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"You have got to be joking," Kurt says in a monotone, standing outside of the empty classroom with a simultaneously bored and exasperated expression. "Vampire Hunting Club is so last year. It's just a bunch of Twilight nerds and a few jocks trying to look all hyper-masculine by making up stories about 'taking out the undead'..."
"It's the only club that we haven't joined," Rachel says, "and we need every possible extracurricular that we can fit in if we're going to get into NYADA, Kurt." She bounces. "Besides, our friends are already members, and I hear that they have a bead on the most current trends in hunting apparel, which I know you—"
He raises a hand, cutting her off. "We do not speak of this in public. You know that."
"They only meet twice a month," she wheedles, tugging at his sleeve. "And there are cookies."
His eyes narrow. "If anyone asks, I'm only doing this because you made me."
She squeals. "Yay!"
*
Vampire Hunting Club turns out to be about as pointless as Kurt had expected it to be.
It's a weird melting pot of McKinley's social strata—goths, jocks, nerds, geeks, and popular kids who all want a piece of the action for completely different reasons. Kurt is just glad that they only "patrol" ("Do they think we're actually living 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'?" he'd hissed at Rachel) once a month. There's only so much skulking around Lima, Ohio that one can do in form-fitting black before one's neighbors begin to stare at one judgmentally over the bushes every morning.
It's so stupid. Everyone knows that the chances of running into a vampire that easily are slim to none—ever since the government figured out how to kill them (apparently it's not that hard to do), they've all but disappeared from public life. The couple dozen that had been McKinley students had either been taken care of or driven away during Kurt's freshman year.
"You know," he says, one night when he's developed a blister because his black hunting boots—darling though they are—aren't fully broken in yet, "they are able to walk around in daylight. We could do this when I'm awake. We could do this at the mall. Vampires shop, don't they?"
Rachel's eyes flicker with interest.
Their leader—a hardcore fantasy geek named Leo who looks as much like a vampire groupie as a vampire hunter tells him not to break formation and keep his head on the swivel.
He glares.
He is ignored after that and doesn't bother to protest the silence, not even when Leo executes a series of military hand gestures that Kurt isn't sure mean "follow me", "turn left", or "screw you" in some other country. He supposes that there isn't much point to caring. Participating in this club's activities is just one more line on his already impressive transcript.
Pretty soon, he and Rachel will be out of this cow town.
*
Which is exactly when, of course, the club gives him a reason to be interested.
This reason comes in the form of a boy who looks and acts as if he's stepped directly out of the 1950s, wearing pink chinos, a navy blue polo shirt speckled with stars, and a pair of boat shoes that Kurt is pretty sure are vintage. His hair is slicked down into a neat dome, his hazel eyes are framed by the lushest lashes that Kurt has ever seen on a boy, and his smile alone makes half of the Vampire Hunting Club blush on sight.
Kurt stops staring at this newcomer long enough to notice Rachel leap out of her chair to greet him at the door of the classroom.
"Everyone," she says, after exchanging a few words with him, "this is Blaine Anderson. He wants to join!"
She drags Blaine over to sit in between herself and Kurt at the u-bend of desks, and Kurt musters up his best pleased-to-meet-you smile.
"Hi," he says, dropping his voice to a throaty rasp. "I'm Kurt Hummel. Rachel's friend."
"Hello, Kurt," Blaine says, shaking his hand. "It's so nice to meet you!"
"I was just telling Blaine that he should come with us to the mall after school today," Rachel says.
Blaine beams, and Kurt can't stop smiling. He hasn't met a boy this dreamy in his life and, judging by his style, it's likely that Blaine plays for the same team that Kurt does.
Maybe senior year isn't going to be such a drag after all.
*
Still, a few weeks after meeting Blaine, Kurt is unsure.
So many things have come his way and then passed him by—performance opportunities, friends, potential boyfriends—and he worries that Blaine is going to be just another addition to that list.
Blaine has no trouble making friends, no trouble entertaining groups of people, no trouble appearing flawless and happy even when Kurt knows that he's had a bad day. Blaine could get close to anyone who he chose to, and though Kurt is fabulous and knows it, this doesn't always lead him to the outcomes that he desires. What if Blaine remains that nice new friend who simply never notices that Kurt has the biggest crush on him?
Kurt has been gone for Blaine since he'd joined Glee. Seeing Blaine sing and dance and glow had been an unparalleled experience. Kurt had watched him move and project and thought, I've been waiting for a boy like you my whole life.
Sure, Blaine is a little Top 40, and some of his outfits are just plain silly but, on him, it works. He's a smartly tuned construction of over the top traits, and Kurt likes and wants all of him.
When Rachel makes a passing comment about Blaine's attractiveness, Kurt's hackles rise, but she only smiles and nudges their shoulders together and says, "I do have two gay dads, you know." She seems to use this fact to explain a variety of things, so when he just raises an eyebrow at her in response she adds, "He's a total gay dreamboat. I think you should go for it."
"Am I that obvious?"
"To me," she says, with a little smile.
*
The next time that they're on patrol, Kurt manages it so that he and Blaine are alone at the rear of the group. He's been complimenting Blaine's outfit for the last few blocks in an effort to keep his attention and the blush on his cheeks.
"I figured it couldn't hurt if the bow tie was black, too," Blaine says, adjusting it with a smile.
"It's adorable," Kurt says, glowing.
You're adorable.
"Have you been into this vampire hunting stuff for a long time?"
"Um," Kurt says, laughing nervously, "to be honest, I'm not even into now, really. Rachel has this thing with clubs. She's dragged me into joining almost all of them this year. Beefing up our college transcripts."
"Oh," Blaine breathes, his eyelashes fluttering. "Oh, that's—that makes sense."
"I mean, it's not like I'm a fan of—of the bitey, hurty—the vampire stuff. 'Hunting' vampires seems equally barbaric, though. I just tag along. The patrols are good exercise and black is slimming."
Blaine laughs. His eyes glide politely but appreciatively over Kurt's body. "That's true."
The back of Kurt's neck goes hot. Is Blaine flirting? Have they finally reached the flirting?
They talk about fashion for the rest of the patrol, and then in the parking lot where they had all left their cars at the start of the night, Blaine lingers beside Kurt's, out of sight of the rest of the group.
He gently tugs Kurt's sleeve, looking bashful and flustered when he says, "Hey, I was thinking. We could continue this conversation later?" Kurt's heart skips a beat. "Over coffee? On Friday, after school?"
Oh.
"Yes," Kurt blurts, and then laughs and adds, "um, yeah, that's—I'd like that. I'll drive?"
"Great," Blaine replies, breathless and fast. "Awesome, that's awesome. I'll meet you at your locker."
Kurt leans against the driver's side door of his car, laughing silently and grinning so hard that it makes his cheeks hurt, for a long while after Blaine says goodnight.
*
Kurt is nervous from the moment they get in his car until the moment that they sit down with their coffees. Well—coffee. Blaine says that he's trying to kick caffeine and whips out a juice box instead, sipping at it demurely as if this is something completely normal and cool to do.
Kurt melts, just a little.
"I commend you, sir," he says, fussing with his drink stirrer. "I'm sure I managed perfectly well before I started drinking coffee, but that memory is hazy at best."
Blaine laughs. "I did ask you out for coffee. I'm not really in a position to be offended."
"'Coffee' can be shorthand for other things, I guess," Kurt says. And then realizes what he's implying and rushes to add, "Er, you know. Like a date."
"Like a date," Blaine parrots, smiling.
*
Or dates. Many of them.
