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[Fic] Coup de Foudre (3/3) - complete!
Title: Coup de Foudre (3/3)
Wordcount: ~10,500 overall
Rating: MA
Pairing(s): Kurt/Blaine
Genre: Erotica, WAFF, PWPish, Romance
Warning(s): sex, language, probably too much sweetness, embarrassment, mild alcohol use, porn watching
Prompt(s): Written for Anonymous' AU ficlet prompt: Klaine and one of them is a foreign exchange student.
Notes: Thank you to gettinglostinneverland for cultural advice and beta reading! This story wouldn't exist without her encouragement and inspiration. An extra thank you to nuestroamoresunviaje for some help with a key French phrase, and to teiledesganzen for insightful and interesting responses to my questions about German swearing. :) And, an additional thank you to Soizic and cymeteria. Cymeteria has been so generous with her Alsatian language & cultural advice and very patient with all my questions. <3 Any remaining flaws are not due to their diligence!
Summary: (AU) Blaine realizes the depth of his feelings for Kurt and they talk about the future. (Or, the tale of how Blaine Anderson lost his virginity to the hot French exchange student.)
Bonus playlist & art from gettinglostinneverland! She put together a wonderul bunch of songs by Tokio Hotel for Kurt along with perfect CD cover art here.
Previously: 1. Prologue | 2. Seduction
3. Epilogue
Kurt comes inside Blaine. It should be a simple thing, really. That was the goal and the expectation when Blaine brought Kurt up to his room, but it's not a simple thing for Blaine at all.
When it happens, Blaine is on his belly; his duvet is wadded up under his hips, only half pulled back beneath him. His dick is caught up in one of its folds. (They didn't start this way, but it's how they’ve ended up.) Kurt’s body, sweltering hot in motion, heavy in its demands, presses and rocks him into the mattress, and Kurt’s cock is an irrefutable physical fact: wedging him open, filling him up, and fastening him in place.
Blaine’s eyes are shut, but his mouth is open, pressed against the fine, dry cotton of his bottom sheet. Kurt’s lips rove along his cheek and neck and shoulder, nipping and sucking greedily between mumbled endearments and praise, the meanings of which Blaine can only infer from the tone in which they’re delivered. Some fragments of English make it through though: "so good", and, "so beautiful", and, "you are so fantastic, Blaine."
("You must tell me if anything is bad. I want it to be pleasing for you," Kurt had said at the beginning.)
Pleasing. It’s not a word Blaine would have chosen, but it is the right word: to bring pleasure, sensual gratification. The longer Kurt fucks him—whether it's the slow searing drag as Kurt starts, or the quick bright shock as the intensity of feeling grows—the better it gets. Blaine is entirely pleased; he wants to feel like this forever.
Kurt’s climax overwhelms Blaine in a way he never anticipated. Experiencing this closeness with Kurt, moving inside him, over him, saturating him with his scent and sweat and presence. Kurt, growing hotter—frantic almost—as he falls from a considerate and controlled lover into a rutting, nonverbal human animal. It's like Kurt's urgency bleeds right into Blaine, for he comes again too, in a surge of irresistible ecstasy just moments after Kurt. Kurt's still buried deep inside him, still an unforgiving wide stretch, but motionless now. Blaine swivels his hips down against the soft friction of his duvet, gluts himself back on the hot throb of his body strained so tight around Kurt’s cock, and it's enough.
The noise Kurt makes as Blaine's body seizes around him will linger in Blaine's memory for long months ahead. (He'll find himself sitting, dazed, in the front row of his English class, remembering Kurt's voice and flushing hot, unable to answer whatever question the teacher has just put to him.)
.
Loose-limbed and unselfconscious, they lie naked together after. The condom is in the trash, Blaine’s duvet is set aside for laundering, and the window is cracked open to let in a fresh breath of the night air. Kurt is sweetly attentive, petting Blaine's cooling skin and asking, "how are you?" and, "did you enjoy it?" and, "I hope nothing hurts?"
Blaine reassures Kurt with each reply: "I'm perfect," and, "it was amazing, Kurt, you felt so good," and, "nothing hurts at all, everything's wonderful." But he struggles to begin a sentence of his own, to ask Kurt how he is. There's a feeling swelling in Blaine's chest, as if his heart itself is inflating. When he tries to speak, his throat closes and tears prick behind his eyes.
