something. Now I'm not saying it applies in your situation, and I'm not saying you're not bisexual, or that you are bisexual, because maybe you are – whatever, I don’t care. Now quit your slouching and sit up straight."
Blaine crosses his legs and complies – then wonders why he did. He decides to blame it on having just woken up. "So what are you going to tell me?"
"Okay," Justin says. "I'm going to tell you about my first kiss. When I was nine, I started making out with my cousin Julia."
"When you were nine?"
"Shut up. I'm telling you a story." Justin pauses, twisting the end of his tie with one hand. "First we started kissing, and then we started necking – I don't really remember the dates of everything. That's not the point. The point is it felt awesome."
Blaine cannot believe he is hearing about his roommate's kind of incestuous sexual (or pre-sexual, or semi-sexual, or whatever it is) history.
"And the other point is –" Justin pauses. "The other point is I was never in love with her, and she was never in love with me. We only saw each other in the summers and at Thanksgiving and Easter and I didn't think about her much when she was gone, and as far as I can tell, she didn't think much about me, either. When we were 13, I had this huge, huge crush on this girl from church named Amber, and Julia was in love with some up-and-coming juvenile delinquent named David, and it was all unrequited – which is really good in her case – so at family get-togethers we'd sneak off into this old barn and feel each other up saying, 'Amber, Amber,' and 'David, David.'"
Blaine can feel his own jaw dropping so wide, he's not sure it won't fall off his face completely.
"Don't give me that look," says Justin.
"Well, it's a little TMI," says Blaine.
"No, it's not," says Justin. "It's exactly what you need to hear because it's exactly what you're doing with Kurt. You're afraid, so you make out with someone else or you sing about sex toys to a manager at the Gap and you hope it'll be good enough."
Blaine can feel his ears burn.
"Sorry, maybe I'm out of line. But I've seen the way you look at him. And you guys text each other like 20 times a day."
"What, are you reading my phone history now?" says Blaine, a little impetuously.
"I don't have to," says Justin. He punches Blaine's shoulder lightly. "Look, I really don't know what's going on in that kooky little head of yours. But I have my guesses. And sometimes I wonder if my guesses aren't more right than yours."
Blaine sighs and picks at another callus.
Justin stands up. "We need to get to dinner. Come on."
Blaine follows Justin out to the hall, and he really can't help himself. "So you still got it going on with your coz?"
Justin looks back at him and snorts. "Weren't you the one shrieking 'TMI' a minute ago?"
Blaine puts his hand on Justin's shoulder and says melodramatically. "Justin, I care about you, so I care about your love life. Or your non-love life. Whatever it is."
Justin sighs. "I can't believe I'm telling you any of this. But no, we're not. I think we kind of got it out of our systems with the David and Amber thing. That got us brave enough to try making out with people we actually had feelings for. And even though I'm not dating anyone right now – well, I don't really want to go back to pretty good making out when I know what mind-blowing making out is like. So it's just me and the hand, now."
"Ugh," says Blaine. "As long as you keep it to yourself."
Justin raises his hands to his face, feigning despair. "God. Even my gay roommate doesn't want to see me jerk off. Or my bisexual roommate – whatever. I feel so unattractive."
"Don't worry, Justin." Blaine slaps him on the back. "Soon you'll find a girl who wants to watch you jerk off – no, to help you jerk off – and she'll be whispering, 'Justin, Justin,' the whole time."
Justin smiles. "You are such a hopeless romantic, Blaine Anderson."
------------------
For the third night in a row, Kurt can't sleep. On Saturday night (Sunday morning, really), it was the sound of Blaine breathing and murmuring in the bed above him and the thought that Kurt could just crawl in there and – well, Kurt wasn't exactly sure what they would do once he was in there, but his body wanted to find out so, so badly.
Last night, it was the lingering smell of Blaine on his sheets and all those images from the night before: The look of bliss on Blaine's face as Rachel tugged his lower lip. Blaine gripping Kurt's thigh. Blaine's eyes everywhere, those eyes that looked at Kurt in a way that no one had ever looked at Kurt – expectant and trusting and hungry. And if Blaine hadn't been drunk off his ass and hadn't made out with Rachel Berry, those looks would have been enough for Kurt to know that it had finally happened, that Blaine felt the same way about Kurt that Kurt felt about Blaine: When I'm with you, I'm whole.
Kurt resisted, tried to think of other things, tried his usual bedtime lulling ritual of going through French irregular verbs, but then he hit vouloir (to want) and the pronouns became Kurt and Blaine – je veux, tu veux, il veut, nous voulons (I want, you want, he wants, we want) – and he was lost all over again until finally, finally he broke down and did what he had promised himself he would never do. He buried his face in the sheets, smelling Blaine's hair gel and deodorant and utter Blaine-ness, and imagined they were Blaine's hands on his body – il me veut (he wants me) – and he came so hard it frightened him.
Kurt changed the sheets today, but he is never, ever going to change the pillow cases. He needs to smell Blaine near him, especially now that he's pushed Blaine away. Oh, poor Blaine. Kurt is a monster. He keeps replaying their conversation from earlier today in his head, trying to remember every hurtful word that came out of his mouth so he can scrape it into his conscience and never forget what a horrible friend he is to Blaine. He couldn't see it when Blaine was across the table from him, but now it's all he can see – Blaine's eyes darting away, his hands trembling so slightly, his voice weak and cracking and full of –
Kurt's not sure what.
Anger?
Disappointment?
Self-righteousness?
Betrayal?
Kurt feels a wave of nausea and rolls over.
Yes. Betrayal.
He grabs his phone off the side table and powers it on. It's 2:12 in the morning – way too late to call Blaine – but Kurt has to say something. So he texts, "Sorry I am such a dick," and hits send.
Chapter 2: On Tuesday, You Made Me Warm
--------end of chapter--------
Characters: Kurt/Blaine pre-dating, Rachel, Blaine's roommate (OC)
Rating: PG-13 (entire story)
Spoilers: 2.14 (Blame It On the Alcohol). Incorporates some things we've learned about the characters from canon after 2.14, but no plot spoilers. Spoilers for the movie Love Story in chapter 3 and references to Brokeback Mountain in Chapter 4.
Warnings: language; sexuality but no sex or heavy stuff; brief (two-sentence), non-graphic reference to past violent incident
Word count: About 17,000 overall, 7,471 this part
Summary: The fact the he enjoyed kissing Rachel at the party is confusing for Blaine. But what's more confusing is Kurt.
Chapter Summary: Kurt wishes he could learn a new way to be angry, at least around Blaine.
Disclaimer: Characters not mine, except for the one I made up.
Author’s Note: My attempt at figuring out what was going on in the boys' heads during 'Blame It on the Alcohol' and why that argument in the Lima Bean didn't kill their friendship. Canon-compatible, even when I really didn't want it to be. This story is finished. I'll be posting one chapter a day until all chapters are up. More complete author's notes (including song information and links) will be posted as a separate entry at the end of the week.
