Hybrid Verse, kitty!kurt, half-hybrid!blaine. A continuation of this
They have glee, and soon they start eating lunch together in the courtyard. Kurt can feel the eyes of the other students on his back; he sees the way they look at Blaine, the way they don’t quite know what to make of him. And Blaine, kind and happy and consistently exuberant, either doesn’t realize or doesn’t care. Kurt worries, he wants to protect Blaine and let him off the hook. But. It’s nice, is the thing. Amazing, actually.
Blaine gets it, Blaine gets him and Kurt has no defenses against that, none at all. He can’t seem to stop the free-fall into oblivion that his heart is doing, can’t stop wanting to spend time with Blaine, as much as possible. Blaine’s smile and his laugh, his eyes, golden hued and lined with thick black lashes. Like a pharaoh. He’s done for, he knows it. He also knows it’s only a matter of time before his love-sick heart will be smashed like a bug on the sidewalk.
The weather turns cooler; trees dropping their dried and fragile leaves. They stay outside when others move in to the cafeteria, then it’s just them and The Skanks hanging out on the periphery; scowling with carefully affected boredom and chain-smoking Virginia Slims.
“Katy Perry is a goddess and you and I both know it.”
“Okay sure, but if we’re comparing her to Beyonce-”
“No fair comparing anyone to Beyonce, Kurt.”
“Alright I’ll give you that,” Kurt looks down at his salad, bites down on a grin as he concentrates too hard on spearing a wilted piece of lettuce. “I do a mean Single Ladies dance.”
He chances a look at Blaine, but has to quickly drop his gaze. Blaine isn’t laughing or grinning, but watching with his chin propped on his fist, slowly fluttering those dangerous eyelashes. “Now that I’d like to see,” he says, and Kurt can’t he can’t, oh god he’s tumbling headlong into disaster and he can’t stop.
Kurt makes himself breathe, puts hand down on the seat over the incessant trembling of his tail, calm down. He looks at Blaine, steady and confident, “Well, maybe you could come over-”
A mass of jocks, built like their ancestors never quite evolved past the neanderthal phase, hulking and thick, cross the courtyard. “Here pussy, pussy, pussy.”
Laughter and high-fives all around; do they live only to make his life miserable? Lurking around corners to ensure he never feels anything like happiness or even just safety, just the tiniest bit?
But they pass him, don’t so much as bump into him or toss his food on the ground, and go directly to Blaine who is still smiling and starting up a friendly greeting when he’s pushed off his bench, falling backwards onto the ground with his arms grasping at the thin air. Kurt is up and around the table before the group is gone through the doors, one of them calling a slur over his shoulder that makes Kurt’s stomach churn with nausea.
“Are you okay?”
Blaine ignores Kurt’s outstretched hand, pulls himself up and starts straightening his clothes and brushing off dirt from his pants. He looks- upset. Angry. Face hardened and shoulders drawn in tight, fists balled against his side. For the first time Kurt is seeing Blaine look something other than generally happy-go-lucky. It’s unsettling.
Kurt reaches to touch his arm, but Blaine flinches away, nostrils flaring and eyes hardened. It’s finally happened. Blaine has had enough.
He should just leave. Force a smile and leave, and that’s that. Blaine is off the hook, and Kurt can go back to being aloof and untouchable; back to forcing his chin high, his spine straight. Make himself not care. He means to say something light, like see you around. But he’s hurt and angry and defensive. He’s a person, not a disease, for fuck’s sake.
“I never asked you to do this.”
Kurt barrels on talking over the rest of Blaine’s confused reply, “…like you feel guilty or, or you have to because of your mom or because no one knows about you unless you tell them or what.” He picks up his lunch tray, shoves it into the overflowing trash can; he’s shaking and woozy, ears flattening against his head and his tail sweeping in wide arcs behind him as he moves.
“I don’t need your pity, Blaine.” His voice is clipped and icy in a way that usually leaves him feeling like at least he can walk away with the upper hand, at least he can always outsmart them, at least he’s better.
But he feels sick and awful at Blaine’s face; all big, sad eyes, more like a half-hybrid of a kicked puppy than a cat. Blaine picks up his bag and slips it over his shoulder as Kurt stands suspended with breath caught tight in his chest at hurting Blaine like that, but what is he supposed to do?