"What is it?" Kurt asks. Idly he plays with Blaine's hair where it's come loose into short, sweat damp ringlets. His head is pillowed near, facing Blaine, so of course he notices.
"I don't know," Blaine says; he winces at the twist of too much emotion in his voice. "I don't know," he repeats in a whisper.
"But you're not hurt?" Kurt's brow is creased with concern, the corners of his lips down-turned. He reaches down for Blaine's hand, strokes along the long bones of Blaine's fingers, rubs tiny circles over each knuckle.
Blaine shakes his head.
"How are you feeling? Try to tell me?"
Kurt's worry only expands the feeling in Blaine's chest. "I'll try," Blaine says.
With a shallow smile, Kurt nods and waits.
"When you put your mouth on me and I came inside you?" Blaine says. "That was amazing. And then, just before? When you came inside me...?" His voice gives out on a wisp of breath; the sensation is so recent, so new and startling.
"Oui?" Kurt smiles like they're sharing a secret.
"I know you've done this with other boys—"
A laugh cuts him off. "Believe me, there are not very many other boys," Kurt says, his smile goes wry, and then soon turns shy. Kurt speaks more softly, "and what we did now together? My dick in your ass. That was... eh... a first time for me also."
"Oh," Blaine says. "I... had no idea, Kurt."
Kurt turns his widening smile into the pillow and closes his eyes. His cheeks are pink, the corners of his eyes crinkle.
"Are you—? I mean, wow. How are you?"
"Je me sens merveilleusement bien. C'était parfait," Kurt says, opening his eyes again and looking at Blaine, content and candid. "I feel the same as you do. It was perfect."
"You feel the same way?"
"I think so, yes? But... will you tell me more, please?"
Blaine takes a breath. "It was. Um, being with you, like that. It was a... a moment for me, about you. When I felt how you felt because of me, and how I felt because of how you felt. It moved something inside me, you moved something." Blaine takes Kurt's hand. "You move me, Kurt."
Kurt frowns in confusion and doesn't reply immediately. Then he glances down and pieces words together haltingly: "It was how we felt ourselves together because I was moving inside you?"
Blaine lets out a soft laugh. "No, not quite. Um?"
Kurt shrugs helplessly and grins apologetically. "I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're telling me."
"Don't apologize," Blaine says. "I probably said it wrong. I'll try again."
"D'accord," Kurt says.
"It felt like," Blaine raises his gaze to Kurt's. "I’d been waiting forever to feel like that. With someone, but I didn’t know until you."
Kurt looks at him, patient and warm and open.
"Um, but not just the physical feeling," Blaine tries to explain. Maybe he should try speaking Kurt's language. Maybe that will work better. Blaine doesn't know a lot of French, but he has been learning. He runs through the vocabulary, the syntax. He takes a breath, and he tries. "Je vous cherche..." Blaine starts. He studies Kurt's face, hoping he said it correctly.
"You're looking for me, Blaine? Je suis ici," Kurt replies, still grinning.
"Um, yeah," Blaine says, smiles, and corrects the verb tense. "Je vous ai cherché... pour toujours?"
Kurt bites his lips closed and his eyes squint with amusement and affection.
"Was that wrong?"
"It wasn't... correct. Toujours doesn't mean that way. But I think that I know what you're trying to say to me."
"Can you tell me how to say it right?" Blaine asks. "S'il vous plait?"
"Okay," Kurt says. "First, I want you to use the familiar with me. We are intimates, yes? Use tu."
"S'il te plait?" Blaine says.
"Oui," Kurt says. "C'est mieux."
"That's better?" Blaine asks, echoing Kurt's words in English so he can be sure.
"Yes."
"Okay, so I would say to you this: Je t’ai cherché toute ma vie." Kurt speaks slowly, each word clearly enunciated.
Blaine listens carefully. "I've looked for you all my life," he says.
"Is that correct?" Kurt asks.
It's close enough. "Oui," Blaine says, and he repeats the French silently to himself to rehearse it. Then holds Kurt's gaze steady within his own as he does his best to shape each of the words correctly, with care and perhaps also, Blaine understands, love: "Je t’ai cherché toute ma vie." He adds in English, with a squeeze of Kurt's fingers, "And here you are."
