link: here at mediafire
Characters: Sam, Kurt
Warnings: Slash. touches upon issues of consent, minor cursing. Boy kissing, fluff.
Words: ~2000, ~14 minutes
Disclaimer: Not mine not mine not mine not mine.
Summary: A story of Kurt and Sam's first kiss in the wake of Karofsky.
AN: Text under the cut if you want to follow along while you listen, or if you don't want to hear my voice at all. Now with beautiful art by Caitlin, thanks bb! You're the absolute best.
“You don’t have to ask,” Kurt sputters, feeling tense and hot all over. He feels wrong in his own skin, like he’s stretched far too thin to be healthy. The words that leave his mouth are precisely the ones he intends, but they taste wrong and they send a shiver down his spine.
Sam just looks at him and Kurt flushes hideously, he’s sure, because he can see the furrowed brow and the worried eyes and it’s stupid is what it is. He’s not some fragile damsel in distress, he doesn’t need handling with kid gloves, he’s a guy okay, not some weakling.
“I’m not some delicate flower okay,” Kurt spits out, lashing out blindly and unable to stop himself. “I don’t need coddling and you don’t need to ask if you can kiss me, alright?” His tone is venomous and he just wants to take it all back instantly, but he can’t deny the prickling of the goosebumps on his arm and of the burning wet heat in his eyes and he can’t stand the way he feels right now.
“I know you’re not,” Sam says, ducking his head again so that damned sweep of bangs covers his expression again and so Kurt can’t hate him for what he’s sure is pity in those gorgeous eyes of his. “But, I- I have to ask.”
“No, you don’t-” Kurt starts, but Sam collects both of Kurt’s pale hands in his own, startling Kurt into silence. For a split second, Kurt doesn’t know why he wanted this because just looking at their hands together strips him bare and leaves him feeling horrendously vulnerable. And then Sam looks up and Kurt wants to fucking punch him in the face because there isn’t a damned speck of pity in his eyes, it’s just pure affection, concern and want.
He’s not sure if that makes it easier or harder because Kurt wants too. Kurt wants everything – he always has. There is no one in the world who knows want like Kurt fucking Hummel, no one in the universe who understands loss and loneliness and the simple lack of everything that he’s told it’s normal to have and normal to enjoy – but not for him. Never for him. Want is all Kurt’s ever done – want and wait and want and wait and bide his fucking time. Well, Kurt’s done with fucking waiting – can’t Sam see that? Can’t he see just how much Kurt wants?
“You have to tell me,” Sam says seriously, biting down hard on his lip. “I… I don’t want to fuck this up. I’ve screwed up so much in the past, I just… not this, okay?” And it’s stupid but that’s the bit that reassures Kurt the most – the bit where Sam admits that he’s a screw up. Because weren’t they all, Kurt most of all? It levels the playing field a little, enough that Kurt tugs his hand in Sam’s – just enough to lace his fingers with the other boy’s. He squeezes lightly.
“It was just a kiss,” Kurt murmurs, not realizing he had said the words until he felt his throat tighten around them. Sam’s fingers tighten too, but relax a moment later. Instead his free hand comes to cover both of Kurt’s, enveloping them lightly.
“It wasn’t… right,” Sam stutters slightly, “Not fair, I mean. For you. I-” Sam trails off lamely and it’s weird how the more unsure Sam becomes the better Kurt feels. He’s not really sure if that makes him a bad person, or maybe hints at the fact that he won’t be that great of a boyfriend, but-
“He was scared,” Kurt says, closing his eyes against the flood of fury that rushes through him. Because so was he, snaps some part of his brain angrily. Terrified and alone and and and – Kurt glances up when he realizes Sam has let go of his hands to fiddle nervously with the sleeves of his hoodie, the ragged edges of the cuffs providing a perfect distraction.
“Doesn’t make it okay,” Sam insists, fingers twisting the worn fabric this way and that and Kurt finds himself staring at Sam’s hands, letting the repetitive motion in front of his eyes calm his nerves. “You never said it was okay,” Sam says, more firmly, “So he had no right.”
If only it were that simple, Kurt thinks, looking away from the careful twisting of Sam’s sweatshirt. When he looks back though, Sam is meeting his gaze head on as if he knows exactly the thoughts that are crossing Kurt’s mind. As if he knows and disagrees. It’s complicated, Kurt argues in his head but the excuse sounds weak even before Kurt can summon the energy to speak it aloud.
But maybe it is that simple. Maybe it’s about yes and maybe it’s about no. Maybe he doesn’t have to excuse Karofsky’s actions, maybe he doesn’t have to explain himself to every single person, maybe not saying yes was and is enough.
It was clear that it was enough for Sam. And maybe that’s the only thing that matters.
“So you have to tell me,” Sam adds a second later, a short gust of wind sending his long blonde hair into wild disarray. He fixes it with a quick shake of his head, his mane rearranging itself into some sort of order without any hesitation. “That it’s okay I mean,” he clarifies awkwardly, quickly. Kurt smiles in spite of himself and Sam smiles sheepishly back at him.
Okay. Tell him it’s okay. That Kurt’s okay. That despite everything, it’s all okay. Okay okay okay okay. Kurt fucking hates the word okay. What is okay compared to sublime? Or perfect? Nothing, that’s what. Kurt may be okay but he is not sublime. And that’s a fucking tragedy.
