Claire (seaouryou) wrote in herostratic,

fic - Glee: Good (You Know What I Mean) (1/2), Kurt/Blaine

Title: Good (You Know What I Mean)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Notes: Reposted from the gkm because lj sucks.


No one knew what to make of Kurt Hummel, least of all Blaine Anderson.

Kurt didn't act like he belonged in Small Town, Ohio. When Blaine saw him around campus, he was always put in mind of The Wild One's Marlon Brando or Rebel Without a Cause's James Dean - and not just because of the motorcycle caps and the jackets and the perfectly styled quiff.

He wore jeans so tight that the girls blushed and avoided him in the hall - Blaine heard that he'd learned how to sew so that he could take in the seams himself. He was also the only boy in the school - the only boy that Blaine knew of anywhere - that used spray to hold his hair instead of grease. There were rumors that he parked with Brittany, and everyone knew that she dated all the boys.

He was an unusual, disreputable fellow, but no one messed with him - not unless they wanted to be refused service at the Hummel garage.

Blaine didn't socialize with him. They'd had glee club together during the beginning of the year, but it had been quickly shut down when Mr. Schuester let them perform Elvis in the gymnasium and it started a riot. Mr. Schuester nearly lost his job, and the club was disbanded for good.

They hadn't spoken to each other since then, but Blaine still saw him around campus sometimes. There was something about his provocative clothes and smirk and hair that was as high as his ambitions that Blaine found both disturbing and oddly alluring.

Blaine suspected that it was a strange sort of envy. By contrast, his own life was about appearances and control. It had to be.

His father was a war hero. He'd been in the Philippines when the Japanese invaded, and when he'd finally returned to Ohio, he'd brought Blaine with him. He told everyone that Blaine's mother had been a nice Spanish girl that had lived on the island and been killed during the occupation, and who was going to argue with him? He'd been given awards for everything he'd done in the jungle.

It wasn't that Blaine didn't understand, because he knew his life was easier - better - this way. But it was hard to carry around the knowledge that his father would prefer it if he were something other than what he was.

Blaine thought that was why he craned his neck to follow Kurt with his eyes when he saw him walking across campus or hanging around under the bleachers with Puck. Kurt walked with a light gait, like he had nothing weighing him down.

But Blaine's life wasn't all bad - far from it. For his birthday his father had gotten him a cherry Chevy Impala. It was a beautiful rag top, and everyone always looked up and stared when he parked it and got out. It attracted girls and boys alike, and it was a source of pride for Blaine. A way to stand out in a good way. He was popular, a good student, and was one of the leads in the drama club.

Everything was going well, until the day he found a scratch on his car after school let out. It hadn't been a small scratch, either - it was long and deliberate and ran the length of the driver's side door.

Blaine's first reaction had been panic over what he father would say when he saw it. He calmed himself down quickly, however - who said his father had to see it? Blaine had some money saved up from his last summer job. Maybe if he took it into Hummel Tires and Lube he could get it fixed without a lecture about responsibility.



When Blaine pulled into the Hummel garage, Kurt was the one that met him.

It was a bit of a shock to see him in his stained coveralls. Kurt was always so put together, even if he dressed like a delinquent, that Blaine stared a little.

Kurt took his time wiping his fingers off on a handkerchief, looking past Blaine at the car. His eyes finally slid over to focus on Blaine and he murmured, "Beautiful." It jolted Blaine out of his mesmerization and he quickly looked away, not wanting to offend him with his staring. The last thing he wanted was to give Kurt Hummel a reason to be miffed at him while he was looking at his car. Blaine met his eyes again, plastering on an amicable smile, which faltered slightly when Kurt arched an eyebrow at him and smirked. He tucked his handkerchief into his back pocket and asked, "What did you do to it?"

"Someone scratched it," Blaine said, not wanting to look like an incompetent goof around someone who was clearly an expert; Finn said that Kurt had been shadowing his father since he was three years old, and that he'd learned how to fix an engine before he'd learned how to ride a bike.

Blaine led him around to the driver's side and pointed it out. Kurt let out a low whistle and ran his finger along the scratch. "Someone got you good, all right," he said with some amusement, looking up at Blaine from under his eyelashes.

Blaine shifted uncomfortably, getting the distinct impression that Kurt was laughing at him.

