Title: Here I Am, Honey (9/12 + Epilogue)
Rating: I'm going to leave this as R for the duration, unless I need to uptick to NC-17
Pairings: Klaine, background Finchel (with very little focus)
Word Count: 5,497 this chapter / 46,376 overall (so far)
Spoilers: I'll be making nods to canon throughout, so I'll say "all aired" just to be safe, but this is very AU
Warnings: As with the movie, this story does include significant allusions to abortion. Also mild angst and slow burn/buildup.
Previous Chapters: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight
Summary: When Blaine Anderson visits Kellerman's Mountain Home with his family in the summer of 1963, he isn't expecting anything more than days in the sun and games of croquet, but when he and his cousin Rachel meet the staff dance instructors, his plans get thrown for a loop. Blaine's family vacation might just end up being the time of his life. A Klaine Dirty Dancing AU.
Author's Notes: Title from Solomon Burke's "Cry to Me." Many thanks to my wonderful beta shandyall! If you're so inclined, feel free to come say hi on Tumblr over here.Chapter Note:
- Once again, I have to include one of these at the top. This chapter features another song that you might want to listen to when it comes up. The song is "Love is Strange" by Mickey and Sylvia, which can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpEA5QGYJFQ. The relevant part of the song starts at about 1:50.
Blaine quickly learned that the talent show rehearsals weren’t the worst place to be.
On the surface, it would have been hard to tell why. Rachel pouted and scowled her way through the first few practices — much to her chagrin, she wasn’t permitted to sing any of the songs that she’d been preparing. Apparently, she’d groused to Blaine later, they didn’t fit in with Jacob’s vision, which turned out to be some sort of romantic farce involving pirates and hula dancing. Jacob had even written some truly atrocious dialogue to tie the various acts together, and in the end, Blaine was more than glad to not be performing in the production after all.
Blaine also found that he didn’t mind working on the props, even though most of his responsibilities so far had revolved around assembling palm trees out of cardboard and plywood. He was looking forward to painting them next, following the outlines that one of the other guests had drawn for him. Blaine couldn’t lay claim to much artistic talent beyond his ability to sing, but he was fairly confident that he’d be able to paint by numbers.
But that wasn’t what he enjoyed the most, not by a long shot. The best part was that Kurt was there. All the dance instructors were — even Quinn, who wasn’t quite well enough to jump in with her usual energy, but who had recovered sufficiently to help Kurt choreograph simple dance numbers for the guests who were brave enough to sign up and participate in them. Seeing her up and smiling did Blaine’s heart a world of good.
That happiness was only eclipsed by the thrill of spending two hours a day in the same place as Kurt. It wasn’t quite the same as spending time together, but they were able to exchange private smiles and glances, and Blaine almost bit holes in his cheeks to keep from laughing as he watched Kurt’s horrified reaction to the first read-through of a scripted scene. He got to watch Kurt demonstrate dance moves, his clothes twisting as his body shifted underneath them, until Blaine had to force himself to look away. Sometimes, they passed near enough that they could brush their arms against each other without it being suspicious. On the fourth day, Kurt approached Blaine, ostensibly to ask if a piece of scenery could be shifted aside so that no one would trip over it while they were dancing.
Then, he asked, quick and low, “Are you free tomorrow afternoon? Can you get away?”
Blaine nodded, keeping his face neutral. “Yes, I can do that.”
“Good. Meet me at my cabin, say, one-thirty?”
“Okay,” Blaine said, his spirits lifting like they were buoyed by a helium balloon.
“I’ll see you then,” Kurt whispered, giving him a meaningful look before returning to the dance group. Blaine sat down with a thunk, retrieving a paintbrush and fighting hard to keep from grinning.
- / / -
The next afternoon, Kurt greeted Blaine at the door to his cabin, hustled him quickly inside, and then shut it again. The cheap plastic shades had been pulled down over every window, most of which were shut, leaving the air inside the cabin thick and dim. Blaine looked around in confusion and asked, “Why are all the windows closed?”
