Archive of Our Own

A few weeks ago, Blaine wouldn't have let this happen. Even if he'd been running on the adrenaline of a good performance, he’d have hesitated, but the fact was he wasn't prepared for McKinley. It wasn't the bullying. He could handle that. He didn’t like it and he wasn’t truly accustomed to it anymore but he’d known going in that it was still rampant at McKinley.

Everything else was what made his transfer difficult, in ways Blaine hadn't expected.

Take glee, for example. When Kurt said he was used to shouting for attention, he hadn't exaggerated. These days, Kurt was shouting all the time -- usually at Rachel or Mr. Schuester -- but in a good-natured way. It made Blaine uncomfortable. To him, yelling meant someone was angry and Blaine had done his fair share of that. Coming to McKinley had been about changing himself as much as it’d been about changing the school, and every shouting match Blaine witnessed was a reminder of how little he’d changed. He was getting better at accepting that he was an angry teenager, despite his efforts to seem otherwise, but it was still something he didn’t want to face. Too often, when the glee club got up to its usual shenanigans, he just sat in the back, trying to figure out how New Directions worked.

Blaine could see why Kurt had missed them so much -- the differences between New Directions and the Warblers were distinct. This club was very much a family, whereas the Warblers were obviously a team, and Blaine mourned the fact that he simply didn’t know how to work in this environment. New Directions was so disorganized and chaotic that he couldn’t tell if he should speak up, let alone sing. The members were at each other’s throats for so little as breathing and Blaine really didn’t want glee to be as much of a battle as walking down the halls was.

It should be enough to have Kurt, who was a wonderful friend -- patient, understanding, and very good at explaining the intricacies of McKinley in that dry, sarcastic way. However, some of the stories were so outrageous that Blaine wasn't sure how much he should take seriously. All of them, he guessed, given the drama he’d already witnessed, even if accepting that meant the worst was yet to come.

He wished it was easier to fit in, that forcing himself to speak up wasn't so difficult, that he didn't feel so abandoned while sitting next to Kurt as he chatted a mile a minute with Mercedes and Rachel. Sometimes he wondered if he'd made the right decision or if this was just another in a string of poor choices, too caught up in feeling righteous and adventurous to stop and think. Acting thoughtlessly was always a fault of his and now he felt a little lost. It didn’t help that a few weeks into their senior year, Blaine managed to sequester himself in the choir room without anyone noticing.

"Hey."

At least, he’d thought no one had noticed.

Blaine looked from where he plucked morosely at the piano keys and was surprised to find Sam hovering in the doorway. Kurt, he’d expect. Kurt always did his best to insure Blaine was adjusting to McKinley, and it wasn’t Kurt's fault Blaine never told him anything because of his unwillingness to disappoint him.

Sam was completely out of the blue.

"Hey," Blaine said back. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Sam explained as he stepped deeper into the choir room. "I wanted to tell you..." He looked shiftily to the side, but when he looked back, he seemed to have gained his bearings. "You're really brave for transferring to McKinley. I know it's not really safe for you or Kurt and I wanted you to know that the glee club has your back, no matter what."

Blaine hadn't spared Sam much attention these past few weeks, but now that his naiveté about McKinley had passed, the light-hearted comfort was enough for him to give the other boy a second look. Sam was earnest and, even if he had no idea his words were exactly what Blaine needed, having his support was more of a balm to Blaine's loneliness than anything else Blaine had tried telling himself.

As much as he wished it otherwise, Blaine knew it wasn't true. This fact remained: he wasn’t a member of New Directions -- not in the way that counted -- and he wasn't stupid enough to think they would support him in anything if Kurt didn't do so first. Besides his tenuous relationship with the glee club, Blaine was a transfer student and gay. Despite the anti-bullying campaigns there were in place, no one at this school wanted to associate with him, let alone be his back up.

Ducking his head, Blaine tried to seem as if Sam’s words didn’t affect him. "That's really sweet of you to say," he admitted.

“I’m not just saying it,” Sam corrected quickly. “I know things are kind of shaky right now but you’re one of the good guys. We all know it. Don’t be afraid.”

