some experimental kurtana in the new york apartment just because (PG-13? i think, i'm not good at this)
They were both slightly buzzed, the sting of the alcohol still burning, strangely pleasant, in their throats. Kurt was stretched out on the couch, completely relaxed and extremely relieved that Rachel wouldn't be home until later. He loved her, but she was incredibly wearing on the nerves.
Santana, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall across from Kurt, watching him with a calculating expression.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she hummed, shrugging. "I'm just trying to figure out how you managed to go from a prepubescent Pinocchio to vaguely Disney prince-esque in the span of four years."
Kurt blinked, unsure of what to say to that. He did feel pleased with himself, though; he'd noticed the difference between then and now, of course, and he attributed most of it to his skincare regimen.
"It makes me wonder just how experienced you are," Santana continued, and Kurt broke from his own thoughts to frown at her.
"Experienced?"
"Tell me, what kind of things did you and Blaine do?" she asked, smirking when his jaw dropped indignantly. "Did he tie you up?"
"I tied him, actually," Kurt muttered, and Santana looked triumphant. "That was one time, though."
"Interesting. You've never been with a girl, though, right?"
"I dated Britt--"
"Please, like you guys did anything," she said. "She told me you made out, barely. And that was sophomore year."
"What does that have to do with anything?" She raised her eyebrows.
"Can I be blunt?"
"Please do."
"You look about a hundred times more fuckable than you did in sophomore year, sweet cheeks." Kurt swallowed nervously and looked around, but there was no one else available to provide further input.
"I still don't understand where you're going with this, Santana," he said flatly, despite the way his heart was beating faster. "Get to the point."
"The point is, we're drunk--"
"Barely." She waved him off before continuing as if he'd never interrupted.
"--we're alone, and I can see your hard-on from here." Kurt glared at her, fully aware of the issue but refusing to give her the satisfaction of hiding it. So maybe he was a little more prone to getting turned on with alcohol in his system; Kurt isn't going to deny that. "Would you like some help with that?"
"Wh-- No! I can take care of it myself. Alone," he added when Santana smirked even wider.
"Look," she said, somewhat irritated now, "Lady Hobbit won't be home for a while. You can't tell me you've never wanted to experiment." She straightened up and strolled to the couch, leaning over Kurt. "What do you say?"
"I say you're insane," he whispered, breathing in the sharp scent of alcohol. She started to move away, shaking her head, but he reached for her shoulder. "Fuck it," he muttered, pulling her down until their lips crashed together at an awkward angle.
"I knew you'd give in," she said, practically purring as they broke for air. Kurt huffed in response and pulled her back down again. Santana wasted no time in getting on the couch to straddle him, one hand tugging at the buttons of his shirt.
"Just take it off," he said breathlessly, knowing that he was too far gone to even think about protesting anymore. She did so with surprising dexterity, and they broke just long enough for her to pull the shirt completely off.
"Damn Hummel, you've been holding back with all those layers."
"Shut up and kiss me."
She did so, laughing into it until his teeth tugged at her bottom lip, drawing a surprised gasp. Kurt hummed appreciatively and took charge, supporting himself on one elbow as he held a hand to her cheek, tongue searching, tasting. Santana's fingers trailed down his chest, a light, barely-there touch that made his muscles jump involuntarily as she went lower.
Santana slipped her fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants before letting go with a small snap that pulled a sharp moan from Kurt.
"Do you want me to--"
"Touch me," Kurt said, cutting her off. God, he needed this, whatever it was, but he needed more.
"So demanding." But she cupped her hand over his erection without further preamble, rubbing too-slow through the thin fabric. "Did you go commando today?" she asked, sounding distinctly impressed.
"There wasn't a reason not to," Kurt said, letting his head fall back against the armrest. Santana took the opportunity to nip just under his jaw, scraping her teeth lightly across his pulse point. "No marks."
"That's no fun."
"I don't want to explain this to Ada- oh, fuck."
"You were saying?"
"You're an asshole, you know that?"