Kurt's lips part around a swiftly caught breath. "Oui, c'est vrai," he murmurs, "pour moi aussi." And he touches Blaine's face. "Parfait," he says again, and Blaine leans in to find the shape of the word still clinging to Kurt's lips.
Perfect.
.
"Are your eyes still closed?" Blaine asks Kurt as he leads him by the hand into the kitchen. They're freshly showered and in their pajamas and dressing gowns. The current plan is to get dessert and then reconsider watching Snow White.
"Yes, Blaine," Kurt says for the third time, with amused exasperation. It's the third time Blaine has asked him the question.
Blaine grins, even though Kurt can't see him. "Sit down here," Blaine instructs, putting Kurt's hand on the back of the wooden stool by the island.
"Okay, I'm sitting, and I’m not watching you."
"Okay, good… just wait a minute," Blaine says, and he goes to the refrigerator and gets out the cheesecake. Then he gets dessert plates and forks, sets them down gently on the granite counter to mute the clink and clatter.
The cheesecake releases from the springform pan cleanly, and the layers of dark chocolate—the Oreo crumb base, chocolate ganache topping—sandwich the delicate gold of the lemon filling beautifully. Blaine rinses a sharp knife under the hot tap and cuts two wedges.
At the island counter, Kurt sits placidly, eyes closed and a slight, easy smile bowing his lips. "Do I smell something?" he says.
"I don't know," Blaine says. "Do you?"
Kurt pokes his tongue out, and Blaine plates the slices of cheesecake.
"I made you something special," Blaine says, and he sets one plate in front of Kurt. "You can't come to America and not have this."
"I’m curious," Kurt says.
Blaine picks up Kurt's fork and carves the tip of the slice off, makes sure to get a good proportion of topping, filling, and base. "Open your mouth?"
One of Kurt's eyebrows goes up and he leans back. "Really, Blaine? You want to feed me like I’m a child?"
With a laugh, Blaine holds the forkful of cheesecake near Kurt's nose. "No," he says. "I'm trying to surprise you. Can you smell it now?"
Kurt inclines his head and sniffs. "Lemon?" Kurt says. "Lemon meringue pie!" he guesses.
"Nope." Blaine lowers the fork. "Okay, fine, open your eyes."
Kurt does so. "Oh, what is it? Cheesecake?"
"Yeah, lemon chocolate, it's a family recipe courtesy of my aunt." Blaine passes Kurt the fork.
"I like the sound of that," Kurt says, and he takes a bite. Blaine watches him, waiting with a flutter in his heart for Kurt's response.
It's not disappointing. "Oh, mmm," Kurt moans orgasmically. (Blaine knows exactly how that sounds now.) "Oh, Blaine, this is..." Kurt takes another, bigger forkful puts it in his mouth, and Blaine can see him rolling the food over his tongue, savoring it. "Käschtlig," Kurt murmurs around the mouthful.
Blaine doesn't know that one. "Kashtl--?" he inquires.
Kurt makes a noise like ungh and swallows. "It means delicious."
"Another of your grandmother's?"
"Oui." Kurt smiles brightly. It settles warm within Blaine then, the knowledge that they are getting to know one another, despite the culture and language divide. Kurt doesn't seem so foreign to Blaine any longer, but instead familiar somehow, in a way that simply beckons Blaine's interest and attention.
"I'm glad you like it," he says, and picks up the other plate.
"I do very much. It's magnificent."
They eat in companionable silence for a while. Blaine puts the kettle on for tea.
"May I have the recipe, please, Blaine?" Kurt asks eventually. "I’d like to make this for my family, they’d like it too."
It’s an unwelcome shock. A reminder that he has less than six weeks left with Kurt, and the things he worried about at the start of this—all the things that held him back—are going to come to pass. He can feel the joy slip right off his face, leaving him cold and stunned.
"Blaine?" Kurt asks. "What’s wrong?"
"I don't want to say goodbye to you," Blaine says. "It's... selfish, but. I'm going to miss you so much. I wish you didn't have to leave."
Kurt stands and comes over to where Blaine's standing by the sink. His expression is serious when he takes Blaine's face between his palms. "Oh, mon chéri, if you believe I'm going to say goodbye to you, you are very wrong."
