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ellydashTitle: Loving Me is Easy ‘Cause I’m Beautiful
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellydash
Pairings: Kurt Hummel/Rachel Berry; implied Kurt/Blaine, Rachel/Finn
Rating: R
Word count: 4,454
Spoilers: Through 2x10 (A Very Glee Christmas).
Warnings: None
Note: Written as a pinch hit forsigne_chan in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
glee_rare_pairs exchange.
Summary: Rachel, happy for any excuse to polish her dramatic skills, pretends to be Blaine so that Kurt can practice telling Blaine how he feels. Things get out of control very quickly.
Being home for Christmas vacation - likely his last Christmas in their old house - really makes Kurt see how much everything's changed for him, after these last weeks at Dalton. The rhythms of his old life, he reflects, are still here, ready for him, but they've been syncopated into unrecognizable measures. (He likes the poetry of this thought. Maybe he can turn it into a song lyric, or at the very least write it in cursive on a piece of paper and slide it into the cover sleeve of his school binder.)
The basement bedroom, now Finn's alone while Kurt's at school, still has a few stylistic remnants from last year’s enthusiastic choices, mostly furniture, a reminder of the mania of Kurt's now-embarrassing excitement over Finn. What's leftover doesn't feel the same to him, though, not at all. He glances around the room, from the vantage point of the oversized chair next to Finn’s bed and thinks, with a twinge of self-awareness, that his furniture choices really look like the result of someone trying too hard. Kurt wouldn’t want Blaine to see this; it screams look at me! I’m cosmopolitan! I read hipster style blogs and save sample fabric swatches! It’s an insecure statement. It overcompensates.
There’s nothing he can do about that, though: not tonight, anyway. Tonight, he’s reading Andre Breton’s Nadja, something Blaine had mentioned to him in passing – “It’s incredible, Kurt, the narration is just so amazing” – and trying really hard not to fall asleep, because that would mean admitting that he’s finding the book kind of boring. The thing is, though, if Blaine likes it, that must mean it’s great, and actually not boring, so maybe the problem’s with Kurt and his attention span. Or maybe he just doesn’t get surrealism.
The narrator’s going on and on about this heartless flower star (or whatever, Kurt’s kind of drifting off in his chair) when he hears Finn’s voice, just above the basement steps.
“Just go home,” he’s saying, and he sounds really angry, which makes Kurt sit up a little. “I seriously don’t know how to be any more clear. I don’t want you back, Rachel.”
Oh, shit. Kurt freezes, torn between feeling like he shouldn’t be overhearing this, and wanting desperately to hear Rachel’s answer.
“I’m sorry, Finn,” she cries. It’s ridiculous how histrionic she sounds. Kurt’s embarrassed for her. “I’ve told you, over and over again, how sorry I am. It didn’t mean anything.”
“How can you say that? You of all people should know – ”
He hears the loud clomp of Finn’s feet, on the basement stairs, then Rachel’s light footsteps, following. Kurt quickly buries his nose in Nadja, trying to look like he’s not paying attention, but he isn’t seeing a damn word. His ears strain with effort.
“ – how I feel about cheating, and you did it anyway. I can’t forgive you, okay? I just can’t.”
“You did it to Quinn!” They’re in the room now, Finn standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at Rachel, mid-flight, and Kurt’s sneaking peaks at them over the top of the book, grateful for his excellent peripheral vision. “You know just as well as I do, Finn Hudson, that you’re not perfect. You cheated too. On Quinn. With me.”
Finn sputters. “It’s totally not the same thing!”
It kind of is, Kurt thinks. Point to Rachel.
“You’re no better than I am.” Rachel’s crying now, her face contorting with effort, and it’s uncomfortable for Kurt, who doesn’t do well with other people’s emotions, especially when they’re not singing. His nose wrinkles, first in distaste, then in response to a tickle, and he sneezes, suddenly, and without warning. (Maybe he’s slightly allergic to Rachel. It’d explain why he gets itchy whenever he sees her in animal-print clothing.)
Both Finn and Rachel turn to face him: Finn, looking startled and a little annoyed; Rachel, still sniffling, tears tracking down her cheeks like sad little rivers.
“Uh,” Kurt says. “Hi, guys?” He waves Nadja at them, grateful for his prop. “I’m just reading. But I can go upstairs, if you want to talk down here?”
“No, thanks,” Finn tells him, shortly, and glares up at Rachel. “Rachel was just leaving. Weren’t you?”
She glares back, and crosses her arms over her chest, looking eager for an epic sulk. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Fine,” Finn fires up at her, and starts his march back up the stairs, stomping heavily on each step. “Fine. You stay here if you want. I’m not.”
Well, this isn’t awkward at all, Kurt thinks, and, looking around for something to distract him from his discomfort, alights on the lampshade next to him, which, wow, has way too much fringe. (He’d picked out that shade, too. What had he been thinking? It looks like something out of a garage sale on Three’s Company.)
“I apologize for all that,” Rachel’s saying, softly. He glances up at her, on the stairs. She’s standing perfectly still, her body stiff, and she sniffs, clearly in need of a tissue. “I didn’t mean to – I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’ll just go now. It’s nice to see you, though, Kurt. I hope you’re doing well.”
“Wait,” he says, and sighs, setting Nadja on the arm of the chair, not bothering to mark his place. “Come down here, Rachel. I have Kleenex.”
She doesn’t hesitate, taking the stairs down one at a time, carefully making her way over to Kurt. It’s like she was hoping he’d ask, and he realizes that’s probably exactly what she wanted: to be invited. He knows people aren’t in the habit of inviting Rachel Berry anywhere.
“It’s really good to see you, Kurt,” she repeats, sitting on the bed, across from him. He hands her a tissue, plucked from the nearby nightstand, and she takes it, stares down at her hands. “We miss you a lot in glee club, you know. Our sound just isn’t the same without you.”
“Rachel,” he says, a little hesitantly. “Can I give you some advice?”
She looks up. Her face is tearstained and a little swollen, and if she weren’t so upset already, he’d tell her she needs to work on attractive crying. “Sure.”
“Don’t make an idiot out of yourself running after Finn, okay? And I say this as someone who’s been there. It’s not worth it, chasing a guy who doesn’t want you.”
“But he does want me,” she insists, and blows her nose. “Or, at least, he did. And he can feel the same way again – I know he can. It’s what happens in all those old movies, the ones with Gregory Peck and Doris Day.”
“Gregory Peck and Doris Day were never in a movie together, Rachel.”
“That’s not what I mean. My point is that there has to be conflict before the final happy reunion. Girl meets boy, girl dates boy, girl loses boy, girl gets boy back. It’s the classic Hollywood plot, and Finn and I are headed straight for the final act. I can feel it.”