"Mhm." Santana took her hand away, and Kurt's hips jerked upwards, looking for friction where there was none. But then she was back at the waistband, dipping underneath it and taking hold--
"You guys, I brought cheesecake--" Kurt and Santana froze, Kurt hoping for a miracle that would save them from being discovered by Rachel, who'd apparently finished up with her class early. He heard the door sliding shut, then footsteps coming closer.
"You have the worst timing in the world," Santana commented casually as she climbed off of Kurt.
"How many times have I told you not to bring other girls--" Rachel stopped as she rounded the edge of the couch, finally in full view of Kurt. He stared at her, upside down, and grinned. The things alcohol does to me. "Kurt?"
"No offense, Rach, but I'm not in the right state of mind to talk right now." She nodded, clearly and utterly confused, and headed to her own room. Kurt threw an arm over his eyes once she was gone, groaning in frustration.
"We could still finish," Santana said, and Kurt dropped his arm to look at her, nonchalant yet flushed. "I know you can be quiet because you and Blaine hooked up at Nationals without anyone knowing. Except me, of course."
"What about you?" Kurt asked, letting his buzz take over for a little while longer. She shrugged, examining her nails disinterestedly.
"It'd take more than a handjob to get so much as a peep out of me," she said, an eyebrow raised.
"I'll do my best," Kurt hummed, his voice low and husky and god, why can't she just get over here already?
"Now we're talking," she said, and she moved to straddle him again.
Kurt slammed the door behind them, gently urging Sebastian towards the bed as he continued to nip and suck at his neck. Sebastian's legs hit the edge of the mattress and he let himself drop onto the recently-washed-and-oh-so-warm comforter, smirking when Kurt followed to straddle his hips.
"In a hurry, babe?"
"Yes, actually," Kurt said, pulling back to look at Sebastian. "Finn and Rachel are due to arrive any minute now."
"Doesn't your door have a lock?" Sebastian asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Yes, but..." Kurt ground his his hips into Sebastian's, drawing a nearly soundless gasp from him as their cocks dragged against each other through the fabric of their jeans. "...do you really want me to go over there and lock it?"
In answer, Sebastian reached up to the back of Kurt's neck, pulling him down to kiss him hard. It wasn't perfect; they were off-center and their teeth collided a few times with jarring clicks, but neither of them cared. Kurt began to grind against Sebastian, soon picking up a rhythm, and their kisses became sloppier, more insistent. It wasn't long before Sebastian dropped his head back, exposing his neck to Kurt, who quickly took advantage of the situation.
A few minutes later found Sebastian with a reddening bruise on the left side of his neck, just below his jawline. Kurt wasn't done, though; he pulled down Sebastian's shirt just enough to be able to reach his collarbone, nipping at the skin and grinning when he felt the rumble of Sebastian's low moan at his lips.
Before Kurt could continue sucking another mark into Sebastian's skin, both of them heard the door handle turn and the whoosh as someone pulled it open.
"Kurt, where did you put- Oh."
Kurt dropped his forehead onto Sebastian's chest, his face practically burning. "Sam, get out."
"I'm sorry, dude, I-" Kurt lifted himself up enough to turn and face Sam, who was standing in the doorway with wide eyes and a bag of chips in his hand.
"Out!"
Sam nodded as he started to back out of the entryway. Before he closed the door, however, he peeked back inside.
"You top?"
Kurt huffed and, ignoring the tightness between his legs, got up to shove Sam out of the way and close the door. He locked it with a click and returned to the bed, his face still flushed. Sebastian, who had been watching the exchange with mild interest, finally spoke up.
"He has a lot of mouth."
"Shut up."
"Seriously, have you ever thought about getting a blowjob from-"
Soulmate AU - In a world where soulmates exist but often never find each other, two teenage boys in Ohio soon give up on finding theirs. But when circumstances draw them too far apart for either of them to ignore, it’s only a matter of time, impulse, and a little bit of luck.