"But—" Blaine bows his head. Kurt's hands move to his shoulders and squeeze.
"Yes, it's necessary that I go home, but we’ll write to each other, use Skype, Twitter. You can come to France and visit me in the summer, maybe? My family will adore you."
"Kurt," Blaine says with a sigh, feels the tension in his shoulders slump into relief.
"Tu es mon meilleur ami, mon amant, mon amour," Kurt says gently but firmly. "Je t'ai donné mon coeur." His hands skim down Blaine’s arms to take both of Blaine's hands in his grasp. "That means you are very dear to me, you are dear to my heart."
Blaine smiles and looks back up, blinks back the excess feeling in his eyes. "Me too. I... Oh." The word love flickers so close to Blaine’s tongue, but he keeps it contained for now. "You’re very dear to me too."
Sweetly Kurt smiles; he takes a deep breath before he speaks again. "I haven't said anything to you because I don't wish to... eh, put a jinx on myself. But I have an audition for a school in New York. To attend next year. So I maybe will return to America this autumn."
"You've applied to schools in New York? Really?" And with that, all the possibilities of a different, better future unfurl in Blaine's imagination. A riot of wonderful potential rushes in to overtake his anxieties.
"Just one, but I most want to study there."
"There are a bunch of colleges in New York I'm applying to as well," Blaine says. "For next year, of course, but I— Oh my god. Kurt, what if we end up in New York together?"
Kurt's smile is brilliant. "It can happen, Blaine."
"I'll do everything I can to get myself there," Blaine says fiercely, holding tightly to Kurt's hands. "I promise you. I mean, it's been a dream of mine, but with the thought of you there too. I have to go."
"I'll do my best, too," Kurt says. "I'll—as you like to say—kill my audition. Do you think we can win Regionals?"
"We can, yes, This year, with you? I’m sure we can." If the strength of Blaine's certainty can make it so, then it will be so.
Kurt’s laughter is joyful. "I believe you," Kurt says.
They fall into silence for a few heartbeats, their hands loosely clasped between them.
"So you and me, huh?" Blaine asks. "We'll try?"
"You and me," Kurt says. "We will."
.
the end
Wordcount: ~10,500 overall
Rating: MA
Pairing(s): Kurt/Blaine
Genre: Erotica, WAFF, PWPish, Romance
Warning(s): sex, language, probably too much sweetness, embarrassment, mild alcohol use, porn watching
Prompt(s): Written for Anonymous' AU ficlet prompt: Klaine and one of them is a foreign exchange student.
Notes: Thank you to gettinglostinneverland for cultural advice and beta reading! This story wouldn't exist without her encouragement and inspiration. An extra thank you to nuestroamoresunviaje for some help with a key French phrase, and to teiledesganzen for insightful and interesting responses to my questions about German swearing. :) And, an additional thank you to Soizic and cymeteria. Cymeteria has been so generous with her Alsatian language & cultural advice and very patient with all my questions. <3 Any remaining flaws are not due to their diligence!
Summary: (AU) Blaine realizes the depth of his feelings for Kurt and they talk about the future. (Or, the tale of how Blaine Anderson lost his virginity to the hot French exchange student.)
Bonus playlist & art from gettinglostinneverland! She put together a wonderul bunch of songs by Tokio Hotel for Kurt along with perfect CD cover art here.
Previously: 1. Prologue | 2. Seduction
3. Epilogue
Kurt comes inside Blaine. It should be a simple thing, really. That was the goal and the expectation when Blaine brought Kurt up to his room, but it's not a simple thing for Blaine at all.
When it happens, Blaine is on his belly; his duvet is wadded up under his hips, only half pulled back beneath him. His dick is caught up in one of its folds. (They didn't start this way, but it's how they’ve ended up.) Kurt’s body, sweltering hot in motion, heavy in its demands, presses and rocks him into the mattress, and Kurt’s cock is an irrefutable physical fact: wedging him open, filling him up, and fastening him in place.
Blaine’s eyes are shut, but his mouth is open, pressed against the fine, dry cotton of his bottom sheet. Kurt’s lips rove along his cheek and neck and shoulder, nipping and sucking greedily between mumbled endearments and praise, the meanings of which Blaine can only infer from the tone in which they’re delivered. Some fragments of English make it through though: "so good", and, "so beautiful", and, "you are so fantastic, Blaine."