Acknowledgements: Mountains of indebtedness to the amazing
verdandil----------
Falling is Like This
Chapter 1: Monday, You Can Fall Apart
Kurt has managed to keep his cool for 41 hours and 34 minutes. But there is only so much even he can handle, and he's just found his tipping point.
"What's the harm in going out on one crummy little date?" Blaine says. He's completely avoiding eye contact with Kurt, focusing on shaking the sugar packet into his medium-drip.
Kurt is not usually big on blaspheming in other people's religions, but Jesus. Fucking. Christ. You really don't know why going on a date with Rachel Berry is a big fucking deal?
He leans across the tiny café table. "You're gay, Blaine." He can barely keep his voice steady.
Blaine keeps fiddling with his coffee, eyes on his hands. He snaps the lid onto its cup, pries it back off, whips the stirrer around – like if he looks up, Kurt will bite his head off. Which maybe Kurt will. "I thought I was. But I've never even had a boyfriend before." He risks a brief look up at Kurt. "Isn't this supposed to be the time you figure stuff out?"
And then the words just rush out of Blaine's mouth like air from a tire. "Maybe I'm bi. I don't know."
That's when Kurt loses it. Generally, Kurt likes that he can be witty and smug and totally on the offensive when he's pissed off. It makes people think they haven't hurt him, that they never will be able to hurt him, no matter how much they try. They might make his stomach churn with fear and despair, but if he hurts them back, they'll be too busy tending their own tiny wounds to notice that they've shattered him into so many little pieces that no apology could ever glue them all back together.
And rage – it's so much better than the alternative of hopeless sobbing.
He lets the words fly out before he can weigh them.
"Bisexual is a term that gay guys in high school use when they want to hold hands with girls and feel like a normal person for a change."
As soon as the words leave Kurt's mouth, he feels lightheaded and glowing and sick at the same time. It's like he has two bodies. There is his center, where his stomach feels queasy and his heart is clenched as tight as a fist – because he was just cruel to Blaine. But then there's the rest of him. His fingers are tingling and his head is buzzing and his brain just cries, wow, that's so much better – because no one can hurt Kurt Hummel without getting hurt back.
Kurt wants to vomit.
Blaine's face pales and his eyes seem smaller and he pulls his upper arms tighter into his sides. Kurt sees Blaine shrinking before him, and he hates himself for it.
Blaine looks up at him, latches his eyes onto Kurt's for the first time since this spat started. And Kurt wishes that Blaine's eyes were hot with fury, but they just look tired, and maybe a little afraid of Kurt.
Blaine's voice is hushed and weak, and he fumbles with his words. "Whoawawawaiwaiwait. Why're you so angry?"
Kurt's heard this question before, and it never means what it sounds like. No one, besides maybe his father, has ever cared why Kurt is angry about anything. Why are you so angry? invariably means Stop being angry so I don't have to think about why you are.
But Blaine says Why are you so angry? with such confusion on his face that Kurt realizes Blaine actually wants the answer.
Kurt knows this is his opportunity. But his brain has absolutely no control of what comes out of his mouth. He doesn't talk about what happened Saturday night, or what's been happening for months, since the first time Blaine looked up at him on that spiraling staircase in Dalton and his eyes seemed to say, Oh, there you are. Kurt doesn't say that this is all too much, it's all been too much from that very moment: Blaine taking Kurt's hand, Blaine crooning at him to go all the way tonight, Blaine wrapping his arm around Kurt's shoulders, Blaine patting Kurt's knee, Blaine singing your eyes are like stars right now and looking at Kurt as if he really meant it, Blaine saying I don't want to mess this up but messing it all up anyway.
Kurt doesn't say any of that. Instead, he does what is easy for him. He flings verbal arrows and watches every one of them sink into their target.
Kurt sees that Blaine is trying not to cry. But Kurt doesn't know how to stop this.
And then Blaine storms off with a snide little pun about not saying "bye" because it sounds like "bi" and God forbid that anyone offend Kurt.
It's so unlike Blaine to be snarky. That's Kurt's job.
Kurt waits. He sips his mocha slowly until his cup is empty, then reaches across the table for Blaine's cup, which is less than lukewarm now.
Blaine is gone.
Kurt knows that Blaine isn't coming back, but he continues to sit there, letting Blaine's coffee cool further in his hand. He doesn't want to let it go.
------------------
Kurt knows he deserves this. He deserves Blaine walking away and he deserves to wallow in his own remorse while that stupid old couple at the next table glances at him uncomfortably. Maybe they're looking at him that way because they've never heard someone say "gay" and "bisexual" so many times in one minute, but Kurt prefers to think it's because they're horrified that he's been such an asshole to his not-boyfriend.
Kurt wishes he could learn a new way to be angry, at least around Blaine. He's not sure what that would look like, but he knows it wouldn't involve making sweeping and kind of bigoted generalizations. He wasn't trying to say that every high school guy who calls himself bisexual is really just gay and insecure. What he meant was that Blaine is.
Okay, that probably wouldn't have come across any better.
Still, Kurt can't get rid of the conviction in his gut: Blaine is, one, so desperate to make out with someone that he will convince himself that he's attracted to Rachel Berry just so he can and, two, so afraid of making out with someone he might actually be attracted to that he won't kiss Kurt.
Well, that's not quite true. Blaine tried when he was drunk. But Kurt tells himself that doesn't count, even if he wants it to. There is no accounting for taste when someone is drunk.
Kurt had dragged Blaine into an out-of the-way corner at Rachel's party because Blaine had been embarrassing himself in front of Finn, putting his arm around him and cooing about how cool it was that Kurt and Finn are brothers. Finn acted like it was fine, if a little weird but, frankly, it looked to Kurt like maybe Blaine was hitting on Finn. Not that Kurt had ever seen Blaine hit on someone outside of the Gap attack, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
So Kurt and Blaine sat in their safe corner, bouncing their heads to the thrumming beat of an interminable dance mix of "Like a G6," and Kurt tried not to look at Blaine too much. After all his dancing, Blaine's curls were starting to break loose and tumble over his forehead, and Kurt wanted to twist his fingers in them and gently tug Blaine toward his face and breathe in his breath before – okay, that's enough.
So Kurt was not looking at Blaine. He was looking over where most of the party was clustered with Brittany and Santana at the center, doing body shots off of each other. "Did I ever tell you that I kissed Brittany?" Kurt said.
Blaine was giggly as a little boy. "No way," he beamed. "Not my Kurt."
My Kurt.
Kurt forgot how to breathe momentarily, caught Blaine's eyes to decipher his meaning. Yes. Yes, I'm your Kurt, he wanted to say. But instead Kurt looked down at his hands, then back up at Brittany, and let out a loud, long exhalation.
"Yeah," Kurt said. "Coach Sylvester asked how I knew I was gay if I'd never even kissed anyone, and my dad was being unusually terrible at relating to his gay son, so I let Brittany come over and we made out on my couch."