Kurt's insecurity evaporates with each one, as he and Blaine get to know each other and realize that they have quite a lot in common. More than even that, though, they are just comfortable with each other. Kurt feels as if he's found someone who he can relate to as well as flirt with and be wooed by—Blaine meets his standards. Who is he kidding? Blaine exceeds them by quite a bit.
On their fourth date, Blaine walks him to his door. It's nothing new—not the porch light or the chill air or Blaine's beaming face and wide, adoring eyes, but something new has been brewing between them all night.
When Blaine leans in, he realizes that he's leaning, too. Excitement bubbles up in his chest. He thinks, this is it this is it this is it just before Blaine's lips touch his.
It's like electric snapping along his lips and cheeks and jaw. He makes a soft noise, winds his fingers around Blaine's hips, and deepens the kiss, his mind whirling. When they pull apart they both laugh nervously, looking down and away and then back at each other.
His heart racing, Kurt drops his hands to Blaine's wrists. "I had a really great time tonight."
"I want to kiss you again," Blaine replies.
"Oh," Kurt says, but the noise is cut off by Blaine's mouth against his.
*
It seems almost too good to be true, at first. His dad likes Blaine. Blaine's parents like him. Kurt's friends, of course, have been on board since day one. Suddenly, he gets to do all of the things that he'd fantasized about—hold hands in the hallway, sneak cheek kisses and pecks at the corner of their mouths, sit thigh to thigh at lunch, and when they're alone—
Well. They're taking that slowly but sweetly, and Kurt is comfortable with exchanging kisses while they lie sprawled across either of their beds. More than comfortable, really; he anticipates these intimate hours whenever he has the time to let his mind wander.
He'd worried that being in an open relationship would cause problems at school and in town but, strangely enough, even though they get odd looks, and even though there have been times when they've been threateningly approached by jocks or nasty looking teenagers in the mall or on the street or in restaurants, nothing has ever actually happened.
It's almost as if people get one steady glance from Blaine and—well, they just go away. Kurt tries to see what could possibly be threatening about Blaine, or he and Blaine together, and he can't see it. They could take care of themselves, he's sure, but they're certainly not visibly intimidating.
He chalks it up to good karma in exchange for enduring years of mistreatment, loneliness, and bullying. Why not? Stranger things have happened.
*
The first and only time that the Vampire Hunting Club catches a vampire, Kurt and Blaine aren't there for it. They don't catch up with the rest of the group until it's almost over.
Kurt can't believe that they've actually managed to do something. And without him, no less!
When they arrive on the scene, they're just in time to watch the police hustle the bound creature—a kid who can't be a day over fifteen—into a reinforced capture vehicle.
"Damn," Kurt huffs, trying to catch his breath. "What happened?"
Rachel, in her very glittery but otherwise fetching hunting outfit, is squeaking and spinning in circles. "Did you see that? Did you see that? It was all me! We keep records of this kind of thing, right? I can totally use this." She frowns. "That 'slayer' title isn't copyrighted, is it?"
Kurt smiles, despite himself. As if to make both light and fun of the whole thing, he rolls his eyes at Blaine, but Blaine looks—frozen. He watches the police vehicle take off, his eyes on it until it's completely out of sight.
"Are you okay?" Kurt asks.
Blaine shakes himself out of it. "Uh, yeah, sorry. I'm fine." He wets his lips. "Where—where do they take them in Lima? Same lock-down as Westerville's?"
"I think," Kurt answers, frowning. "Why?"
"Just curious."
The group is excited about their success, with Rachel leading the charge, so they end up spending the night at her house, having pizza to celebrate.
"Not hungry?" Kurt asks, lacing their hands together. Blaine hasn't seemed to notice the pizza or the open soda bottles or the bowls of chips that have been available to them all night.
"Um, no, not—no," Blaine says, stepping into the circle of Kurt's arms. "Dance with me, okay?"
*
The thing is—Kurt worries.
One day after school, Blaine is called away from their make-out session by his mom, who needs him to help her find something in the basement. Kurt has never been alone in Blaine's room before, not for any significant amount of time, and though he knows he shouldn't snoop around he sort of loops the room, scanning shelves and smiling at framed photos and knick-knacks.
A portion of a large set of drawers near Blaine's closet looks horribly out of place. It's covered in a curtain, and when Kurt twitches the fabric an inch aside he sees something that doesn't resemble a drawer and pulls the curtain all the way back.
At first, it's so out of place that Kurt doesn't recognize it. And then he realizes that he's staring at a mini-fridge. A mini-fridge with a padlock on it.
He rearranges the curtain with a worried frown and sits back down on the bed.
It's just—now that he thinks about it, he has never actually seen Blaine eat or drink anything but those unlabeled juice boxes and sometimes these homemade-looking cherry ice pops. He never orders when they go out to eat, either alone or with friends. He never eats at the table when his dad and mom eat. He always seems to have a perfectly reasonable excuse not to, and every time Kurt that thinks too hard or manages to ask about it, he sort of—forgets to follow through after the initial deflection on Blaine's part.
Does Blaine have an eating disorder? Is he allergic or on a super crazy fad diet? The refrigerator is locked—are his parents forcing him to do this?
Kurt feels as if he should know these things, as Blaine's boyfriend. At least he thinks that they're boyfriends. Have they been dating long enough to call each other that?
The strangest thing is that by the time Blaine comes back upstairs, he can't recall what he'd been worried about. He tugs Blaine back on top of him and ceases to worry about what he'd found.
*
Kurt isn't quite sure how or when his vest's buttons had come undone.
They'd started out as they usually do, side by side on Blaine's bed, kissing without too much tangling of their bodies. Kurt is wearing a silk vest over a long-sleeved shirt with buttons down its front and ties to cinch it correctly at the back. Blaine has been kissing him and stroking his chest and, at some point, he supposes, Blaine's fingers had popped the buttons. The ties at the back pull as he moves, trying to get closer to Blaine.
"Here, wait," he says, a little high-pitched and out of breath because Blaine is an amazing kisser, and reaches back to untie the laces. "It's tugging. Don't want to hurt the fabric."
"Okay," Blaine says, watching him.
Once the vest is comfortably loose, he lies back down and presses the back of Blaine's head to bring Blaine's lips against his again. Blaine wide hand slides under the flaps of the vest, find his warm, heaving chest and belly and begins to rub again, only this time—it's so much closer, so much hotter, and his nipples are hard and Blaine is touching them through his shirt and, oh, yes.
"Is this okay?" Blaine asks, right against his lips.
"Y-yeah," he answers, sliding down so that Blaine has to lean over him to continue kissing him.
The shirt that he's wearing under the vest has a scoop neck (the scarf that covered it had been discarded as soon as he'd arrived at Blaine's house), and he knows that Blaine has wanted to kiss him there for a while now. So much of this is still questionable, so very new, that every time they give in to the progression as slowly as the time before, just to feel comfortable.
But this time, when Blaine kisses from the corner of his mouth, over the turn of his jaw, and down the soft expanse of his throat, he lets out the little moan that rises in his throat. Blaine's answering, breathy whine lashes heat down his body, and as that plump mouth trails down his neck to the sensitive spot beneath his ear—
"Oh, god," Kurt groans, digging his elbows into the mattress.
He can feel Blaine's smile. "Mm." Blaine's mouth grazes his ear. "Does that feel good?"
"'Good' would be an understatement. You can—keep doing that, if you want."
"You have the most beautiful skin," Blaine whispers, trailing kisses all the way down to where his neck and shoulder meet. "The most beautiful neck. And the way you smell..."