“Hello to you too,” Kurt replied. “It’s all part of my brilliant plan, naturally. I told Finn that I was getting one of my headaches. He’ll tell everyone else, because no one wants to deal with me when I’m sick. Plus, that means that he has to cover all the lessons this afternoon, and he’s booked solid. He won’t be back for hours.” He looked at Blaine with an expectant smile.
“But… the windows?”
Kurt’s expression gave way to mild exasperation. “Well, the light bothers my eyes when I have a headache. And this way, we don’t have to worry about —”
“Getting carried away?” Blaine interjected. His breath hitched a little.
“Why, Blaine, I never suggested such a thing. Do you want to get carried away?” Kurt asked, cocking his head and smiling slyly. His eyes were mischievous and dark.
That look alone was all it took for Blaine to feel fluttery and like he was too hot inside the room, too hot inside his clothes, too hot inside his skin. He struggled for a nonchalant tone. “Oh, I don’t know. Only if we can’t think of any better way to pass the time.”
Bemused, Kurt started moving across the room in Blaine’s direction. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“Cribbage?” Blaine blurted out, trying to joke but just making himself cringe instead.
That gave Kurt a moment’s pause, but he sauntered the rest of the way over to Blaine all the same. “I don’t know how to play,” he said, tilting his head and shrugging.
“Oh,” Blaine said, caught up in watching Kurt’s mouth move at close range. “I’m all out of ideas, then.”
“Okay,” Kurt said. He snaked one arm into the space between Blaine’s arm and his side, flexing his fingers firmly into Blaine’s back and reeling him in a little closer. “I guess that’s that.”
Blaine hummed as Kurt’s mouth descended decisively onto his. Without hesitation, Blaine reached out to pull Kurt closer by his waist. As they came into closer contact, Kurt released his grip on Blaine’s waist to drape both arms around his shoulders. His skin was sticky and hot where it touched the back of Blaine’s neck.
As far as he was concerned, Blaine could have happily stayed there, kissing Kurt for as long as he was able, until his lips dried out or he started to starve. But then Kurt was walking backwards, tugging Blaine by his shirt, their lips colliding at odd angles as they tried to stay connected. It made Blaine chuckle, until Kurt backed into the bed, dropping onto it gracelessly and yanking Blaine along with him, the impact of it knocking the laughter clean out of him.
Kurt reached up and latched onto the back of Blaine’s head with one hand, crushing their mouths together while Blaine scrambled to toe his shoes off and get his knees onto the mattress. They were splayed on the bed at an awkward, diagonal angle, and Kurt began scooting himself back, almost knocking their foreheads together, pulling Blaine along by his neck and the back of his shirt. When they were settled, it was still rucked up in the back, and, whether by accident or design, Kurt’s free hand settled there and pressed in.
Blaine groaned in response, momentarily embarrassed at how loud the noise was echoing into the cavern of Kurt’s mouth. Kurt just angled his wrist to run his hand a little further up Blaine’s back, digging his fingers into Blaine’s skin where it was starting to slick with sweat. Blaine went along with the pressure willingly, allowing Kurt to bring their bodies together even more snugly. One of Kurt’s legs was cradled between his own, and the other was splayed out to the side, where Kurt’s knee was angled up just a little and pushing tight into the outside of his thigh. There was no denying either of their arousal.
Everything they did was new, but this, this was really new — Kurt underneath him, Kurt’s skin against his skin. Blaine felt his inexperience like a bind, locking his arms and legs in place, keeping him nervous and almost immobile. Kurt was still holding him close with a hand around the base of his skull, and Blaine kissed him over and over, until he gathered enough courage to stop teasing Kurt’s tongue and sweep his own more deeply into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt made a low noise in the back of his throat, pushing up against Blaine and his hand scrabbled at Blaine’s back.
Encouraged, Blaine rocked his hips down experimentally, pleased when Kurt tightened all around him and made another choked off sound. He jerked his hand out from under Blaine’s shirt and started shoving it haphazardly up his back, whining in frustration when the closeness of their bodies prevented him from moving it more than a couple of inches.
Blaine broke away from Kurt’s mouth with a shuddering gasp. “Kurt, are you —?”
“Is that okay?” Kurt actually had one hand curled into the fabric by then. He scooted it up a tiny bit more, his knuckles grazing Blaine’s spine.