A/N: I've managed to work out some of the plot issues that I had, so now we're in business at last. Enjoy! *u*
Kurt stalked out of the school, pulling out his keys and unlocking his Navigator with a beep and a flash of the headlights from across the parking lot. The nerve they had, didn’t Puck and the others realize he had enough on his plate without having to put up with their shit?
Of course not. No one ever did.
The first few days of having the Letter had been irritating, to say the least. It was barely a tickle, but Kurt could feel it - a slight tug, like a string was attached to the mark. He had been constantly rubbing, scratching, itching at it in an attempt to alleviate the sensation with no luck. Soon enough, however, he’d gotten used to it, though he still preferred to keep himself distracted by sketching in his notebook.
He’d never told anyone how weak the pull was – actually, only the New Directions knew about the Letter, thanks to changing in close quarters for competitions (he supposed the cuff was a dead giveaway, but at least no one else seemed to notice – or care). But the idea that his soulmate, B (as Kurt had taken to calling him in his mind), was most likely somewhere in Ohio was infuriating. How often he’d imagined traveling the entire state, searching for that missing part of him - but it was impractical.
Really, this whole soulmate system was silly, Kurt thought. No wonder many people never found their partners. Looking for someone purely based on a single letter of their name and the strength of a pull was something that - in this world of minutes, seconds, even milliseconds - wasted precious time and energy.
“Fuck this,” Kurt muttered, turning the key in the ignition. He needed a break from Lima, and what better way to do that than to take Puck’s oh-so-kind advice to spy on Dalton? Kurt tapped the details into his GPS, determined that he could make it to the school around its last period of class, and headed home to change into something that might help him blend in.
It wasn’t long before Kurt was on the freeway, his Broadway playlist blasting in the car as he drove to Westerville. He felt increasingly sick, and wondered if he’d have to make a stop, but still he drove on. By the time he pulled into Dalton’s parking lot - and gaped for a few moments at the building - he was seriously reconsidering his decision. It felt as though there was something trying to claw its way out of his stomach, yet he felt it as though it was an echo of illness. It was there, but he wasn’t exactly incapacitated; he felt the symptoms without the usual lethargy or the sense of being a sort of flu zombie. It was the strangest thing Kurt had experienced since getting his Letter.
After some time, during which Kurt had tried to calm his stomach to no avail, he decided to go in. Once in the school's doors, Kurt quickly realized that his attempt at camouflage would be useless - there were uniforms everywhere. Slipping on his shades so he could avoid eye contact from confused students, he started down the hall to his right.
Walking down a spiral staircase, Kurt overheard two boys just in front of him talking about Warbler’s rehearsal. He stopped them at the bottom of the steps with a rushed “Excuse me,” and asked where he could find out more about the show choir.
“Well, we were supposed to have an impromptu performance today-“ one of them began, shaking his blonde hair out of his face. Kurt resisted the urge to mention that the term ‘impromptu’ generally suggested ‘unplanned.’
“-But our lead singer is stuck in his dorm, sick,” the other - shorter, with dark, wavy hair - finished. “You can come by the senior commons after school if you want, but you should probably wear your uniform. We don’t need anyone thinking you’re here to spy on us or something.”
“Wes might actually throw his gavel.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” Kurt said as they began to laugh. “I’m not feeling too well either.”
“Man, that sucks. Another day?” the blonde asked hopefully.
“Maybe,” Kurt said with a nervous smile. They nodded and waved at him as they walked away, and Kurt found himself wondering what it was like here. Aside from the odd suspicious glance, no one seemed to look twice at him. Those two guys didn’t even flinch at his voice, which had gone higher than usual under the pressure.
Then another wave of nausea came over him and Kurt figured it was pointless to stay any longer, so he slowly made his way back to the parking lot, unable to shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
Probably just my stomach, Kurt thought uneasily, looking back at the building. He reached the Navigator, and the slam of the door as he got in startled him from his thoughts. With a sigh, he turned the key, huffing irritably when it took longer to start than usual. Soon enough - or maybe too soon - it rumbled to life, and Kurt drove out of the parking lot. He left the music off, simply driving in silence with nothing but his own mind for company. And it was miserable company.