“Okay,” he says, and sighs. “I hate to break this to you, but look where we are. A basement. In Ohio. This isn’t Hollywood, Rachel, and you really need to adjust your expectations.”
“I bet someone told Barbra Streisand to adjust her expectations once. And you know what? I bet that someone is regretting how unsupportive he was.”
There’s clearly no reasoning with her. Kurt’s beginning to miss Nadja, for crying out loud. If he’s going to have to deal with someone unstable, he’d prefer her to be fictional and easily dismissed, not sitting in front of him in a sweater so ugly it’s almost fashionable. (Almost. The key word is almost.)
“Just let him be for a while,” he tries. “Spend some quality time with yourself. How long’s it been since you updated your audition repertoire to reflect the maturation of your voice? I bet you’ve been so busy being Mrs. Finn Hudson that you haven’t re-evaluated your song bank in ages.”
“How do you know about my audition repertoire?” She sounds suspicious. Kurt wishes he was wearing glasses. If he was, he could look over them at her, and it’d make the exasperated glare he’s giving her all the more impactful. Glasses are a fantastic dramatic aid.
“Rachel,” he tells her, “if I have an audition repertoire, then I know you have one too.”
She shrugs, smiles a little. She’s stopped crying, mostly. “You’re right. I’ve neglected my career goals. Maybe I really should focus on myself for a little while. Be selfish, for a change. I deserve it.”
Kurt smiles back at her, feeling pleased with himself. It’s funny; Rachel isn’t the first person from glee he thinks of whenever he’s feeling homesick (that’s usually Mercedes, and then Finn, and probably Brittany third), but he’s realizing, with her in the room with him now, how much he’s missed her fantastic narcissism. No one does self-absorption like Rachel Berry, and when he’s exposed to it in small doses, he’s able to admire it for the astonishing performance it really is.
“Pop?” he offers, gesturing at the mini-fridge in the corner. If she’s going to stay, he might as well remember his manners, be a good host.
She shakes her head, declining. “No thanks. I’m trying to minimize my sugar intake. Tell me about you, Kurt. How’s Dalton? Are you happy there? Do the Warblers realize how lucky they are to have you?”
He’s startled by the sudden subject change. “Dalton’s great,” he says, and then pauses. Well, it’s the truth. His classes are pretty good, and he’s grateful for every second he walks the halls and doesn’t have to feel the sickening lurch of fear struggle through his body. He misses McKinley, though. Not the worst parts of it, of course, but the best: the sense of homecoming he’d felt each time he’d walked into the choir room, or the squeeze of Mercedes’s hand in his, or the sanction inherent in Sue Sylvester’s carefully appraising stare.
“Dalton’s great,” he repeats. “The guys are great. Especially this one guy, Blaine – you saw him, he sang lead when we performed at sectionals. The guy with the gorgeous curly hair. He’s amazing.”
Rachel’s eyes widen, and Kurt realizes, belatedly, how much emphasis he’d given that last word. It’s too late, though, to hide anything from Rachel, even if he wanted to evade her curiosity. “Oh?” she asks, a lilt of interest in her voice. “He sounds very special.”
“He is,” Kurt confirms. “I mean, he’s going to be. Special. To me. As in, my special someone.”
There’s a flare of something in her face (jealousy, maybe?), but she resurrects her smile quickly, and he feels a little contrite. It’s not nice of him to be talking about his future with Blaine when Rachel’s staring at her past with Finn. “Nothing’s really happened,” he adds, quickly. “Not yet. But I’m hopeful.”
“But he’s indicated he’s attracted to you?”
“Yes. Kind of. Not with words.”
She stares at him. “Kurt, has he said anything to you to signal his interest?”
“We sang a duet,” he says, a little feebly. It’s the best evidence he has, and it’s good evidence, honestly. “Just before I came home for Christmas. It was – romantic. Incredibly romantic.”
“And?”
“And – I don’t know, Rachel. What’s your point?”
“It’s not worth it, chasing a guy who doesn’t want you,” she says, only she says it in this weird singsong voice, and Kurt realizes she’s mimicking his line from earlier.
“Is that supposed to be me?” he asks. “Because that seriously sounded nothing like me.”
“You,” she chastises, “are changing the subject. It sounds like this Blaine honestly isn’t that interested. His loss, of course, but you haven’t said anything to indicate that he actually wants to jump your bones.”
Jump your bones? he thinks, incredulous. Who says that? “He’s just too nice of a guy to do anything, all right? He’s taking it slowly because he thinks that’s what I want.”
“Or, you know,” Rachel counters, “he’s just not that into you. I actually read that book last year. It was extremely helpful, even though I disregarded most of the author’s advice in favor of my own personal experience. Which, in hindsight, was probably not the best idea.”
Kurt chooses not to acknowledge the digression. “Or,” he insists, “he’s taking it slowly. Really, really slowly. You haven’t seen him, Rachel. You don’t see how he acts when he’s around me. He smiles. He keeps eye contact.”
Rachel rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, eye contact. If he’s looking at you, he definitely wants you.”
“It’s practically eye-fucking, okay?” he snaps, and the strength of the heat that fills his face immediately after he says it is embarrassing. He’s nearly seventeen years old, for crying out loud. He shouldn’t be so damn self-conscious. “We’re not talking quick glances.”
She raises both eyebrows, apparently not yet having mastered the essential art of lifting one on its own. “Eye-fucking?”
It might be the first time he’s ever heard Rachel Berry say the f-word, and even though she’s just repeating Kurt’s phrase, he feels a weird sense of vertigo. “I’m not going to elaborate,” he says, still blushing, unable to look directly at her. “Just trust me. Blaine’s into it. Into me.”
“Why aren’t you two together, then?” she asks. It’s a fair question, but an annoying one, partly because Kurt doesn’t have a good answer for it just yet. If he’s being honest, he’s been too chicken to tell Blaine how he feels.
He decides to tell her the truth. “I just – I don’ t know. I can’t talk to him about it. Not yet.”
“Hmm,” she says, thoughtfully.
“Hmm, what?” Kurt doesn’t like that sound: hmmm. “What? Are you planning something? You sound like you’re planning something. What are you planning?”
“I’m thinking we should roleplay,” she tells him, brightly, flashing him a brilliant smile. “I’ll be Blaine, and you be you. It’ll be great practice for me. Someday I intend to play a man on stage, or maybe a transgender individual. The American Theater Wing rewards successful risk taking with Tonys, you know.”
