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Connection (4/5 + Epilogue)

Glee: Slo-Mo
Title: Connection
Author: devonwood
Word Count: 35,100
Rating: R
Warnings: Sex. Mentions of homophobia, off-screen violence, and sexual assault relating to canon events between Kurt and Karofsky in NBK, as well as Blaine at Sadie Hawkins.

The full header and links to other chapters can be found in the Masterpost.

Chapter Four

sparklingtheaterofexcess

Ah yes, just what I signed up for. A wildly inappropriate PSA episode that will no doubt trigger the hell out of viewers with no sort of on-screen warning, and I have to wait another month and a half until it airs. So glad those six misfit teens pulled me in for this four years down the road.

#sing wank for your bls #everything happens so much

132 Notes Reblog [Heart]

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partfalseparttrue

Fic Rec(s)!

As we’re nearing closer to the Chevon Big Bang deadline, I’ve taken the time to do a little bit more research into the location of sparklingtheaterofexcess’ fic so I can make sure he’s writing all the subtle nuances with the grace and ease of a seasoned citizen.

...Okay, so my research has mainly consisted of old Zagat guides and other Sing fanfictions set in the same area, but that counts as something, right? :D Here are small smattering of my favorite Chevon fics based out of the Big Apple!

As Long As We Both Shall Live- An oldie but a goodie! Two of New York City’s hottest and most influential lesbians are getting married--and it’s up to Chase to plan the wedding of a century. Fortunately, with wedding singer!Devon (not Adam Sandler, thank God) helping at every twist and turn in the double Bridezilla diva drama planning affair, it seems like there are two couples ready to pledge until death do they part. It’s sweet and delicious, yet packed full of humor and feels. A well-rounded fic set against the backdrop of New York City that gets me every time.

Loose Lips Sink Ships- Another oldie, but apparently the nostalgia has been in full-force tonight! Set amidst the backdrop of New York City’s Fleet Week, this fic takes a look into newly-NYC residents Chase and Devon getting their fumbling start into everything the city has to offer. Contains the friendship with Raquelle that we all wanted and never got, which is a little bittersweet upon reread, but overall the fic is a delightful glimpse into these two idiots making the beginning of their life together in New York.

A Dark World Aches For The Splash of the Sun- I know, I know--finally something a little more recent. You should all know that this list was about twelve fics long before I realized that was entirely too much for a short fic rec! But I couldn’t leave this one off, not when it’s beautifully written, and so open and honest and in character that it makes me do little kicky-feet at my desk. Devon moves to New York without a penny to his name, running as fast as he can from a very religious family that doesn’t support him or his sexuality. He meets Chase, his next door neighbor, and teaches him a thing or two about love and spirituality and growing together as both friends and lovers. It’s everything I wanted from church (ha, ha) but never got, except when I doodled potential boyfriends on the back of the bulletin during the hymns. (Similarly, if you’re looking for another great spirituality-based fic that’s perfect and lovely and all sorts of other great adjectives, check out Search for What is True, a fic about Devon becoming the choir director at a Unitarian Universalist church--OKAY I’LL STOP RECCING THINGS NOW I PROMISE).

#fic rec #chevon for your bls #i saved the rest in a draft. i have a problem

46 Notes Reblog [Heart]

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partfalseparttrue reblogged you:


[image violates tumblr copyrights]


#nsfw #ooh her tattoos are pretty

31,149 Notes Reblog [Heart]

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Blaine’s phone buzzes on the desk next to his keyboard, two quick bursts that have him frowning when he glances at the name that pops on the screen. It’s a little late for a text from a casual acquaintance--especially the girl he’d taken on a not-a-date at his father’s request and then exchanged brief yet polite texts with every once in a while, such as “Merry Christmas,” and “The best Chinese food in the area is New China Express. It’s near the Kroger on 3, you can’t miss it”--let alone two texts in rapid succession. Curious, he unlocks his phone and reads the texts, eyebrows inching closer to his hairline when he sees not only the length (definitely a novel), but the content.