Kurt whimpers.
He shifts his left leg so that Blaine's right leg falls in between his own, turns onto his side and hauls Blaine closer. He wants more. Blaine is always so careful with him, and for once he just wants Blaine to relax, to act on instinct rather than what he thinks they are or aren't ready for.
They move together, tentatively at first and then with more open desperation, Blaine's thigh trapped between Kurt's legs, right where he needs it the most. Kurt grinds against the rock-hard plane of Blaine's thigh and hip as Blaine sucks and kisses and nibbles at his throat and collarbone. It's wet and undignified and absolutely everything that Kurt wants in that moment.
He can feel his body melting lava-hot into the bed, can feel his cock fill the front of his already snug pants, can feel every nerve ending in his body fizzle. His mind floats, too hazy and too slow, when Blaine's lips close around a patch of skin beside his Adam's apple and pull, hard.
"Blaine," he moans. It hurts. He can feel the hickey form. His cock pulses against Blaine's leg.
And that's when Blaine stiffens. At first, Kurt just thinks that it's because he'd felt how into it Kurt had been getting, and it had freaked him out.
"S-sorry," Kurt says, shifting his hips. "We can stop."
"It's not you," Blaine says. "It's me. I need a second." Before Kurt can ask what exactly had gone wrong, Blaine has disappeared into the hallway, presumably bathroom-bound.
He sits there frowning, fingering the spit-sticky bruise on his throat. It feels weird—half tingly-numb, half painful. Are hickeys supposed to feel like this?
When Blaine returns he's down a layer of clothing—sweater gone—and looks calmer, and the speech that Kurt had worked up goes right out of his head.
"We can just watch a movie," he offers, feeling lame.
"If that's okay?" Blaine asks.
He wants it to be okay.
*
It's sort of not okay.
Kurt tries to get to the heart of the matter in a lot of sneaky ways, because he seems unable to broach the topic with Blaine, even when they're alone. He asks Blaine's mom and dad and receives vague responses about Blaine being very fussy about his diet and oh, would Kurt like another muffin? Baked fresh this morning!
Blaine has a brother who lives in California. Kurt finds him online, but asking a question out of the blue of someone who he's never been introduced to who is family to Blaine feels wrong. He doesn't know anyone from Blaine's old school, and Blaine won't talk about why he'd transferred to give him hints.
He cooks one or two fancy meals for Blaine on their dates, but each time Blaine politely refuses, and with only the most sensible and varied of excuses (at least, after the fact, that's how Kurt recalls them). He sits at Kurt's kitchen table with a napkin tucked into his shirt and sips his juice boxes as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. One time, Kurt actually gets up the courage to ask Blaine if he could taste one, just to see what the fuss is all about, but again with the reasonable excuses, and the conversational thread goes fuzzy in Kurt's head.
And then there's giggly talk of duets and school dances and their dream home and careers and Blaine dancing him around the kitchen to the music playing on Kurt's iPod and sharing a slice of cake and kissing frosting off of each other's noses and fingers and lips.
Kurt is so happy that he could burst.
There's no denying that something is up, though, and it feels vitally important that he figure it out.
He isn't sure how, but it has something to do with intimacy, too, because every time that they reach that panting-grinding-overheated stage of making out, Blaine stops them cold and disappears for short stretches of time. At first, Kurt had just figured—well, he tries not to, because it seems invasive and creepy, but he had just figured that Blaine had been using the bathroom time to get rid of the problem. Kurt hasn't precisely confessed his desire for going farther in the bedroom, and Blaine hasn't fished for the information, so if Blaine thought it polite to stop before they got ahead of themselves...well, that's just Blaine, isn't it?
Kurt sighs. But it matters, because it's bothering him, and because he wants to go farther.
Sometimes, it's almost impossible to stop. Not in the "wanting to do more than I'm ready for" way. In the actual, physical, if we don't stop moving against each other right now this is going to end messily and suddenly and in that unappealing "I have no self-control or stamina" way.
It's just—they've become remarkably good at making out. Kissing. Tangling their legs and pressing their bodies together in ways that are somehow both safe and compelling. But it's not enough. Or rather, it's becoming not enough. In the beginning, stopping at that point had been a mixture of relief and disappointment. Kurt hadn't been sure about—a lot of things, both in regards to sex and his own body. But now, it's almost entirely a disappointment.
He doesn't want to stop and cool off anymore. So what's holding them back?
*
Kurt isn't sure why he'd thought that this crap was over.
He finds himself pinned against the tile in the boy's locker room, just next to the showers. Some meathead who'd actually thought that he'd walked this way just to sneak a peak, and there go the slurs and the raised fists and why had he decided to put on silk today?
He really, really hates this town.
He's just about to shove the football player off of him—they talk big, but he isn't as tiny or as easily intimidated as he once was, and typically all it takes is a shove or getting in their personal space to get them to back off—when something dark and blurred and smaller than either of them comes rushing into locker room.
The football player falls in its wake and slides across the wet tile all the way to the back of a shower stall, and Kurt is left staring down at his hands and wondering if those superpowers that he'd always fantasized about have finally surfaced.
But of course not. Because that's Blaine standing over the jock, fierce and shaking, his pupils blown wide and his hands curled into fists as the running shower head douses the clothed jock, soaking him. The sight of Blaine in his yellow polo and pink bow tie cornering someone twice his size should be as funny as it is worrisome, but instead it's just plain scary. He looks feral.
"...if you ever come near him again, you hear me?"
He blinks.
When the boy tries to stand, Blaine sort of snarls and bends over him. "You want to leave this room, you can do it on your knees."
He doesn't quite believe his eyes when the boy actually crawls out of the locker room as fast as his hands and knees can carry him. Blaine steps out of the stall, a little wet himself from the activity, and puts one hand on Kurt's cheek.
"Are you okay?"
"What the hell?"
"Kurt, are you okay?"
"How did you—were you just passing by?"
"You were afraid." Blaine's eyes are frightening looking—red-flecked black to the rims of his pupils—and he's trembling in a way that doesn't match the rest of his demeanor.
Kurt's eyes narrow. "What kind of answer is that?"
"I got here as fast as I could," Blaine says.
Kurt deflates. This makes no sense, but he just wants to leave the room. He walks and Blaine follows. "I was okay. I mean...you didn't have to do that."
"I'm sorry," Blaine says. "It scared me, seeing you threatened like that. I didn't think."
With every step away from the scene, Kurt feels less agitated about it. It's nice to have someone in his corner, and nice to know that Blaine is paying attention to the way that he feels. His suffering had been invisible for so long, and even though the Glee and Vampire Hunting kids have been supportive this year, they're not always there—but Blaine is. Blaine is always there for him.
He smiles, and slides his hand into Blaine's. "It's okay." And then, after a pause, "Thanks."
*
He isn't sure whether it's the home team advantage or that he's just getting smarter about it, but the next time that they're making out on his bed, Kurt is ready for it. He can sense when Blaine starts to tense up, and knows when the cooling off becomes imminent.
It's even more dramatic of a stop now, because they've graduated to full-on grinding, chest to chest and hard-on to hard-on, Kurt's feet hooked behind Blaine's calves and their tongues in each other's mouths. His shirt is rucked up around his ribs, his pants are tangled and tight, he's so hot that he feels as if he might light the sheets on fire, and Blaine's fingers have sort of twined around his wrists and pressed them down and—
There isn't an inch of skin on his neck, throat, and collarbone that hasn't been kissed, licked, sucked, or nibbled in the last half hour. He's drowning, and he knows that all it's going to take is a more forceful rhythm from Blaine's hips for a minute or two to drive him right over the edge. He'll take silence and sticky underwear at this point if it means finishing—if he suggests that they take off their pants or undo their flies, Blaine might take the opportunity to bolt.