("You must tell me if anything is bad. I want it to be pleasing for you," Kurt had said at the beginning.)
Pleasing. It’s not a word Blaine would have chosen, but it is the right word: to bring pleasure, sensual gratification. The longer Kurt fucks him—whether it's the slow searing drag as Kurt starts, or the quick bright shock as the intensity of feeling grows—the better it gets. Blaine is entirely pleased; he wants to feel like this forever.
Kurt’s climax overwhelms Blaine in a way he never anticipated. Experiencing this closeness with Kurt, moving inside him, over him, saturating him with his scent and sweat and presence. Kurt, growing hotter—frantic almost—as he falls from a considerate and controlled lover into a rutting, nonverbal human animal. It's like Kurt's urgency bleeds right into Blaine, for he comes again too, in a surge of irresistible ecstasy just moments after Kurt. Kurt's still buried deep inside him, still an unforgiving wide stretch, but motionless now. Blaine swivels his hips down against the soft friction of his duvet, gluts himself back on the hot throb of his body strained so tight around Kurt’s cock, and it's enough.
The noise Kurt makes as Blaine's body seizes around him will linger in Blaine's memory for long months ahead. (He'll find himself sitting, dazed, in the front row of his English class, remembering Kurt's voice and flushing hot, unable to answer whatever question the teacher has just put to him.)
.
Loose-limbed and unselfconscious, they lie naked together after. The condom is in the trash, Blaine’s duvet is set aside for laundering, and the window is cracked open to let in a fresh breath of the night air. Kurt is sweetly attentive, petting Blaine's cooling skin and asking, "how are you?" and, "did you enjoy it?" and, "I hope nothing hurts?"
Blaine reassures Kurt with each reply: "I'm perfect," and, "it was amazing, Kurt, you felt so good," and, "nothing hurts at all, everything's wonderful." But he struggles to begin a sentence of his own, to ask Kurt how he is. There's a feeling swelling in Blaine's chest, as if his heart itself is inflating. When he tries to speak, his throat closes and tears prick behind his eyes.
"What is it?" Kurt asks. Idly he plays with Blaine's hair where it's come loose into short, sweat damp ringlets. His head is pillowed near, facing Blaine, so of course he notices.
"I don't know," Blaine says; he winces at the twist of too much emotion in his voice. "I don't know," he repeats in a whisper.
"But you're not hurt?" Kurt's brow is creased with concern, the corners of his lips down-turned. He reaches down for Blaine's hand, strokes along the long bones of Blaine's fingers, rubs tiny circles over each knuckle.
Blaine shakes his head.
"How are you feeling? Try to tell me?"
Kurt's worry only expands the feeling in Blaine's chest. "I'll try," Blaine says.
With a shallow smile, Kurt nods and waits.
"When you put your mouth on me and I came inside you?" Blaine says. "That was amazing. And then, just before? When you came inside me...?" His voice gives out on a wisp of breath; the sensation is so recent, so new and startling.
"Oui?" Kurt smiles like they're sharing a secret.
"I know you've done this with other boys—"
A laugh cuts him off. "Believe me, there are not very many other boys," Kurt says, his smile goes wry, and then soon turns shy. Kurt speaks more softly, "and what we did now together? My dick in your ass. That was... eh... a first time for me also."
"Oh," Blaine says. "I... had no idea, Kurt."
Kurt turns his widening smile into the pillow and closes his eyes. His cheeks are pink, the corners of his eyes crinkle.
"Are you—? I mean, wow. How are you?"
"Je me sens merveilleusement bien. C'était parfait," Kurt says, opening his eyes again and looking at Blaine, content and candid. "I feel the same as you do. It was perfect."
"You feel the same way?"
"I think so, yes? But... will you tell me more, please?"
Blaine takes a breath. "It was. Um, being with you, like that. It was a... a moment for me, about you. When I felt how you felt because of me, and how I felt because of how you felt. It moved something inside me, you moved something." Blaine takes Kurt's hand. "You move me, Kurt."
Kurt frowns in confusion and doesn't reply immediately. Then he glances down and pieces words together haltingly: "It was how we felt ourselves together because I was moving inside you?"