Breathing heavily, Blaine froze. For a moment, he felt like he was actually vibrating in time with the flustered rhythm of his heart, and then he slowly eased himself up onto his elbows, giving Kurt better access. Kurt let out a harsh breath and drew the material up under Blaine’s arms. “You’re going to have to…”
“Uh huh,” Blaine breathed, and he pushed up into a low crouch. Kurt’s hands fell away, and Blaine tugged the shirt over his head himself. He tried to quickly lower his body back down, but Kurt stopped him, using his hands around the barrel of Blaine’s chest. When Blaine steadied, Kurt ran them down, the angle a little awkward, the dampness making their skin stick and pull. His thumbs bumped over Blaine’s ribs, down to where he skin softened on his stomach, and then he ran them back up again, where one flickered across a nipple. Blaine’s whole body jumped and he collapsed down onto Kurt, finding his mouth for a sloppy kiss.
Kurt allowed it, moving his hands around to sweep them across Blaine’s back unimpeded, but Blaine moved back after only a few seconds to mumble, “You too,” against Kurt’s lips, the words making him feel flushed. He tugged ineffectually at Kurt’s shirt.
“Up,” Kurt ordered, pushing Blaine back onto his knees again. His eyes were locked on Blaine’s chest, and it made Blaine feel like squirming out of his skin, but he understood a lot better when Kurt struggled out of his t-shirt a moment later and all Blaine could see was the way his pale skin wrapped up his muscles and bones. Blaine’s breathing was going funny, puffing out of him with odd fits and starts, and it almost stopped entirely when Kurt leaned forward and dipped in to place a warm, open-mouthed kiss on Blaine’s bare shoulder. He paused, then dragged his lips to the outermost edge of Blaine’s collarbone, kissing him there and letting his teeth scrape. “Kurt,” Blaine choked out. Kurt lifted his head and grinned for a moment before pulling Blaine back down.
It was like diving into fresh bathwater — so much of Kurt’s skin against his, warm and damp, heating him up everywhere. Blaine was dazed, reeling, pliant and back to following Kurt’s lead, unable to do anything except chase the feel of him. He chased it with his lips and his hands, following the way that Kurt was touching and grabbing and kissing as much of his skin as he could reach. Blaine didn’t know how much time passed before he started trying to roll their bodies together again, and he didn’t realize that he was doing it until Kurt forced his hips up with his hands, breaking away to breathe “Blaine…” against his lips.
“What?” Blaine gasped, pierced through with worry that he’d done something wrong.
“Can I… touch you?”
The words didn’t make sense, and Blaine wondered if it was because he mostly just felt dizzy. Kurt was already touching him everywhere. “What?” he repeated.
Kurt dropped his hands between them and toyed with the button on Blaine’s pants.
Oh. Not everywhere.
As the realization set in, Blaine felt like he was barely keeping himself from shaking apart. His mouth had gone bone dry even in the humid room.
Kurt eased the button open and the zipper down, and Blaine braced himself, propped up on his unsteady arms and legs. Kurt’s hands worked around him, not quite touching as he lowered Blaine’s pants and underwear as far down his thighs as he could. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, feeling so exposed that Kurt might as well have removed his skin along with his clothing. He thought Kurt’s breathing sounded funny too, and then — oh, then Kurt was touching him. Blaine let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan and lurched forward, barely keeping himself balanced on his elbows, and then Kurt’s hand was gone.
Blaine tore his eyes open just in time to see Kurt bring his hand to his mouth, his tongue coming out to moisten his palm. He watched Blaine the whole time, his eyes huge. “Oh, god,” he choked as Kurt reached for him again.
It was different, so different from what his own hand felt like — Blaine had never made a routine habit of touching himself, but he’d done enough to know that this wasn’t the same. It was more exciting somehow, more unpredictable, maybe because Kurt’s hand was a different size and shape and texture than his own, maybe just for the simple fact that it was someone else. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t spare a thought to figure it out as Kurt’s movements went from exploratory, to firm, to certain.
