Summary: Posted on the klaine_games Scavenger Hunt/Kink Meme for the theme “Wet Dreams”. Takes place just after Kurt transferred to Dalton.
Warnings: non-explicit (very tame) wet dream, surreal dream-ness
He feels it more than he hears it. There’s a dull buzz in his ears.
He’s running down a hallway. There’s something important at the end of it, and he has to reach it as soon as he possibly can. It feels like he’s going in slow motion, pushing against a distortion of time. He blinks and notices that the furniture is covered with white sheets, gleaming in the light of the open windows. A small chirp sounds to his left, and then to his right, and with every step small yellow canaries are flocking on either side.
By the time he reaches the end, every inch of furniture is covered with tiny, chirping birds. They face him. An eerie silence descends, followed by a cacophony of fluttering wings as they swarm him at once, morphing into a brilliant swirl of color. His eyes fall shut in the chaos.
He’s sitting in the choir room back at McKinley. The seats are empty but it’s comforting all the same. Familiar.
He lowers his head and stares at a scuff mark on the floor. A voice breaks the stillness, but he isn’t fazed.
“To be honest, I’m kind of surprised.” Blaine is sitting in the chair next to him, leaning forward, surveying the room. “It’s lonely in here.”
“Sometimes,” Kurt hears himself say, just above a whisper.
Blaine draws his arms around his sides as if staving off an icy chill. Kurt gets up, the scrape of the chair sharp and abrasive. He pulls the scarf from his neck and lays it delicately over Blaine’s shoulders. The lights overhead pulse, and he knows it’s time to go. He extends his hand and leads Blaine down the steps, through the door.
They emerge in darkness, beckoned by a faint glow in the distance. The floor comes into view as a soft, patterned magenta. Eventually, they come to an aisle in the middle of a balcony. The stage below is set and lit, but the theater is devoid of an audience. A full scene dresses the stage: a lake and a sunset, stones and sand and trees, and his mother and father standing in the middle, looking tired but happy. It’s identical to an old creased photograph hidden in his desk. The one that he stole away when his father suggested putting it in with the rest of the storage.
Kurt tears his hand from Blaine’s grasp. He nearly trips over his own feet as he staggers to the railing. Blaine is looking around at the vacant seats, descending the low steps.
“Are we early?” Blaine asks. His voice is warm and comforting. Kurt’s chest aches and he can’t help sounding broken in his reply.
“Late. Too late.” The memory of his mother is as faded and fragile as the photograph and he starts to back away from the railing, away from the warm sunset and the figures on the stage, like they’ll shatter if he gets too close.
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Blaine’s words are so gentle, Kurt can’t help but stare, his expression softening. Blaine breaks out into his trademark smile. “You can catch the encore.”
This time it’s Blaine’s hand reaching for his.
“Or you could start your own show. There’s time.”
Now he’s being pulled through doors framed with gold, and the lights ahead are blinding. A runway, blocked in by empty chairs, stretches out farther than he can see. The stark lights are making it impossible to think or process anything, but Blaine is holding on tight as they walk across the gleaming surface. When his eyes adjust, he starts to feel something. Glimpses of people sitting in the seats. He recognizes some of the specters, but it’s all muddied and hazy. Only Blaine is solid and clear in the weight of his hands and the crisp outline of his features against the light.
They stop at the same time, where the shining white platform ends. Blaine slides a hand firmly over his waist, pulling him closer. He starts with Kurt’s jacket, and it’s off in a heartbeat. The tie comes next, before Kurt touches his forearm gently and breathes out a sigh.
“That’s not how it works,” he says bashfully.
Blaine pauses for a moment before setting the jacket down. Without another word, they sit down on the edge of the catwalk. The spotlight seems to follow them because Kurt can see every little fleck in Blaine’s eyes, and suddenly he isn’t sure if there is a runway at all, because all he can see is Blaine, watching Kurt and wearing that smile again. Kurt hasn’t even known him all that long, but what he wouldn’t give to have Blaine smile at him like that all the time, just for him.
He can hear his heart pounding again, and he feels a touch, the lightest touch, against his hand. Blaine is caressing his hand so gently, he shouldn’t even be able to feel it. In that moment, it’s everything. His skin is starting to prickle with warmth, but he doesn’t move. He wants Blaine’s delicate touch. His eyes shut and the world goes dark, but the sensation and the stroking across his fingers is like a pulse rolling through him. An ache starts to grow low and heavy in his torso.
He can smell Blaine. He can’t completely discern it, but it’s the same scent that makes his heart jump and twist every time Blaine sits beside him. The caress stops, but it’s immediately replaced with the sensation of Blaine’s cheek against his neck. There’s a substance to this feeling, barely touching but completely present and almost too aware. Blaine just stays like that and breathes against his neck. The warmth in his stomach feels broader and his hips are rocking just a little bit, and he can’t stop himself.
Blaine’s fingers trace a path against his spine. His hips are almost to the point of writhing, but no matter how much he moves, Blaine’s touches seem as soft and fleeting as can be. Blaine is angling himself closer, dragging his lips softly over the line of Kurt’s jaw. Kurt feels like he’s glowing - he must be glowing - with all the tension straining to escape from this cage of skin and nerves and bones. It builds and builds with every breath that fills the space between them, and the tingling warmth in his chest and neck and hips spreads slowly outwards.
When Blaine finally places one small kiss just under his ear, the tension surges and breaks all at once. A dull sound rings in his ears as his eyes roll back, and the substance of his companion turns into pillows and twisted sheets.
Kurt groans and sits up, head in his hands. His body feels incredibly heavy in the morning light, and uncomfortably wet. He doesn’t have to look at the time to know that he absolutely does not want to leave his bed, for so many reasons, but he leans back and grabs his phone anyway.
There’s one new message waiting for him.
Jeff wants to know where you got that neat zebra pin.
Kurt doesn’t even have time to process the message through his groggy stupor before a new one pops up.
Good morning, btw. :)
His heart does that familiar little flip. He knows that he’ll end up doing some involved thinking over the contents of that dream, but for now he just gazes at the tiny digital smiley face and grins like a teenager in love.