Melanie: Hello, Blaine! Sorry it’s so late, but I couldn’t sleep and was flipping the channels, and Calamity Jane was on TCM. I started thinking about the joke you made right at the end, and then I started thinking about you! We definitely should get together sometime soon, because I enjoyed myself a lot last time.
Maybe something a little more quiet and intimate? A certain dapper gentleman gave me a great Italian restaurant recommendation a while back that I would absolutely *love* to try. :)

The evening had been fine up until Blaine had offered to pay and she didn’t politely insist to split the check--which told Blaine everything about how much of a date she thought the evening was, versus how much of a not-date he thought the evening was--but even that hadn’t been enough to ruin his night since they’d had a fairly pleasant conversation and discovered some shared music interests while flicking through the car stereo on the way to the theater. No, the nail in the coffin of Blaine’s five-step “Let Her Down Easy Because Gay” plan had been the uncomfortable and morally offended look she’d shot Blaine when an older lesbian woman proposed to her girlfriend two booths down. He’d opted for Plan B at that point--Ignore In A Gentlemanly Fashion. So he can’t really see why she’s initiating another conversation; if Blaine had been on the receiving end of a Gentlemanly Ignore, he wouldn’t want anything to do with the other person.

Blaine taps the edge of his phone against his chin as he mentally composes a reply, not wanting to have three dots appear on her screen to make it seem like he is deep in thought about their going-nowhere relationship.

Blaine: Don’t worry, I was awake. Show Choir Regionals are coming up soon, so I’m pretty busy at the moment, hence not starting my U.S. History outline until nine o’clock the night before. Maybe some other time.

There. No exclamatory punctuation, no emoticons, nothing to lead her on. Her response comes almost immediately.

Melanie: No problem. Enjoy your evening.

Blaine: You too.

Satisfied that the potentially awkward situation is averted, at least for the time being, Blaine sets his phone on the desk again and maximizes his browser. He and Kurt had really hit a stride towards the end of Chapter Four, and he doesn’t want to lose their mojo. There’s a notification in the chat window, though, which Blaine pops out and drags to the side.

Kurt: What the hell is that?

For a wild half-second, Blaine thinks Kurt is talking about his text conversation with Melanie, until he remembers that Kurt can’t see what Blaine is doing behind the blinking cursor. Realizing Kurt must be talking about the doc, Blaine scrolls down to the closest comment to Kurt’s cursor, and tries to interpret what Kurt is asking, though it doesn’t seem like a cause for Kurt’s alarm.

Blaine: Uh, change the passive voice to active voice? “Devon’s hair is stroked by Chase’s hesitant, flighty-colt fingers” It can be changed around with Chase doing the action.

Kurt: Not that, your last Tumblr post.

Blaine actually has to flick back to his dash to see if he’d said anything particularly inflammatory, but no, it was just a Suicide Girls reblog he’d queued several days ago when he’d been looking up body modifications for a drabble.

Blaine: What about it?

Kurt: A nude???
I don’t follow porn blogs, Blaine!


Blaine: I tagged it!
Also, I post and reblog smut all the time!


Kurt: That’s different, that’s written erotica like my stepmother's Scottish Highland novels that she thinks I don’t see her reading.
I didn’t think I needed to blacklist ‘NSFW’ because I don’t follow Broke Straight Boys!


Blaine: My great-aunt loves those.
And I’d call it more of a tasteful nude.


...Okay, her legs are spread a bit more obscenely than is strictly necessary, but the camera filter and nipple jewelry gives it a fancy touch.

Blaine: Broke Straight Boys, really?
Not even Corbin Fisher?


Kurt: ...I probably shouldn’t Google that, should I?

Blaine: That all depends on what kind of night you intend to have. ;)
But back to the original point, I don’t make a habit of posting visual porn, if you haven’t noticed.
Is this because it’s a girl?


Kurt: Why, are you going through a Devon-esque season two sexuality crisis? :P

Blaine glances at his phone, tries to picture his non-date with Melanie ending with something more serious than an awkward half-arm hug after he walked her to the door in the chilled November air. He thinks back to games of Spin the Bottle in junior high, sitting on a cushion in his friend Austin’s basement and desperately hoping the bottle wouldn’t land on Dianna and would, instead, land on Austin.