It was only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before Blaine was right on the edge, but he fought the sensation. He was still hovering above Kurt, his head bent down and his eyes screwed shut and his mouth gasping for breath, and if he stayed like this… He managed to grind out Kurt’s name, trying to shift away.
“Come on,” Kurt growled back, pulling at Blaine’s hip and redoubling his efforts.
Everything tightened — the flick of a wrist before the whip cracked in the air — and then Blaine was soaring, crashing faster and harder than he ever had in his life, using his last conscious thought to command the muscles in his arms to brace against the bed, keeping himself from falling down onto the mess he was making of Kurt’s chest. For a split second, he wanted to be mortified, but it was all he could do to gain some control back over his limbs, push himself weakly to the side, and flop down onto the bed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he panted out, his vantage point giving him a clear view of Kurt’s torso.
“It’s okay,” Kurt said vaguely. His face was as flushed as Blaine’s felt, and Blaine could tell that he was discreetly wiping his hand on something.
Blaine found his eyes drifting down until they were riveted to the front of Kurt’s jeans, where the evidence of his arousal was still clearly defined. “Can I?” he blurted, surprising even himself.
Kurt nodded and made quick work of unfastening his own pants, barely lifting his hips to push them down. Blaine gulped and stared — Kurt looked different than he did, which was a ridiculous thought, because Kurt was different from Blaine everywhere, from his face to his hands to his feet. Blaine’s hand reached out almost of its own accord.
He touched Kurt softly and lightly at first, just feeling his way along the skin that was softer than he expected, stretched tight and firm. Kurt breathed out a whine, shifting a little on the bed, and this is really happening, Blaine thought, awed. He wrapped his hand more fully around Kurt’s length and did his best to mirror what Kurt had done to him. Kurt had licked his hand, Blaine remembered. It wasn’t something he usually did for himself, but maybe he should for Kurt? Blaine began to draw his hand away, and he startled when Kurt’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed Blaine’s wrist. Kurt contemplated it for a moment, breathing harshly through his mouth, and then he pushed Blaine’s hand through the wetness still clinging to his skin and pooled in the dip of his sternum before moving it back to where it had been before.
Blaine groaned, fighting what felt like a sudden, shuddering aftershock that was too much, too much. Unthinkingly, he moved his hand over Kurt, reading Kurt’s reactions in the flutters of his eyelashes, the changes in his breathing, the tightening of his muscles. It didn’t take long at all before Kurt pitched his head back against the pillow, his mouth falling open to reveal the shining curve of his lower lip. He let loose a series of staccato breaths, then a guttural moan as his body jerked up. Blaine stared at him, wide-eyed, until Kurt batted his hand away, and then he looked dumbly at it instead. It was wet.
“Here,” Kurt said faintly, shoving his discarded t-shirt at Blaine.
“Kurt, no, you don’t have to ruin your clothes,” Blaine croaked back, even though it was obvious now what Kurt had wiped his hand on earlier.
Kurt’s breathing was slowly regulating, and he looked limp and loose-limbed on the bed. He nudged the shirt in Blaine’s direction again. “It’s just a t-shirt.”
With a sigh, Kurt flailed a hand out to take hold of Blaine’s wrist. He used the shirt to clean Blaine’s fingers gently, and then began wiping his own body. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as he worked, sounding a bit more like himself. “I don’t dress like this when I’m not here anyway.”
Blaine rolled away and shimmied his pants back up, Kurt’s ministrations making him suddenly and awkwardly aware of how exposed he was. “You don’t?” he asked.
“Nope.” Kurt tossed the shirt off the edge of the bed, refastened his jeans, and slumped back on the bed again.
“So… how do you usually dress?” Blaine felt himself flush and melt a little as Kurt scooted close enough to press against him. Blaine tipped his head over so that it was resting on Kurt’s shoulder, moving carefully, trying to make it seem like it could have been an accident.
“With a more style than just jeans and plain t-shirts,” Kurt said. He angled his neck so that his cheek was settled against Blaine’s forehead.
Blaine breathed very carefully, like anything more than the shallow in and out of air from his lungs would shatter the moment. “I think you look good in jeans and t-shirts,” he mumbled.