All at once, there's that tension across Blaine's shoulders. Before the first ripple peters out, Kurt turns his hands and grips Blaine's fingers.
"Don't," he says, into the hot, humid quiet.
"W-what?"
"Don't go."
"I—"
"Please don't go."
Blaine's face is tucked into the curve of his throat, and when he replies Kurt can feel the frantic rush of his breathing. "I have to."
Kurt's eyes slide shut. He goes limp, swallows heavily, and asks, "Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?" His eyes burn. "Why do you never want to go farther with me?" He can't stop the few tears that manage to spill down his cheeks.
Blaine shifts back, puts his weight on his elbows, and lets go of Kurt's wrists. He looks agitated and sad, and Kurt feels awful—what if there really is just something missing between them? Is Blaine trying to let him down easily?
Blaine sees the tears on his face, and deflates, looking resigned.
"You asked me how I knew that that football player was messing with you," he says. "And you—you've asked me why I won't eat with you. Why people never mess with us when we're together. And you must wonder why you never ask me the same question twice. Why you don't feel the urge to keep on asking until I answer you."
"You're scaring me," Kurt whispers.
Blaine shudders, and puts a hand on Kurt's jaw. "That's exactly why I have to—control this. Or I'll just keep on scaring you. Worse than I already have."
"I'm not sure you realize how badly that plan is failing right now."
"I've never felt this way about someone before. When we got together, I had no idea how hard it would be to—to control myself."
Kurt frowns. "How so? You're not worried about hurting me, are you? Everything we're doing is—is what I want, too. You know that, right?"
"You don't get it," Blaine whispers, stroking his mouth. "When you were in the locker room that day, I could smell you from halfway across campus. I could smell your fear. Feel your heart racing. I always can. You're never far, Kurt, you're always—just there, under my skin. And when I'm close to you, it's all I can do to stay—stay normal, to be close to you, to kiss you and touch you like a regular guy. I want that. But it's not all of me. And it's torture to indulge one side of myself while the other screams inside of my head, wanting you just as badly. Putting distance between us is the only way I know how to calm that side down."
Kurt's pulse races, slamming against his throat.
The pieces are slowly fitting together inside of his mind. The strange bubble that seems to surround them. Blaine never eating in front of him. The bursts of physical strength. The way that something has always been missing from this picture, something just out of reach, something so serious that dapper, respectful, wide-eyed, sweet Blaine would have to lie about it...
He reaches up to touch Blaine's mouth with trembling fingers.
"Don't do that," Blaine hisses, flinching.
Kurt stares into his eyes. "You're a vampire." Blaine nods. "Show me." Blaine shakes his head. "Show me. You've been lying to me for months. You owe me that, at least."
"You need to know before we go any farther that I would never, ever hurt you," Blaine says, licking his lips. "I know how to control myself, even when I'm h-hungry. It's just—hiding it completely is a challenge, when we're—like this."
Kurt takes Blaine's face between his hands. "Show me."
It's the most subtle transformation that Kurt could imagine. Blaine's eyes go black, all the way to their edges, and a double pair of elongated canines—one about an inch and a half long, the other perhaps half that size—drop from his gum line to fall over his normal teeth. They look like surgical tools: neat, gleaming, and wickedly sharp.
"Oh my god," Kurt says, dropping his hands. "You're—you're a vampire."
"It's not what you think."
"Of course it's not. I mean—do you think that I actually listen to what those idiots at school say? I know inflammatory conservative media bullcrap when I hear it."
"I didn't want to scare you." Blaine frowns. "I didn't want you to hate me."
"I am freaked out, I'm not gonna lie, but I don't hate you." Shaking with nerves, Kurt wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. "Why in the world did you join that stupid club?"
"I had to leave Dalton because someone caught me in the bathroom looking like this. My parents were able to bribe the student to not report me, but I couldn't risk staying after that. I figured if I joined that club at McKinley, no one would ever have cause to suspect me. I thought I'd try and play the reverse psychology angle. Be stealthy. Subtle."
Kurt smiles. "You're—you're kind of awful at that."
Blaine laughs. "Uh, yeah. I guess I have stronger talents."
"So you're not a soulless people-eating demon bent on corrupting the youth of America?"
Blaine's mouth twitches. "I'd like to think I've corrupted you a little."
"And you aren't just dating me because you're determined to drain my blood?"
"Not the last time I checked. There are the cookies, too."
"And you have no intention of turning me into a child of the night?"
"You're such a morning person. That would be a lot of work."
"Please tell me that you don't expect me to wear crushed velvet or Versailles lace or gaudy rings on all of my fingers."
Blaine giggles. "Now you're way off course. Are you going to ask me if I sparkle in the sunlight?"
"Alright, I see your point. Although, I will say, frock coats do flatter my body type. I could totally be down with frock coats."
Blaine kisses the corner of his mouth, fangs and all. "It worked. I'm smiling. You win."
"I always win."
In truth, he's still sort of freaking out—but this is easier. He sits back to look at Blaine, really look at him, taking in the rearranged shape of his mouth and the way that his thick eyelashes rise and fall over these new, dark eyes. Otherwise, he's the same.
"You were putting the whammy on me this whole time?" he asks. That bothers him.
"Not on purpose," Blaine says. "It's a survival thing—keeping people from noticing me that way, from asking questions. When I'm in danger of being exposed it gets stronger. I'm sorry, I can't really control it. It only happened when you got close to discovering my true nature."
"Your parents aren't vampires, are they?"
"No. My grandmother was. It skips a generation sometimes."
"And—and you—drink human blood?"
Blaine's mouth softens. "I used to. My older brother was my donor, but then he moved to Los Angeles. I learned how to feed on humans with him. My parents tried to fill in after he left, but as they got older it became too taxing for them. Now it's just—animal blood, from the butcher."
Kurt's eyes widen. "What does it taste like?"
Blaine laughs. "Uh, good. To me. I mean, animal's blood compared to human's blood—well, it's like when you're craving a cheeseburger, but instead of eating one of those big juicy ones that come with really delicious, fresh toppings you have to go to a crappy drive-through instead. Same food item, entirely different product."
Tilting his head, Kurt smiles. "This explains the neck fixation."
Blaine's cheeks darken. "To be honest, even if I wasn't a vampire, your neck would still drive me nuts. You have no idea how much I adore every inch of you."
"I'm beginning to," Kurt says, walking two fingertips up Blaine's thigh. "And if you're up for it, I'm really eager to continue that education."
*
Of course, it's not that simple.
Kurt does continue to worry. He asks Blaine dozens of questions before he's even remotely okay with settling back into their routine. But Blaine's answers satisfy him, and he has always been kind of suspicious of the "vampires are one hundred percent grade A evil" thing that everyone seems so sold on, and so everything that Blaine says makes sense to him.
Blaine's guilt over managing to avoid detection and live a relatively normal life makes it difficult for Kurt to grill him past a certain point—the disappearance of that one vampire who the hunting club had managed to catch had left him shaken. The danger of discovery and the risk that he takes just going to school like any other teenager are stressful enough as it is on top of all of that.
*
At the height of winter, their patrol nights are miserable. They shuffle through the ice and snow in padded little huddles, clutching weapons and resembling a pack of penguins crowding together in the cold more than teenagers on the prowl.
