February 15, 2013
Ficlet: “Okay.” I Do post-ep, 1500 words, R.

Um. So. I am probably not alone in my current using-fic-to-sort-out-my-nine-different-headcanons coping mechanism to deal with the extreme hotness and enigma that was Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson last night. First, but probably not the last, fic as I work things through, and find lots and lots of ways to take FULL advantage of suddenly-canon incendiary hotness of these boys.

Not even close to being betaed. Oops?

*

But this is what Kurt came home for, this wedding, so when he grabs Blaine around the back of his neck and pulls him in for another kiss he doesn’t let it linger as long as he wants to, just pulls back with a nip to the corner of Blaine’s mouth and a grin that’s a promise, too.

It had started, really, at Christmas. They’d been so good - Blaine had been so good - and after that first night at the skating rink he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t done anything, hadn’t pushed, had just been there, and that’s what Kurt had needed, just someone to be there, so he had relaxed into it and finally let Blaine just be in his mind, not a jagged bruised part but something that was just there, familiar, and comforting, and that was okay.

And then the last day before his dad and Blaine had flown back to Lima, Blaine had found Kurt in his room. It had been okay, the curtain was only half-closed, and it’s something Kurt’s been getting used to, this private/not-private space, that can be what he wants it to be, when he wants it to be. They had talked; not the heart-to-heart Kurt had thought about or Blaine had wanted, maybe, but they had talked, more honestly than maybe they ever had, and then Blaine had kissed him.

Kurt hadn’t pushed him away. It wasn’t a kiss he thought he had wanted, but Blaine. It’s not that it felt right, it’s not that it felt so familiar, so easy just to lean in when Kurt realized he knew what the look on Blaine’s face meant when he’d tangled their fingers together and promised, again, to always be there for him (Kurt had known that he meant it). It’s that it’s Blaine, and it’s been so long since Blaine’s touch had meant anything complicated, anything dangerous, anything fraught. They’d learned everything together, about themselves like this, over a year ago, and it had long ago stopped being about discovery and boundary-crossing and had just been about them, and this, this - this kiss was clarity, Blaine’s hands on him Kurt understands the world, and that this was goodbye, to what they had been.

It made it okay, to let Blaine go again, to hug his dad goodbye and wave from the apartment window when the cab pulled away to take them back to the airport.

And then there was Adam, and it’s easy now, everything is easy and falling into place and this is the life Kurt always knew he would have, New York, performance, a sweet and hot-as-hell boy to believe in him and watch him sing. 

And then there was the wedding.

Kurt and Rachel and Santana (oh, god, Santana) had flown in together but Kurt hasn’t seen much of them since, they have their own drama to work out but Kurt doesn’t, for once, things are good, for once. When he’d seen Blaine across the room at the Emergency Wedding Rehearsal Meeting Finn had called it was painless to smile at him, easy to sit next to him when Blaine patted the chair beside him, so, so easy to lean in and whisper snark and commentary under his breath and it’s beyond easy, this is who they are.

Finn tries to hand out assigned songs; there are catfights and yelling and Kurt shouts over the top of them all; he and Blaine have made their choice, they’re going, now, and he grabs Blaine’s hand and drags him out into the hallway mostly because this is all so high school and he is so over it, but also because he never was lying when he’d said he missed Blaine, and he’s only here for a few days and he wants to see him.

Blaine’s got the song on his phone, of course he does, so he sets it carefully on the floor of the hallway, out of the way, volume turned up and the school’s empty this late in the evening so there’s no one to bother when their choreographing gets ridiculous and they’re laughing so hard they can’t even sing, and Blaine’s eyes are bright and shining and he looks so goddammed happy, Kurt can’t help it, hardly even thinks about it. He catches Blaine on a spin and holds him against the wall, one hand on Blaine’s hip and Blaine’s arms around his neck and it’s really not about the choreography anymore when Kurt presses forward and kisses him.