“Thank you,” Kurt said, and Blaine could hear the faint smile in his voice. “You should see me in my real clothes, though.”
It hit Blaine then, like an unexpected blast of cold air rushing in through a door. He wouldn’t see Kurt in anything other than whatever he chose to wear at Kellerman’s. The time they had here was all the time they had. A thin silence stretched out between them, and Blaine wondered if Kurt was thinking the same thing. “So,” he began, desperately trying to break it, “why do you dress differently here?”
Kurt shifted a little, bumping against Blaine’s body and unsettling them both. “Um, I guess I try not to draw any extra attention to myself while I’m here,” he finally said. “Max doesn’t like me as it is. He’d love a reason to get rid of me, so I do my best not to give him one.”
Blaine thought back to that first night, when he’d watched with wide eyes as Mr. Kellerman had snapped at Kurt about his wise ass attitude. “He doesn’t like you?” he asked, his voice small, sensing that he was walking into dangerous territory.
He heard Kurt take a deep, even breath before he spoke. “He thinks I’m too feminine. That women wouldn’t want to buy lessons if they’re with me.”
“You’re not feminine!” Blaine exclaimed, widening his eyes at the flat planes of Kurt’s chest, the muscles there and in his arms.
Kurt snorted. “You may have a slightly different perspective,” he said, before quickly sobering. “He doesn’t like my voice. Or what I was wearing when he met me. Or anything else about me, really. I make him uncomfortable.”
“But he hired you anyway?”
“I think that had more to do with Finn and Quinn than anything else. Max really wanted them — Quinn especially — and they told him they wouldn’t work here unless he hired me too.”
“Oh,” Blaine said. “But that’s… good, right?”
“It’s good to have a job,” Kurt said, sounding unconvinced.
The conversation lagged then. Blaine rubbed his cheek minutely against Kurt’s shoulder, wishing he had some sort of comfort to offer. Kurt turned into him slightly and reached out with his opposite hand to trace the edge of Blaine’s arm lightly with one fingertip, making gooseflesh break out across his skin. Blaine was sympathetic, but all at once, his mind was completely filled with one thought: I am lying on a bed, half undressed, with another man.
As what they had done caught up with him, Blaine felt himself slowly tensing. He still didn’t know what he was doing, and he kept leaping forward impulsively without much forethought. He wasn’t sure if his newfound desire — more than that, his willingness — to touch and be touched was indecent, or if it was just… part of growing up. It was all so confusing. He knew that it was immoral to be here with Kurt, but it didn’t feel that way to Blaine at all. Despite the heat and the urgency of it all, there were times when it felt almost sacred. Reverent. Special.
Even worse, he still wasn’t sure if it was the same for Kurt. It was more than obvious that the members of the Kellerman’s staff were far more used to dealing in the currency of physical intimacy than he was — look at the way they danced, how ready Noah was to give him the names of girls who would spend time with him. He knew it wouldn’t be so easy for Kurt, but there was no reason to believe that he hadn’t gotten close with other guests before. Maybe it happened with every new group that came through the doors.
The thought made Blaine feel cold and small inside. The only reason to believe that what they were doing might be special was how much Kurt had shared of his life, and how he’d made Blaine feel comfortable enough to open up and talk about his own. He wanted to believe that it was different, but maybe those conversations weren’t anything unusual for Kurt either.
“What’s wrong?” Kurt asked softly, and Blaine realized how stiff he’d grown, tightening his muscles like shields.
“I was just wondering…” Blaine began, his voice dwindling when he didn’t find the words to continue.
“What is it?” Kurt started to shift away, but Blaine reached out a hand to still him.
He started again. “I was just wondering… if you’ve — done this before? A lot?”
“Me? No,” Kurt answered, surprise evident in his voice. “Why…?”
Blaine felt his face heating up. “It just seems like you know what you’re doing.” He raised a hand to gesture vaguely, realizing too late that he was mainly motioning at Kurt’s chest.
“That?” Kurt asked. “Oh, no. That was, um… the inspiration of the moment.”
“It’s not just that,” Blaine said. “It’s… everything.”