Kurt feels like he should be offended by this, but doesn’t know where to begin, and anyways, it doesn’t seem like his priority right now is to get all huffy about problematic casting. “Roleplay what, exactly? You’d pretend to be Blaine, and I’d be me. Okay, so what’s the point?”
“Practice. Tell me – tell Blaine how you feel. I’ll respond how I think Blaine would respond. Simple.”
This is probably a horrible idea, and the weird tingle on his forearms is definitely some kind of a sign, but Kurt can’t logically think of a good reason not to go ahead, not really. It’s not like Nadja’s any more appealing at this point, and his only other option for tonight is to go find Finn and listen to him whine about Rachel, which doesn’t seem like an upgrade. Besides, maybe Rachel’s got something here. Maybe he just needs to practice. Maybe that’s all he needs.
“You don’t know what he’d say, though,” he protests, feebly. “You don’t know him, or what he’s like.”
She shrugs, looking excited. “Oh, I know enough. He’s handsome, he has a good voice, he’s charming and he’s slow to make the first move. I’ll fill in the blanks of what I don’t know. Like building a character. You can stop and tell me if I’m off base.”
“Should I close my eyes or something?” he asks, finally resigned.
“Yes. Don’t open them until I say so. Use your imagination. You’re probably good at that, aren’t you? Most talented performers are. I have an excellent imagination, by the way.”
Of course she does. He shuts his eyes, obediently, and tries to think of Blaine: Blaine in his Dalton uniform, grinning at Kurt, his face light with the promise of possibility.
“Hello, Kurt,” Rachel says, her voice pitched low, and it’s weirdly hilarious. Kurt snorts, a surprised laugh; he realizes, after he’s let it loose, that it’s probably not the nicest thing he’s ever done.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she snaps.
“No, sorry.” He keeps his eyes shut tight. “It’s just that his voice isn’t that low. It’s a little higher, but not as high as mine. Smoother.”
“Like this?” she asks, and it’s not exactly right, but it’s probably the closest she’ll get. Kurt nods.
“Fancy meeting you here in the – where are we?” she hisses, sotto voce.
“Uh, the common room?”
“Fancy meeting you here in the common room, Kurt. How’s everything going? Are you enjoying your classes?”
Kurt thinks, not for the first time, that Rachel’s going to need a lot more experience in social situations before she’ll be able to act believably, let alone write dialogue for herself. Or for anyone else. “Yeah,” he says, trying really hard to imagine it’s Blaine, sitting across from him, Blaine asking him about his life. “I’ve got a history test coming up I haven’t started studying for yet, but other than that, everything’s going really well.”
“Do you –" Rachel (no, Blaine; as ridiculous as this is, he has to try and think of Rachel’s voice being Blaine’s) clears her throat. His throat. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to me, Kurt? I’ve noticed the way you look at me.”
This is all wrong. Blaine would never be this direct. “Oh, you have?”
“I was just too much of a gentleman to say anything about it,” Blaine sighs, and, okay, that sounds a little better. “But I can’t keep silent any longer. Will you tell me how you feel about me?”
It’s surprising, how nervous he is, even though Kurt knows this is make-believe. Part of it’s sitting here with his eyes closed, with someone else in the room. He feels vulnerable, exposed. “I, um. Like you? I think you’re incredible, actually.”
“Do you like me as a friend, or as something more?”
“More,” he manages.
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“I – yes.”
“Do you want to touch me?”
He opens his eyes, startled out of the scene. “What?”
“Kurt,” Rachel says, and is that a blush he sees coloring her cheeks? He’s pretty sure it is. “You need to be prepared in the event that Blaine is more, uh, sexually experienced than you are. He may want to accelerate things very quickly, and you should be ready for that.”
He’s sitting in his basement bedroom – no, Finn’s bedroom, now – listening to Rachel Berry talk to him about sexual experience. Laughter bubbles up again in his throat, and he purses his lips together to keep it from escaping. This is bizarre. This is seriously, seriously bizarre.
“Close your eyes,” she orders, clearing her throat, crossing one leg carefully over the other. “You’re destroying the illusion.”
Kurt can’t imagine that Rachel knows a lot about sex – he’s heard Finn complain enough times about Rachel’s refusal to let him venture anywhere south of her chest – but there’s a weird energy threading through their bizarre mise-en-scéne. Not just his own, but Rachel’s, too. He can hear it in the cadence of her sentences: the strength of her need, rolled out from her in immense, directed waves. He’s never been the target of it before, and he doesn’t think he’s the target of it now, but he’s prone in front of her, nonetheless.
He licks his lips, and watches Rachel watch him, her gaze trained on his mouth.
“Close your eyes,” she repeats, and her voice is quieter, different: Blaine’s voice, or close enough. Kurt obeys.
“Do you want to touch me?” Blaine asks, again.
“Yes,” Kurt whispers. “I want that.”
“You want me.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” Blaine whispers, and it’s like Pavlov’s dog or someone’s bell or a trigger, whatever, he doesn’t know the expression he wants but he’s thinking about Blaine actually saying this to him, and suddenly he’s getting hard, he’s actually getting hard. His hand squeezes his thigh in reflex.
“Put your hands on me, Blaine,” he says. “Please.”
There’s a pause, then the rising squeak of the bedsprings, a small rustle of fabric and movement. He feels the cool press of fingertips on his cheek, and he breathes out, sharply, turns into the touch.
“You – you have an erection,” Blaine observes, hoarsely. “I can see it. Is that because of me?”
“Yes.” He can’t lie right now. Lying would mean denying the shriek and ache of his body, and the pull under his skin is too keen for that.
“You look at me when you think I’m not watching.” Blaine’s breath prickles the shell of Kurt’s ear. “Don’t you? When I’m singing. You look at me and you listen to my incredible voice and you think about me touching you.”
It’s true, he does. “Yes,” he says, again, and the word is a gasp. “I think about it all the time. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
The sigh Blaine releases is rich with satisfaction, and Kurt can hear Rachel Berry’s pleasure humming through the exhale; she’s there, still, distorting his fantasy just a bit, coloring his mind’s drawing of Blaine. He wonders if she’s got her eyes closed, too. He wonders if she’s talking to someone else, like he is. Finn, maybe. The idea that she’s projecting Finn onto him is weirdly hot: Finn stretched over Kurt’s skin and Finn under Rachel’s fingers, moving down his neck, and Finn moaning under Blaine’s hand, oh.
He’s panting. Blaine is too. (So is Rachel.)
“I have to –" he tries, and cups himself through his jeans. “I can’t, I need to –“
“Yes, of course, you –” Blaine stammers, Rachel’s need cracking through the words, and he feels the warm wet of a mouth on his ear, teeth pulling at the skin, hands gripping his arm.