Blaine: Absolutely not.
Girls can be soft and pretty and look better in A-line dresses than I will ever hope to, but I’m definitely not attracted to them sexually.
They’re just...aesthetically pleasing.
And I pretend that awful episode doesn’t exist most of the time, tbh. Except for Chase’s *spectacular* leather pants at the kegger.


Blaine hears footsteps in the hall approaching his room, and he quickly tabs over to Facebook and acts really interested in his profile picture from three months ago when his mother opens the closed door after two short knocks on the door frame. “Come in,” he says, though it’s unnecessary as his mother is already approaching the computer.

She hesitates about three feet away, forcing him to spin around in his desk chair to look at her. There’s a slight frown pulling at her lips as she pats down her hair that’s frizzed from standing in front of the oven while cooking dinner. “Your father and I have been talking--”

Blaine tenses; those words have never meant good things coming his way.

“--and we think that you spend too much time on this computer.”

Blaine schools his features into something passive, halts his eyes mid-roll so they land somewhere just to the left of his mother’s gaze. “I’ve barely been on it tonight,” he says, as neutral as he can make it.

“Blaine, dinner was four hours ago,” his mother says, clucking her tongue to her teeth in disappointment. “You’ve been up here ever since.”

“I’ve just been talking to my friends.” He waves vaguely to Facebook on his computer, though Blaine can’t even remember the last time he updated his status. A quick glance tells him two weeks ago Tuesday, and it was just a Warblers photo he’d been tagged in.

His mother frowns, crossing her arms lightly across her small chest, though the effect is still authoritative. “How come we never see any of these friends?”

Because they are faceless entities that live thousands or millions of miles away. “I’ll text Trent and see if he wants to do something this weekend,” Blaine says, deflecting--a skill he’s become remarkably good at when talking to his family, especially Cooper. “We both have a big math test on Monday and could use an all-night study party on Saturday.”

His mother opens her mouth to say something but hesitates for a moment, as though she thinks better of it, then, “Are you sure a sleepover is appropriate? Given...you two?”

Blaine bristles. He can feel the hair stand on the back of his neck, and has to take his own moment of pause to temper his emotion to a more reasonable level of well-deserved aggression. “You just told me I need to do more with my friends, and Trent is a friend,” he says, stressing the last word.

“Okay,” his mother says, holding her hands up, palms outwards, “but I’m calling his mother to make sure they’ll be there Saturday night.”

“Of course,” Blaine says. He pulls out his phone to text Trent the plan, even though he feels bad about the social faux pas of inviting himself to someone else’s house for a shindig--especially since he’s barely traded anything more than pleasantries with Trent in a few months. Blaine’s mother still hovers, not flinching in the slightest, and he sighs softly before asking, “Anything else?”

“Your father and I would like you to come watch television with us tonight,” she says, crossing her arms again, pulling her elbows tight to her sides. “As a family.”

Blaine closes his eyes for a long moment before reopening them. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, hoping that will placate her. “Just let me finish this and I’ll be right down.”

When she leaves, Blaine tabs back to the doc, typing “brb :|” into Gchat before closing his laptop and heading downstairs to the living room.

The movie seems to drag on forever because Blaine has absolutely no interested in Atlas Shrugged, and his father shoots him a look every time Blaine attempts to surreptitiously check Tumblr on his phone. He does get a text from Trent that the sleepover is a great idea, which he shows his parents, but otherwise Blaine sits perfectly still on the couch cushion next to his mother and tries not to think of how the internet is passing him by while he's playing the dutiful son interested in Objectivism and long-winded films. By the time the movie ends and Blaine can finally retreat to his bedroom, he barely has the strength after being On all night to do more than rinse the gel from hair and swish Listerine around in his mouth before he collapses on top of the covers.

