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He thinks most boyfriends don’t have to go through what he has to go through.
Out of all the boys in Ohio, he just had to go and fall in love with the pickiest perfectionist that is Kurt Hummel. He didn’t even realize just how many problems he had until Kurt came along and pointed them out. Apparently it’s frowned upon to only have four different t-shirts in your wardrobe, or to have one pair of boots and one pair of shoes.
Kurt says it’s a crime.
How was he supposed to know? Nobody’s ever explained the rules of fashion to him before.
So he let Kurt take him to the mall, let him pick out some shirts and hoodies that he will never in his life wear outside of his bedroom. If it makes Kurt happy, Blaine will do it.
Then there was Regionals.
No other boy had their girlfriends fussing over their hair. Just him. Kurt attacked him backstage, a comb in one hand and a bottle of gel in the other, vigorously combing back his hair until his curls turned into ice-hard chunks of goo. He complained, he whined, he put up a fight like a cat being forced to take a bath, but Kurt is Kurt, so Kurt didn’t listen.
And nobody even saw him, all he did was sway in the back.
At least they won. That made Kurt even happier.
So even if being Kurt’s boyfriend is different than being anyone else’s boyfriend, he really doesn’t mind.
-
It’s unfortunately nearing eight o’clock on a Thursday night, both of them sitting in Blaine’s room watching a movie, another thing that he and Kurt will never agree on. He only won tonight because he sort of bribed Kurt, told him if he said yes to Star Wars then he’d let him play with his hair.
Kurt’s curfew was lowered. Eight o’clock on a school night, and a lovely, totally fair nine o’clock on weekends.
Burt may like him, but it still seems like he doesn’t trust him.
He likes being at Kurt’s house better, but he likes being alone with Kurt even more, so they usually end up here. Not that they actually do anything.
He sits on the floor between Kurt’s legs, Kurt on the bed right behind him, and tries not to grimace when Kurt pulls his hair too tight, when the tie he’s using catches in his hair painfully. It’s nice when it doesn’t hurt, not that he’ll admit it, feeling Kurt’s fingers comb through the mess of his curls, pulling them into pigtails or ponytails or whatever, only to shake them free, to scratch at Blaine’s scalp.
“Kurt, not in the face,” he mumbles, a bit absentmindedly, batting a curl out of his line of sight.
“Sorry, your hair is just so - what conditioner do you use?”
He turns his head, looks at Kurt, eyes confused. “Conditioner?”
“Blaine!” Kurt sighs, exasperated, and twists his fingers through Blaine’s hair, yanks at him until he faces forward again.
They fall into comfortable silence, a silence so rare that at first he wasn’t sure what to do with it, because he’s never been with another person before where he didn’t have to say anything for them to understand, to just enjoy him being there. Kurt does. Kurt gets it.
So he closes his eyes, forgets about the movie and just enjoys being with Kurt, afraid to look at the clock to see how little he has left with him for tonight.
Then Kurt asks, voice so calm and low, “How’s - how’s counselling going?”
He cracks one eye open. “Good,” he says, leans his head back onto the bed, looks up at him and smiles. “I think my dad is paying her to talk to me about colleges.”
“Is that a conspiracy, or do you have facts to back that up?”
“Conspiracy.”
“Ah,” Kurt says, runs a hand back and pulls Blaine’s hair into a bun. “Is it helping? Talking about school?”
“Not really. But . . . I don’t know.” He stares up at Kurt, and he’s come a long way from just keeping every word stored away, afraid to say them, because with Kurt they all just come so easily now, so he smiles wider and says, “She makes me feel like I don’t actually need to have it all figured out yet.”
“You don’t,” Kurt says, nodding, pulling another section of his hair into another bun on the other side of his head.
“It’s kinda nice. Between her and you, I don’t really have any secrets left.”
“That’s good,” Kurt says, then leans further over Blaine and stares him directly in the eye. “But if you were to kill somebody, who would you trust more with that one?”
He laughs, thinks about it. “Well, you’re not scared of me. So probably Ms. Pillsbury.”
Kurt gasps, uses the advantage of his position and pulls at Blaine’s hair. “Just for that, I think I should dig out my hair straightener.”
He quickly sits up, pulls away from Kurt and shakes his head hard until the hair ties fall out, running his fingers through his hair while muttering, “You just lost all your hair privileges.”
Does anyone else’s boyfriend do this?
He pushes his hair back, looks up at Kurt and smiles, at his boyfriend, who’s pouting and just - leaning back on his elbows on Blaine’s bed, so casually, so relaxed.
Finally looking at the clock, bright red numbers glaring 7:32, he decides there isn’t a second to waste.
Jumping up on the bed, he sits on top of Kurt, pins his legs on either side of him and holds him down, presses his lips to his to wipe away his pout, and it doesn’t take long for Kurt to clue in, to kiss back, to reach up and grab at Blaine’s hair again, twisting it differently now.