His sincerity meant that Blaine wanted to take him at his word, but as far as he was concerned, Sam was one of those guys who felt fine with living in both worlds. To Blaine, the effort Sam put into making him feel welcome was admirable, especially for someone who probably had never known what it was like to be an outsider for all of his life before arriving at McKinley.

Sam took a few hesitant steps toward the piano and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, seeming uncertain of his next words. It was sort of cute -- even when his hair flopped into his eyes when he ducked his head.

Shrugging, Sam confessed, “I sort of know what you’re going through. I transferred here from an all-boys school, too, and McKinley is really, really different. This school isn’t known for being welcoming.”

Politely, Blaine acknowledged what Sam was saying with a nod. “That’s true, but it’s only a matter of time before I learn how to fit in.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam told him, his certainty unmistakable as he rapped his knuckles against the piano top as if to bolster his words with something physical. “I promise we’ll like you just as you are. Just be yourself.”

Blaine wasn’t sure how he felt about what Sam was saying. He understood the sentiment, but he’d been part of a group for so long now that the prospect of being himself didn’t have meaning anymore.

Sam thrummed his fingers over the piano and bounced on his feet silently for a few seconds before saying, “Think about singing something, maybe. Whatever you want.”

Blaine nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure. Next glee club meeting, then.”

“Awesome!” Sam grinned, leaning over the corner of the piano to slap Blaine on the shoulder before starting back toward the door. “Looking forward to it.” He was gone for a handful of seconds -- barely long enough for Blaine to have looked away from the door -- before he was leaning back in to say: “Just nothing by Journey. I hear that doesn’t go over too well.”

*

When Blaine told Kurt that he was planning on singing something, Kurt seemed nervous and pleased. He asked rapid-fire questions about the song, how Blaine planned on singing it, and why. Blaine did his best to answer them all, though he stumbled through it, unable to explain to Kurt’s satisfaction that he'd picked the song simply because it was both one he liked and one that fit into Mr. Schuester’s weekly lesson -- songs with food in the title. It wasn’t a song that showcased his feelings well, but and he was okay with that. Feelings could come later.

However, because Kurt seemed frustrated by this method of song choice -- though it was something that the rest of the club did constantly -- or Blaine's inability to explain himself, Blaine decided to forgo singing altogether. It wasn’t going to break his heart to not sing in front of Kurt’s friends. He tried not to let his disappointment show. He was trying so hard to take all the right steps to be one of them, but it was like he could never seem to gather the courage he needed to be himself.

A few days later, when Mr. Schuester was about to dismiss them for the day, Sam leaned into Blaine’s personal space to say, “Hey, I thought you were singing today.”

“I thought so, too,” Blaine muttered, leaning back so that Sam wouldn’t have to bend so far for them to speak. “I changed my mind.”

“Dude,” Sam said -- tone almost chiding, “I thought you wanted to be a part of glee club. You’ve gotta sing sometime. It might as well be now.”

Feeling pressured, Blaine turned so he could snap at Sam properly. “Look, it’s not a big deal,” he said -- apparently not subtly enough because Kurt was shifting on his other side and Santana had already turned to watch them. “So I decided not to sing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

Sam asked the question with a gravity that Blaine felt was completely unnecessary. It was as if Sam thought Blaine’s reasoning in this instance was the foundation upon which all of his future interactions with the other members of New Directions rested. Blaine didn’t like it. It was too much right now. He had enough on his plate learning how to deal with bullies again and finding his place in a new school. He didn’t need Sam getting on his case, too.

So he twisted in his chair and got a whole word into his retort when Mr. Schuester stepped in with a curious lilt to his voice: “Sam? Blaine? Did you two have anything?”

“No,” answered Blaine at the same time as Sam said, more loudly, “I was just saying I’d help Blaine perform his song. Since I play the guitar.”

Mr. Schuester seemed delighted that Blaine was going to sing. “Oh? What will you be singing for us today, Blaine?”