Kurt tapped the door. "You're lucky, this is a very shallow scratch and business has been slow. I can fix this today."

"You can?" Blaine asked, relief flooding him for a moment before he remembered the small matter of payment. "How much will that cost?"

"Hmm," Kurt hummed, straightening up and surveying the rest of the car. "This really is a beautiful car you've got yourself," he said conversationally, his hand sliding across the red upholstery. "Wide seats." Blaine eyed him warily. Kurt popped his hip against the side of the car and gave him a sweet smile. "Tell you what, I'll fix this scratch for free."

Blaine's eyes widened. "You will?" he asked, expecting some sort of catch.

"I will," Kurt said with a bob of the head. "But here's the thing: my dad confiscated my keys."

"Why?" Blaine wondered. He couldn't picture Kurt mistreating a car.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you writing a book?" he demanded, and Blaine quickly held his hands up placatingly. Clearly Kurt didn't want to share.

"So, I want you to drive me somewhere when I'm done."

"Where?" Blaine wondered.

"Somewhere," Kurt said, vague. He gave Blaine a sudden, charming smile. "I'll give you all the directions."

Blaine hesitated, looking from Kurt to the scratch… which he was half sitting on. He worried his lip for a second, then nodded.

"All right," Kurt said, giving him a sly grin and pushing off of the car. "This'll take a little while, but don't go anywhere."



The sun was low in the sky by the time Kurt finished.

Blaine had spent the afternoon hanging around the garage - he'd felt a little awkward and out of place, but Kurt had told him not to leave, so he'd taken that to mean he wasn't getting in the way. He hadn't known what to do with himself, so he'd stood back and watched Kurt repair his car's paint. Kurt had turned up the radio while he worked; he'd hummed and swayed along with the music as he bent over the car.

His higher voice was always distinctive, but especially so when he was singing. It was one more anomaly that made up Kurt Hummel. There were rumors that Kurt got away with as much as he did because of his "babyface" - a nickname that only Puck dared to use in his presence. With his Hollywood glamour and pale skin, Blaine thought "the ghost of James Dean" was more apt.

Looking at the stretch of his broad shoulders in his coveralls, he felt as far from a choir boy as Blaine could imagine. And yet, the devious smirks and knowing quirks of his eyebrows seemed to Blaine just as useful in getting Kurt what he wanted.

"Let me change, and we'll go," Kurt said, sauntering back to the employees-only section. Now that he was out of the way, Blaine approached his Chevy and admired the repair job Kurt had done; no one would have believed there'd been a scratch if they hadn't seen it.

He climbed into the front seat with a contented sigh, drumming his fingers against the wheel. Hopefully he would be done with driving Kurt soon and could head home. His father gave him a lax curfew, but he did so because Blaine didn't abuse it.

There was a click of a door opening, and Blaine looked over his shoulder as Kurt emerged, back in his usual threads. Most guys that wore leather jackets only wore the one, but Kurt seemed to have a near-limitless supply of them. His jeans were the same tighter-than-retail affair; Blaine wondered if all of Kurt's white t-shirts were left over from before his growth spurt, because it clung to his torso as well. His boots were a curiosity: lots of boys owned Western cowboy boots. Kurt instead chose to wear equestrian riding boots that came up almost to his knees.

Blaine looked back just in time to catch Kurt slipping something into the front pocket of his jacket. It spiked Blaine's curiosity, followed closely by his apprehension. Now that his car was no longer a concern, he began to worry what he had agreed to. Kurt had refused to tell him where he wanted to be taken. What if it was something illicit?

He knew Kurt rolled his eyes during the videos they watched in school about how to be a model citizen, and during their brief time in glee club he'd flouted Mr. Schuester's authority. Could he be a drug addict? Surely he wouldn't be able to hold down a job if he was. What if Kurt expected him to pick up Brittany and take them to the Point?

The thought of Kurt petting - or more - with some girl in his backseat was… alarming.

Kurt slid smoothly into the passenger seat. He checked his hair in the rearview mirror, patted the slight bulge in his pocket, and then glanced at Blaine and gave him an impish smile. Blaine returned the smile uncertainly.

"First, take me to the drive-in," Kurt ordered lazily, crossing his ankles and leaning back in his seat. He flashed Blaine a grin. "I've worked up an appetite."