It’s not something they’ve ever done, not here, not like this, not at school, but Kurt doesn’t go here anymore and Blaine clearly doesn’t care, not the way his fingers grab and Kurt’s shoulder and his breath whimpers out of him into the kiss. It’s not defiance, it’s not claiming something back for themselves that this school took from both of them, it’s just a kiss, hot and getting messier and Kurt honestly does not know what he’s doing, is not even thinking and he doubts Blaine is, no impulse necessary other than touch him now.

Tina finds them that time, storms out of the choir room (the sounds drifting down the hall from the open door have been getting shriekier; approaching-performance-meltdown is inevitable) and bangs her hand on a locker to jolt them apart.

Blaine’s eyes are wide and dark, his lips are red and tell-tale swollen and they’re both going to need a moment and some deep breaths and maybe a cold shower to get rid of the other tell-tales. Tina just gives them her flattest bitch look and Kurt could not care less, testosterone or endorphins or just Blaine and the way the heat feels like it’s radiating off his skin, so he just grabs Blaine’s hand and scoops up his phone and pulls him off further down the hallway, laughter floating back to meet Tina’s glare.

That night Kurt doesn’t think about it, doesn’t let himself think about, lying in his own bed - doesn’t think about what it means. He thinks about it, though, until he’s hard in his pajamas and has to roll over to hide his face in the pillow while he works himself over, the taste of Blaine still in his mouth, the scent of his aftershave lingering in Kurt’s skin.

Blaine comes over the next day, Wednesday, one last rehearsal before the wedding, right, make sure everything is good to go, right. The house is empty and they get halfway through the song and then they’re on the couch and Blaine’s straddling Kurt’s lap and getting grabby with his hair, and the ridiculous electro-techno beat is still pulsing through the speakers, they choose the best songs, and Kurt presses Blaine’s head further down his neck so he doesn’t leave a visible mark with one hand and grabs and squeezes Blaine’s ass with the other. 

Kurt’s still not thinking about it, it’s so easy not to think about it, with Blaine hot and hard and grinding into him, Kurt feels like flying, until his phone skitters on the endtable and the song comes to an end.

"Fuck." Blaine sits back on his heels, still on Kurt’s lap, his knees snugged up around Kurt’s hips and his thighs a hard pressure against Kurt’s. Kurt scrabbles for the phone, emergency wedding update from Tina, they’re needed in the auditorium to practice, now. Kurt flips the phone around so Blaine can see the message too, and pouts, and Blaine gives him the puppy-eyes and neither of them wants to leave, why would they want to leave, here where there is skin and mouths and nobody home - ?

But this is what Kurt came home for, this wedding, so when he grabs Blaine around the back of his neck and pulls him in for another kiss he doesn’t let it linger as long as he wants to, just pulls back with a nip to the corner of Blaine’s mouth and a grin that’s a promise, too.

During the rehearsal, though - actual rehearsal, and it’s not the first time they’ve had to keep their hands off of each other long enough to actually get it together as a group, but it might be the hardest - Kurt thinks. He’s had months and months and months to think, months to deal with the thought of bodies, and what their bodies together had meant to him and to Blaine, of what bodies with other people meant - and it’s okay. Blaine catches his eye across the room, and Kurt knows what that look means, knows how this is going to end (has known, he thinks, he realizes, when he smiles back, not warm but coy because he can and because he knows what that does to Blaine, now), and he is okay.

He catches up to Blaine in the parking lot outside McKinley, dark already in the early February evening. There are people around but that doesn’t matter, they know anyway, everyone knows, and god bless the constant cycling New Directions relationship rumor mill that no one really has enough energy to care. So Kurt presses in close, finds Blaine’s hips in the dark and says into his ear, low and so breathy he hardly even recognizes his own voice, “pick me up for the wedding tomorrow?”

Blaine’s eyes, when he nods, are smiling, and his grin is wicked.

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