It was only after Kurt said this that he realized he had let more slip than he'd meant to. He hadn't really wanted Blaine to know that he had ever felt that insecure about being gay. Blaine never had any doubts. Kurt wanted to be that way, too.
But Blaine didn't seem to pick up on Kurt's insecurities. His eyes were wide open and his jaw was dropping, dropping until Kurt could see Blaine's tongue and Kurt was really, really trying not to notice how delicious it looked. Blaine's eyebrows arched up so high they looked like they might just shoot off the top of his forehead at any moment.
"You made out?" Blaine squealed.
Kurt breathed out a soft laugh. "Well, it was actually mostly Brittany doing the making out. I just kind of lay there."
Kurt giggled at himself. He could not believe he was telling this to Blaine. He was probably only telling it to Blaine because Mr. Perfect was drunk and acting a little like an idiot. So, for once, Kurt didn't feel quite so self-conscious about having a few flaws.
"And – ?" Blaine's wide eyes were egging Kurt on.
Kurt continued. "It was – interesting. Mostly awkward. But I made her tell me what it was like to kiss boys, and then for a while she was quiet and I closed my eyes and imagined it was Taylor Lautner and then – well, then it was really pretty good."
Kurt did not just say that. He blushed and glanced down, wondering which was brighter at the moment – his face or his red shirt.
Blaine looked back over at Brittany and Santana, and Kurt's eyes followed. Brittany was licking salt off of Santana's stomach, just below her belly button and awfully close to her waistband.
"Eh, she's bush league," said Blaine, and Kurt started to laugh before realizing that Blaine was probably too drunk to have meant the double-entendre. He got so focused on turning his laughter into a cough that he almost missed what Blaine said next:
"I could kiss you way better than that."
Kurt whipped his face back toward Blaine. Blaine had an impish grin and his watery, drunken eyes darted from Kurt's eyelashes, to his hair, to his chin. They stopped on Kurt's mouth.
Blaine's grin faded into a calm smile, his lips slightly parted. His drunken eyes were goddamn sparkling, and they seemed to sparkle a little more, the closer to Kurt's face they got.
Blaine's mouth was so close, Kurt could almost taste the alcohol on Blaine's breath.
Think. Blaine clearly wasn't, so Kurt had to.
Kurt forced out a light laugh. "I'm certain you could, Blaine." And in one light motion Kurt leaped to his feet.
He looked down at Blaine. "I'll get you a soda." To not collapse back onto the floor and throw himself at Blaine, press him against the carpet and steal a kiss for every day he has gone without – it took all the strength Kurt had. But Kurt Hummel was a performer before everything else, and if he couldn't perform under pressure, he wasn't worthy of the label. He made himself look stern, disapproving. He made himself tower over Blaine.
"Man," Blaine sighed. "Do that jumping thing again. You're lithesome." Blaine's neck craned back, exposing the throat that was usually hidden by uniform collar and tie, and Kurt's mind went close to blank. The top buttons of Blaine's Henley had fallen open, hinting at the chest beneath. Kurt could see nothing but skin, think of nothing but that he must not touch.
It could not be like this. It could not happen when Blaine was drunk. It was supposed to happen one day as they walked out of the Lima Bean, shoulders touching, and they got to their cars and Blaine realized that he didn't want to say goodbye.
"Blaine, I'll get you a Pepsi." Kurt made a brisk turn toward the snack table.
"No."
Kurt turned around and tried to give his most disapproving scowl to Blaine. He was not going to grab Blaine more booze.
Blaine registered the disapproval, cocked one eyebrow, smiled meekly, and lowered his eyes to Kurt's chest. "Red," he said, almost imperceptibly. "I want something that tastes red."
Kurt looked down at his red shirt and was pretty sure that Blaine was not talking about a Cherry 7UP.
The evening went downhill from there. Rachel called the game of spin-the-bottle while Kurt was pouring Blaine's soda, and Blaine went from sucking face with Rachel at the party to groping Kurt in the Volvo. Kurt really didn't think it could get any worse by the time he was dragging Blaine up the stairs. And then Blaine tripped on the last step, keeling them onto the landing. Kurt tried to hold Blaine up, but the momentum was too much and he ended up on his back, Blaine sprawled on top of him.
Kurt listened for stirring from his parents' bedroom, but there wasn't a sound except for Blaine's warm, boozy breath and Kurt's own heart pounding in his head. Their lungs heaved in time, pressing their chests minutely closer, then minutely apart. Blaine lifted himself up slightly, looking down at Kurt with a too bright smile and his curls all wild and – Oh, Medusa.
"Hello," Blaine whispered, a little shyly. Even though it was dark in the hall, there was enough moonlight that Kurt could see Blaine's eyes on his, could see Blaine chewing at his lower lip.
Blaine was heavy and warm and delightful and Kurt wanted to disappear into him. "Hi," Kurt tried to say, but he didn't hear any sound come out.
A loud snore from down the hall made Kurt jump in his skin. He rolled out from under Blaine, stood and pulled Blaine toward the bedroom, filled with dread.
"You're so pretty," Blaine gazed up at him when Kurt dropped him on the bed. Kurt towered over Blaine, scowling at him.
"I love it when you look at me that way," sighed Blaine. "No one ever disapproves of me – not the way you do." His gaze was so happy and soft and needy that Kurt wasn't sure whether he should laugh or melt.
Blaine reached out and hooked his hand around the back of Kurt's thigh, trying to pull him down. "Come here."
Blaine was a pathetically weak drunk. Kurt stayed standing, folded his arms together across his chest. "Blaine, do you need to pee again before you go to sleep?"
Blaine giggled. "Probably." But then he stopped giggling and his voice dropped, like, two octaves. "But I can't."
"What do you mean, you can't?" Kurt snapped. And then, horrified, he wished he hadn't. Don't answer that. Don't answer that. The words were perfectly formed in his head, but Blaine was raising himself up to his knees now, turning to face Kurt, inches away, breathing shallowly, and Kurt could not say a thing.
Blaine leaned into Kurt's ear, his voice unbearably quiet. "You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?" Blaine's hands were on Kurt's hips, drawing him in, and then Blaine was pressing into Kurt's body and –
Oh. My. God.
Kurt pried Blaine's hands away and jumped backward. "Okay. I think we've had enough of that," he said. "Go to the bathroom. There are toothbrushes under the sink."
One would think those were pretty innocuous words – unless, apparently, one were Blaine Anderson and very, very drunk. Because when Blaine came back and found Kurt making himself a pallet on the floor, he flopped down on the blankets in front of Kurt and gazed at him from under those amazing lashes.
"I brushed my teeth," Blaine whispered, looking at Kurt's lips and inching closer. "Now can I kiss you?"
Blaine touched his fingertips to Kurt's sideburn. It was the touch Kurt had always wanted, except that right now, it was all wrong. "You're so – beautiful," Blaine breathed. His look was tender and Kurt could feel Blaine's hand start to tremble against his jaw. "Please. I really want this."