Startled by this turn of events, Blaine could only blurt out the truth of his original plan. “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk by Rufus Wainwright.” He was quick to turn back to Sam, though. “Do you know it?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, hopping up to take the acoustic guitar proffered by one of the ever-present band members. “I love Wainwright. Shrek is, like, one of my favorite movies ever.” Still uncertain, Blaine moved to the front of the choir room, hands clasped before him, and Sam patted him lightly on the arm. “You’ll do great.”

Blaine smiled thinly at him before turning to look at the rest of the club. Kurt was leaning forward in his seat, clearly interested and supportive, and everyone else was politely attentive. Blaine took a deep breath. This was just an audition like any other. Even if he didn’t have the Warblers' voices with him anymore, he only needed to glance to the side to see Sam, ready and waiting to back him up just like he promised, and Blaine nodded for him to start playing.

Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk was a song built to be a solo -- one with which Blaine could show off his voice, though it wasn’t like New Directions didn’t already know he could sing. Rufus Wainwright’s voice went through deeper and richer notes than he could, but a change in key fixed that easily. Blaine crooned his way through, Everything it seems I like’s a little bit stronger, a little bit thicker, a little bit harmful for me, and managed to make significant eye contact with each member of New Directions. He got all the way to You got to keep in the game, retaining mystique while facing forward, before he looked toward Sam.

Sam was smiling -- seemed perfectly happy, in fact, to be helping and swaying with the slow resonance of Blaine's voice. When he turned to look at Kurt, he was on the verge of applause with his hands clasped together in front of his mouth and his eyes overly bright. Kurt looked proud, surprisingly so, considering the simplicity of the song. Blaine's abilities were hardly being taxed, but the longer he sang, the more he felt exposed.

He loved this song a lot. It reminded him a little bit of Broadway, so it wasn't unusual for Blaine to find himself singing along to it in the car. When it came down to it, though, the lyrics had a greater meaning than he'd been willing to admit to Kurt when they'd been talking about it. The song was about greed and cravings -- about wanting more than the world was willing to give and how it screwed people up -- but also about the recognition of that greed, how resisting it was like walking a tightrope. Blaine knew how it applied to himself. He knew that he was a person of extremes -- prone to seeing more than what was actually there just because he wanted it so badly -- and he knew that it made him stupid sometimes. When he was met with the inevitable disappointment, he took it out on the world, but it was something he was working on. He could only hope that the friends he made would be willing to put up with his level of mess.

The feeling of vulnerability stuck around after the last note and he awkwardly stood at the front of the room while the members of New Directions applauded and cheered. It was a good response, though he wasn't sure if that alone was enough to consider himself one of them.

Blaine was still wrapped up in his own nerves when Sam pulled him in for a hug. The gesture was shocking but Blaine surrendered to it easily. He'd always been a very physical person but he'd left Dalton with the impression that, despite the efforts of the Bully Whips, students at McKinley would view him as a sort of social pariah -- untouchable out of the idea that homosexuality was catching.

Sam, apparently, had no such reservations. He hugged with his whole body, squeezing his arms around Blaine's shoulders, with his palms big and flat against Blaine's back. Tentatively, Blaine hugged back. He dug his fingers in, sliding his hands between Sam's body and the guitar slung behind him. Sam was warm and not tense at all. It seemed like he didn't mind if Blaine took this moment to snuggle close. Of all the things that he'd missed about Dalton, he had missed this the most. The Warblers had never been afraid of touching Blaine, about supporting their words with something physical, and getting it from Sam made him feel more welcomed than any touch from Kurt ever had.

While he broke away to accept a slew of hugs from the rest of the glee club -- mainly from Kurt and the girls -- Blaine thought on that. He'd come to McKinley to support Kurt in his efforts to change McKinley for the better and face his own fears and regrets at the same time, and he knew how Kurt viewed physical touch with an incredible gravity. They were brothers in arms, he and Kurt, and being touched by him was kindness, was familiarity, was partnership.