Kurt’s hand is shaking, but it’s steady enough to pull down the zipper, reach underneath his briefs, grip his twitching cock. “Keep talking,” he says, and nearly hisses as the mouth sucks at his neck. “Oh, fuck.”
“We could go in the – in your room. I’m so –“ A pause, like Blaine’s trying to find the right word. “I’m really hard. It’s making me hard, how much you want me.”
“No – right here. I can’t – I can’t wait.” The pressure of his fist around his cock is unbelievably good, stroking rough without the grease of hand lotion; the friction of it raw and just south of painful. “Touch yourself. Tell me what you’re doing.”
Blaine inhales, sharply, his mouth on Kurt’s jaw, fingers gripping Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt can smell Rachel’s faint floral fragrance and the sharp thick scent of arousal. “I’m – my hand is under my – inside my jeans. I’ve been – just listening to you talk about me, it’s – oh, God. I want – I want to do everything with you. I wish I'd done more with you.”
“I want to suck you off,” Kurt blurts out, not thinking, because it’s all he can think about, Blaine’s hand in his jeans and Blaine pulling out his dick and Kurt taking it in his mouth, struggling around its girth. “I think about it. I think about it all the time.”
There’s a small sound from Blaine, a little moan, and then two insistent fingers push their way between his lips; he groans, opens up to take them in and Blaine tells Kurt, his voice high and sharp and rough, “Do it. Do it. Suck me.”
“Ah, shit, shit,” he chokes, the sound muffled, jerking his hand harder, and he tries to suck like Blaine told him to do but he’s coming, oh, God, he’s coming way faster than he usually does, coming harder, louder (dimly through the wrenching, brilliant cramp of climax he hears someone hiss in pain) and he empties over his hand, gasping, warm wet spill searing the skin.
When Kurt opens his eyes the light stings his retinas, and so he closes them again, still breathing hard.
“Okay,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Wow, okay.”
“You bit my fingers,” Rachel tells him, a little prissily. “When you – did what you did. That hurt.”
He looks at her then, annoyed. That’s all she can say? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s all right.” She doesn’t sound that angry, actually. More shaken. He looks at her face, closely, and sees the color there, still high on her cheeks. Her skirt’s a little rumpled. It takes him a moment to figure out why, but he can do the math. (The fingers on her right hand are wet from his mouth. The fingers on her left hand are wet, too.) Kurt knows he’s definitely matured, because this doesn’t freak him out nearly as much as it would’ve a few months ago.
“Well,” she observes, quietly. “This is a little strange.”
“Could you, uh, hand me a Kleenex?” Kurt asks her, trying to cover his lap with one hand without getting semen on his jeans. It isn’t working. He’s going to have to do a furtive load of laundry, and hope Carole doesn’t get suspicious. “I need to, you know. Clean up.”
She grabs the box and thrusts it in his direction. Kurt grabs a handful, freezes. He can’t do this in front of her. He can come in front of Rachel, apparently, but he can’t wipe semen off his hands and limp dick and jeans.
Rachel, blessedly, and against all odds, seems to realize this. She yanks the box away, placing it back on the nightstand, and smooths down the sides of her skirt.
“I hope, Kurt, that our exercise was helpful,” she says. “I benefited from it too, you know.”
Please don’t elaborate, he thinks. “I’m glad. Thanks, I guess.”
“I deserve someone who wants me just as much as I want him. You’ve helped me to realize that. You’re a good friend, Kurt.”
“Look, Rachel, I don’t want to be rude, but – “ He almost gestures towards his lap, but thinks better of it just in time. “You should probably leave. Like, right now.”
“I’m going,” she cuts in, and straightening, walks primly towards the stairs.
Kurt watches her stalk out of the basement, head high, advancing towards the upstairs foyer and her newfound knowledge.
When she's gone, the basement door shutting firmly behind her, he sets about wiping away the remnants of her visit with the Kleenex and thinks of Blaine, and the press of fingers on his neck, and tries to peel off her voice from the memory of Blaine's need. It sticks. It's stubborn like she is.
Author:
ellydash Pairings: Kurt Hummel/Rachel Berry; implied Kurt/Blaine, Rachel/Finn
Rating: R
Word count: 4,454
Spoilers: Through 2x10 (A Very Glee Christmas).
Warnings: None
Note: Written as a pinch hit for
signe_chan in the glee_rare_pairs exchange. Summary: Rachel, happy for any excuse to polish her dramatic skills, pretends to be Blaine so that Kurt can practice telling Blaine how he feels. Things get out of control very quickly.
Being home for Christmas vacation - likely his last Christmas in their old house - really makes Kurt see how much everything's changed for him, after these last weeks at Dalton. The rhythms of his old life, he reflects, are still here, ready for him, but they've been syncopated into unrecognizable measures. (He likes the poetry of this thought. Maybe he can turn it into a song lyric, or at the very least write it in cursive on a piece of paper and slide it into the cover sleeve of his school binder.)
The basement bedroom, now Finn's alone while Kurt's at school, still has a few stylistic remnants from last year’s enthusiastic choices, mostly furniture, a reminder of the mania of Kurt's now-embarrassing excitement over Finn. What's leftover doesn't feel the same to him, though, not at all. He glances around the room, from the vantage point of the oversized chair next to Finn’s bed and thinks, with a twinge of self-awareness, that his furniture choices really look like the result of someone trying too hard. Kurt wouldn’t want Blaine to see this; it screams look at me! I’m cosmopolitan! I read hipster style blogs and save sample fabric swatches! It’s an insecure statement. It overcompensates.
There’s nothing he can do about that, though: not tonight, anyway. Tonight, he’s reading Andre Breton’s Nadja, something Blaine had mentioned to him in passing – “It’s incredible, Kurt, the narration is just so amazing” – and trying really hard not to fall asleep, because that would mean admitting that he’s finding the book kind of boring. The thing is, though, if Blaine likes it, that must mean it’s great, and actually not boring, so maybe the problem’s with Kurt and his attention span. Or maybe he just doesn’t get surrealism.
The narrator’s going on and on about this heartless flower star (or whatever, Kurt’s kind of drifting off in his chair) when he hears Finn’s voice, just above the basement steps.
“Just go home,” he’s saying, and he sounds really angry, which makes Kurt sit up a little. “I seriously don’t know how to be any more clear. I don’t want you back, Rachel.”
Oh, shit. Kurt freezes, torn between feeling like he shouldn’t be overhearing this, and wanting desperately to hear Rachel’s answer.
“I’m sorry, Finn,” she cries. It’s ridiculous how histrionic she sounds. Kurt’s embarrassed for her. “I’ve told you, over and over again, how sorry I am. It didn’t mean anything.”