"Get in bed," Kurt whispered. His voice was shaking. His whole body was. Blaine's eyes widened – was it awe? – and he never took them off of Kurt as he lifted himself on top of the covers, then stretched his hand toward Kurt.
Kurt's heart almost broke. He looked down at his own hands, clenched against his thighs in tight little fists, and willed them to stay there. "Blaine, get under the duvet," he said with every bit of calm resolve he could muster. "Go to sleep."
"Kurt?" Blaine whispered, and he sounded so lost and confused and desperate, but Kurt refused to look up. He knew that all the eagerness and joy had been wiped from Blaine's face – that Kurt had wiped it from Blaine's face – and Kurt couldn't bear to see what had replaced it.
"Good night, Blaine," said Kurt, lying down in his own pile of blankets and turning his back to his friend.
"Speak for yourself," Blaine muttered.
------------------One would think those were pretty innocuous words – unless, apparently, one were Blaine Anderson and very, very drunk. Because when Blaine came back and found Kurt making himself a pallet on the floor, he flopped down on the blankets in front of Kurt and gazed at him from under those amazing lashes.
"I brushed my teeth," Blaine whispered, looking at Kurt's lips and inching closer. "Now can I kiss you?"
Blaine touched his fingertips to Kurt's sideburn. It was the touch Kurt had always wanted, except that right now, it was all wrong. "You're so – beautiful," Blaine breathed. His look was tender and Kurt could feel Blaine's hand start to tremble against his jaw. "Please. I really want this."
"Get in bed," Kurt whispered. His voice was shaking. His whole body was. Blaine's eyes widened – was it awe? – and he never took them off of Kurt as he lifted himself on top of the covers, then stretched his hand toward Kurt.
Kurt's heart almost broke. He looked down at his own hands, clenched against his thighs in tight little fists, and willed them to stay there. "Blaine, get under the duvet," he said with every bit of calm resolve he could muster. "Go to sleep."
"Kurt?" Blaine whispered, and he sounded so lost and confused and desperate, but Kurt refused to look up. He knew that all the eagerness and joy had been wiped from Blaine's face – that Kurt had wiped it from Blaine's face – and Kurt couldn't bear to see what had replaced it.
"Good night, Blaine," said Kurt, lying down in his own pile of blankets and turning his back to his friend.
"Speak for yourself," Blaine muttered.
Blaine has his head on his steering wheel and he's trying to gather the strength to drive back to Dalton. Blaine Anderson, you are not going to cry. You are NOT going to cry. You are going to turn on the motor and get out of this parking lot and sing along to Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" and laugh at the irony the whole way back to Dalton.
Blaine breathes in.
Coffee with Kurt today was supposed to fix everything. That's what talking to Kurt usually does when Blaine's confused. Blaine is not good at introspection. He doesn't usually spend a lot of time questioning why he feels a certain way, or whether acting on his feelings is a good idea or a bad one. (Case in point: Serenading Jeremiah at the Gap.) But when Blaine talks to Kurt, things become clearer. Kurt has a way of making Blaine think more deeply about things, and sometimes Blaine isn't sure who he's learned more about since they became friends: Kurt or himself.
But that's not what happened today. God, no.
Blaine starts to cry. And once he starts, he can't stop. The tears are running out his nose and his breathing is jagged and shallow. His chest spasms, making him gulp so hard for air that the noise of it shocks him. He vaguely remembers crying like this when he was little, the feel of a cold wet washcloth on his cheeks and forehead as his mom held it in place and reminded him to breathe. He's lost his hold on the world – everything is spinning away from him, and he will never be able to grasp it again. It's moving too far and too fast.
Blaine's wondering if it's safe to say that these have been the worst two days of his life. That seems a little melodramatic. Maybe the most confusing?
He hadn't been planning to drink much at Rachel's party. These were Kurt's friends, and this was the first time he was really hanging out with all of them. He wanted to make a good impression. No – it was more than want. It was like food or shelter or clothing. He needed to.
But then they were all drinking like dogs and Blaine thought, Hey, no harm in indulging. Might as well fit in. And he was glad to have that excuse, because he'd been wound so tight since that conversation with Kurt, the day after the Gap attack,
about Kurt thinking that the one Blaine had wanted to ask out for Valentine's Day was not some closeted college kid who worked at the Gap, but Kurt.
It had been a cross between a punch to the gut and the warm, glowing feeling Blaine gets when he naps in the afternoon sun. It left him feeling giddy and inept.
The giddiness faded, but the ineptness stayed, haunting every waking minute and even, sometimes, Blaine's sleep. It took all his strength to keep up his usual confident, know-everything appearance. His teachers didn't seem to notice, the Warblers didn't seem to notice, his parents didn't seem to notice, Kurt didn't seem to notice. But there it was, coiling around his sternum so tightly it was a wonder that he could breathe.
So when, at the party, Blaine saw that everyone was heading toward trashed, he figured they wouldn't hold it against him if he drank a little, too.
Blaine was just going for a little buzz. But after his first drink, his chest was still tight and Kurt was still inscrutable. So he told Puck to make him something stronger, and when he drank it, it felt like lava was pouring through his chest and melting the band that had gripped his heart for these two weeks.
Blaine felt like flying. Instead, he danced. The dancing stirred up love, and he wanted to share it with everybody. Blaine grabbed Finn to tell him how great he was for overcoming his awkwardness over Kurt's old crush and turning into a real, supportive brother, because Kurt is awesome and everyone should love him and why the fuck don't they? What the fuck is wrong with them? Except that you, Finn, do love Kurt and that just shows anyone who doesn't that they are big, fucking losers. But the gratitude Blaine felt was so overwhelming all he could get out was something like, "It is so cool that you and Kurt are brothers. Brothers!" and Kurt seemed ashamed of Blaine and dragged him off to sit in a quiet corner away from Kurt's friends.
Alcohol is supposed to make you stupid. It's supposed to cloud your judgment. But Blaine is pretty sure he has never seen anything so clearly as when he sat next to Kurt in that corner. How could he have never noticed the way that Kurt's cheeks constantly change color when he talks, pulsing from ivory to coral to rose to bone china as visual punctuation to his stories? How could he never have seen that Kurt's eyes are not green or blue or hazel, but goddamn cerulean? How could he never have noticed how quickly Kurt's face switches from inscrutable to inviting and back again?
And so Blaine said things, in his clumsy, drunken, virginal way. He said things because he wanted things, he wanted them with Kurt, and he knew if he had them, this freedom he was feeling wouldn't wear off with the alcohol. It would be his to keep.
But Kurt – Blaine doesn’t understand Kurt. He thought Kurt liked him. As more than a friend. Isn't that what the pre-Valentine's Day conversation at the Lima Bean was about? But Kurt just laughed at him, waved him off, stomped away.
Blaine adores Kurt Hummel and he needs Kurt Hummel in his life, one way or the other. But he doesn't think he will ever understand him.