Everyone is eager to keep these nights short, and on this particular night they patrol past Kurt's house. His dad is visiting an uncle in Columbus, and he and Blaine have plans to enjoy the weekend of privacy, but Kurt is frozen, his warm house is right there, and he doesn't think that he can stand another minute of looking for vampires behind snowmen in people's front yards.
Blaine looks at him, and he looks at Blaine, and they share a devious smile.
"Hey, we're gonna call it a night," Kurt says, to the amused non-surprise of the group.
"Yeah, yeah, Hummel, we get it."
"Freakin' lovebirds."
They grin and wave through the teasing, slipping and sliding across an icy patch of sidewalk before reaching the well-salted path in front of Kurt's house. Inside, it's deliciously warm, and they shed their outerwear standing on a towel set by the front door for just that purpose.
Kurt's barely out of his boots before Blaine is tugging the scarf from around his neck and walking him backwards into a wall, their chilly fingers lacing and Blaine's lips blazing a path down his neck.
"Mm, wanted to do this all night," he says, tightening his hold. "You cut yourself shaving."
"You noticed that?"
"I can smell the blood."
"It was barely a nick," Kurt protests, just for the novelty, as Blaine licks and licks until he finds the spot. The little cut is closed—it had hardly opened—so Kurt isn't sure what exactly he's getting from it, but his muscles tense up and he sort of jolts forward and—
He lifts Kurt up against the wall, a good foot off of the floor, making soft growling noises against Kurt's skin.
"Blaine." He murmurs and detaches his mouth from Kurt's jaw with an audible pop. "I'm in the air."
"Oh. Er. Woops."
He stares down at Blaine holding him up around his waist and just under his thighs, and slowly wraps his legs around Blaine's torso, wetting his lips. Being held up effortlessly like this is strange and also kind of sexy.
"I'd like to go upstairs now," he says, breathless and quick.
"Oh," Blaine repeats, sliding his arms around Kurt's back.
He carries Kurt all the way upstairs.
Kurt has never gone for clothing removal before they even start making out, but it feels natural to strip off his sweater now, and almost a relief to be down to just an undershirt and jeans. Blaine does the same, standing beside the bed. Kurt knows that it's silly, but he wants this to be special, so he lights the candles that sit on his bedside table instead of turning the lamp on.
Blaine stares at him with wide, adoring eyes—that are already starting to darken. Kurt swallows nervously and scoots back onto the bed.
"Can we take our shirts off?" he asks.
"S-sure," Blaine answers, and strips his undershirt off quickly, as if ripping off a bandaid.
Kurt does the same, trembling even though the room is warm. They've seen each other shirtless before, but this feels different. They're going to be touching soon.
He lies back, sitting up on his elbows with his legs apart, and watches Blaine crawl up the bed and over his body. His whole being yearns for more, and he's not afraid. He doesn't think that he could ever be afraid of Blaine.
"Just to be clear," he says, already breathing faster as Blaine leans down to brush their lips together, "you've never done this before either, right?"
Blaine smiles, kissing him. "Never."
"And what I just said is transparent enough for you to understand where I'm going with this?" he asks, grinning at his own cheek as Blaine kisses down his throat.
"Many times yes," Blaine whispers.
They don't talk much for a while, after that—they're too busy kissing and learning the feel of each other's bare skin throbbing hot, nipples beading and bellies heaving. When the itchy need for more contact rises, Kurt drags Blaine by his hair off of his neck and back up to his mouth.
He's hard, they're both hard, and Blaine is rutting down against him, between his legs, urging him closer and closer with every swivel of his hips.
"Can we," Kurt gasps, bending his neck.
Blaine cups his jaw, tips his head back even farther and to the left, exposing the long, pale column of his throat to the air, making his shoulders press into the bed and his erection throb. Blaine's fingers fumble over the button and zipper on his jeans, but they only get so far as undoing them before Kurt distracts him by reaching down to cup and squeeze his ass. Cheeks flaming red, Kurt hauls their bodies tighter together.
"Kurt," Blaine moans.
"I want you to," Kurt says, shivering when Blaine's lips touch his throat.
Blaine goes still. "Wait. You mean—" He stares at Kurt.
"Do it." Kurt reaches up to touch Blaine's mouth. He'd gone full fang a while ago, without even realizing it, most likely. The sight of those gleaming pearl-white fang teeth hanging sharp in between Blaine's plump pink lips makes something needy and reckless unravel inside of Kurt's chest. They're a part of Blaine, and he wants to experience them, too. "Bite me. Bite me."
"Are you sure?"
"You know how to do it safely. You said so."
Blaine lowers his mouth to a different spot, dragging the flat of his tongue over the skin there. It tingles in the wake, and Kurt's body rises off of the bed. Heat crackles just beneath his skin, evaporating into desperation as Blaine suckles the spot until it's soaked and soft and buzzing.
"Been so long. You smell—human. Alive. Like grass and metal and sunlight," he breathes, nosing harder and harder against Kurt's throat. "Like music and breath and mine."
"Blaine," he moans, thrashing—only to have his arms pinned down and spread out beside his head on either side, to have Blaine push his head back into the pillows.
He feels the blood rushing beneath his skin, as if it's rising to the surface, as if it knows, as if it wants to be taken as fiercely as Kurt does. He can almost feel the exact vein that Blaine is looking for, throbbing beneath his skin to the same rhythm that his cock and heart are jumping to.
He inhales and bends his neck, exposing himself to Blaine's view and touch.
Blaine slots a thigh between his and kisses up to his ear. "It will hurt. Briefly."
Kurt's body pulses. "Oh my god, please."
He feels Blaine's breath, and the faintest scrape of needle-point teeth, and then—
Pain.
It does hurt. Not in the throat-ripping way that he'd expected. It's stranger than that, and bigger than that, and so much more than he'd been prepared for. It's pain with bone-deep roots, pain with barbs, pain like screaming hot sand. It's everywhere, but it leaves him nowhere—floating in a mire of white-hot sensation, untethered and free.
His body tenses. Blaine holds him down and still. And then the fang teeth are gone, taking most of the pain with them, and his neck is bleeding little, controlled gushes into Blaine's mouth.
He'd thought that the bite would be everything, but he had been so very wrong about that. The drinking is when it truly begins. The blood loss consumes every bit of his physical attention. He can feel it, running out of the wound, can feel Blaine's mouth hungrily gulping it down, can feel Blaine's nostrils wild with breathing.
It's like being on fire and encased in ice at the same time, and the sense of connection to Blaine, to Blaine's pure animal need, is heady.
And then there is simply the pain—it's not nearly as bad as he'd thought it would be, but it's inescapable—he has to accept it, has to let it take him over, has to endure it, and the act of submitting to it makes him want to weep with relief. Relief translates into pleasure, and—he likes it. There's no more complicated way of putting it. He likes the way that it hurts. It flows so easily, back and forth, pleasure and pain, equally sharp, equally hot, equally important.
He hears himself moan, feels his body try to thrash, feels Blaine hold him down and make bruises on his arms, but never once does he feel the desire to stop. It's thrilling.
When Blaine lets him go, finally, it's like finding a hole in the ice after almost drowning beneath it. Everything around him grows sharp and colorful, air rushes into his lungs, and there's blood sticky and dark on his throat, on his shoulder, and on the pillow beneath his head.
"You're okay," Blaine whispers. His mouth and chin are bloody, his eyes are bright black, and his fangs are shining with blood and spit in the candlelight. "It's okay. Come on, honey. Come on."