“How can you say that? You of all people should know – ”
He hears the loud clomp of Finn’s feet, on the basement stairs, then Rachel’s light footsteps, following. Kurt quickly buries his nose in Nadja, trying to look like he’s not paying attention, but he isn’t seeing a damn word. His ears strain with effort.
“ – how I feel about cheating, and you did it anyway. I can’t forgive you, okay? I just can’t.”
“You did it to Quinn!” They’re in the room now, Finn standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at Rachel, mid-flight, and Kurt’s sneaking peaks at them over the top of the book, grateful for his excellent peripheral vision. “You know just as well as I do, Finn Hudson, that you’re not perfect. You cheated too. On Quinn. With me.”
Finn sputters. “It’s totally not the same thing!”
It kind of is, Kurt thinks. Point to Rachel.
“You’re no better than I am.” Rachel’s crying now, her face contorting with effort, and it’s uncomfortable for Kurt, who doesn’t do well with other people’s emotions, especially when they’re not singing. His nose wrinkles, first in distaste, then in response to a tickle, and he sneezes, suddenly, and without warning. (Maybe he’s slightly allergic to Rachel. It’d explain why he gets itchy whenever he sees her in animal-print clothing.)
Both Finn and Rachel turn to face him: Finn, looking startled and a little annoyed; Rachel, still sniffling, tears tracking down her cheeks like sad little rivers.
“Uh,” Kurt says. “Hi, guys?” He waves Nadja at them, grateful for his prop. “I’m just reading. But I can go upstairs, if you want to talk down here?”
“No, thanks,” Finn tells him, shortly, and glares up at Rachel. “Rachel was just leaving. Weren’t you?”
She glares back, and crosses her arms over her chest, looking eager for an epic sulk. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Fine,” Finn fires up at her, and starts his march back up the stairs, stomping heavily on each step. “Fine. You stay here if you want. I’m not.”
Well, this isn’t awkward at all, Kurt thinks, and, looking around for something to distract him from his discomfort, alights on the lampshade next to him, which, wow, has way too much fringe. (He’d picked out that shade, too. What had he been thinking? It looks like something out of a garage sale on Three’s Company.)
“I apologize for all that,” Rachel’s saying, softly. He glances up at her, on the stairs. She’s standing perfectly still, her body stiff, and she sniffs, clearly in need of a tissue. “I didn’t mean to – I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’ll just go now. It’s nice to see you, though, Kurt. I hope you’re doing well.”
“Wait,” he says, and sighs, setting Nadja on the arm of the chair, not bothering to mark his place. “Come down here, Rachel. I have Kleenex.”
She doesn’t hesitate, taking the stairs down one at a time, carefully making her way over to Kurt. It’s like she was hoping he’d ask, and he realizes that’s probably exactly what she wanted: to be invited. He knows people aren’t in the habit of inviting Rachel Berry anywhere.
“It’s really good to see you, Kurt,” she repeats, sitting on the bed, across from him. He hands her a tissue, plucked from the nearby nightstand, and she takes it, stares down at her hands. “We miss you a lot in glee club, you know. Our sound just isn’t the same without you.”
“Rachel,” he says, a little hesitantly. “Can I give you some advice?”
She looks up. Her face is tearstained and a little swollen, and if she weren’t so upset already, he’d tell her she needs to work on attractive crying. “Sure.”
“Don’t make an idiot out of yourself running after Finn, okay? And I say this as someone who’s been there. It’s not worth it, chasing a guy who doesn’t want you.”
“But he does want me,” she insists, and blows her nose. “Or, at least, he did. And he can feel the same way again – I know he can. It’s what happens in all those old movies, the ones with Gregory Peck and Doris Day.”
“Gregory Peck and Doris Day were never in a movie together, Rachel.”
“That’s not what I mean. My point is that there has to be conflict before the final happy reunion. Girl meets boy, girl dates boy, girl loses boy, girl gets boy back. It’s the classic Hollywood plot, and Finn and I are headed straight for the final act. I can feel it.”
“Okay,” he says, and sighs. “I hate to break this to you, but look where we are. A basement. In Ohio. This isn’t Hollywood, Rachel, and you really need to adjust your expectations.”
“I bet someone told Barbra Streisand to adjust her expectations once. And you know what? I bet that someone is regretting how unsupportive he was.”
There’s clearly no reasoning with her. Kurt’s beginning to miss Nadja, for crying out loud. If he’s going to have to deal with someone unstable, he’d prefer her to be fictional and easily dismissed, not sitting in front of him in a sweater so ugly it’s almost fashionable. (Almost. The key word is almost.)
“Just let him be for a while,” he tries. “Spend some quality time with yourself. How long’s it been since you updated your audition repertoire to reflect the maturation of your voice? I bet you’ve been so busy being Mrs. Finn Hudson that you haven’t re-evaluated your song bank in ages.”
“How do you know about my audition repertoire?” She sounds suspicious. Kurt wishes he was wearing glasses. If he was, he could look over them at her, and it’d make the exasperated glare he’s giving her all the more impactful. Glasses are a fantastic dramatic aid.
“Rachel,” he tells her, “if I have an audition repertoire, then I know you have one too.”
She shrugs, smiles a little. She’s stopped crying, mostly. “You’re right. I’ve neglected my career goals. Maybe I really should focus on myself for a little while. Be selfish, for a change. I deserve it.”
Kurt smiles back at her, feeling pleased with himself. It’s funny; Rachel isn’t the first person from glee he thinks of whenever he’s feeling homesick (that’s usually Mercedes, and then Finn, and probably Brittany third), but he’s realizing, with her in the room with him now, how much he’s missed her fantastic narcissism. No one does self-absorption like Rachel Berry, and when he’s exposed to it in small doses, he’s able to admire it for the astonishing performance it really is.
“Pop?” he offers, gesturing at the mini-fridge in the corner. If she’s going to stay, he might as well remember his manners, be a good host.
She shakes her head, declining. “No thanks. I’m trying to minimize my sugar intake. Tell me about you, Kurt. How’s Dalton? Are you happy there? Do the Warblers realize how lucky they are to have you?”
He’s startled by the sudden subject change. “Dalton’s great,” he says, and then pauses. Well, it’s the truth. His classes are pretty good, and he’s grateful for every second he walks the halls and doesn’t have to feel the sickening lurch of fear struggle through his body. He misses McKinley, though. Not the worst parts of it, of course, but the best: the sense of homecoming he’d felt each time he’d walked into the choir room, or the squeeze of Mercedes’s hand in his, or the sanction inherent in Sue Sylvester’s carefully appraising stare.