The next morning, Blaine doesn’t get out of bed until his back aches from the strain of trying to backread twelve hours of his dashboard on his iPhone. He shivers, sliding out of the warm cocoon of his blankets and padding down the cold, wooden stairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet save for the ice maker in the refrigerator and the heater kicking on once Blaine slides the thermostat higher--his mother is at a women’s lunch and his father is golfing with some of the partners from his office--so Blaine hums “Tik-Tok” while he bops around the kitchen making eggs and toast.

His bedroom is marginally warmer when Blaine makes it back after successfully navigating the stairs while balancing a full coffee mug on the edge of his breakfast plate. He’s grateful to set them down on his desk to cool while he gathers all the appropriate items to hunker down at his computer for the precious few hours before his parents come home and make him do something else: comforter from his bed, since it’s still cold but Blaine’s flannel pajama bottoms are in the wash; iPhone from the charger, which is already down to 83% battery though Blaine’s only been awake for an hour or so; Kleenex from his bedside table because he’d forgotten to grab a napkin downstairs and doesn’t want to walk all the way down there now that he’s cozy.

Blaine wiggles the mouse on his laptop to wake it up from sleep mode, since he’d never shut it down last night. Immediately the Google Doc pops up, though it’s frozen while Blaine’s computer tries to update the internet connection. When it comes back on and Blaine scrolls down, he raises his eyebrows in surprise at how much Kurt had written in Gchat while Blaine had been away. Blaine feels bad that he’d told Kurt he would be right back and then never came back, but it seems like Kurt kept himself busy in the interim. It doesn’t look like Kurt is online yet and Blaine doesn’t blame him, given that some of these updates’ times means Kurt was still awake a few hours ago, so Blaine takes the time to read through the conversation Kurt apparently had with himself for a while in the doc.

Blaine: brb :|

Kurt: Okay.
Blaine?
You’ve been gone for like three hours, so I’m just going to assume you fell asleep at your keyboard again. You’re going to regret when you wake up tomorrow and the spacebar is smashed into your forehead.
I can’t scroll through low-fat breakfast recipes on pinterest any longer waiting for you, so I’m going to keep writing even though I’ve been putting this section off for a couple days.
I’ve reached...you know...the *sex scene*. And you informed me that I couldn’t skip to a fade to black because it would cheat the readers of the emotional moment and wouldn’t fit the story, and you’re right, of course. But I’ve.
I’ve never written a sex scene before, so I had to watch some movies for uh, “research,” first.


Blaine chokes, a giant bite of toast scraping his throat on the way down as he sharply inhales while chewing. He can feel his face flood with heat, though he’s about eighty percent sure it’s from the thought of Kurt watching porn and not because he’s gulping hot coffee and wheezing. Blaine can picture it though Kurt’s face is still blurry, but he can see Kurt’s hand slipping into his pajama bottoms, teasing the soft skin of his thighs because he doesn’t want to go straight for his cock, not yet, he wants to draw it out, there are still twenty minutes left in the video and the guys have only progressed as far as sensual, deep kisses while palming each other over their underwear.

A flicker at the corner of the screen announcing Kurt’s arrival in the doc works like a perfect cold shower, abating the hints of an erection Blaine had been sporting over the thought of his best friend masturbating, oh God. Blaine doesn’t even know what Kurt looks like, or sounds like, but he has to snatch his hand from his own pajama bottoms where it had been steadily creeping toward the head of his dick. He shakes his head like a dog clearing its ears of water, trying to get rid of the notion though he can still feel prickling warmth in the pit of his belly.

Kurt: Good morning.
Did you, uh, get a chance to read what I wrote last night?


Blaine: Working on it! :D

Blaine immediately judges his own use of a smilie. Is the open-mouth face too intense? He’d erased the original choice of a winky face because the innuendo was a bit much, even for Blaine, but the :D face looks like Blaine is trying too hard to get the image of long fingers wrapped around a thick cock out of his mind. He’s sure. He takes a long sip of hot coffee and scrolls to the beginning of the new section.



Chase moans as Devon removes his ruby red boxer briefs. It’s just as good as he remembers, and Chase salivates as he runs his fingertips down the hard planes of Devon’s chest and stomach.

“You’re so beautiful,” Chase says, voice a hushed whisper. “How could I ever forget how much I love this, love you?”