It's only then that Kurt realizes Blaine's jean-clad cock is rocking against his underwear-encased one, and that he's only a moment away from coming. He wraps his arms around Blaine's neck and kisses him, hard and fast. Blood smears across his lips—his own blood—and he opens his mouth, lets the slick coppery tang take over everything.
Blaine reaches down, presses his pelvis into the bed and begins rutting their cocks together with fierce, short jabs. Kurt's sloppy fingers undo Blaine's pants and push his underwear down.
When the pace resumes Kurt sobs and sucks in a breath, his mouth sticky with blood, tilts his head back and lets the candlelight flood his eyelids with a blinding yellow glow. His orgasm hits him a moment later, making the yellow sparkle and snapping relief down his body as he soaks his underwear through at the front with spurt after spurt of come.
He's paralyzed by the intensity of the combination of pain and pleasure, of the taste of blood creeping down his throat, and then—
Blaine comes all over his belly and he stares at the mess, enthralled by the pearly streaks and puddles and the throbbing head of Blaine's cock poking out of the waistband of his underwear.
He collapses, panting, as Blaine ruts through his own mess, and when they're both still, he puts his hand on Blaine's heaving side and closes his eyes again.
"I need to—get some things," Blaine says.
He looks delicious striding across the room with his mouth bloody, his chest bare, and his jeans and underwear riding low on his hips. Kurt almost reaches for him, but then feels the sting of the wound on his neck and thinks better of it.
Blaine comes back with damp towels, a first aid kit, and a tall glass of apple juice. Kurt drinks the juice while Blaine cleans and bandages the bite mark. They wipe off the blood and come.
The pain is worse now than it had been before, and Kurt is glad that they'd stopped.
They take off their pants, change the bed linens, and then lie side by side holding hands. Kurt weaves in and out of sleep with Blaine's fingers stroking the back of his hand.
"I feel weird," he says, watching the whirls in the paint on the ceiling spin.
"But not bad weird?"
"Tired. Open. Buzzing. Like—connected to you." He smiles. "Feels nice. Also ow. But nice."
Blaine rolls over onto his side without unlacing their hands. He looks—happy. Relaxed. The fangs and the dark eyes are gone.
"How do you feel?" Kurt asks.
"Incredible," Blaine says. His mouth curls. He stares at Kurt. "Being that close to you—making you feel good. It was amazing."
"You are so much more coherent than me right now. Ditto? Same? Me too? My brain is mush, sorry."
"We won't be doing that often," Blaine says. "I mean, most of the time, I get all—" He motions to his mouth. "When I'm turned on, because my inhibitions lower, but I don't want to hurt you."
"That's fine with me. I want to—I want to do more than just—" He laughs, so almost-naked and so spent and so happy to be comfortable having this conversation. "More than just rub off on you, you know? And—I want to focus on it, on our bodies, on everything else." He squeezes Blaine's hand. "That was intense. I don't think I could pay attention to anything else at the same time."
"Me too. Trust me."
He rolls over once more, into Blaine's side, and Blaine loops an arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist, holding him close.
"Let's sleep," Kurt says, vibrating with relaxed contentment. "We have all weekend."
Blaine tangles their legs beneath the blankets.
*
Nothing changes, really, except that Kurt feels about ten times more protective and defensive of Blaine than before.
He can't believe how accepting Blaine is of the need to blend, to disappear into groups of people who hate him on principle. He can't stand the Vampire Hunting Club meetings, or Rachel's constant bragging about the one vampire who they had captured. He's sure that if she knew actual vampires she wouldn't be talking about it the way that she is, but he still has to listen to it on a weekly basis and it's infuriating.
Blaine blushes and shrugs and smiles, all perfect eyebrows and gelled hair and crazily patterned sweaters and says, "It's okay, Kurt. Once I graduate, I'll be in New York, and the communities there are much larger and more accepting."
But that still leaves Blaine with a whole year in Ohio while Kurt goes off to school, and Kurt worries. He knows that they are each other's first boyfriend, and that they may not make it as such after years of college, but he'd like to think that they are capable of it. He's determined to remain in Blaine's life, to always love him, no matter what happens along the way.
*
The third time that Kurt is on his knees in front of Blaine, he gets the blowjob thing right. The first two times had been kind of—questionable.
The first time he'd had literally no idea what he was doing and Blaine, who had made a somewhat regular habit of watching those movies, had not had any more practical experience than he had. There had been teeth and saliva and too many stops and in the end he'd used his hand and stared, fascinated, at all of the come streaking his fingers and hand and wrist and Blaine's belly. It had been hot, really hot, and also a little gross, but not much of a success.
The second time they'd had relative privacy and time and he'd definitely made progress. He'd learned how to actually suck, tucking his lips and breathing through his nose and bobbing without gagging every time. After Blaine had pulled out to come into a tissue, Kurt had freaked out about having actually done it and liked it and Blaine had said, "so tell me how you..." and they'd talked about blowjob techniques for longer than they'd actually experienced the blowjob. And then Blaine had returned the favor, and Kurt had realized what the big deal was.
Tonight, he has Blaine up against his closed bedroom door. They have ten minutes or so before his dad realizes that the door isn't open, and Kurt intends to take advantage of every one of them. He'll only need about five, but he wants to enjoy it.
It's the first time that he's been relaxed and confident enough to linger with a sly grin over undoing Blaine's zipper, over fishing Blaine out of his boxer briefs, over nuzzling his cheek into the springy warm throbbing flesh of Blaine's cock, over licking and licking it until the tangy saltiness has coated his tongue and his body is humming in response, twinging hungrily for more, more, more.
"Your dad," Blaine whispers, carding fingers through Kurt's hair.
"No dad talk. Not now."
"B-but he said—"
"Shh," Kurt says, licking a circle around the head of Blaine's cock.
"Ngh."
Third time's the charm, he guesses?
Something about the physicality of it just clicks this time. Blaine's cock swells, filling his mouth, and finds the right angle. He gets a comfortable pace going, Blaine's fingers are tugging rough and delicious against his scalp, his head is bobbing, and he wants more than anything to make his boyfriend come. He's not going to stop this time.
When Blaine realizes his intentions he sucks in a noisy breath and tries to slow the thrust of his hips, but Kurt encourages him with a needy whine.
"I'm gonna," Blaine huffs, watching his cock pump in and out of Kurt's mouth. "I'm close."
Kurt sucks harder and faster. He puts his hand around the base of Blaine's cock and strokes. It only takes another minute or so; Blaine's belly heaves, his breathing goes ragged and low and quick, and then he slams deep, pushes to the back of Kurt's mouth and comes, his cock pulsing with every jolt. Kurt can't help but gag once or twice but he swallows and breathes through the reflexes, hardly processing the taste as the viscous come coats his throat.
Shaking, he sits back on his heels. That had been beyond exciting.
"Kurt! Blaine! Door."
"Oh my god," Blaine whispers, hurrying to do up his pants.
Kurt grins, and licks the corner of his swollen mouth with relish and something like pride.
*
The holidays provide plenty of opportunities to sneak overnight visits. Between school activities, the holidays themselves, and constant shopping, it's simple to fib about their whereabouts.
Blaine's parents are more likely to leave them alone than Kurt's dad. The open door policy is a hard and fast rule at Kurt's house (though Kurt's dad often gives them the leeway of a five to ten minute privacy window before he checks), but at Blaine's it's more of a suggestion (sometimes they get a polite knock and a reminder, and sometimes they don't). Blaine's parents also have a much more active social life than Kurt's dad and, half of the time, especially on the weekends, his house is empty but for the two of them.