“Dalton’s great,” he repeats. “The guys are great. Especially this one guy, Blaine – you saw him, he sang lead when we performed at sectionals. The guy with the gorgeous curly hair. He’s amazing.”
Rachel’s eyes widen, and Kurt realizes, belatedly, how much emphasis he’d given that last word. It’s too late, though, to hide anything from Rachel, even if he wanted to evade her curiosity. “Oh?” she asks, a lilt of interest in her voice. “He sounds very special.”
“He is,” Kurt confirms. “I mean, he’s going to be. Special. To me. As in, my special someone.”
There’s a flare of something in her face (jealousy, maybe?), but she resurrects her smile quickly, and he feels a little contrite. It’s not nice of him to be talking about his future with Blaine when Rachel’s staring at her past with Finn. “Nothing’s really happened,” he adds, quickly. “Not yet. But I’m hopeful.”
“But he’s indicated he’s attracted to you?”
“Yes. Kind of. Not with words.”
She stares at him. “Kurt, has he said anything to you to signal his interest?”
“We sang a duet,” he says, a little feebly. It’s the best evidence he has, and it’s good evidence, honestly. “Just before I came home for Christmas. It was – romantic. Incredibly romantic.”
“And?”
“And – I don’t know, Rachel. What’s your point?”
“It’s not worth it, chasing a guy who doesn’t want you,” she says, only she says it in this weird singsong voice, and Kurt realizes she’s mimicking his line from earlier.
“Is that supposed to be me?” he asks. “Because that seriously sounded nothing like me.”
“You,” she chastises, “are changing the subject. It sounds like this Blaine honestly isn’t that interested. His loss, of course, but you haven’t said anything to indicate that he actually wants to jump your bones.”
Jump your bones? he thinks, incredulous. Who says that? “He’s just too nice of a guy to do anything, all right? He’s taking it slowly because he thinks that’s what I want.”
“Or, you know,” Rachel counters, “he’s just not that into you. I actually read that book last year. It was extremely helpful, even though I disregarded most of the author’s advice in favor of my own personal experience. Which, in hindsight, was probably not the best idea.”
Kurt chooses not to acknowledge the digression. “Or,” he insists, “he’s taking it slowly. Really, really slowly. You haven’t seen him, Rachel. You don’t see how he acts when he’s around me. He smiles. He keeps eye contact.”
Rachel rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, eye contact. If he’s looking at you, he definitely wants you.”
“It’s practically eye-fucking, okay?” he snaps, and the strength of the heat that fills his face immediately after he says it is embarrassing. He’s nearly seventeen years old, for crying out loud. He shouldn’t be so damn self-conscious. “We’re not talking quick glances.”
She raises both eyebrows, apparently not yet having mastered the essential art of lifting one on its own. “Eye-fucking?”
It might be the first time he’s ever heard Rachel Berry say the f-word, and even though she’s just repeating Kurt’s phrase, he feels a weird sense of vertigo. “I’m not going to elaborate,” he says, still blushing, unable to look directly at her. “Just trust me. Blaine’s into it. Into me.”
“Why aren’t you two together, then?” she asks. It’s a fair question, but an annoying one, partly because Kurt doesn’t have a good answer for it just yet. If he’s being honest, he’s been too chicken to tell Blaine how he feels.
He decides to tell her the truth. “I just – I don’ t know. I can’t talk to him about it. Not yet.”
“Hmm,” she says, thoughtfully.
“Hmm, what?” Kurt doesn’t like that sound: hmmm. “What? Are you planning something? You sound like you’re planning something. What are you planning?”
“I’m thinking we should roleplay,” she tells him, brightly, flashing him a brilliant smile. “I’ll be Blaine, and you be you. It’ll be great practice for me. Someday I intend to play a man on stage, or maybe a transgender individual. The American Theater Wing rewards successful risk taking with Tonys, you know.”
Kurt feels like he should be offended by this, but doesn’t know where to begin, and anyways, it doesn’t seem like his priority right now is to get all huffy about problematic casting. “Roleplay what, exactly? You’d pretend to be Blaine, and I’d be me. Okay, so what’s the point?”
“Practice. Tell me – tell Blaine how you feel. I’ll respond how I think Blaine would respond. Simple.”
This is probably a horrible idea, and the weird tingle on his forearms is definitely some kind of a sign, but Kurt can’t logically think of a good reason not to go ahead, not really. It’s not like Nadja’s any more appealing at this point, and his only other option for tonight is to go find Finn and listen to him whine about Rachel, which doesn’t seem like an upgrade. Besides, maybe Rachel’s got something here. Maybe he just needs to practice. Maybe that’s all he needs.
“You don’t know what he’d say, though,” he protests, feebly. “You don’t know him, or what he’s like.”
She shrugs, looking excited. “Oh, I know enough. He’s handsome, he has a good voice, he’s charming and he’s slow to make the first move. I’ll fill in the blanks of what I don’t know. Like building a character. You can stop and tell me if I’m off base.”
“Should I close my eyes or something?” he asks, finally resigned.
“Yes. Don’t open them until I say so. Use your imagination. You’re probably good at that, aren’t you? Most talented performers are. I have an excellent imagination, by the way.”
Of course she does. He shuts his eyes, obediently, and tries to think of Blaine: Blaine in his Dalton uniform, grinning at Kurt, his face light with the promise of possibility.
“Hello, Kurt,” Rachel says, her voice pitched low, and it’s weirdly hilarious. Kurt snorts, a surprised laugh; he realizes, after he’s let it loose, that it’s probably not the nicest thing he’s ever done.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she snaps.
“No, sorry.” He keeps his eyes shut tight. “It’s just that his voice isn’t that low. It’s a little higher, but not as high as mine. Smoother.”
“Like this?” she asks, and it’s not exactly right, but it’s probably the closest she’ll get. Kurt nods.
“Fancy meeting you here in the – where are we?” she hisses, sotto voce.
“Uh, the common room?”
“Fancy meeting you here in the common room, Kurt. How’s everything going? Are you enjoying your classes?”
Kurt thinks, not for the first time, that Rachel’s going to need a lot more experience in social situations before she’ll be able to act believably, let alone write dialogue for herself. Or for anyone else. “Yeah,” he says, trying really hard to imagine it’s Blaine, sitting across from him, Blaine asking him about his life. “I’ve got a history test coming up I haven’t started studying for yet, but other than that, everything’s going really well.”
“Do you –" Rachel (no, Blaine; as ridiculous as this is, he has to try and think of Rachel’s voice being Blaine’s) clears her throat. His throat. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to me, Kurt? I’ve noticed the way you look at me.”