Kurt thought it would just be a matter of saying yes Sam, please, duh, of course, your lips on mine? what’s the issue here again? let’s get this freaking show on the road already! but he’s just staring at Sam now and he has no idea why. Sam’s not wavering though, his gaze is steady through the thin curtain of his too long hair. The words Kurt’s been claiming there was no need to say aren’t coming, leaving his throat dry and his hands trembling because Kurt is terrified to realize that Sam may know him better than anyone ever has.
“How, um, however long you, uh, want to wait – or I can just go entirely and we can forget this ever happene-” Kurt cuts Sam off with a standard bitch, please eyebrow and the blonde boy subsides, returning to merely watching Kurt with all too knowing eyes.
In a rush, Kurt realizes Sam is waiting. And wanting. And biding his time. For him. Not just for someone, or anyone or the last fucking scraps off the table. For Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, with hours long skin care regimens and a defensive streak a mile wide and snotty, bitchy comebacks for when he cares too much and more snotty, bitchy comebacks for when he doesn’t care at all and expectations way too high for everyone and ones even higher for himself. He’s waiting and he’s willing to wait and okay, maybe Kurt can do this.
“First,” Kurt says quietly, “hold my hand again.” Sam’s smile in response is blinding and he does as he is bid, curling his wide calloused hands around Kurt’s, lacing them tightly together. Kurt considers the pattern of their fingers for a long moment before drawing his gaze back up to Sam’s.
“Now, look at me?” This is question because Kurt can’t help the rush of tingling embarrassment at the fact that he has to do this, this whole step by step, hold my hand, take your time thing. He stares at Sam, expecting to see something in his eyes that will make Kurt feel like absolute crap – but Sam is just looking at him like there is absolutely nowhere else in the world he’d rather be except here, holding Kurt’s hand – waiting.
“Closer,” Kurt says quietly and Sam slides closer, warmth radiating from every inch of his body, his varsity sweatshirt little defense against a typical freezing Ohio winter, but Sam doesn’t look the least bit concerned. His eyes are on Kurt’s and now the side of his leg is pressed against Kurt’s favorite darkwashed jeans. Every place they touch, Kurt feels like he’s boiling and for a split second, he feels the uncomfortable, intimidating heat of someone much bigger than him, the stale scent of sweat and boy in the air and the sick metallic smell the lockers always have and Kurt can’t do anything except just stand there and-
“Kurt?” Sam asks and Kurt takes in a deep breath, the imaginary smell falling away to reveal a soft woodsy cologne, not his own, so Sam’s, and the smell of fresh air. Kurt blinks rapidly, the memory fading as he watches Sam absentmindedly brush his thumb against the soft skin on the back of Kurt’s hand.
“Closer,” Kurt repeats and Sam slides even closer, Kurt almost curled into him. Kurt takes a deep breath and inhales that soft pine smell that can only be Sam, grounding his mind for a moment.
Once the words are spoken, Sam moves decisively but not quickly. It is clear he has been waiting for the signal – one only Kurt could give. When their lips meet, Kurt huffs out the slightest breath, perhaps in surprise, he doesn’t know. But Sam’s mouth seals gently over his and there is the slightest bit of warmth and the smooth sensation of lips against lips. In this moment there is no fear or astonishment or disgust – it is just simply Sam, pressing his lips against Kurt’s. Sam, who wants to be Kurt’s boyfriend. Sam, who will stand up for Kurt even when Kurt isn’t around to see it. Sam, who isn’t afraid. Sam, who will wait and wait and wait until Kurt is ready and then wait some more just in case because he doesn’t want to screw up. “Another,” Kurt whispers against Sam’s lips when they both pull back for air. Sam acquiesces, brushing his lips against Kurt’s again as Kurt shifts closer to him, nearly ending up in his lap.
The rest of the afternoon is spent trading sweet kisses on that bench behind the swimming pool, closed for repairs in the winter. No one ever comes by this way but that’s not why Kurt’s willing to clamber on top of the boy for whom his heart now pounds so wildly. It’s because Sam’s kisses fix the feeling in his chest, the one where it feels like his heart and his lungs are in a race to see which can escape via his mouth first. They make Kurt feel right in his skin. Kurt kisses Sam behind the pool, hidden away, because he knows Sam would let Kurt kiss him on the front steps of the school, in front of his family, next to their lockers, during glee, in the cafeteria, on stage, on the football field in front of a screaming crowd, hell, even on Principal Figgins’ desk. Because Sam was grateful for every inch of Kurt that Kurt felt comfortable putting in his hands. Because with Sam, Kurt edges ever closer to sublime and ever further away from just fucking okay.
They kiss and kiss and kiss until Kurt no longer needs to tell Sam yes, another, a kiss, please, another, because Sam has learned the tell-tale hitch of Kurt’s breath, has memorized the stuttered rhythm of his heartbeat, can recall the slight twitch of his left hand as it tangles in the long blonde strands of Sam’s hair. They kiss until they can speak without words, until Sam can pause and play at the slightest shift in Kurt’s spine and the smallest flutter of eyelashes.
Yes, Kurt says with his eyes and his hands and his lips.
“Yes,” Kurt says aloud, because he can, and waits.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
- the end -
AN: After a bad day on tumblr, this sort of poured out. And then I felt like I had to read aloud it if anyone was going to understand what I wanted to say. Basically deals a little bit with the idea that we need to shift from the idea that 'no means no' to 'even if i don't say anything, it still means no.' Consent is not a given. *gets off soapbox* Hope you enjoyed! If you didn't
don't tell me I'll just go cry in a corner let me know! Also, if anyone is interested in having more pod-fic in this corner of fandom, let me know. I like doing this way too much.