It's on one of these weekends that they take the time to attempt something more than frantic make-outs or furtive handjobs and blowjobs. They have a nice dinner—that is, Kurt eats the food that Blaine has prepared for him, and then—well.
Kurt leads Blaine upstairs into the bathroom, strips down to his underwear, runs a bath and then sits on the lip of the tub with his knees together and his hands braced on the edge of the tub.
He hadn't bothered to cover up the bite mark on his throat this morning, and when he twists his head around to look at Blaine he knows how visible it is, and what seeing it does to Blaine.
They only do the biting thing all the way maybe once a month. It's easier to do smaller bites—Blaine taking one or two mouthfuls from his inner arm, usually. But Kurt finds himself craving Blaine's full bite when he goes too long without it. He gets dizzy just thinking about the sharp pain and the loose-limbed aftermath and the way that it feels when Blaine lets go and just takes it from him. He'll dance around the notion for a week or so and then realize how long it's been, and—well, they end up like this, shaking and wanting each other and so, so gone.
Blaine wraps one hand around his throat and draws him up into a kiss, and he slides his fingers down Blaine's sides, catches the waistband of Blaine's underwear with his fingertips and tugs, pushing the material down his legs. He steps out of them without breaking the kiss, and Kurt shivers when he puts his other hand on the side of Kurt's face.
He loves being contained by Blaine's touch, loves how safe it makes him feel, especially when that steely, inhuman strength is a little too much on his easily-bruised skin.
Blaine kisses down his neck to where the darkened skin around the mark lies, closes his lips over it and suckles. Kurt's body flashes hot, wracked with waves of tingling. It's as if every nerve ending that he has is attached in some way to that one spot.
"Please," he gasps, nearly sliding backwards into the tub. Blaine holds him in place. "Please."
"I don't want to make you too weak," Blaine says, encouraging Kurt's arms around his neck. "I want—Kurt, I want to—I want more, tonight." He slides his hands down Kurt's back, all the way to his underwear-smooth ass cheeks, which he cups and squeezes. "Do you understand what I mean?" He sounds as excited as he is nervous, and Kurt suddenly can't breathe.
"Oh," Kurt whimpers. "Yeah. I mean, yes, I—me too."
They've already talked about the lack of a need for condoms. Vampires can't carry blood or sexually transmitted diseases, and Kurt had gotten himself a clean bill of health as soon as they'd started dating (his dad had actually driven him to the clinic). So if they wanted to, they could do it, right here, and right now. But his mind is still cloudy.
"B-bite me first?" he asks, shaking.
He can feel it when Blaine's fangs slip down, right against the curve of his jaw. Blaine's hand cups the back of his head to hold him still. His whole body tenses up in anticipation—he loves the moment right before it happens—and then winds even tighter when Blaine bites down.
His body surges against Blaine's as the pain draws black shapes behind his eyelids. He's panting and squeaking and moving, but Blaine just holds him, closes his lips around the punctures and swallows and swallows and swallows. Kurt's eyes roll back in his head.
Pain and pleasure clash and rake his body, over and over again. He lets himself be taken over. It's like drowning and flying at the same time, and he just wants to get lost in it.
Blaine doesn't take much. He licks over the tiny punctures to slow the blood flow, lifts his face and breathes heavily over Kurt's cheek as he recovers, reeling from the blood and the connection. Kurt's brain feels equally sodden with Blaine's emotions and immediate needs; it's intense for them both, and the smell of blood is almost a comfort, grounding them both in reality.
He doesn't feel lightheaded, and blood is already congealing around the marks. Blaine hadn't spilled a drop.
"Get in the water," Blaine says, peeling the underwear off of his hips.
Kurt steps into the steaming tub, sighing with pleasure.
They wash and see to the bite mark, then drain and re-fill the tub, all without going more than a few seconds without sharing some kind of touch. It's easy and comfortable, and Kurt is so grateful to be desired without condition or compromise that he could cry.
He wraps his legs around Blaine's waist and they sit down in the water together. He pushes his fingers into Blaine's hair and kisses him, hungry and open-mouthed, until their bodies feel as warm as the water around them.
Blaine's fingernails scrape down his back.
"Touch me," Kurt hisses. "T-touch my... You can."
His entire body jolts with sensation when Blaine's hands curl around and separate his ass cheeks. It should feel weird—but he's clean and they're in the bath and being touched there feels wonderful. It inspires the same needy ache that Blaine's fingertips brushing the bite mark does—as if there's more just ahead of them and if Kurt doesn't get to it, he's going to go crazy.
He rolls in the water, his pelvis rocking, driving his ass against Blaine's hands and rubbing his cock against Blaine's belly. Blaine's tongue searches his mouth. Blaine's hands touch him everywhere, but always float back to his throat, to touch the mark, to make little aftershocks of pain sizzle through Kurt's body.
Panting, Blaine bites his earlobe—his vampire teeth are gone, but it still stings sweetly. His fingertips edge inward, just barely touching Kurt where he's sensitive and closed up, where no one else has ever touched him before.
Crackles of sensation blossom at the base of his spine and spider-crack outward.
"Oh my god," he moans.
"Turn around," Blaine says. "Need to touch you, see you, please."
It's not what Kurt had expected, but it's almost better for that. He can just do as Blaine asks and not think about it. He bends over the tub, bracing his hands on the far lip, and shudders when Blaine's lips peck at the top knob of his spine and then down and down, over each one, until he's kissing Kurt's sacrum, every press of his lips damp and warm and full of breath.
"Blaine," he whimpers, his thighs and knees twinging.
"Spread your legs for me, sweetheart."
"Oh my god, Blaine."
He does it, even though he's not sure how long his legs are going to hold out. When Blaine's thumbs hook the inside of his cheeks, he realizes exactly what's about to happen, and he panics. He'd used the bathroom after dinner. They'd washed. He's clean. He feels as if he could relax enough to enjoy it. But it's Blaine's mouth...
Blaine's tongue.
Kurt bites his lip, and gasps when Blaine nibbles at his hole and then licks it, humming. It's only when Kurt's spine goes loose and his thighs begin to quiver that Blaine pauses.
"Okay?" he asks. "You taste so good. But I'll stop if you don't like it."
"I'm fine," Kurt says. "I'm—I'm—oh."
Blaine closes his lips around Kurt's hole and begins jabbing it with his tongue, little localized swirls of wet strong muscle that leave Kurt panting and writhing. It feels stupidly good, and his ass is aching, empty and clenching and in desperate need of something to fill it up.
He grips the lip of the tub and begins rocking back onto Blaine's tongue. When Blaine augments that with the teasing brush of his thumb, Kurt whimpers and almost slides to his knees. He can feel his pucker gape and mouth at Blaine's questing thumb tip, can feel the air on the inside of his vacant body, cool and strange and ticklish.
"So beautiful," Blaine murmurs, kissing the back of his thigh. "Can I taste? Just a little—"
"Yes, yes."
He doesn't think about it. He just agrees. And then—Blaine's teeth are there, below his cheek on the left side, away from the thick muscle at the back of his thigh, and there's a brief sting.
Kurt gasps. His ass jiggles against Blaine's face as Blaine sucks at the shallow wound, drawing blood and making it hurt so well. The pain spirals outward, spiking Kurt's pulse, making everything feel sharper and brighter for a few briefs moments. As Blaine swallows the blood down, his thumb strokes Kurt's pucker, over and over until it's cupping the pad eagerly. Kurt can feel blood dripping down the back of his leg, sticking to the hair. It's too much.