This is all wrong. Blaine would never be this direct. “Oh, you have?”
“I was just too much of a gentleman to say anything about it,” Blaine sighs, and, okay, that sounds a little better. “But I can’t keep silent any longer. Will you tell me how you feel about me?”
It’s surprising, how nervous he is, even though Kurt knows this is make-believe. Part of it’s sitting here with his eyes closed, with someone else in the room. He feels vulnerable, exposed. “I, um. Like you? I think you’re incredible, actually.”
“Do you like me as a friend, or as something more?”
“More,” he manages.
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“I – yes.”
“Do you want to touch me?”
He opens his eyes, startled out of the scene. “What?”
“Kurt,” Rachel says, and is that a blush he sees coloring her cheeks? He’s pretty sure it is. “You need to be prepared in the event that Blaine is more, uh, sexually experienced than you are. He may want to accelerate things very quickly, and you should be ready for that.”
He’s sitting in his basement bedroom – no, Finn’s bedroom, now – listening to Rachel Berry talk to him about sexual experience. Laughter bubbles up again in his throat, and he purses his lips together to keep it from escaping. This is bizarre. This is seriously, seriously bizarre.
“Close your eyes,” she orders, clearing her throat, crossing one leg carefully over the other. “You’re destroying the illusion.”
Kurt can’t imagine that Rachel knows a lot about sex – he’s heard Finn complain enough times about Rachel’s refusal to let him venture anywhere south of her chest – but there’s a weird energy threading through their bizarre mise-en-scéne. Not just his own, but Rachel’s, too. He can hear it in the cadence of her sentences: the strength of her need, rolled out from her in immense, directed waves. He’s never been the target of it before, and he doesn’t think he’s the target of it now, but he’s prone in front of her, nonetheless.
He licks his lips, and watches Rachel watch him, her gaze trained on his mouth.
“Close your eyes,” she repeats, and her voice is quieter, different: Blaine’s voice, or close enough. Kurt obeys.
“Do you want to touch me?” Blaine asks, again.
“Yes,” Kurt whispers. “I want that.”
“You want me.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” Blaine whispers, and it’s like Pavlov’s dog or someone’s bell or a trigger, whatever, he doesn’t know the expression he wants but he’s thinking about Blaine actually saying this to him, and suddenly he’s getting hard, he’s actually getting hard. His hand squeezes his thigh in reflex.
“Put your hands on me, Blaine,” he says. “Please.”
There’s a pause, then the rising squeak of the bedsprings, a small rustle of fabric and movement. He feels the cool press of fingertips on his cheek, and he breathes out, sharply, turns into the touch.
“You – you have an erection,” Blaine observes, hoarsely. “I can see it. Is that because of me?”
“Yes.” He can’t lie right now. Lying would mean denying the shriek and ache of his body, and the pull under his skin is too keen for that.
“You look at me when you think I’m not watching.” Blaine’s breath prickles the shell of Kurt’s ear. “Don’t you? When I’m singing. You look at me and you listen to my incredible voice and you think about me touching you.”
It’s true, he does. “Yes,” he says, again, and the word is a gasp. “I think about it all the time. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
The sigh Blaine releases is rich with satisfaction, and Kurt can hear Rachel Berry’s pleasure humming through the exhale; she’s there, still, distorting his fantasy just a bit, coloring his mind’s drawing of Blaine. He wonders if she’s got her eyes closed, too. He wonders if she’s talking to someone else, like he is. Finn, maybe. The idea that she’s projecting Finn onto him is weirdly hot: Finn stretched over Kurt’s skin and Finn under Rachel’s fingers, moving down his neck, and Finn moaning under Blaine’s hand, oh.
He’s panting. Blaine is too. (So is Rachel.)
“I have to –" he tries, and cups himself through his jeans. “I can’t, I need to –“
“Yes, of course, you –” Blaine stammers, Rachel’s need cracking through the words, and he feels the warm wet of a mouth on his ear, teeth pulling at the skin, hands gripping his arm.
Kurt’s hand is shaking, but it’s steady enough to pull down the zipper, reach underneath his briefs, grip his twitching cock. “Keep talking,” he says, and nearly hisses as the mouth sucks at his neck. “Oh, fuck.”
“We could go in the – in your room. I’m so –“ A pause, like Blaine’s trying to find the right word. “I’m really hard. It’s making me hard, how much you want me.”
“No – right here. I can’t – I can’t wait.” The pressure of his fist around his cock is unbelievably good, stroking rough without the grease of hand lotion; the friction of it raw and just south of painful. “Touch yourself. Tell me what you’re doing.”
Blaine inhales, sharply, his mouth on Kurt’s jaw, fingers gripping Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt can smell Rachel’s faint floral fragrance and the sharp thick scent of arousal. “I’m – my hand is under my – inside my jeans. I’ve been – just listening to you talk about me, it’s – oh, God. I want – I want to do everything with you. I wish I'd done more with you.”
“I want to suck you off,” Kurt blurts out, not thinking, because it’s all he can think about, Blaine’s hand in his jeans and Blaine pulling out his dick and Kurt taking it in his mouth, struggling around its girth. “I think about it. I think about it all the time.”
There’s a small sound from Blaine, a little moan, and then two insistent fingers push their way between his lips; he groans, opens up to take them in and Blaine tells Kurt, his voice high and sharp and rough, “Do it. Do it. Suck me.”
“Ah, shit, shit,” he chokes, the sound muffled, jerking his hand harder, and he tries to suck like Blaine told him to do but he’s coming, oh, God, he’s coming way faster than he usually does, coming harder, louder (dimly through the wrenching, brilliant cramp of climax he hears someone hiss in pain) and he empties over his hand, gasping, warm wet spill searing the skin.
When Kurt opens his eyes the light stings his retinas, and so he closes them again, still breathing hard.
“Okay,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Wow, okay.”
“You bit my fingers,” Rachel tells him, a little prissily. “When you – did what you did. That hurt.”
He looks at her then, annoyed. That’s all she can say? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s all right.” She doesn’t sound that angry, actually. More shaken. He looks at her face, closely, and sees the color there, still high on her cheeks. Her skirt’s a little rumpled. It takes him a moment to figure out why, but he can do the math. (The fingers on her right hand are wet from his mouth. The fingers on her left hand are wet, too.) Kurt knows he’s definitely matured, because this doesn’t freak him out nearly as much as it would’ve a few months ago.
“Well,” she observes, quietly. “This is a little strange.”
“Could you, uh, hand me a Kleenex?” Kurt asks her, trying to cover his lap with one hand without getting semen on his jeans. It isn’t working. He’s going to have to do a furtive load of laundry, and hope Carole doesn’t get suspicious. “I need to, you know. Clean up.”