Fine. So screw Kurt. He didn't have the right to ruin everything. Blaine was having fun at the party, and he was going to continue having fun. If that entailed leaning over Kurt to kiss an aesthetically pleasing girl during a game of spin-the-bottle, so be it. And it was nice. It was at least as good as what Kurt described with Brittany. Rachel's skin was almost as smooth as Kurt's if not quite so glowing, and her lips were soft and scrumptious and tasted like strawberry wine coolers. Maybe the fact that Blaine had one hand on Kurt's knee to hold himself up and that Blaine got a whiff of Kurt's hair spray and fabric softener – maybe that had something to do with why Blaine did not want to stop kissing, ever. Maybe. Who cares? It felt good.
And so Blaine attached himself to Rachel's mouth several more times before the end of the party. At first, he tried it while they were both standing and he had to lean his head really far down to kiss her, and it was kind of uncomfortable and pretty distracting and sort of weird because she is about the same height as his mother, and he wondered if this meant he should never date anyone taller than him – okay, why did Kurt have to come specifically to mind? – because he didn't want anyone who was kissing him to be as distracted by his height as he was distracted by Rachel Berry's height, because he was really not enjoying this kiss at all. Well, okay, her lips were still soft and tasted like wine coolers, but whatever had been there during spin-the-bottle was gone.
So he tried a couple more times on the couch, and again when she was standing on the edge of the stage and he was next to it, and those times were a little better. He liked the way she tugged on his bottom lip and giggled when she kissed him. It made him feel like a little kid, like when he used to play Twister with his friends and they'd get caught up in a giant knot and tumble over and laugh so hard they'd almost pee themselves.
Kissing Rachel felt good. But where did the goodness come from? Was it Rachel herself, all brass and ballsiness? Was it the physical sensation that came from knowing that someone wanted him? Was it because he was safe kissing her – love or no love – because no one was going to hurt him for it?
It was nice kissing Rachel. As nice as kissing a boy? He doesn't know. He has nothing to compare it with.
He might have eventually kissed that boy after the Sadie Hawkins dance at his old school, but instead they got the crap beaten out of them. That boy wasn't worth it – not 11 stitches, a limp that dogged Blaine through Christmas, and the ache of terror that grips Blaine's stomach every time he steps into a parking lot at night. The desire to kiss him had just been a curiosity, a vague want. It wasn't a need for that boy.
Blaine needed something to compare kissing Rachel with. He was pretty sure Kurt would be better, but why not find out for real?
So he tried again to give it a go with Kurt in the Volvo. When Blaine handed Kurt the keys, he grabbed onto Kurt's hand and tried to pull him in; Kurt was as immovable as a tombstone. When Kurt lowered him into the passenger seat, Blaine held onto Kurt's biceps and tried to drag him down with him; Kurt shook him off like a fly. When Blaine bent over Kurt's lap to show him exactly where the seat-adjustment lever is, Kurt yanked Blaine by the shoulders and tossed him back into his own seat (and God, that was startlingly hot). When they were waiting at a traffic light and Blaine put his hand on Kurt's thigh to thank him for not making him carsick and also to move in for a kiss, Kurt robotically removed the hand and placed it back in Blaine's lap.
"Apparently you'll make out with anybody when you're drunk," Kurt snapped. The words stabbed Blaine.
Blaine knew he should stop trying, but he couldn't. He was overcome by Kurt, and it was impossible not to try to close the gap between them. Even Kurt's scowl was stunning. It made Kurt's lips fuller, his eyes spark. His brows arched and Blaine wanted to disappear into the furrow between them.
Had he ever wanted anything so much? If he had, he certainly couldn't remember it. Just to kiss Kurt long and deliriously and all night – that would be enough to make this aching go away.
But Kurt was in charge, and he was having none of it. So Blaine lay alone in the bed and slept fitfully, drifting into dreams of Kurt's face and hands and skin, drifting back into consciousness and empty arms and a bed that smelled tantalizingly of Kurt. By the time the sun came up, Blaine was so exhausted that he finally passed out for three blessed hours and, when he woke up, even forgot for a sweet, too-short moment where he was and what he had done the previous night.
Then it all came rushing back, and Blaine wanted to be anywhere else but Kurt's bed.
Wasn't drinking supposed to make you forget things? Okay, so Blaine couldn't remember where his shoes were or how many drinks he'd had, and when he recalled bouncing around on stage with Rachel Berry, he could only remember that it was a song by some very gay eighties band, but not which one it was.
But the kissing? Blaine remembered that. And the want? Blaine definitely remembered that. And Blaine's hideous, drunken attempts at wooing Kurt? Oh, God, have mercy – Blaine was pretty sure he remembered all of it.
What he remembered most clearly, though, was the rejection. The way that Kurt wouldn't even look at him by the end of the night. How he turned his back to him and slept on the floor because who in his right mind would want to share a bed with Blaine Anderson?
Kurt, of course, acted like nothing had happened. He spoke soothingly and nursed Blaine's hangover with coffee and dry toast and rubbed his pounding head. It was exactly what Blaine needed, but he wished that Kurt would kick him out of the bed and push him down the stairs and throw him out the door.
Blaine deserved nothing less.
Because Blaine Anderson is supposed to be a gentleman. He is not supposed to have the hots for his best friend and, even if he does, he is not supposed to act on it because that would mess everything up. He'd promised himself, and he'd promised Kurt, that he was not going to mess this up.
And now, he's messed it up.
When he started talking about being bi in the Lima Bean, he was just trying to undo the weekend, to return to their old habit of talking unreservedly about everything except what they might or might not feel for each other.
It wasn't a proclamation of some new identity. It's just that kissing Rachel is nice – kissing Kurt would be nicer, but Blaine has clearly lost his chance on that one. And if kissing Rachel is this nice when he barely knows her, then maybe one day – once he's known her as long and as well as he knows Kurt – it will be electric. He can't know unless he gives it a chance.
If Kurt doesn't want him anymore, why won't he just let Blaine go?
So here Blaine is, collapsed on his steering wheel in a mall parking lot, exhausted from crying, slowing his tears by following his mother's old admonition to breathe.
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When Kurt finally leaves the mall, Blaine's car is gone. They'd parked next to each other and, where the Volvo once was, there's an empty space. Kurt gets this image of Blaine unconscious and bleeding in the driver's seat on the shoulder of US 33. Blaine's going to die because he didn't have his afternoon coffee and was crying too hard to see the road, and it's your fault, Kurt Hummel.
Kurt gets into the Navigator and tells himself to stop being so hysterical. Still, he can't stop himself from picking up the phone and texting to Blaine, "I hope you're OK," even though he's pretty sure that he's the last person in the world Blaine wants to hear from right now.
It's a few minutes before Kurt's phone buzzes.
From: Blaine Warbler
I'll talk to you later.
4:43 PM
Kurt sighs, puts down the phone, and turns the key in the ignition. In the best of all possible worlds, maybe Blaine would have said more. But they're not living in the best of all possible worlds, and Kurt is pretty happy with what he just got.