Blaine lets out a soft laugh. "No, not quite. Um?"
Kurt shrugs helplessly and grins apologetically. "I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're telling me."
"Don't apologize," Blaine says. "I probably said it wrong. I'll try again."
"D'accord," Kurt says.
"It felt like," Blaine raises his gaze to Kurt's. "I’d been waiting forever to feel like that. With someone, but I didn’t know until you."
Kurt looks at him, patient and warm and open.
"Um, but not just the physical feeling," Blaine tries to explain. Maybe he should try speaking Kurt's language. Maybe that will work better. Blaine doesn't know a lot of French, but he has been learning. He runs through the vocabulary, the syntax. He takes a breath, and he tries. "Je vous cherche..." Blaine starts. He studies Kurt's face, hoping he said it correctly.
"You're looking for me, Blaine? Je suis ici," Kurt replies, still grinning.
"Um, yeah," Blaine says, smiles, and corrects the verb tense. "Je vous ai cherché... pour toujours?"
Kurt bites his lips closed and his eyes squint with amusement and affection.
"Was that wrong?"
"It wasn't... correct. Toujours doesn't mean that way. But I think that I know what you're trying to say to me."
"Can you tell me how to say it right?" Blaine asks. "S'il vous plait?"
"Okay," Kurt says. "First, I want you to use the familiar with me. We are intimates, yes? Use tu."
"S'il te plait?" Blaine says.
"Oui," Kurt says. "C'est mieux."
"That's better?" Blaine asks, echoing Kurt's words in English so he can be sure.
"Yes."
"Okay, so I would say to you this: Je t’ai cherché toute ma vie." Kurt speaks slowly, each word clearly enunciated.
Blaine listens carefully. "I've looked for you all my life," he says.
"Is that correct?" Kurt asks.
It's close enough. "Oui," Blaine says, and he repeats the French silently to himself to rehearse it. Then holds Kurt's gaze steady within his own as he does his best to shape each of the words correctly, with care and perhaps also, Blaine understands, love: "Je t’ai cherché toute ma vie." He adds in English, with a squeeze of Kurt's fingers, "And here you are."
Kurt's lips part around a swiftly caught breath. "Oui, c'est vrai," he murmurs, "pour moi aussi." And he touches Blaine's face. "Parfait," he says again, and Blaine leans in to find the shape of the word still clinging to Kurt's lips.
Perfect.
.
"Are your eyes still closed?" Blaine asks Kurt as he leads him by the hand into the kitchen. They're freshly showered and in their pajamas and dressing gowns. The current plan is to get dessert and then reconsider watching Snow White.
"Yes, Blaine," Kurt says for the third time, with amused exasperation. It's the third time Blaine has asked him the question.
Blaine grins, even though Kurt can't see him. "Sit down here," Blaine instructs, putting Kurt's hand on the back of the wooden stool by the island.
"Okay, I'm sitting, and I’m not watching you."
"Okay, good… just wait a minute," Blaine says, and he goes to the refrigerator and gets out the cheesecake. Then he gets dessert plates and forks, sets them down gently on the granite counter to mute the clink and clatter.
The cheesecake releases from the springform pan cleanly, and the layers of dark chocolate—the Oreo crumb base, chocolate ganache topping—sandwich the delicate gold of the lemon filling beautifully. Blaine rinses a sharp knife under the hot tap and cuts two wedges.
At the island counter, Kurt sits placidly, eyes closed and a slight, easy smile bowing his lips. "Do I smell something?" he says.
"I don't know," Blaine says. "Do you?"
Kurt pokes his tongue out, and Blaine plates the slices of cheesecake.
"I made you something special," Blaine says, and he sets one plate in front of Kurt. "You can't come to America and not have this."
"I’m curious," Kurt says.
Blaine picks up Kurt's fork and carves the tip of the slice off, makes sure to get a good proportion of topping, filling, and base. "Open your mouth?"
One of Kurt's eyebrows goes up and he leans back. "Really, Blaine? You want to feed me like I’m a child?"
With a laugh, Blaine holds the forkful of cheesecake near Kurt's nose. "No," he says. "I'm trying to surprise you. Can you smell it now?"
Kurt inclines his head and sniffs. "Lemon?" Kurt says. "Lemon meringue pie!" he guesses.