Devon blushes. “Let me touch you,” he says, tugging Chase’s own boxer briefs down. “Let me put my mouth on you.”

Chase reclines on the bed and Devon covers him with his body. “Yes, God,” Chase says into Devon’s mouth as Devon leans in for a kiss.



Blaine scrolls through the rest of it, though there really isn’t much else to read. It’s very quick, and not in a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sort of way--the writing is rushed, with some confusing body positions and pronouns that leave Blaine wanting to draw diagrams just to figure out where Chase’s arms are in relation to Devon’s hips in a way that’s very different from Kurt’s often poetic, bordering on purple prose that resonates and sticks in Blaine’s chest. He certainly reads and enjoys a lot of porn on his dash just like this, but Kurt’s fic is more than what he’s written so far.There’s no emotional depth to what Chase and Devon are doing, which is abundant in every scene, in every fight, in every tentative kiss and handhold and relearning activity that Chase and Devon have experienced in the rest of the fic.

Blaine:It’s a good start.

Kurt: Oh God, it’s awful, isn’t it?

Blaine: No, no, I didn’t say that. It’s not awful, it’s just a little...sparse. Almost like a well-written outline rather than a fully fleshed-out scene.
Slow it down a little, make it feel like you’re sensually wading through syrup. Let the reader feel the tension and excitement and love in that moment, like any other scene with weight in the story.


Kurt: But I don’t know the first thing about making something, you know.
Sensual.


Blaine: My advice is to write what you think is hot, because it will come across that way.

Kurt: What even is “hot”??? I tried watching some free “movies” that my blacklist didn’t catch on Tumblr, and all I could think about was what their mother would think if she knew their only acting credit was a film titled “Emaciated Twink Swallows Tattooed Load.”
Sex to me is rushing upstairs to the ‘ooh’ noises of a studio audience, or brief, lingering touches in black and white movies, or subtle nuances on stage that give the audience a glimpse into what happens behind the curtain.
The sex talk I got from my dad was the printed IMDB summary of Brokeback Mountain and a lot of awkward hand gestures I’d like to bleach from my working memory.


Blaine runs his hands through his hair, breaking up the gel under his fingertips. The movement pulls at his scalp, and he hums happily at the sharp-good feeling prickling from his head and spreading down his head and into his shoulders.

Blaine: I mean, I’ve never had sex either, but I have an idea of what I might enjoy.
Like, having my hair pulled while I’m going down on my partner.


Kurt: oh.

Blaine: So I tend to write a lot of that into my fics.
If I were writing this scene, it might look like:


Blaine starts typing, fingers flying across the keys, words flowing from his brain (and, admittedly, his groin) and straight onto the screen.



As Devon slides his thumbs under the waistband of his ruby red boxer briefs--a color, Chase notes, that goes well with his flushed cheeks and kiss-bitten lips--Chase moans, a wet, cracking, unexpected noise that vibrates from his toes all the way to the roots of his hair. Bit by bit Devon slides the underwear down until he bends over to remove the pair from his legs and Chase gets a view of his broad back, muscles and sinew dancing underneath sweaty, heated skin. That view is gone in a second, replaced with a more enticing one--at least, for the moment, because there are quite a few things Chase wants to do on and around Devon’s back, but later--of Devon’s ridiculous shoulder-to-hip ratio, and the line of soft, downy hair and ‘v’ of muscle at his groin that both happily lead Chase’s eyes along to Devon’s dick.

It’s just as good as Chase remembers, thick and deliciously hard, all for him--God, he’s missed the shiver that runs through his body when he sees Devon’s arousal nestled in the neatly trimmed thatch of hair between his thighs. “You’re so beautiful,” Chase whispers, reverent, worshipping Devon with the pad of a thumb rubbing along the groove of Devon’s hip.