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Blaine drives back to Dalton. He checks his face in the mirror before he gets out of the car, and he looks like shit. He forces himself to smile, and he still looks like shit. He checks his phone and sees a text from Kurt and, while it's not the apology he wants, it's something. Still, he feels like shit.
Thankfully, he doesn't run into anyone on the way to his room, and his roommate isn't in. He undresses, wraps himself in a towel and walks down the hall to the showers. He shuts himself in a stall and turns on the water as hot as it will go and lets it pour over him. He doesn't sing.
When he gets back to the room, he throws on sweats and stretches out on his bed to delve into his notes on the Mexican-American War. But the next thing he knows, his roommate is shaking him awake and telling him it's time for dinner.
"Go away," Blaine murmurs. "I'm having a sexual identity crisis."
"Um, okay," says Justin. "But it's Indian tonight."
"I don't care."
"Mr. Holden will ask."
"Tell him I'm sick."
"But then he'll come check on you."
"Tell him I'm bisexual."
Justin is towering over Blaine, who still hasn't moved from his sprawling position on the bed. "Um, Blaine, even if that's true, it's not a reason to miss dinner." Justin scrunches his eyebrows together when he says this. Still, he somehow manages to not look very concerned.
"Like you would know," Blaine says tersely.
Justin plops down onto the bed next to Blaine and glares at him, but his voice is gentle. "What the fuck is going on with you, Blaine? You've been really weird since you got back last night."
Blaine props himself on his elbows. He really doesn't want to talk about this, but he's kind of said a lot already. And Justin is pretty cool. Not, like, best friend material, and way too obsessed with Star Trek and the NHL, and totally uninterested in any music but Rush, but he's trustworthy.
"Okay," says Blaine. "Promise not to tell anyone?"
"Why the fuck would I tell anyone?" Justin laughs. "No offense, but I usually have more interesting things to talk about than Blaine Anderson."
Blaine rolls his eyes.
"Fine," smiles Justin, raising his hands in the air in a perfect parody of surrender. "I promise. Now tell me what the fuck is going on."
"You've said 'fuck' three times in the last minute," says Blaine.
"Yeah, and I'll say it a whole fuck more if you don't talk."
Blaine sits up, pushing his back against the headboard. "I went to a party this weekend with Kurt and got drunk and made out with one of his friends."
"In front of him?" Justin asks.
"Well, yeah."
"God, you're an asshole."
"Why does that make me an asshole?"
"Because he's totally in love with you, Blaine. And even if you tell me you're not interested – which is bullshit, in my opinion – he's your friend and you don't treat friends who are in love with you like that."
"Justin, he's not interested in me," Blaine says.
It's Justin's turn to roll his eyes.
Blaine sighs loudly. "I know what you all say but he is seriously. Not. Interested. Okay? We're friends. That's it. That's all either of us want."
"Of course," says Justin. "That must be why he seemed upset today."
"He's just upset because it wasn't a guy I was making out with."
"Well, I kind of gathered that," Justin says. "I mean, that it was a girl. Given your sexual identity crisis. She must be really hot."
Blaine listlessly drops his hand to his pillow. "I didn't really notice."
Justin gives him a quizzical look. "You didn't really notice?"
"We were playing spin the bottle and she got me on her turn and – I was surprised. It was pretty nice. And I was really wasted. So I kept kissing her the rest of the party to see if it felt the same. And then this afternoon I was at the Lima Bean with Kurt and she called and asked me on a date and I said 'yes.'"
"In front of Kurt?"
"We're friends, remember? Two gay guys can be friends without trying to get into each other's pants all the time."
"I didn't say anything about pants."
"Kurt's just mad about the date because apparently I'm supposed to the role model for happy gay teens everywhere. But you know what? It felt good kissing her, and it's not like I'm gonna get kissed by anyone else anytime soon, so why not live a little?'"
Justin groans. The look on his face is full of – Blaine's not sure. Condescension? Pity? Understanding?
"Blaine," Justin says, "have you kissed anyone before?"
Blaine grabs a pillow and throws it at Justin's chest, but the thump it produces is extremely unsatisfying. Justin just smirks. "I don't see how that's any of your business," Blaine says.
"You just made it my business," says Justin. "Now tell me the truth."
Blaine looks down at his hands and starts picking at the callus on his index finger. "No, I was a kiss virgin before Saturday night."
"Okay, Blaine," says Justin. "I'm going to tell you something. Now I'm not saying it applies in your situation, and I'm not saying you're not bisexual, or that you are bisexual, because maybe you are – whatever, I don’t care. Now quit your slouching and sit up straight."
Blaine crosses his legs and complies – then wonders why he did. He decides to blame it on having just woken up. "So what are you going to tell me?"
"Okay," Justin says. "I'm going to tell you about my first kiss. When I was nine, I started making out with my cousin Julia."
"When you were nine?"
"Shut up. I'm telling you a story." Justin pauses, twisting the end of his tie with one hand. "First we started kissing, and then we started necking – I don't really remember the dates of everything. That's not the point. The point is it felt awesome."
Blaine cannot believe he is hearing about his roommate's kind of incestuous sexual (or pre-sexual, or semi-sexual, or whatever it is) history.
"And the other point is –" Justin pauses. "The other point is I was never in love with her, and she was never in love with me. We only saw each other in the summers and at Thanksgiving and Easter and I didn't think about her much when she was gone, and as far as I can tell, she didn't think much about me, either. When we were 13, I had this huge, huge crush on this girl from church named Amber, and Julia was in love with some up-and-coming juvenile delinquent named David, and it was all unrequited – which is really good in her case – so at family get-togethers we'd sneak off into this old barn and feel each other up saying, 'Amber, Amber,' and 'David, David.'"
Blaine can feel his own jaw dropping so wide, he's not sure it won't fall off his face completely.
"Don't give me that look," says Justin.
"Well, it's a little TMI," says Blaine.
"No, it's not," says Justin. "It's exactly what you need to hear because it's exactly what you're doing with Kurt. You're afraid, so you make out with someone else or you sing about sex toys to a manager at the Gap and you hope it'll be good enough."
Blaine can feel his ears burn.
"Sorry, maybe I'm out of line. But I've seen the way you look at him. And you guys text each other like 20 times a day."
"What, are you reading my phone history now?" says Blaine, a little impetuously.
"I don't have to," says Justin. He punches Blaine's shoulder lightly. "Look, I really don't know what's going on in that kooky little head of yours. But I have my guesses. And sometimes I wonder if my guesses aren't more right than yours."
Blaine sighs and picks at another callus.
Justin stands up. "We need to get to dinner. Come on."
Blaine follows Justin out to the hall, and he really can't help himself. "So you still got it going on with your coz?"
Justin looks back at him and snorts. "Weren't you the one shrieking 'TMI' a minute ago?"
Blaine puts his hand on Justin's shoulder and says melodramatically. "Justin, I care about you, so I care about your love life. Or your non-love life. Whatever it is."