One thing Kurt was grateful for was how his stomachache gradually ebbed away, soon disappearing altogether as he turned onto the final stretch towards Lima. However, he started to notice the pull on his wrist again, and he adjusted the cuff in a fruitless attempt to ease the sensation. Being at Dalton - with its tastefully muted colors and somewhat vintage feel - must have distracted him from his Letter, or maybe it was the odd phantom flu he'd experienced.
Kurt refused to think that the connection had actually faded away in Westerville. To do that would be to foster hope, something that he'd been slowly losing. He didn't want to be lifted too high, to put too much stock into what could easily have been a vague, fleeting daydream.
It'll hurt too much when he inevitably falls.
--
Blaine took a deep breath, his eyes closed and his heart beating fast. It was ridiculous how nervous he was; it was only Sectionals, after all, yet he felt like he had twice the usual jitters.
The Warblers had already performed their Train medley, and Blaine was confident that it had gone off without a hitch. Well, except for Nick's slight misstep - seriously, it's a two-step, it's not that hard - but he doubted that any of the judges noticed. Blaine was now sitting in the audience with the rest of the group, waiting for the McKinley High New Directions to start performing. He'd heard about them, and he had to admit he was interested in seeing just how good they were.
"Hey. Blaine," Wes hissed from the row behind him. Blaine turned as the announcer started to recite an advertisement for Breadstix's rival pasta chain, Parma Sean's. "Are you actually oblivious to the entire universe?"
"What?"
"Your phone has been vibrating for the last five minutes." Shit.
Blaine took the phone out of his pocket, one glance at the screen telling him that he had three missed calls. All of them were from Cooper. Wary, Blaine opened up his messages to find just one new text - also from his brother.
From: Cooper
2010-11-26 19:18
hey squirt call me, it's an emergency
Blaine didn't stop to think - he whispered a quick apology to the others and slipped into the aisle, all but sprinting to the door. He nearly knocked over someone standing just outside and ignored the offended huff that he heard behind him as he kept moving away. Blaine felt a strong twinge of annoyance at - what? The guy that he just practically bulldozed?
He shook off the thought; he could ponder any leftover irrational emotions later. For now, he found a secluded corner of the building and started a call to Cooper. The call rang through once, twice, three times and kept going. Blaine leaned heavily against the wall and sighed.
"Hey, this is Cooper Anderson from - Free Credit Rating Today dot com! If you'd like to contact me about an audition or a role, please leave a message. Slash savings!"
"Of course," Blaine muttered. He hung up before the voicemail tone and tried again. This time it only rang twice before someone answered.
"Hello?"
"Coop, it's me," Blaine said, relieved that it had only taken two calls this time.
"Squirt! What's going on?"
"Don't call- You know what, nevermind. What's the emergency?" Blaine asked, anxious. He didn't wonder why Cooper didn't seem to know about Sectionals - his own parents didn't care, so why should his brother care?
"Emergency?"
Blaine slipped down the wall so that he was sitting on the floor; he really wasn't in the mood for this today. He briefly considered just hanging up on Cooper before he heard his brother's voice again.
"Squirt? Are you- Oh! Yeah, there's an emergency."
"... Well?"
"I need your help with an audition I scored. Three words: Disney, animated, playful woodland creatures."
"Five words."
"Whatever, will you help me out?" The line clicked as Blaine hung up. He knew it was a childish thing to do, to run from the problem like that - but then again, he always ran. Fighting meant losing; running meant safety.
Even if he felt like he lost a bit of himself every time he fled.
Blaine stayed there for a while longer before remembering that there was an awards ceremony to get to. Brushing away the single tear that had escaped, he hurried backstage. He found the Warblers there already, and clearly worried. Wes looked like he was about to send out a government search party.
"It's about damn time," Wes said quietly. "You okay?"
"I'm fine. Are they going to call us up?"
"Any second now."