Devon blushes, ducks his head in a naive move that Chase knows is half-true, half an act, because
Devon knows that Chase loves it. Sure enough, Devon starts to take the lead soon after, pressing Chase into the bed, walking him backwards while he tugs Chase’s own boxer briefs down his toned, deliciously muscular legs. “Let me touch you,” Devon says, folding his body over until Chase reclines on the bed, until Devon presses their naked bodies together, lines them up perfectly so all Chase can do is grunt and rock his hips, desperate, when Devon won’t move. Devon leans in, nips at the juncture of Chase’s neck and jaw before laving over the spot with his tongue. “Let me suck you,” he adds, a wet-hot whisper against the cooling sweat on Chase’s neck. One of his hands dances over the base of Chase’s cock, and Chase keens, arching his hips into the too-light pressure.

“Yes, God,” Chase says, reaching up to cradle Devon’s jaw in the palms of his hands. Devon’s eyes shine, dark and glistening and brilliant, and Chase’s heart blooms hot and flowery in his chest.
This, this right here is what he’s been missing for the past few months, the glorious warmth of spring whenever Devon is on top of him, loving him. “Please,” he says, the word lost in Devon’s mouth as they breathe each other in, tasting the breath and spark on their tripping tongues.



Kurt: 0__0

Blaine: Or something.

Kurt: That’s.
I.
I think it may be best if you just leave the doc.


Blaine: Going to have some alone time? ;)

Kurt: I’m not joking, Blaine.
I’m uncomfortable, so please leave.


Blaine recoils--emotionally, at least, because his back goes ramrod straight in the desk chair and he goes stiff like an ice sculpture. He feels small as he types back an “okay,” wishing there was a more meaningful way to show his tail between his legs as he x’s out of the browser window, coming face-to-face with his Chevon wallpaper of the first kiss.

He hadn’t thought that Kurt would be so upset over Blaine writing in the doc. Sure, some authors are territorial with their betas, only giving them the feature to ‘comment’ and not ‘edit’ on a Google Doc, but Kurt hadn’t previously had a problem with Blaine coming in to make diction changes or copyedits without running them by Kurt first. Re-typing several paragraphs was definitely on a larger scale, but Blaine wasn’t insisting that Kurt use that paragraph instead, so he can’t see the grave offense. Still, Blaine itches to apologize, an uncomfortable sensation pricking up and down his arms with the thought that he’d hurt Kurt’s feelings.

Blaine opens his browser again and pulls up his Tumblr inbox so he can send Kurt a fanmail.



I’m sorry, Kurt, that I was careless and thoughtless and hurt your feelings. I hadn’t realized that rewriting your text in what I thought would be a fun exercise would actually cause you offense. It’s my fault for assuming that it would be okay without asking first, and I apologize for that.
-partfalseparttrue








If you think *that* is why I’m upset, Blaine, you’re not as respectful a friend as I thought you were.
-sparklingtheaterofexcess



Oh. Blaine shrinks into his seat. Because if it wasn’t the writing itself, that means it was the.

Sex stuff.

He crossed Kurt’s boundaries in a thoughtless and crass way. Not every teenage boy is an utter pervert who likes reading or watching sex stuff. The winkie face was too much. The “dick” instead of “throbbing manhood” was too much. Blaine was too much, and he frantically begins composing an apology.




Wow, okay, I screwed up majorly, and I really apologize. It’s not my job to push your boundaries about sex, because you set them for a reason and I shouldn’t have trod all over them. I am so, so sorry Kurt. You mean a lot to me and I don’t want to ever screw that up. More than I already have.
-partfalseparttrue



Blaine refreshes his dashboard for ten minutes and Kurt posts the whole time--almost aggressively, if Blaine allows himself a moment to analyze what all those photosets of Devon getting slushied mean--but never answers Blaine’s message, which is not the ideal, obviously, but Blaine is glad that Kurt hasn’t disappeared from Tumblr entirely like he did last time.

Friends get in fights all the time, Blaine rationalizes, and come back from them just as strong, if not stronger than before. It doesn’t mean anything though Kurt means everything to Blaine.

If Blaine’s mother notices an unhealthy amount of Cherry Garcia missing from the freezer later, she doesn’t bring it up, for which he is grateful.