Justin sighs. "I can't believe I'm telling you any of this. But no, we're not. I think we kind of got it out of our systems with the David and Amber thing. That got us brave enough to try making out with people we actually had feelings for. And even though I'm not dating anyone right now – well, I don't really want to go back to pretty good making out when I know what mind-blowing making out is like. So it's just me and the hand, now."
"Ugh," says Blaine. "As long as you keep it to yourself."
Justin raises his hands to his face, feigning despair. "God. Even my gay roommate doesn't want to see me jerk off. Or my bisexual roommate – whatever. I feel so unattractive."
"Don't worry, Justin." Blaine slaps him on the back. "Soon you'll find a girl who wants to watch you jerk off – no, to help you jerk off – and she'll be whispering, 'Justin, Justin,' the whole time."
Justin smiles. "You are such a hopeless romantic, Blaine Anderson."
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For the third night in a row, Kurt can't sleep. On Saturday night (Sunday morning, really), it was the sound of Blaine breathing and murmuring in the bed above him and the thought that Kurt could just crawl in there and – well, Kurt wasn't exactly sure what they would do once he was in there, but his body wanted to find out so, so badly.
Last night, it was the lingering smell of Blaine on his sheets and all those images from the night before: The look of bliss on Blaine's face as Rachel tugged his lower lip. Blaine gripping Kurt's thigh. Blaine's eyes everywhere, those eyes that looked at Kurt in a way that no one had ever looked at Kurt – expectant and trusting and hungry. And if Blaine hadn't been drunk off his ass and hadn't made out with Rachel Berry, those looks would have been enough for Kurt to know that it had finally happened, that Blaine felt the same way about Kurt that Kurt felt about Blaine: When I'm with you, I'm whole.
Kurt resisted, tried to think of other things, tried his usual bedtime lulling ritual of going through French irregular verbs, but then he hit vouloir (to want) and the pronouns became Kurt and Blaine – je veux, tu veux, il veut, nous voulons (I want, you want, he wants, we want) – and he was lost all over again until finally, finally he broke down and did what he had promised himself he would never do. He buried his face in the sheets, smelling Blaine's hair gel and deodorant and utter Blaine-ness, and imagined they were Blaine's hands on his body – il me veut (he wants me) – and he came so hard it frightened him.
Kurt changed the sheets today, but he is never, ever going to change the pillow cases. He needs to smell Blaine near him, especially now that he's pushed Blaine away. Oh, poor Blaine. Kurt is a monster. He keeps replaying their conversation from earlier today in his head, trying to remember every hurtful word that came out of his mouth so he can scrape it into his conscience and never forget what a horrible friend he is to Blaine. He couldn't see it when Blaine was across the table from him, but now it's all he can see – Blaine's eyes darting away, his hands trembling so slightly, his voice weak and cracking and full of –
Kurt's not sure what.
Anger?
Disappointment?
Self-righteousness?
Betrayal?
Kurt feels a wave of nausea and rolls over.
Yes. Betrayal.
He grabs his phone off the side table and powers it on. It's 2:12 in the morning – way too late to call Blaine – but Kurt has to say something. So he texts, "Sorry I am such a dick," and hits send.
Chapter 2: On Tuesday, You Made Me Warm
--------end of chapter--------
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I'm an emotional mess again.
<3
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I hope everyone is reduced to a sobbing mess before the last chapter.
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I think that may be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.
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Sometimes I think about writing non-NC-17 versions of my NC-17 stuff because the NC-17 stuff is usually not the point of the story. Also, I'm a little confused about what the difference is between PG-13 and R and NC-17. Like the keelhauling scene in mary-flanner's "How It Ends" - is that PG-13 because it's not graphic, or R because it's implied sex, or NC-17 because it's sex?
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I love Kurt's reaction to himself hurting Blaine, about how there are two Kurts, one all sensitive and sad and how could I have done that? and the other totally high off of hurting someone who hurt him. Fantastic and real.
Your Blaine crying is how I cry. It's really ugly and quite rare.
That you attributed "ballsiness" to Rachel. That's my personal headcanon for this episode. Blaine is attracted to ballsy Kurt and older/taller Jeremiah and he asked someone else to Sadie Hawkins, etc. I don't have the right words for this sort of thing, but I think there's a reason that Rachel "Man Hands" Berry, raised by two men, with a mustache like a middle eastern dictator, driven and strong, was attractive to Blaine so that he accepted a date when SHE courted HIM. I think Original Song was when Kurt and Blaine realized that their first perceptions of each other were wrong (Original Perception being that Blaine was the prince rescuing Kurt, which, if you'll remember, Kurt is the one who saved Blaine
who lived in a magical white towerfrom the monster anyway...), which let them start a romantic relationship. Rambling rambles. Am I the only one who really liked the 'Blame It' episode? Yes? Hangs head.For ratings, I'll read it if it's not graphic or it's only implied. I think that falls in PG-13 or R, depending on the writer and other content in the story.
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And also, OMG, your headcanon is my headcanon.
Is "mustache like a Middle Eastern dictator" a line from the show? It's awesome. But I think she usually Nairs it. Or does she bleach it? I guess I'll have to get an HDTV to find out. I remember "man hands," but not who said it.
I actually *loved* BIOTA. The pacing and the humor were awesome and the scene editing was brilliant. (Example: Only after I watched it 10 times did I realize that "You're So Far Away" continues to play very quietly during the entire argument between Kurt and Blaine at the Lima Bean. That is genius!)
My few RL friends who watch Glee were very surprised that I liked it so much because I am not a drinker at all and don't condone teenage drinking.* And also because of the whole "I'm bisexual, no I'm not" thing. They thought I would be offended by that. It's true I was displeased by that, but it actually seemed to fit the character (even before I came up with this elaborate explanation of why in the form of fic). I was more offended by Kurt, but I was also like "Kurt's a hothead and pretty offensive at times, it shouldn't come as a shock." So, yeah, I may have liked the characters to be more saintly, and I really love Kurt and identify with him and don't want him to be an asshole. But sometimes that doesn't make the best story, or at least not the story that RIB wants to tell.
Oh, and I want to know what you think "the monster" is, and exactly when it was slayed/slain/slewn.
*(Clarification: I lived in Germany for part of high school and did drink while there, but it was within the strictures of the culture. For high schoolers, that meant a drink with dinner or maybe *one* drink every hour or two that one spent at the Biergarten, unless it was a holiday or town festival. There were some kids who drank a lot more, but they were mostly viewed as trashy. Most of the drinking, at least where I lived, was done in the company of parents. But I never drank as a teenager or even as college student when I was in the U.S., because it's predominantly alcohol abuse.)
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Alcohol scares me. I never ever drink ever, but that's for completely different reasons and we both know that I have issues. Drunk Blaine makes me VERY VERY NERVOUS. But the episode was fascinating. I was nervous before watching it because I'd seen spoilers, but I enjoyed it. Though I always add What Larks' 'Reckless Words' because I really wanted to see a Kurt/Blaine reconciliation.