"I can't," he breathes, making bathwater slosh around his knees. "I can't—please, more, now."
Mouth bloody, Blaine lifts the lubricant bottle from beside the tub. He strokes Kurt's damp back. "We could dry off and go to bed."
"No. Here," Kurt says, breathing heavily. "I just want you in me. Now."
He wants to feel the push of Blaine's cock before the pain of the bite fades. They can make this sweet and slow and exploratory later, as they learn how to perfect it. Right now, Kurt just wants to be fucked. He's too hungry, too mentally knife-edged, too nervous to want to linger.
And it's clear that Blaine understands.
Blaine bends him over the tub, spreads him open, teases his hips up and his cheeks apart and slicks his hole with lubricant before slowly but intently sliding his cock into Kurt's body.
Kurt goes still. It burns and creates a weird sensation, even though the pressure and being full feels instinctively right. It takes him a minute to breathe around the intrusion, to accept the oddness of his body's boundaries being crossed, to let Blaine in and feel as if he's still himself at the same time and not just an empty vessel that requires filling up.
Blaine's hands caress his shoulders. Blaine's familiar body begins to move behind him, colliding with his thighs and splayed-wide ass, and he remembers. This is them. This is okay. It feels good. It feels so good, the stiff thick weight of a cock inside, making his anus stretch and flutter.
It feels even better when Blaine begins to thrust, when that pressure becomes movement as well. Kurt bends lower, sets his feet against the bottom of the tub and relaxes his ass.
"M-more," he moans, shaking with Blaine's thrusts. "More, more, stay inside. Harder."
"Don't want to hurt you."
"You're not. Come on. Move." He moves himself, just to drive his point home, rocking his ass back onto Blaine's cock.
"Kurt!"
It's a blur of sticky, rapidly drying lubricant and the blunt shove of Blaine's cock deep inside of him. He lets the sensations bleed together, holds onto the tub and spaces out into the hurried mess of it all. Blaine's hand on his cock brings him back to reality.
"Can you come?"
"After," Kurt breathes. He's floating. "After you. P-please."
"Should I—" His hips edge away.
Kurt backs up on his cock. "No, no, no, want it."
He's not going to be able to stay upright much longer, but Blaine's hands hook where his hips and waist meet and hold him up—up and steady, so that Blaine can fuck into him, quick and rough.
Kurt's eyes drift shut. His body aches, waiting for it, and when Blaine finally hammers into him and cries out, knowing that Blaine has come inside of him sends relief and pleasure through him in dizzying waves. He dissolves, shaking, whimpering under his breath as Blaine's shrinking cock pumps in and out of him, slick and messy.
Blaine lowers them into the now-tepid water, and Kurt savors the water on his skin as Blaine slides free of him. His hole is swollen and sensitive and open, and when Blaine brings a washcloth to it he moans outright, reaches down to stroke his cock as Blaine's cloth-covered fingers touch him on the inside, make his body spark with pleasure.
"Oh, god, yes," he gasps, and throbs, coming over his fist and into the bathwater.
Blaine washes him, working the cloth inside as well as out, and he can't help but writhe on it as his cock twitches and shrinks.
When that is done, Blaine asks, "Drain the tub?"
Kurt flips the lever with unsteady fingers.
Without warning, Blaine puts one arm under his knees and the other around his back and picks him up, bridal style, and carries him to the bedroom. Kurt nuzzles into his neck the whole way, letting his feet dangle and his spine relax. It feels nice.
"I'll get the good towels," he says, depositing Kurt on the bed.
They are good towels. Kurt burrows into the cotton and rolls over onto his belly. Blaine joins him.
He's tingling and exhausted, but awake enough to feel the sting when Blaine puts anti-bacterial cream and a bandage over the bite on the back of his leg.
"Sorry," he says, smiling sheepishly.
"I don't mind." Kurt blinks. Yawns. "Want—want to do that again. Later. Can we? Slower, and—like this?" He spreads his legs on the bed, looking up at Blaine with his head folded on his arms.
Blaine's cheeks go red. "Anything you want." He bends to kiss Kurt, his eyes bright and wide. "I love you so much."
The back of Kurt's neck goes hot. He endures a full-bodied shiver of pleasure, smiles, bites the corner of his lip in, and says, "I love you, too."
*
When the weather gets warmer, several months after Kurt gets his NYADA acceptance letter, he, his dad, and Blaine go to New York City for a weekend. His dad is pretty good about giving them space and time to sightsee alone together, once the school-related stuff is taken care of.
They spend an afternoon walking around near the Broadway theaters. There's a food festival going on that's blocked off West 50th and catches their attention.
Kurt ends up eating way too much, but it's all so delicious. There's even a small, out of the way stand that makes things with blood, and Blaine's happy face when he realizes this is priceless.
"Oh my god, these corn thingies with the cheese on them are deadly," Kurt moans, stuffing his face. "Wait. Are those lobster rolls?"
Blaine laughs, wiping his fingers and mouth carefully on a napkin. "Don't look now, but I think that's a cheesecake-on-a-stick vendor. You can have it dipped in stuff—chocolate, caramel, marshmallow, sprinkles."
Kurt does a one-eighty, dragging Blaine by the hand. "Change of plans."
"What about the hats? And the scarves? The apparel stuff is right up ahead."
"Cheesecake first, accessories directly after."
"Also we did promise your dad that we wouldn't abandon him entirely."
"I left him at a roasted nuts stand and taught him how to watch the game on his phone. Trust me, he'll be fine."
They stroll together, hand in hand, until they've walked the length of the festival twice. Kurt's hands are sticky, so he makes Blaine carry the shopping bags while he ducks behind a vendor stall to wash his hands with some of the water from his bottle. They make their way back to where they'd left his dad, roughly across the street from Radio City.
Burt is enthralled by his game, so they sit down beside him silently. His eyes go wide at the sight of all of the bags, but then he just smiles and sighs and shrugs.
Kurt carefully checks the scarf that he's wearing to make sure that it's still covering that special place on his neck. He does have a totally valid excuse for needing all of this neckwear. Of course, his dad doesn't know that yet. Maybe someday he will.
Kurt smiles and puts his hand on Blaine's leg. "Did you get enough to eat?"
"There's always room in the tum tum," Blaine says, thumbing Kurt's neck with a playful smile. "But I'm good for now."
"You can have some dessert. Later," Kurt says, tilting his head coyly.
"I am sitting right here, you know," Burt says, fishing a handful of cinnamon sugar coated cashews from a bag in his lap. "We had some pretty creative innuendos back in my day, too."
Kurt groans. "Dad."
"Sorry, Mr. Hummel. I didn't mean—"
Burt laughs, waving his hand. "I'm just messing with you." He pins Kurt with a stare. "I won't say anything else about that or how much of my money you just spent on scarves if you won't ask me how many bags of these things I've eaten since you've been gone."
"Deal," Kurt says, bouncing. "Of course, when we get home—"
"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya." They exchange a smile, and Kurt fusses with a bag handle happily.
Blaine leans into his side and says so that only he can hear, "Did you know that NYADA has an underground vampire assistance program? In case anything goes wrong while I'm a student there..."
"One year," Kurt says, staring up at the tall buildings and diverse crowd all around them, smelling the smells and hearing the noises that already feel like home. "And one day, this will be home. Our home."
"I'm kind of already home," Blaine says, brushing his lips against Kurt's neck.