They didn't speak to one another during the drive; Kurt sang along to the radio when he liked the song, and fiddled with the dial and grumbled about the general public's musical taste when he didn't.

Blaine wanted to interject a few times, but whenever he glanced away from the road he found that Kurt had his head tilted towards him and was studying him with a sly grin on his face. It sent a hot flush of self-consciousness through Blaine and he turned swiftly back to the road, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck.

Kurt's hair had been artfully wind-tossed by the time they pulled into the well-lit parking lot of the local. Blaine stared at it for a moment before he swallowed, licked his lips, and focused on the intercom beside the car. "I assume I'll be paying for this?"

"You are a smart one," Kurt said with a light laugh.

"What do you want?"

"Burger. No onions," Kurt said with disinterest. "Water, without ice," he emphasized. "Ask for extra napkins. And no onions for you, either."

Blaine glanced back at him, brow furrowing. "Why?"

"They're terrible for your breath," Kurt said with sarcastic sweetness. "Surely they covered that in those inane 'How to Be Popular' documentaries you pay such rapt attention to."

Blaine pursed his lips, irritated. Yes, he liked to fit in - what was so wrong with that? Particularly when he knew how easily he could be ostracized.

Still, he wasn't passionate enough about onions to argue over it, so he merely punched the button on the intercom and relayed Kurt's order as well as his own. That done, Blaine looked around the parking lot and realized just how many people were staring. With the top of the car down, there was nothing blocking anyone's view of Kurt and himself, and they had to make an odd pair. Blaine slouched a little in his seat, already anticipating the questions he would get tomorrow.

"Don't want to be seen with me?" Kurt asked, an amused bite in his voice. "Worried about your reputation?"

Blaine straightened up and looked at him. "No," he said defiantly.

"Maybe you should be," Kurt smirked. He swung his right leg up and crossing it over his left.

That was when their carhop skated up to the car. She did a fancy spin at the end that made Blaine tense up in anticipation of his meal spilling to the ground, but everything stayed on the plate. "Hi, Blaine!" Rachel greeted him cheerfully, her eyes flickering uncertainly to Kurt before she refocused on Blaine and smiled. They chatted politely for a few moments about the upcoming spring play before Kurt pointedly cleared his throat. Rachel shot him another look, fixed the tray to the side of the Chevy, and gave Blaine a parting smile as she rolled away.

"You've gone on dates with her," Kurt commented.

"A few…" Blaine said warily, passing Kurt his hamburger and water and, when he gestured for them impatiently, the extra napkins. "We aren't going steady or anything." He did have more fun with her than any other girl he'd taken out, however. Rachel was just as enthusiastic as he was about going to the drive-in theater and singing along to the musicals or quoting the romantic classics.

But he wasn't serious about her - he wasn't serious about anybody yet. His father told him he was better off finding a girl in college - one that was studying whatever he ended up studying, once he got theatre "out of his system," and wouldn't annoy him with foolish questions about his career.

"Hmm," Kurt hummed.

"Rachel's a good girl," he said, unsure of what Kurt was driving at.

Kurt smirked at him. "And you, Blaine?" he drawled. "Are you good?"

Blaine pulled himself up tighter, frowning at him and fighting a confused blush.

"She only goes on dates with you because Finn and Quinn have been practically jacketed since sophomore year, and no one else will ask her," Kurt said, taking a sip of his drink.

"If you're… trying to say something on behalf of your brother, or imply I'm not good enough -"

Kurt interrupted him with a laugh, his head falling back against the seat before rolling towards Blaine. Kurt gave him a wide, amused smile. "No, not at all," he said. "I'm saying you shouldn't settle for second pick."

Blaine wondered if Kurt was trying to indoctrinate him into a gang.

He didn't actually think Kurt belonged to a gang - he wasn't even the matching jackets type - but Blaine wasn't so oblivious as to not notice that something was going on here. He just had no idea what.

They ate their hamburgers in silence; Kurt ate carefully and deliberately, folding the wrapper around the burger so that no grease got on his fingers. He didn't even need a napkin. When he passed his trash to Blaine, he separated the small pile out and tucked them into his jacket pocket (opposite the one with the mysterious bulge).