“Did it ever occur to you that I actually like you?”
It’s a constant war in his head between, of course you do I’m fantastic and no why would you? Always one extreme or the other, never any gray area or compromise between vanity and insecurity. He doesn’t know how to answer.
“Mousse,” is what tumbles from his mouth. Blaine squints one eye, tilts his head. “I made white chocolate mousse and there’s a DVR queue full of Jersey Shore if you- Um. Wanted to.”
Blaine drives too fast, it makes Kurt anxious. But he’s got good reflexes and he’s focused solely on driving, save for the way he’s belting out every song that comes on the radio. After one too many abrupt lane changes and close-call brake-screeching stops, Kurt decides to stop looking out the window and just watches Blaine instead. It’s like something finally broke and opened wide; the dam holding back all the emotions he needed to keep safe, clutched close to his chest where no one could touch them and he’s just- Free. He laughs and sings along.
When they head up the stairs to his room, Kurt feels the anxiety start to bubble up again. He doesn’t usually like people in his room. His territory. Blaine walks around and picks up lotions and tchotchkes, peers into picture frames. Kurt waits with his back pressed against the closed door, hands spread flat on the rough grain.
He realizes that Blaine’s scent is getting on everything. He isn’t quite sure what to make of how much he likes that.
“Is this your mom?” Blaine traces the top of a silver frame placed on Kurt’s dresser.
“Yes,” Kurt says. He waits for the pity, the forced empathy, the I’m so sorry. But Blaine surprises him again.
“She’s beautiful. What was she like?”
Kurt breathes out, his shoulders dropping as his tail curves up high around his body, wrapping lightly over his chest. “Remarkable,” he replies.
Blaine mmm-hmms, walks toward Kurt, sly and sure, stalking. “Just like you.”
Kurt does his best to fuse his body with the door, grips the handle behind his back white knuckled, afraid of what he’ll do if he doesn’t hold on to something. “I- I’m-”
“The most amazing person I’ve ever met. I’m crazy about you, Kurt.”
“Blaine.” It comes out in a whisper, like anything more will shatter the moment, then Blaine’s mouth is there, soft and warm and just a bit slick. Kurt spends too long being stunned that Blaine starts to pull away, so Kurt cups his palms along Blaine’s face, cradles him there, and kisses back.
He’s buzzing, electric from head to toe, finally he pulls away to give in and nuzzle his face along Blaine’s jaw, his neck, breathe him in deep. His hands flutter, rubbing along Blaine’s shoulders and back and chest like birds frantic for a resting place. Blaine ducks his head and bumps their foreheads together, breath hitching, just a bit.
“Kurt, I- Where can I touch you?”
He pulls back to question what Blaine means, but feels the scrape of Blaine’s fingertips high on his scalp, a snippet of conversation flashing through his mind: Most people who know my mom just pretend like they don’t notice and she- lets them. It’s easier for her to just go along with it.
Kurt wonders just how much of his mom has always been off limits to Blaine. If he doesn’t feel just as alone and isolated as Kurt, not because people know. Because they don’t.
“You can,” Kurt says.
Blaine buries his hands in Kurt’s hair, stroking and searching, until they settle at the bottom of Kurt’s ears and Blaine leans in to slide their lips together again. Kurt’s brain is white noise and bliss, pulled down deep where the only things that exist are Blaine’s lips and Blaine’s hands. So when Blaine pulls away to chuckle it’s a long minute of fuzzy-brained confusion before Kurt realizes what happened.
“Oh god.” Kurt tries to move away but the door is solid behind him and Blaine is solid in front of him. When did they manage to twine themselves together like that?
He’s purring. A steady rumbling from his chest; it sounds like a jet plane to his own ears.
“Hey, no.” Blaine strokes through Kurt’s hair and Kurt is helpless to resist, eyes rolling back as Blaine’s fingers work just so. “I think it’s adorable. I think you’re adorable.”
Kurt blinks, and blushes, and blinks some more. Musters up the courage to smile in what he hopes is a coy sort of way. “Well in that case,” He leans close, nuzzles under Blaine’s chin, marking him, some buried instinct hissing mine. “You should probably kiss me some more.”
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