Sam, though, was significant. He was set apart because of his sexuality. Whereas easy familiarity was almost expected out of Kurt, Blaine could not help but respond strongly to the idea of Sam -- very, very straight Sam -- accepting him without reserve.

The glee club drifted off, one-by-one, in the wake of Mr. Schuester's happy congratulations of Blaine's first performance. Blaine lingered behind, waving off Kurt when he seemed to be waiting, and glanced over to where Sam was handing the guitar to the band and thanking them for letting him use it. Kurt followed Blaine's gaze and pulled an expression that Blaine couldn't quite read -- some mixture of surprise, resignation, and sadness. Kurt sent Blaine a pointed look that said be careful loud and clear and left with a gesture for Blaine to call him later.

Blaine touched Sam on the back of the shoulder and took a small step back to give him some breathing space. "Sam," he said when the other boy turned, "I wanted to thank you. You pushed me when I needed to be pushed. That's more than most friends will do."

"It's fine," Sam said, smiling warmly. "You wanted to be part of the team, so I couldn't just let you walk away from that. I'm just glad it went okay."

Blaine stifled the urge to fidget by tightening his fingers together and wondered if this moment would define the rest of whatever relationship would form between them. In the silence that stretched between them, Sam started looking a little uncomfortable, shifting while his shoulders hunched up around his neck. Blaine searched for something else to say, but he'd already said his piece and had nothing else to offer.

Then Sam sort of coughed and said, "Do you play video games at all?"

"Not really," Blaine confessed, but he could tell that Sam was searching for a connection of some kind. That was why when Sam seemed to close up awkwardly, Blaine reached out to meet the offer halfway. "But there's always a start, right? You could show me the ropes, I guess?"

*

So that was how they started: as friends.

Sam taught him about video games and guitars and, in turn, Blaine dug out boxes of his old music sheets and his electric keyboard to share. They hung out more than Blaine anticipated they would, but it seemed that Sam, having discovered Blaine's insatiable curiosity and willingness to learn, had latched onto him for company. It worried Blaine at how little it took to meld their lives together and how it was easy for them to hang out at Sam's house after school and finish homework.

He wished that he could concentrate solely on talking Sam through their class reading without remembering how eyes followed them in the hall of McKinley. Though they didn't talk about it, Blaine thought about it often. As much as the glee club might be willing to leap into the fray for his sake or Kurt's, Blaine didn't want to drag them onto the battlefield if he could help it. He was far too conscious of the fact that Kurt had been enduring years of treatment worse than what Blaine experienced on a day to day basis.

Blaine wasn't a fighting man -- though he could when he needed to. He didn't like how the anger and inexplicable guilt stayed with him for hours afterward, but it was better to steer clear of the fight altogether than to fight and force friends to gather scars because of him. Despite efforts to make McKinley High into a more accepting environment for gays and lesbians, there was still plenty that could be done to harass and demean without throwing a punch -- plenty of names that they could call Blaine in cruel whispers without anyone being the wiser for it. Having people call him names was nothing he couldn't deal with on his own, and after taking note of how people looked at him and Sam, he knew it was only a matter of time before people started talking about things they couldn't possibly know about.

Early on, Blaine had made the decision not to risk his budding friendship with Sam to the chance that it could be something more. He told himself that Sam wasn't his type, that it didn't even have anything to do with him being too tough-guy-straight or that he did these really awful, amazing impressions. Sam reminded him too much of himself; they both loved too quickly and too easily. It was a lesson they'd both learned recently and Blaine wasn't interested in trying out for a doomed-from-the-start romance with anyone, let alone someone who would plain never be interested in guys to begin with. Blaine was here to make friends, nothing more, and Sam was a sweet and funny guy who didn't deserve to be punished by McKinley because people couldn't see that they were just friends.

By a few, Blaine really meant Travis. Where other people were satisfied with steering clear of Blaine altogether, Travis posed the kind of threat that Blaine was worried about when he'd transferred. Travis wasn't a jock or an athlete. He just had a noticeable, but not obsessive, opposition to homosexuality and had focused in on Blaine. Blaine didn't know what had made Travis choose him over Kurt, though he could list for himself several things that just made him a better target: his size (smaller), his background (posh by comparison), and his seating in social studies class (right in front of Travis).