Blaine buzzed Rachel to come clear off the tray and collect the bill. He felt more baffled by what Kurt was doing than he felt worried or disturbed. He assumed Kurt had reasons behind his actions, but he couldn't for the life of him figure it out. Blaine wished Kurt wasn't being so cagey with the details. Whatever it was, Blaine was sure he would feel more comfortable if he only knew what to expect.

He glanced at Kurt's pockets again, and Kurt lifted an eyebrow. He gave Blaine a teasing grin.

"Is that a Perfecto?" Blaine asked, clearing his throat. He'd been staring at the jacket enough to notice some of the details.

Kurt looked mildly surprised, then pleased. It was a softer expression than the tight-lipped mirth he'd had up until then.

Blaine resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. Having Kurt's approval was both thrilling and unsettling.

"It is," Kurt confirmed. "I always strive for authenticity on a day-to-day basis." Kurt draped his left arm over the back of the seat purposefully, and when Blaine glanced at the curve of his shoulder he noticed the star on the passant.

"You have an actual One Star?" Blaine asked, eyebrows shooting up. Evidently his Marlon Brando comparison was even more on the mark than he'd thought. "That must be ten years old, where did you get it?"

"I have my ways," Kurt said with an affected mysterious tone. It was undercut by the grin he shot Blaine. The one Blaine gave him in return was instinctual. "I hadn't thought you paid so much attention to fashion," he said, arch.

"I like to present myself well."

"Hmm," Kurt hummed. His arm tightened around the back of the seat and he leaned closer, into Blaine's space. "Do you think I present well, Blaine Anderson?"

Blaine pressed his lips together, not wanting to keep appearing flustered. He said with an even voice, "I think you present precisely what you intend to."

Kurt's eyes crinkled a little when he laughed. He gave his head a shake, then smirked at Blaine. Some of his bangs had fallen across his forehead. Blaine's fingers twitched and he tucked them under his thighs. "I think you should rethink the bow tie."

Blaine jumped when Kurt's fingers landed on the back of his neck, and Kurt chuckled. He held perfectly still and stared at Kurt's face, eyes intent under the fan of his eyelashes, as he slipped his fingers up under his collar to unclip the bow tie. Kurt pulled it away, then slid his fingers around to undo the top button of Blaine's shirt. His finger stroked once over the dip there, then he parted Blaine collar and smoothed it out. "You did hear that pink peaked, didn't you?"

Blaine swallowed, wondering at the adrenaline rush that was causing his heart to speed up and his breath to come short. It wasn't like Kurt had threatened him. "It's Brooks Brothers," he defended. There was a croak at the beginning of his reply that made something satisfied twist in Kurt's smirk.

"Oh, I know," Kurt purred, toying with the bow tie. "You always look like you've robbed one of their mannequins."

Kurt shifted closer. Blaine could feel his elbow pressing into his arm, warm through the jacket. "Tell me, Blaine… what do you think of the Oxford style?"

"What is that, the British version of Ivy League?" Blaine asked. "I don't follow British fashion much. But I heard they wear trousers that show off their socks, I thought that was… interesting…"

Blaine was babbling. Blaine never babbled. He cleared his throat and looked at Kurt. He was still smiling like Blaine was telling some joke without realizing it, but there was something else in his expression, too.

He looked charmed.

Kurt broke eye contact to look around the parking lot. Blaine glanced out of the car as well. The evening rush had come and gone, but there were still other cars around, and they could still see Kurt and Blaine.

Kurt leaned away, back against the passenger door, but he kept his arm draped over the seat. "I heard Princeton had a name for it," he said mysteriously. He tilted his head at Blaine and looked him up and down. "I assume that's where you'll be going to college."

"One of them, yes," Blaine agreed quietly. His father wouldn't accept anything else than an Ivy League education.

Kurt chuckled. "You'll fit right in."

"What about you?" Blaine asked. "Are you going to college?"

Kurt's smile diminished and became fixed. He slouched and stared out the windshield like he wasn't seeing Lima at all. "Depends on if any college wants to give a scholarship to someone who spends all his time working in a garage instead of singing lead in every play and starching collars and begging the pep squad to make a male exception."