---

Heavy-hearted, Blaine pulls up to Trent’s house and shifts his car into park, checking his phone for a message from Kurt before disconnecting his iPhone from his radio and crunching through the grass up Trent’s long driveway, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and laptop bag over the other. Trent greets him with a hug, which takes Blaine a little by surprise, and a plate of pizza rolls fresh from the microwave. The first one Blaine bites into scalds the roof of his mouth, yet is somehow still frozen on the inside; Blaine doesn’t know why he ever expects them to taste good, yet he reaches for another one immediately following the first.

“I started on the practice examples from the beginning of chapter nine,” Trent says, popping a pizza roll into his mouth. “But I’m still not sure I have the hang of differentials, so I ended up running to the grocery store for soda and disgusting snacks.”

“A noble endeavor, Warbler Trent,” Blaine says, placing his bags next to Trent’s by the table.

“Oh, please,” Trent says, waving his palm. “We aren’t in a meeting discussing show choir by-laws. Here, I’m just Trent.”

Blaine smiles, forgetting, for a moment, about the yawning ache inside his chest that grows ever more cavernous the longer Kurt doesn’t respond to his message. “Okay, Just Trent,” Blaine says, kneeling on the floor to unzip his duffel bag. “Let’s get our pre-calc on.”

They study for hours, munching happily on corn chips and lukewarm pizza rolls and, at one point, some deli meat straight from the package. Trent’s mother only comes to check on them once, but they’ve sort of taken over the entire dining room/living room area with snack plates and textbooks and graphing calculators so she leaves them be. At two in the morning they both hit the end point, no longer able to keep their eyes open, making dumb mistakes because a blurry ‘seven’ looks like a ‘one’. They pile dishes in the sink to be washed in the morning (though Blaine wants to insist finishing them tonight, otherwise pizza sauce will crust onto the plates) and head up to Trent’s room to change into pajamas, Blaine’s bags dragging up the stairs behind him. Blaine lets Trent take the bathroom first while he plugs in his charger and connects his rapidly-dying phone next to Trent’s bedside table.

He glances at the closed bathroom door before checking Tumblr again for a message, though he knows there isn’t anything from Kurt. Kurt has been posting on and off all day, so he’s not avoiding the internet entirely, like last time, just Blaine. Blaine is not sure if that is better or worse. On the one hand, Blaine feels the cold sting of an icy shoulder and knows he screwed up, badly. On the other, Kurt is still there even if just out of his reach, hasn’t disappeared forever out of Blaine’s life with one click of the mouse.

Kurt is apparently liveblogging a season three disaster of an episode on his dashboard, and Blaine chuckles at his latest post about a lapse in Devon’s typical Only Sane Man role. Blaine clicks to Kurt’s blog and starts reading his posts from the beginning of the episode with a watery smile, not hearing Trent exit the bathroom and pad over to the bed.

“Who have you been texting all night?” Trent asks, making Blaine jump and nearly drop his phone onto the carpet. The question isn’t malicious, just curious and interested. It’d be easy to lie, just a friend you don’t know, Blaine could say and Trent wouldn’t question it because he’s nice like that, but the dam explodes between Blaine’s chest and his mouth and suddenly it’s hard not to talk about Kurt, everything from their meeting to their drama to their deep connection spilling out at once, words and hand gestures and anecdotes barely able to encapsulate the best friend Blaine has never met.

“You probably think I’m weird,” Blaine says, once he begins to run out of adrenaline-laced steam. At some point he’d gone from hovering over the bed to lying down, arms crossed over his chest, head reclined on the pillow. Trent mirrors his position on the other side, except under the covers, eyes closed and chin upwards to the ceiling. “Having this crisis over an internet friend.”

“A friend is a friend regardless of whether they’re online or in person,” Trent says. “The only difference is not being able to hug them when they’re sad. It’s 2013, people are doing much more dangerous stuff on the internet than befriending someone over a popular teen comedy.”

A weight floats off Blaine’s chest, allowing him to take a metaphorical deep breath along with his next literal one.He turns over to face Trent, resting his chin in the cradle of his palm. “You think so?”