"Nope." Blaine lowers the fork. "Okay, fine, open your eyes."
Kurt does so. "Oh, what is it? Cheesecake?"
"Yeah, lemon chocolate, it's a family recipe courtesy of my aunt." Blaine passes Kurt the fork.
"I like the sound of that," Kurt says, and he takes a bite. Blaine watches him, waiting with a flutter in his heart for Kurt's response.
It's not disappointing. "Oh, mmm," Kurt moans orgasmically. (Blaine knows exactly how that sounds now.) "Oh, Blaine, this is..." Kurt takes another, bigger forkful puts it in his mouth, and Blaine can see him rolling the food over his tongue, savoring it. "Käschtlig," Kurt murmurs around the mouthful.
Blaine doesn't know that one. "Kashtl--?" he inquires.
Kurt makes a noise like ungh and swallows. "It means delicious."
"Another of your grandmother's?"
"Oui." Kurt smiles brightly. It settles warm within Blaine then, the knowledge that they are getting to know one another, despite the culture and language divide. Kurt doesn't seem so foreign to Blaine any longer, but instead familiar somehow, in a way that simply beckons Blaine's interest and attention.
"I'm glad you like it," he says, and picks up the other plate.
"I do very much. It's magnificent."
They eat in companionable silence for a while. Blaine puts the kettle on for tea.
"May I have the recipe, please, Blaine?" Kurt asks eventually. "I’d like to make this for my family, they’d like it too."
It’s an unwelcome shock. A reminder that he has less than six weeks left with Kurt, and the things he worried about at the start of this—all the things that held him back—are going to come to pass. He can feel the joy slip right off his face, leaving him cold and stunned.
"Blaine?" Kurt asks. "What’s wrong?"
"I don't want to say goodbye to you," Blaine says. "It's... selfish, but. I'm going to miss you so much. I wish you didn't have to leave."
Kurt stands and comes over to where Blaine's standing by the sink. His expression is serious when he takes Blaine's face between his palms. "Oh, mon chéri, if you believe I'm going to say goodbye to you, you are very wrong."
"But—" Blaine bows his head. Kurt's hands move to his shoulders and squeeze.
"Yes, it's necessary that I go home, but we’ll write to each other, use Skype, Twitter. You can come to France and visit me in the summer, maybe? My family will adore you."
"Kurt," Blaine says with a sigh, feels the tension in his shoulders slump into relief.
"Tu es mon meilleur ami, mon amant, mon amour," Kurt says gently but firmly. "Je t'ai donné mon coeur." His hands skim down Blaine’s arms to take both of Blaine's hands in his grasp. "That means you are very dear to me, you are dear to my heart."
Blaine smiles and looks back up, blinks back the excess feeling in his eyes. "Me too. I... Oh." The word love flickers so close to Blaine’s tongue, but he keeps it contained for now. "You’re very dear to me too."
Sweetly Kurt smiles; he takes a deep breath before he speaks again. "I haven't said anything to you because I don't wish to... eh, put a jinx on myself. But I have an audition for a school in New York. To attend next year. So I maybe will return to America this autumn."
"You've applied to schools in New York? Really?" And with that, all the possibilities of a different, better future unfurl in Blaine's imagination. A riot of wonderful potential rushes in to overtake his anxieties.
"Just one, but I most want to study there."
"There are a bunch of colleges in New York I'm applying to as well," Blaine says. "For next year, of course, but I— Oh my god. Kurt, what if we end up in New York together?"
Kurt's smile is brilliant. "It can happen, Blaine."
"I'll do everything I can to get myself there," Blaine says fiercely, holding tightly to Kurt's hands. "I promise you. I mean, it's been a dream of mine, but with the thought of you there too. I have to go."
"I'll do my best, too," Kurt says. "I'll—as you like to say—kill my audition. Do you think we can win Regionals?"
"We can, yes, This year, with you? I’m sure we can." If the strength of Blaine's certainty can make it so, then it will be so.
Kurt’s laughter is joyful. "I believe you," Kurt says.
They fall into silence for a few heartbeats, their hands loosely clasped between them.
"So you and me, huh?" Blaine asks. "We'll try?"
"You and me," Kurt says. "We will."
.
the end