A few beats passed. Kurt let out a breath and said, sounding slightly contrite, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Blaine said, mentally berating himself for being so thoughtless. Everyone knew that Kurt and Finn had had to devote a lot of their time to Hummel Tires and Lube when Mr. Hummel got sick last year. (Mrs. Hummel had had to start working for a while, which people still talked about.) Once Kurt had taught Finn what to do he'd really taken to it. Blaine knew that he was planning on making a career of it.

But Kurt had always struck Blaine as being so otherworldly that it had never occurred to Blaine that he might not leave Lima, either.

Kurt picked up his water, still mostly full, and took a small sip. "Put the top up."

"What?" Blaine said, distracted.

"Before we go," Kurt said.

They'd been sitting in the drive-in for so long that Blaine had forgotten there was another, still undisclosed destination.

Kurt waited in his seat as Blaine got the top up, swinging his crossed leg. Blaine cleared his throat once he started the car and tried once more for specifics. "Where are we going?"

"Does it matter?" Kurt asked. "Lima is nowhere."

Blaine pressed his lips together. "I have to know where you want me to take you…"

"Just get on West Elm and drive straight," Kurt said. "I'll tell you when we're there."

Blaine kept waiting for Kurt to give the word, but he remained silent as they drove farther and farther into the outskirts of town. The stores thinned out until they stopped altogether, and Blaine's anxiety began to build again. He was just about to stop and refuse to go further until Kurt answered his questions when Kurt - who still had his arm braced along the back of the seat - tapped Blaine on the shoulder and pointed to a billboard up ahead. "Pull over and park behind that."

Kurt let his hand rest on Blaine's shoulder, his fingers kneading into the muscle absently. Blaine bit the inside of his cheek and followed his directions.

"Shut off the lights," Kurt said.

Kurt uncrossed his legs once the car was silent and still and placed his water on the dash. He left his hand on Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine worked his jaw, glancing out the window. They were well concealed where they were; he couldn't see the road, and he was fairly sure they weren't visible, either. What could possibly require this much secrecy?

"Are you picking up drugs?" Blaine asked, turning to Kurt. Now that they were actually here, Blaine thought Kurt might share the purpose.

"Why do you assume it's drugs?" Kurt asked, tilting his head. "Because I won't go to church? Because I'm friends with Mercedes?"

"No," Blaine said swiftly. That part of his reputation had never bothered Blaine. He wasn't sure how to explain that it wasn't anything Kurt did that made Blaine nervous - it was the simple physicality of him.

Kurt turned fully toward Blaine, drawing his left leg up and folding it across the seat. His hand slid down Blaine's arm, stopping at his elbow, and a shiver rolled up Blaine's spine. He would have thought that Kurt not picking up drugs would be a relief, but he felt more nervous than before. If it wasn't that, then what?

Blaine glanced at the bulge in Kurt's jacket pocket, wondering if Kurt were selling drugs. It filled him with unease. He at least had some familiarity with Kurt - what if some crazed stranger approached them, high on reefer?

"No one's coming, Blaine," Kurt soothed, as if he'd read his mind.

Blaine looked at Kurt's face, his own brow furrowed in confusion. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Kurt let out a breathy laugh. "Well said," he replied, which just made Blaine's brow crease more, and then -

There was a gap between when Kurt kissed him and when Blaine realized that was what was happening. His immediate response had simply been bafflement as to why Kurt was pressing his mouth against his. Then Kurt tilted his head and pushed, and realization struck Blaine like a blow to the head. He sucked in a shocked breath and Kurt made a pleased noise that buzzed against his lips.

Kurt had risen up onto his knees and was leaning over Blaine, one hand gripping his arm, the other braced against the door. It wasn't a customary first kiss, polite and noninvasive. Nor was it like any great film kiss that Blaine had ever seen, with one long meeting of the lips.

Kurt kept moving. He rolled and pressed and broke away and came in again, hard and soft, fast and slow.

Blaine couldn't think. He felt stunned, like an animal before it was about to be slaughtered, but he also felt…

Blaine had never necked with a girl before. He'd never done anything but give them a chaste kiss goodnight at the end of a good date. It was part of being a gentleman, he'd always thought. He'd been proud of his self-control and privately thought that Sam and Finn, both of whom complained about wanting more, had a deficit of willpower.

But if they felt anything like this

He couldn't decide whether to recoil or to surge forward - to embrace Kurt or to shove him off and flee - so he did nothing.