The monster was Karofsky in 'Never Been Kissed.' Blaine tried to rescue fair Kurt, but of course, Blaine was pinned to a fence and Kurt intervened and scared Karofsky away. In my head. If you view the episode as a fairy tale.
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I love 'Reckless Words.' It's so perfect.
Yeah, Blaine and alcohol. I can't stop writing about it. You'll see. I haven't quite figured out his relationship with it, but my Al-Anon sponsor would probably tell me it's not for me to figure out :)
I love Rachel and her masculinity. OK, sometimes I don't like her, and sometimes I kind of hate her, but I love her.
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And we get four more parts. Well SHIT. Can't wait <3
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Kurt resisted, tried to think of other things, tried his usual bedtime lulling ritual of going through French irregular verbs, but then he hit vouloir (to want) and the pronouns became Kurt and Blaine – je veux, tu veux, il veut, nous voulons (I want, you want, he wants, we want) – and he was lost all over again until finally, finally he broke down and did what he had promised himself he would never do. He buried his face in the sheets, smelling Blaine's hair gel and deodorant and utter Blaine-ness, and imagined they were Blaine's hands on his body – il me veut (he wants me) – and he came so hard it frightened him.
Just. Perfection. It's longing and wanting and heartbreaking and god so good. Just let me love you forever, k?
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And, um, yeah, I loved writing that. I think I might enjoy writing angsty masturbation better than happy masturbation, because I am a sick, sick puppy.
And yes, I will let you love me forever! XD
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That episode was such a clusterfuck on every side that I was just wincing and watching it through my eyes. This is a wonderful viewpoint of it all. I love it!
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(In defense of the episode, though, the editor's/director's choice of background music was perfect.)
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Just, so many feelings and I'm in awe with the way you write.
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Kurt wishes he could learn a new way to be angry, at least around Blaine. He's not sure what that would look like, but he knows it wouldn't involve making sweeping and kind of bigoted generalizations. He wasn't trying to say that every high school guy who calls himself bisexual is really just gay and insecure. What he meant was that Blaine is.
Â
Okay, that probably wouldn't have come across any better.
Kurt's frame of mind in the scene makes so much more sense now. And both Blaine and Kurt feeling really really guilty makes so much sense, because that makes them more angry at themselves than each other and allows for continued friendship. And Blaine hitting on Kurt and being rejected for being drunk makes so much sense because it gives both of them the impression the other isn't really interested. EVERYTHING MAKES SO MUCH SENSE. I love you.
These were my favorite parts and they made me LOL:
"Go away," Blaine murmurs. "I'm having a sexual identity crisis."Â ..."Tell him I'm sick."
"But then he'll come check on you."
"Tell him I'm bisexual."
..."Um, Blaine, even if that's true, it's not a reason to miss dinner."
"Like you would know."
"Don't worry, Justin." Blaine slaps him on the back. "Soon you'll find a girl who wants to watch you jerk off – no, to help you jerk off – and she'll be whispering, 'Justin, Justin,' the whole time."Â
Justin smiles. "You are such a hopeless romantic, Blaine Anderson."
I wouldn't have thought two of my favorite parts would involve an original character, but there you have it. I love this whole thing. Great work. :D
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Yeah, run-on sentence.
I thought of writing this without Blaine hitting on Kurt, but that would have been no fun. Plus, did you see the look on his face when Kurt said "I'll be Meg Ryan" and Blaine said "Don't they get together in the end?" in Silly Love Songs? That convinced me there was no way Blaine would not hit on Kurt once he let his inhibitions slide.
Guilt, guilt, guilt makes the world go 'round ...
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Kurt: "Bisexual is a term that gay guys in high school use when they want to hold hands with girls and feel like a normal person for a change."
Contenders for #3, depending how they're interpreted:
Brittany: "I lost my virginity at cheerleading camp, he just climbed into my tent. Alien invasion."
Mercedes: "But you’ve got to believe in something. Something more than you can touch, taste or see."
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There were so many offensively bad lines in Grilled Cheezus that I wouldn't even know where to begin. Have you read Cimmerians Always Here in the Silence? It's an AU but with many references to canon, and Kurt already knows Blaine by the time the events of Grilled Cheezus unfolds. There is a parallel to the scene in the hospital room when Kurt walks in and all his friends are in a prayer circle around his dad. Blaine says exactly what I would have liked someone to say in that episode. (I linked to part 1 of the story, but the scene is actually in part 2.)
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The Brittany one is kind of astounding. Some people take it as a joke, and "alien invasion" refers to anal sex, and it wasn't actually non-consensual or whatever, but it just sounds awful and the reactions of the other characters are bewildering. They just don't react. They're all "Oh, Brittany's being weird, as usual." Even Santana. WTH.
I've totally read that story, and yeah, I love that scene. That's exactly what I wanted to say too. Everyone in that episode was so intensely insensitive. Even the teachers! Kurt's only ally was Sue, the series villain. Again, WTH.
And we're not even discussing the biphobia which is actually relevant to your story and which gives me ALL THE RAGES, and what are we doing, ranting about all the horrible things about this show we love? I should probably take a breath and step away from the computer now. Haha.
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The way you portray Kurt's inner conflict as he lashes out at Blaine with that rant about bisexuality is particularly brilliant. I really liked Justin, he won me over despite my usual reservations about OCs. And the last line of the chapter is gut wrenching. Awesome job.
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Wow, I would be speechless at that, but I'm never completely speechless :) I just hope the rest of the story lives up to your experience of the first part.
And the rest of what you said also has me blushing.
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THANKS FOR THIS!
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Also love the Blaine and Justin bromance because I love Blaine bromances in general and we don't get to see a lot of straight boy-gay boy ones on the show. I love this (I'm hopeful for Blinn!). And interesting take on Kurt thinking Blaine was flirting with Finn - I TOTALLY get that - I saw it too...not quite flirting, but Blaine being drunk, and gay, and just 'appreciating' Finn's body, like many a straight girl might say to a guy friend while drunk, but not really meaning anything by it. AND I also believe that he just wanted to get closer to Finn because he's Kurt's brother and wanting to say 'thank you for loving Kurt'. Both are real and work.
I really love your writing and I'm very excited that you like mine too. I can't wait to read the rest of this. Clapping!!
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I love your headcanon about this. The drunken wooing, the strong-willed Kurt (and damn, I'm not sure I'd be able to resist...), Blaine's roommate... Love all of it.
Lots of love for indulging my BIOTA weakness ;)
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Kurt Hummel and his Will of Iron. I ♥ him.
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So here I am trawling through your site, reading fics. Beautiful insight!!
:)
Oh, and yay justin! i'm not Generally a fan of OCs - they really need to work. Justin works. The last line [will be whispering justin justin] made me LOL. ;p
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I have no idea where Justin came from, but I'm glad he appeared. He came up with the funniest things.