“We have -” he breaks away, already panting, looks at the clock again and then back at Kurt. “We have about fifteen minutes before I have to drive you home.”
Kurt nods, pulls Blaine back down and doesn’t hesitate with his kisses anymore, touches Blaine’s tongue with his like he lives just to taste Blaine, to touch him.
Fifteen minutes won’t be enough.
Kurt pulls his hair too harshly, sharp pain stinging his scalp, and he hisses right against Kurt’s mouth, but his body responds in another way, a sudden rush of heat down his spine, and god, god, what he would do for twenty minutes -
But it’ll have to do.
He slides his hand underneath Kurt’s shirt, uses his other hand to fiddle with the button of his jeans, anxious to pull them off and pull Kurt’s off and would Burt really be mad if they’re five minutes late, maybe ten?
Except -
Kurt goes stiff, rigid underneath Blaine’s body, and the warning signals and sirens start going off in Blaine’s head, but he keeps going, because it’s Kurt, they - they do this they’re boyfriends -
“Blaine.” Kurt’s hand presses against his chest, pushes him back. “Blaine, please - stop.”
It’s the please that gets him, stabs him, hurts him.
He pulls back like Kurt’s body is made of ice, stingingly cold, and breathes heavily, wipes at his mouth and stares down at Kurt, hurt and confused and scared.
“What - what’s wrong?”
Kurt reaches up, puts his hand on Blaine’s chest again only to slowly, carefully, trail it down, rest it on his hip, and he takes a deep breath, stutters out, “Can - can we talk?”
The way Kurt’s holding him tells him Kurt isn’t mad, but - he’s still confused, still disappointed.
He rolls off of Kurt, lays on the bed beside him and huffs. “Sure, I guess.”
Kurt sits up, crosses his legs and looks down at his hands, weaving his fingers together only to pull them apart, keeps doing that for another round of seconds.
“We only have like, ten minutes, Kurt.”
“I - I know.” Kurt looks up at the ceiling and takes another deep breath, face turning red, and Blaine would usually just lean forward and kiss him and make it better, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to anymore. “Um. It’s just - before you, I hadn’t even been kissed, not really. I don’t know the first thing about - sex except for what - what we’ve done. And what the rest of the glee club has done, but that doesn’t exactly apply to us and -”
“Kurt,” he says, cutting him off, reaching out and grabbing his hand, preventing him from twisting his fingers together again. “It’s fine.”
It is fine. Sure, he’s not familiar with the idea of waiting, because they’ve kind of already had sex, and that was before they were boyfriends, so he’s not sure why Kurt’s being hesitant now. But it’s fine. If that’s what Kurt wants, if that makes Kurt happy, he’ll do it.
“I mean . . .” Kurt tugs at Blaine’s hand, like he wants to be free, but Blaine doesn’t want to let go. “I’m scared, Blaine.”
He lets go of Kurt’s hand, sits up and moves a bit further away. That hurts. “Oh.”
“Not of you,” Kurt’s quick to say, eyes wide and pleading and his voice shaking. “Of being -”
“Naked with me,” Blaine finishes for him, voice dry.
Kurt turns even more red and immediately looks away, and that’s answer enough.
“That’s cool,” he says, dejectedly, and looks away too, drums his fingers against the bed and thinks. “It is kinda scary. Having a dick in your ass isn’t the most familiar feeling.”
“Blaine!” Kurt yelps, spinning back around, and Blaine is seriously worried about the shade of his face, he looks boiling. “You - you make it sound so - crude.”
“Well that’s what sex is!” Blaine exclaims, shoulders raised and hands in the air. “But . . . I get it, Kurt. I can wait. And we can just like, I dunno, talk about it more until you’re comfortable.”
“Thank you,” Kurt says, voice rough and scratchy, and then he clears his throat and carefully looks up at Blaine. “Um. Before me, did you . . . ?”
“Have I done it?” he asks plainly, folding his hands together, locking eyes with Kurt.
Kurt nods, quickly looks away.
“Kinda. Sex can really be anything, Kurt, it’s hard to define. But yeah, there was a guy.”
“. . . a boyfriend?”
He laughs, releasing his frustration, finally leans forward and kisses Kurt’s burning hot cheek.
“Nope. You’re my first,” he says, and finds Kurt’s hand to hold. “He was just a friend from Dalton who totally wanted to screw my brains out.”
Kurt’s hand goes still as he swallows, looks away. “Oh.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t let him.”
“Oh?”
He smirks, says, “I screwed his.”
It surprises him when Kurt doesn’t rip his hand away, only weakly squeezes back. “I see.”
“I’m - I’m kidding, sorta.” He sighs, looks down at their hands and smiles, because whatever else he’s done, it’s never been like this. “So yeah, Kurt, I’ve done stuff. But none of it mattered. Not like you.”