Kurt pressed down on Blaine's arm and Blaine slipped down the seat, torso twisting awkwardly with his feet still planted under the wheel. Kurt's hand dropped off of the door and landed on Blaine's knee. The next thing Blaine knew Kurt had scooped his legs up and his back was flat against the vinyl, knees held in the crook of Kurt's arm and Kurt's hand spread across his thigh.

His other hand moved from Blaine's arm to the front of his blazer. He undid the button and slipped his hand inside, sliding it up Blaine's side. Kurt seized his bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, and when Blaine's mouth fell open he licked inside, a soft brush against Blaine's own tongue.

"Relax," Kurt said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and murmuring in his ear, "I told you, no one's going to come by, we're okay."

"Stop," Blaine whimpered.

He meant, if Kurt wanted him to relax then he'd have to stop, because how could a person relax when they were being kissed like that and touched like that? But Kurt drew away and stared at Blaine's face, and then his own fell.

"Oh, fuck," Kurt groaned. "Fuck!"

Kurt scrambled off of Blaine and out of the car in such haste that he banged his head on the door. He stumbled a few paces away, hissing a mantra of obscenity. Blaine lay sprawled out on the seat for a few moments longer, breathing unevenly, before he got his legs back under himself, opened the driver's side door, and got out.

Kurt was pacing, but he paused and gave Blaine an almost accusatory look. "You - you're always looking at me, and… Oh, God," Kurt said, gnawing on a fingernail and looking off into the night like he was contemplating fleeing himself. There was a wild look in his eyes, and Blaine realized with a jolt that it was fear.

Blaine wouldn't have thought it was possible. Kurt always acted like he was untouchable and beyond reproach - it drove teachers nuts.

The realization that Kurt was afraid of what he could do was even more incredible. Particularly when Blaine was still wobbling on his feet and his lips were still tingling from the fervor of Kurt's kisses.

It struck Blaine all at once that Kurt had taken him on a date - of sorts - in recompense for fixing his car. Or Blaine had taken him? His head felt too cottony to puzzle it out. All Blaine was sure of was that even leaving the rumors about him aside, what he knew about Kurt's character was that he wanted things. Passionately. And he went after them.

Blaine swallowed, mouth dry, and was alarmed to find that he was not alarmed.

"Was that… were you expecting… compensation?" he asked, stumbling over the euphemism and flushing despite it.

Kurt had pulled himself together tightly. His arms were crossed and drawn against his body and he stood rigidly. "I was expecting…" He trailed off and shook his head. "I'll walk back," he said stiffly, turning away from the car.

Blaine's eyes widened. "You can't do that; we're on the outskirts of town, it would take you all night to get home."

Kurt let out a dark chuckle. "I'm sure I'll be safe from the hooligans."

"I've drive you back."

Kurt glanced back over his shoulder, sizing Blaine up. Blaine suddenly felt what the difference had been in every other raking glance Kurt had ever given him, because that quality was missing now. Kurt's gaze wasn't exciting; it was merely evaluating.

"I won't tell anyone," Blaine said in a hushed voice. He understood the fear of exposure. As confused as he was, there was still that point on which he could secure his compassion.

And he felt more the accomplice than the injured party, besides. He hadn't been sure he'd wanted it to continue, but… he hadn't been sure he'd wanted it to stop. While Kurt was judging whether it was safe for him to get back into a car with Blaine, Blaine was unconcerned about the reverse.

"Really," Kurt said flatly. He turned to face Blaine fully and his eyes were suspicious. "Why not?"

"Because I… I won't," Blaine repeated, gripping the frame of the open door.

Kurt stared at him in silence for a long beat, a leery expression on his face. Blaine stared back. The moon provided enough light to discern Kurt's features, and his dark clothes blended in enough with the night that his skin stood out starkly. Blaine stared at the column of his neck, the curve of his jaw, and the bow of his lips, and it occurred to Blaine that he thought Kurt was beautiful. He found that that word cut to the heart of it when "glamorous," "alluring," and "provocative" never had.