Trent cracks an eye open and shifts his head closer on the pillow, leaning in like he’s about to divulge a secret. “Have you seen that video of the girl twerking in a handstand and breaking her nose when she fell into a glass coffee table?”

Blaine swats at Trent’s shoulder. “The other thing, and you know it.”

Trent smiles and resettles back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds the answer to Blaine’s question. “My friend Michael that goes to Ohio State and got us a couple bottles of champagne to switch for the bottles of sparkling cider that Wes brought to the Warblers’ Christmas party?” Trent asks, almost rhetorically, though he waits for Blaine to nod in recognition before continuing. “Met him on a Digimon fansite when he was in the seventh grade and I was in fifth. We’ve been friends ever since, and have met up several times. Even uh, met up once or twice now that he’s at school close by,” Trent adds, flushing.

Blaine’s not proud of the way his jaw clanks open in a cartoonish fashion. Trent actually has to lean in and slide two fingers under Blaine’s chin, closing it.

“We have more in common than you think, Blaine Anderson,” Trent says. He prods Blaine’s shoulder. “And now that we have each other’s deepest secrets, we’re required to make a blood pact or Unbreakable Vow or something. At the very least, become better friends.”

Blaine would really, really like that--the last one, specifically. “How did I not know you’re so awesome?” Blaine asks, turning over on his side and poking Trent until he does the same.

“Because it took you this long to admit that you do something stereotypically uncool,” Trent says, shrugging. “I’ve been awesome the whole time. It just took you awhile to catch on.”

Blaine grimaces, though it doesn’t seem like Trent minds all that much. “Sorry, man. I thought the other guys wouldn’t want to be friends with me if they knew how weird I was, and then the Council would vote me out and I’d go back to swaying in the background. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, no offense--”

“None taken.”

“--but then I’d never find a job or college and my parents would disown me and I’d be forced onto the streets and would have to wait for months or even possibly years for my soulmate to accidentally stumble over me on the cold sidewalk outside a coffee shop and fall in love with my red nose and my adorably scruffy beard.”

Trent raises an eyebrow. “Is that a plot on Sing?”

“It should be,” Blaine grumbles.

“Blaine,” Trent says, clapping him on the shoulder, “you don’t have to like all the same things the rest of the Warblers like. We’re a club, not a cult. We’ll still like you, even if you’re not a dashingly handsome and outrageously talented singing robot in a well-fitted blazer.”

Blaine laughs, ducking his head. It feels nice to have an ally of sorts in the “real world,” even if Blaine really should stop thinking about his online life and his physical life as two separate entities. “You’re right,” Blaine says, and Trent snuggles into the covers with a mumbled, “I typically am,” pressed into the pillow. Blaine rolls his eyes, but starts planning next weekend’s sleepover--at his house, this time.

But first, Blaine has to fix things with Kurt. In the morning, while Trent lightly snores next to him, Blaine will pull out his laptop and google everything from gay men's health websites, to an outdated guide he used when first starting to write male/male erotica, to a couple of Blaine's personal favorite (which he will choose not to mention) porn videos that have lots of kissing and smiles and explicit consent and prep. He will fanmail them all to Kurt, telling Kurt how much Blaine cares about him and what they have, and he will also say that Kurt doesn't need a sex scene to "sell" his work like Blaine sometimes does, because Kurt's writing (with Blaine's edits, of course) is something. He will conclude with, I hope I'm not overstepping again, take a deep breath, and send.

For now, Blaine pulls Trent into a hug neither one of them were quite expecting before heading to the bathroom to change into pajamas and squirt another dollop (dime-size, like Kurt has instructed ever since Blaine let slip how much product he went through in a month) of gel into his already unruly hair.

Chapter Five

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
alexei_darling
Sep. 18th, 2013 07:00 pm (UTC)
This fic is amazing - seriously loving all the fun meta to roll around in (it's kind of my kryptonite). I ESPECIALLY love the references to other fics I love in the beginning of this chapter (As Long As We Both Shall Live = For Better Or For Worse and Search For What Is True = Singing The Journey, right? What were the other two?)

Also really loving the parallels to Season 2 - it's like going back down memory lane :)
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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