She grabs the box and thrusts it in his direction. Kurt grabs a handful, freezes. He can’t do this in front of her. He can come in front of Rachel, apparently, but he can’t wipe semen off his hands and limp dick and jeans.
Rachel, blessedly, and against all odds, seems to realize this. She yanks the box away, placing it back on the nightstand, and smooths down the sides of her skirt.
“I hope, Kurt, that our exercise was helpful,” she says. “I benefited from it too, you know.”
Please don’t elaborate, he thinks. “I’m glad. Thanks, I guess.”
“I deserve someone who wants me just as much as I want him. You’ve helped me to realize that. You’re a good friend, Kurt.”
“Look, Rachel, I don’t want to be rude, but – “ He almost gestures towards his lap, but thinks better of it just in time. “You should probably leave. Like, right now.”
“I’m going,” she cuts in, and straightening, walks primly towards the stairs.
Kurt watches her stalk out of the basement, head high, advancing towards the upstairs foyer and her newfound knowledge.
When she's gone, the basement door shutting firmly behind her, he sets about wiping away the remnants of her visit with the Kleenex and thinks of Blaine, and the press of fingers on his neck, and tries to peel off her voice from the memory of Blaine's need. It sticks. It's stubborn like she is.
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Date: 2011-02-02 06:40 am (UTC)Oh, Rachel.
I might have squeaked when I saw this pairing, and that it was written by you, omg. I love their narcissism and fantasies/delusions and general crazy, and how present those things were in this, and that it only added to the hotness.
When she's gone, the basement door shutting firmly behind her, he sets about wiping away the remnants of her visit with the Kleenex and thinks of Blaine, and the press of fingers on his neck, and tries to peel off her voice from the memory of Blaine's need. It sticks. It's stubborn like she is.
This is gorgeous.
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Date: 2011-02-03 01:09 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-02-03 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 09:55 am (UTC)This was great, absolutely perfect:)
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Date: 2011-02-03 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 02:57 pm (UTC)That said, this was amazing, you had everyone's voices down to a tee and it was very well written, you could really feel Kurt's feelings for Blaine and Rachel was kind of hilarious throughout the entire thing. Great work.
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Date: 2011-02-03 01:11 am (UTC)Maybe because their fantastic narcissism is just so much fun to watch ricochet off one another endlessly? It's why I love them together, haha.
I'm glad you liked this - thanks for the lovely comment!
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Date: 2011-02-02 03:33 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-02-02 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-03 01:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 08:06 pm (UTC)^^ This is me right now. A gibbering mess.
I love everything about this. Everything. From Kurt's mental commentary to the way he feels about not liking the book, to every single moment with Rachel.
And, holy shit, this bit: 'The idea that she’s projecting Finn onto him is weirdly hot: Finn stretched over Kurt’s skin and Finn under Rachel’s fingers, moving down his neck, and Finn moaning under Blaine’s hand, oh.' was so ridiculously hot, and felt so right for Kurt, and, just. Wow.
Seriously.
Love this. Love the ending.
Everything. I love everything about this.
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Date: 2011-02-03 01:14 am (UTC)Thanks for this wonderful comment!
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Date: 2011-02-02 11:03 pm (UTC)♥
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Date: 2011-02-03 01:15 am (UTC)Thank you so much!
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Date: 2011-02-03 04:08 am (UTC)I love the dynamic these two have, and you've portrayed it beautifully here. The sexy bits didn't feel shoehorned or forced at all, which is not an easy feat given the pairing.
The "Jump your bones? he thinks, incredulous. Who says that?" line made me laugh - it was just so perfectly Rachel. And even though it's written from Kurt's point of view, Rachel's own neediness comes through loud and clear.
Excellent job!
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Date: 2011-02-03 03:55 pm (UTC)Thank you so much. <3
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Date: 2011-02-03 04:36 am (UTC)I loved all of it and I guh, I can not form coherent feedback.
I love love love Kurt/Rachel fic, and this is one of the best ones I have read. Their odd friendship and Kurt knowing her like he knows himself.
I had to laugh at Kurt thinking a book much be excellent if his crush liked it, such a real life truth. lol
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Date: 2011-02-03 03:56 pm (UTC)What a nice compliment - thank you so much! <3
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Date: 2011-02-03 05:42 am (UTC)All in all, porn with insightful characterization! How can it get better than that? :)
Oh, and also THANK YOU FOR POINTING OUT THAT FINN TOTALLY CHEATED ON QUINN WITH RACHEL. I literally had forgotten that until I read this fic, and it makes me wonder if the writers did, too. But now that I remember, I desperately want her to bring it up on the show because IT'S A VALID POINT, FINN.
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Date: 2011-02-03 04:00 pm (UTC)As always, you write the nicest comments! I'm so pleased that Rachel comes across well - I love writing her, probably for the same reasons I love writing Sue - that fantastic mess of blatant egotism and extreme vulnerability.
Thank you so much. <3
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Date: 2011-02-03 07:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-03 04:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-03 05:38 pm (UTC)“I’m thinking we should roleplay,” she tells him, brightly, flashing him a brilliant smile. “I’ll be Blaine, and you be you. It’ll be great practice for me. Someday I intend to play a man on stage, or maybe a transgender individual. The American Theater Wing rewards successful risk taking with Tonys, you know.”
SO RACHEL
The idea that she’s projecting Finn onto him is weirdly hot: Finn stretched over Kurt’s skin and Finn under Rachel’s fingers, moving down his neck, and Finn moaning under Blaine’s hand, oh
UNF oh my god
I love Kurt/Rachel and I love this and it's gorgeous and hot and guh~
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Date: 2011-02-04 04:16 am (UTC)And I don't think I realized how much I loved Kurt/Rachel until I wrote this, but I totally, totally ship it now (especially after reading
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Date: 2011-02-10 10:18 am (UTC)The idea that she’s projecting Finn onto him is weirdly hot: Finn stretched over Kurt’s skin and Finn under Rachel’s fingers, moving down his neck, and Finn moaning under Blaine’s hand,. oh.
fjkdskfdsflkhdjk THAT SHOULD NOT BE SO HOT. WHAT THE HELL. XD
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Date: 2011-02-12 06:39 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-04-02 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-09 07:22 pm (UTC)This is just. right. I wasn't sure how you were going to make this pairing believable to me--though I've read enough of your stuff to trust that you would--but you found the perfect way. I love messy, misplaced emotions, especially from someone as locked-up-tight as Kurt. Fabulous!
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Date: 2011-09-09 11:57 pm (UTC)