Sideways

Chapter 12

The lights were on full blast and Kurt was walking around his room, flinging random items of clothing, which he had obviously thrown around to look for something to wear after Blaine had woken him up, into his closet. Blaine lay stomach down on Kurt's bed, his head resting in his hands, elbows leaning into the bed, watching him with some intent.

Kurt's movements were like fluid. He moved with a kind of grace that Blaine had never seen anyone else move with. It reminded Blaine of the way the trees danced to-and-fro in the light breeze, so gentle and docile, but still strong and grounded.

Also, Kurt was wearing really tight pants again. They left so little to the imagination in the rear area and Blaine felt a little dazed as he watched him drifting across the room, his hips twisting, his entire backside defined by the thin layer of tight, tight material that covered it.

"You should stop cleaning and come over here," Blaine told Kurt, his eyes caressing the soft curve of Kurt's hips, the slant of his back and where it fell down into the swell of his taut, round—

"What?" Kurt said, knocking him from his reverie, but Blaine didn't drop his gaze. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I said," Blaine said sitting up and crossing his legs, because he did not want Kurt to see what was happening in his nether regions. "Stop cleaning and come here."

Kurt stopped still and turned to face him. Blaine frowned because it was as if he had been denied access to viewing Kurt's ass. He shouldn't have been as interested as he was, but tonight he was giving in to himself, just for this one night.

Blaine's day had gone pretty badly. After school, he had gone home and his parents were fighting again. It was nothing new, really, but his mom was crying and his dad was shouting and the intensity of it all had sent him flying over the edge. His father had threatened so many things in the past, but it had seemed as if he had finally snapped, because Blaine had had to wrestle him away from the cabinets where they kept the kitchen knives. He knew, deep down, that his father wouldn't really do anything with them, but the entire situation had been so frantic and frightening that he just could not risk it.

It had rattled him to the core. His body had shook, his head ached and he fought the urge to cry. His dad looked deranged, sitting there on the couch looking angered one minute and jumping up out of his seat and racing into the kitchen, shouting numerous threats the next.

It had probably been the worst day of his entire life.

His dad had left the house, slamming the door, sending a large tremor through the hallway and all through Blaine. Blaine made sure his mother had taken her medication, before placing her in bed, then he left the house, angry, confused and scared. He had had enough. He was tired of fighting, tired of pretending, tired of everything.

And that was what had made him do what he did for Kurt. He had planned on simply calling him that night, wishing him a happy birthday and leaving it at that, but he felt like he needed to do more, because Kurt deserved more.

The entire charade at home had left him far too tired to keep his guard up. He just wanted to let go for a while, so he'd gone to the mall and picked out the bracelet and had it engraved and then he'd driven aimlessly for a while, trying to plan out what he would do. When he had decided, he'd gone home to check on his mom. There was a voice message on the machine from his dad, saying he wouldn't be home tonight, which made Blaine feel better about leaving his mother alone. Then he'd waited it out and packed his things into the car and gone over to Kurt's.

"But I'm almost done," Kurt told him, his hands resting gently on those hips of his.

"Come on, Kurt," Blaine said, careful to use his first name. "I don't care what your room looks like, I just want you to stop pacing back and forth like a father expecting his first born."