When Kurt finally agreed, he did so wordlessly. He slipped back into the car and closed the door with a heavy thunk. Blaine followed suit. He looked over at him once he was back in his seat, fingers hesitating on the key. Kurt sat as far right as he was able without hanging out of the window. His arms were still folded and he was on guard, watching Blaine. It made something in Blaine ache for the way he'd been sprawling across his seat, crowding Blaine and smirking, fingers playing on the back of his neck…

Blaine thought back to what Kurt had said: that he'd noticed Blaine looking. That something about his looking had made Kurt think he wanted to be doing…

How was it possible that a person could want something without knowing it?

Blaine didn't put much stock in the phrase "ignorance is bliss." He always preferred to know - even with the stress that came with knowing about his heritage.

This might be his limit. Because it was true; he wanted Kurt, and not in a way that he could reason himself out of, like putting back a costly coat that had caught his eye. It was more than a whim, it was… visceral. It was so deeply rooted that he couldn't even tell when or how it had first been planted. Blaine had always prided himself on his self-control. To discover that it was actually self-delusion was a serious blow to his ego. And frightening.

And yet, the wanting remained. He could still feel the phantom of Kurt's lips on his - of Kurt's hands running up his side and grasping his thigh. Blaine shuddered and his hands dropped off of the wheel.

Kurt was staring at him hard. The focused, heated look in his eyes only made the feeling intensify. "What?" Kurt said, with an edge.

"I…"

Whatever else had drawn him to Kurt, Blaine was sure that his unrestrained nature was still a part of it. When Blaine wasn't on a stage - when he didn't have lines to read and a role to play - he didn't know where to begin. He had only a vague understanding of what Kurt wanted to do to him - of what they even could do together.

Blaine did have a streak of impulsiveness in him, however. If he didn't, he wouldn't have been there with Kurt at all.

He slid across the seat, and had just enough time to see Kurt's face shift from guarded to pleased comprehension before he closed the distance and kissed him.

Kissing Kurt, Blaine discovered, was even better than letting Kurt kiss him. Kurt kept him guessing: sometimes he bent back under Blaine's mouth, accepting the force of his kisses, and sometimes he pushed back, causing Blaine to sway on his knees. He grabbed the sides of Kurt's face for a hold as he knelt above him. Every press of lips, nip of teeth, and pass of tongue made Blaine feel unsteadier than the last. He clung tighter; he kissed back harder.

Kurt's hands dove under his blazer, digging into the flesh of his back and dragging up. He rolled his face into Blaine's, seizing his bottom lip between his own before he pulled back again and Blaine was dragged along. His released him with a satiny lick. Blaine moaned and dropped his open mouth down onto Kurt's. Kurt swept his tongue into his mouth; not massaging his lips or fleeting touches against his own tongue, but a sudden thrust in that made Blaine jolt. Blaine's cock surged, the steady low thrum in his groin suddenly an aching and demanding throb. He broke away with a piteous whimper and squeezed his eyes closed, pressing his forehead against Kurt's.

Kurt planted soft, teasing kisses across Blaine's cheek and jaw. He trailed his fingers around to the front of Blaine's chest, grabbed the lapels of Blaine's blazer, and shoved it down his arms. His fingers flew up to the buttons of Blaine's shirt as it hit the car floor. Blaine watched his fingers work, breathing raggedly and trembling more the lower Kurt's hands went. Kurt drew the shirttails out from his belt by tugging up at the material around his navel. He unfastened the last buttons without even brushing Blaine's abdomen, and Blaine groaned. The shirt joined the blazer.

Blaine reached for Kurt's jaw again, but Kurt caught his arms. He pulled Blaine down, easing him back against the seat, and situated himself between Blaine's legs when they unfolded.

Blaine shivered when his back, clothed in nothing but his thin undershirt, hit the cool vinyl. He grabbed the buckle of Kurt's motorcycle jacket, his hands shaking a little as he worked it open. He yanked the zipper all the way down, then fisted the open flaps of the leather and pulled Kurt flush against him. Blaine gasped when they collided, not only because of the solidity of Kurt's body and the heat radiating off of him, but because of the stiff cock pressed suddenly against his own.

Kurt shifted his hips, which made Blaine bite his lip, then slid forward with more purpose. Blaine couldn't hold back his whine, and he buried his face in Kurt's neck.

"I knew it," Kurt purred into his ear, all of his fear turned into smugness as he rubbed against Blaine.



Part 2
Verse Notes
Tags: fic, fic: babyboomers!klaine, glee
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic
  • 9 comments