Never like you.
Kurt’s blush returns, squirming a bit as he meets Blaine’s eyes again. “And here I am, making you wait.”
“That’s okay.” It is. “Can I like, um, ask why you were okay with it before, when we uh, you know . . .”
He watches Kurt take a deep breath, wet his lips, like he’s struggling to not look away, like it’s taking actual strength to hold Blaine’s gaze.
He’s scared of his answer. He tries not to but he can remember the way Kurt looked when Blaine tried to crush what they had, when he spat on what they did together, like it was nothing, when it was actually everything.
Is Kurt afraid of him now?
“I didn’t know what else to do, Blaine, I hadn’t ever felt like that before, I thought I might never feel like that again. Like you would just - disappear.” Kurt looks away then, voice lowering into a whisper. “Like you’re too good to be true.”
What a joke, because he’s the one who should be worried here, Kurt’s the one who could disappear, Kurt’s the too good to be true.
He tightens his grip on Kurt’s hand, to let him know never again.
“I won’t disappear. I swear I won’t.” The sudden need to be close to Kurt pulls at him, claws at him, like it’s instinct or something else entirely deciding how he feels. “You believe me, right?”
Kurt’s smile forms so quick and easy it’s like Blaine’s never hurt him before. “Of course.”
“So - so can I kiss you still?”
Kurt lifts his chin up and says, “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
So Blaine kisses him, ignores the clock, ignores his own urges and tells himself he is just fine with waiting for as long as it takes, even if it’s forever, even if he dies, he loves Kurt before all of that.
If he can just kiss Kurt and always kiss Kurt, he’ll be fine, because it’s the small moments that matter, the silence and the touches and the fact that nobody else’s boyfriend is like Kurt. Kurt is all his.
He gives himself one more minute, one more minute and then he’ll pull away, one more minute and he’ll take Kurt home and -
The door to his bedroom swings open, and he jumps off and away from Kurt, ripped out of that last minute before the doorknob even smacks into the wall.
His mom stands in the doorway, not looking the slightest bit bothered.
“Mom!” he shouts, sits up and frantically runs a hand through his hair. “Knock first!”
“Sorry honey, your dad’s on the phone.”
He indicates towards Kurt, who sits there, eyes wide and heart visibly racing underneath his shirt, not moving any other muscle. “Now is not the time!”
“Cooper’s in town,” she says, ignoring him. “He’s at your dad’s, they want you to go over this weekend.”
He lets his breath out angrily, licks over his lips and thinks, thinks, blood still coursing heavy and hard and his mind still only focused on Kurt, who looks like he’s on the verge of a heart attack.
His mom holds the phone to her chest and hisses at him, “Do you want me to tell him to screw off?”
He almost says yes, shouts it at her, but rationality sets in just in time, and he shakes his head.
“No, no, whatever, I’ll go.”
His mom nods and pulls the phone back up. “Yeah, yeah, he’ll be there.” She leaves the door wide open as she walks away, voice trailing down the hall. “He’s with a boy right now, did you know about that?”
The silence that follows is of the uncomfortable variety, both of them sitting and breathing heavily and not looking at each other.
He eventually waves a hand at the door. “So, that’s my mom.”
Kurt swallows thickly, nods. “She seems nice.”
“I guess,” he says, shrugging. “And now I gotta go to my dad’s. Great.”
Kurt looks at him, head tilting to the side, red from his face disappearing. “Well, what if I went with you?”
It’s a good joke, so he laughs.
“You don’t want to do that.”
Kurt only looks more serious, turning to Blaine and folding his arms. “You’ve met my dad, isn’t it only fair that I meet yours?”
His dad is on one side of the spectrum, Kurt is on the other, on the brighter side, on the positive side. He never wants the two to come in contact, to even be close, because his dad is grayscale and Kurt is colour and he doesn’t want them mixing. Kurt won’t win.
“I wouldn’t subject you to that.”
Kurt says, hopefully, “He can’t be that bad."
Blaine looks at him hard, laughs again. “He’s bearable in small amounts of time. Like, five seconds and then I’m done for the year.”
“I don’t have to come if you don’t want me there,” Kurt says, moving closer, putting his hand above Blaine’s elbow. “I just want to make it easier for you, if I can.”
He considers it, weighs the pros and the cons, and having Kurt there, holding Kurt’s hand, wherever he is and whatever he’s doing, that makes it easier, so he nods.
“I want you there. Just - don’t hate me if he hates you.”
“I won’t.”
“Thanks,” he sighs, suddenly aware how relieved he is, and leans over and gives him another kiss. “Guess I should probably get you home now.”
“Probably a good idea.”
“This stupid curfew is getting on my last nerve, Kurt. Your dad might just be the first one on my hit list.”
Kurt laughs and kisses him again. “I’ll keep your secret.”