Kurt was tense against him then, too. “No… I, um. Remember Brittany? The cheerleader I told you about?” Blaine nodded, his skin catching against Kurt’s. “She taught me a few things. And I read a lot. But never… with anyone else like you.”
Blaine tilted his head back against the pillow to see that Kurt’s face was aflame, his eyes averted. “What about you?” Kurt asked, and his voice sounded deliberately light.
“No,” Blaine said, and he wanted to laugh, because he was fairly sure that much was obvious. “I sort of necked with a girl. Once, after junior prom. That’s… pretty much it.” Blaine didn’t elaborate, but there wasn’t much more to say about it than that. At the time, he’d thought that it seemed like a wet and complicated exercise. He’d spent most of the time wondering if his date had expected him to move his hands. He hadn’t.
“Oh. That’s… fine,” Kurt said after a moment, and he angled back around toward Blaine again, their faces close together on the pillow.
“Yeah,” Blaine replied, although he barely knew what he was responding to.
“Yeah,” Kurt breathed back.
Blaine reached out, cradling the back of Kurt’s jaw in one hand as he leaned in to kiss him once, twice, lingering. Kurt sighed when Blaine released him, and they stayed close together under the sticky blanket of the warm afternoon until they had to go their separate ways.
- / / -
The following day, Blaine visited Kurt in the dance studio with a stack of new magazines. Kurt had over an hour between lessons, and he happily pulled himself up to sit on the table next to Blaine, their legs stuck out in front of them and their shoulders pressed together as they leafed through the pages. Kurt kept up a running commentary, pointing at pictures of celebrities and giving his very honest opinion of their clothing, leaving Blaine glowing with laughter.
When one record ended, Kurt crossed the room to change it while Blaine continued to flip through a magazine. Blaine recognized the opening guitar riff of “Love is Strange” by Sylvia and Mickey and hummed along through the first verse, turning the pages lazily. Kurt rifled through a few more records, assembling a small pile on the table.
The bridge of the song ended, and almost without realizing he was doing it, Blaine crooned, “Sylvia?” along with the record.
His eyes snapped up in surprise when Kurt answered back, “Yes, Mickey?” He’d turned around to face Blaine, leaning back against the little table beside the record player, a gleam in his eye and a wicked tilt to his lips.
Blaine grinned and came in a little late on his next line, “How do you call your lover boy?”
Kurt, however, didn’t miss a beat. “Come here, lover boy!” he growled, perfectly in time with Sylvia.
Even after everything, it made Blaine feel like he was blushing to the roots of his hair. “And if he doesn’t answer?”
“Oh, lover boy,” Kurt cooed, pushing away from the table and starting to stalk across the room toward Blaine.
Blaine tossed the magazine off his lap and moved to the edge of the table, letting his legs dangle. “And if he still doesn’t answer?”
“I simply say,” Kurt continued, drawing very close. He leaned into Blaine, forcing him to bend back and rest his weight on his hands. “Baby… oh, baby… my sweet baby, you’re the one,” Kurt finished, practically singing into Blaine’s mouth before he sealed their lips together. Blaine darted out one leg to hook his ankle around the back of Kurt’s thigh.
Only a few seconds had passed — just long enough for Blaine’s mind to begin to really fuzz around the edges — when they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
With a startled gasp, Kurt wrenched himself away from Blaine and all but threw himself to the other side of the room. Blaine shoved himself back on the table, grabbing for the magazine and using it to hastily cover his lap. He stared blankly at the pages, unseeing, as Jacob appeared at the head of the stairs, his ever present clipboard in hand. “Blaine!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Kurt pulled the needle off the record with a loud screech that made them all cringe.
“Hi, Jacob,” Blaine responded politely, hoping that his face wasn’t as hot as it felt. His heart was thudding so loudly that he was afraid it would muffle his words.
Jacob looked back and forth between Blaine and Kurt. “As a matter of fact, what are you doing here?”
“He’s here for a lesson with Quinn,” Kurt spoke up quickly, much to Blaine’s relief.
“I’m glad to hear that she finally decided to start working again,” Jacob sniffed. “Is she late?” He located the clock on the wall and frowned, looking at Blaine expectantly.
“No,” Blaine said. “I had the time wrong. I’m early.” Kurt flashed him a grateful look over Jacob’s shoulder.