"Let's reintroduce the competing groups," the announcer called, his voice muffled from backstage. "First we have the Dalton Warblers!"
Blaine nodded and led the way to the stage. He bumped into a boy wearing a deep maroon dress shirt that was slightly taller than him and felt a strange shock of nerves - probably just got startled or something - that nearly made him stumble. Instead, he kept his head down, muttering an apology as he made his way into the spotlight for the second time that night.
About ten minutes later, the Warblers ended up in second place and didn't qualify for Regionals. Blaine didn't feel as dejected as he would have thought - in fact, he felt almost buoyant and joyful. He supposed he was just happy for the New Directions, who were celebrating on the stage near them. From what he'd heard, they deserved this shot.
"They did a good job," Trent mused from beside Blaine.
"I missed it - what did they do?"
"One of the girls sang lead on Valerie while a couple of the others did a crazy dance routine. But the awesome part was the duet before that." Trent's eyes were wide; it must have been good. As the Warblers walked off the stage, Blaine prompted him to keep going. "Oh, these two guys sang (I've Had) The Time of My Life. There's one of them."
Trent pointed towards the New Directions, who were filing past the Warblers in good cheer. The person in question, a well-built guy with a shock of sandy blonde hair, looked up at Blaine and nodded, smiling cordially.
"The other one... Huh, I don't see him. He had an insane vocal range, though, I wish you could have heard him."
"Me too. Hey," Blaine said, raising his voice so all the Warblers could hear him. "Does Breadstix sound good for a second-place celebratory meal?"
The others all murmured their affirmation, and Blaine made a mental note to ask the bus driver to stop. Technically it wasn't allowed to make such a stop, but Dalton didn't exactly adhere to regular school standards anyways.
As they headed out the door to get to the bus, Blaine rubbed at his Letter, which was conveniently hidden under the uniform's right cuff. He hadn't felt it much that night - if at all - and he supposed he'd been too distracted to notice the tug. It was so weak, he couldn't always be sure whether or not he was just imagining that it had faded away.
Preoccupied with his thoughts, Blaine didn't even notice that anyone was speaking to him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw a man - likely in his early forties - who wore a cap on top of his head and a flannel shirt. Blaine's first instinct was to flinch, but the man's eyes were kind, so he resisted.
"You guys did good," the man said, smiling. "Congrats."
"Oh- Thank you, sir," Blaine said. "The New Directions blew us out of the water, though."
"Yeah, they can do that sometimes. They're a crazy bunch, but they're good kids."
Before Blaine could ask how he knew the New Directions, Wes called him from the bus, looking distinctly irritated.
"If you're not on this bus in thirty seconds-"
"I'd better go," Blaine said, his expression apologetic. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it, kid. Go have fun, and good luck next year."
Blaine nodded, taking the hand that was offered to him and shaking it. He thanked the man again before turning to walk briskly towards the bus, shooting a glare at Wes. The guy was actually looking at his watch, for goodness' sake.
"You're a dictator," Blaine said to him as he climbed into the bus.
"I'm a leader, and so are you," Wes said loftily. "Which means you should be on the bus when the rest of us are on the bus."
"Whatever you say. To Breadstix, John," he added, addressing the bus driver. The vehicle shuddered as it started to move, and Blaine settled himself on one of the seats, exhausted.
He pulled his sleeve up by a few inches and stared at the K on his wrist, just as vibrant and clear as it had been that afternoon in the hospital. With a single finger, he traced the lines, a feeling of hopelessness threatening to break through his fragile shell. His soulmate was in Ohio, within 3 hours from Westerville at the most, and it was proving impossible to find him. Or her.
No, him. Of that, at least, Blaine was sure.
There didn't seem to be any point in actively looking for this K person, considering the limitations of the Letter. Funny how it's meant to help in the process of finding one's soulmate, yet Blaine had no real way to search. Hiding his Letter under the sleeve again, Blaine decided he would try to live his life on his own. If he found K along the way, great, if not...
Well, he wasn't going to think about that just yet.