“Well, when she gets here, just make sure you get your full half-hour’s worth,” Jacob instructed him sternly.
Blaine smiled tightly. “Of course.”
Jacob gave him a satisfied nod and turned back to Kurt. “Now, Kurt, I wanted to talk to you about the last dance at the show next week. As you know, I’m in charge of things this year, and I was thinking that maybe it’s time to — shake things up. Move with the times.”
Kurt’s face clearly registered his disbelief, but there was a spark of life there too. “Really?” Jacob nodded, and Kurt started to babble. “Oh, I have so many ideas! I’ve been thinking it would be fun to try something new — maybe I could teach it to some of the staff kids, kind of a cross between a Cuban rhythm and —”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jacob cut him off. “You’re in way over your head!” Kurt deflated visibly, rocking back on his heels and arching an eyebrow. “You always have Finn and Quinn do the mambo for their last dance. I was thinking maybe they could do…” He shot an excited look at Blaine. “…the pachenga!”
“Oh, right,” Kurt said flatly.
“Well,” Jacob said, his voice wheedling, “you could always do the same tired number again, if you want, but maybe we’ll find different dance instructors next year… I’m sure we can find someone who’d be only too happy to —”
“Sure, Jacob,” Kurt interrupted him. “We’ll end the show with the pachenga.”
“Good.” Without another word, Jacob turned to start descending the stairs. Just before he was out of sight, he looked over at Blaine again. “I’ll see you later, Blaine. Tell Rachel I said hello.”
“Sure,” Blaine said. “Bye, Jacob.”
They both waited, frozen, until the sound of his footsteps had faded and the door shut behind him.
As soon as Blaine was sure they were alone again, he tossed aside the magazine and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He took gasping breaths, and before long he was shaking all over, his muscles unable to hold the tension anymore. That had been too close.
If Jacob had caught them, Blaine knew better than to think he would have afforded them any discretion, and what then? Blaine always assumed that if his secret was discovered, he would at least have Hiram’s support, however quiet it had to be. But what would Rachel think? And Shelby? If it came out here, would he have to walk around while everyone whispered about him? He would hide in his room for the rest of the vacation if it was necessary. No, Blaine thought, they would probably leave instead, and Kurt would have to leave too, especially if Mr. Kellerman found out.
Blaine wiped his hands down over his face. He had never considered how dangerous this was for Kurt. In fact, he wouldn’t blame Kurt at all if he decided to just cut the whole thing off now, before it was too late —
Kurt’s voice gently invaded his racing thoughts. “Blaine?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, looking up earnestly at Kurt. “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Kurt said, concern written all over his features — concern for Blaine, when he’d almost cost Kurt his job. He’d moved back across the room and was standing in front of Blaine now, just far away enough to be out of reach. “We just have to be more careful.”
“You mean you don’t want to —” Blaine almost didn’t want to give voice to the word “— stop?”
“No, I don’t want to stop,” Kurt replied immediately. He swooped in and tugged Blaine forward to the edge of the table to wrap his arms around Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine sighed and burrowed his forehead into Kurt’s chest. “We’ll just have to — be more careful,” Kurt repeated, rubbing small circles into Blaine’s back.
“I’m sorry,” Blaine whispered again.
“Don’t apologize!” Kurt ordered him. “It’s my fault too, probably more than yours. I just… I really like spending time with you, and I — forget.”
“I like spending time with you too,” Blaine mumbled into his shirt. Kurt’s arms tightened, and Blaine brought his hands up to latch onto Kurt’s sides. “We’re not being very careful now,” he pointed out, even though he was loathe to do so.
Kurt sighed. “I know. So, we’ll be very careful, starting…” He pushed Blaine back a little, tilting his face up to press a single kiss to his upturned lips. “Now.”
He released Blaine then, stepping away slowly as Blaine returned his unwilling hands to his knees. The space between his dangling feet and Kurt’s stiff frame suddenly felt like another presence in the room with them, bulky and unwanted. “Okay,” Blaine said, forcing a smile onto his face.
They would be careful, because no one else could know.
There wasn’t any other choice.