There were days when Blaine thought that he was just being paranoid. After all, it wasn't like he was getting shoved into lockers, though he would get knocked aside by Travis's backpack in the halls when they passed. Travis went on without saying anything and for the few seconds Blaine bothered to react, he felt invisible. Class was more suspicious. In addition to using disparaging comments during class discussions, Travis would perch his exceptionally long legs against the back of Blaine's desk. When the bell rang for the end of the period, it had gotten to the point where Blaine braced himself for the shove that would scoot his whole desk a jarring few inches.

It was nothing at all, really. Blaine had taken so much worse than that, but it made him a little grateful that there were guys like Sam and Kurt and Mike and everyone in New Directions that never did those kinds of things.

*

Aside from not being a complete jerk like Travis, there were a lot of reasons for why Blaine liked to hang out with Sam. For one, Sam's home was more welcoming than his own, with handfuls of kids all over the place between his younger siblings and their friends and even if he never took them up on it, Sam's parents always asked him to stay for dinner. A lot of the time, though, he just liked being around Sam. He could talk about anything without fear of retribution, like Sam was some knight who could be trusted with all of his secrets. When Sam set aside the video game controller to ask him about Kurt, it was why Blaine didn't feel weird about answering.

"You two were really close before summer, I thought," Sam said. "I thought you two would have been dating for sure."

Articulating how everything had gone down during summer was difficult. Just like Sam, Blaine had expected a good thing to just keep going -- and they had, for a while. The honeymoon period lasted a long time for both him and Kurt, but eventually it was like their relationship would never get out of that stage. There was no settling, no relaxation -- when it was just the two of them, everything just spiraled higher and higher because they were clinging to each other, clutching to the only pure thing they had in life in response to the horror they had everywhere else.

It had been worse for Blaine -- or better, it was hard to tell anymore -- and he'd drunk his fill of Kurt, gorging on his presence because his chest had felt bottomless and he'd craved and craved and craved all that he could get his hands on. By the time he'd realized what he was doing -- constantly pushing himself to measure up to Kurt's expectations even before he was ready, while Kurt always went beyond Blaine's so easily -- he was already hollowed out and dry, emptier somehow than before and depleted of all his reserves. It had taken the whole first half of summer to figure that out, but forcible use of their policy on absolute honesty and a few fights later, they'd settled into being just friends. It had been amazing how things had just settled after that. He and Kurt were able to give each other all they needed without having to strain to be anything beyond that.

To tell Sam what happened without delving into all that, Blaine could only say: "It got to be that we were too much for each other. We burned out." He tried laughing and couldn't, not quite. "Also I really am that bad at romance."

Blaine ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck while Sam stared at him. From the day he'd shown up on the steps of McKinley, he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that Sam was the kind of guy that looked through people and yet always managed to be underestimated. It was like they took the way Sam talked with that sort of bumbling Southern drawl and tried to identify him as less than he was, but then Sam would do or say something -- unobtrusive but nothing short of insightful or ingenious and Blaine would be left wondering how people just forgot.

"So who broke it off?" Sam asked. He wasn't looking at Blaine anymore. He was reaching for the carrots, peanut butter, and broccoli that his mom had brought them back when they'd still been working on homework.

"We agreed to it," Blaine defended immediately and then off of a glance, admitted that he'd been the one to bring it up in the first place. "He was so angry with me for a long time. You have no idea how glad I am that he even tries to be my friend anymore."

Sam hummed thoughtfully and gave Blaine a once-over while he chewed. Then, after he followed that with a sip of water, he sat back and said: "You still love him, don't you?" Momentarily, Blaine was stunned and Sam smiled a little, like he'd scored a point and was quietly pleased about it. "It's just that you seemed so sad, thinking about it."

"Don't you when you think about your first love?" Blaine asked back. "Kurt was the most honest and amazing person I'd ever met. I love him. I'll always love him, but I'm not in love with him anymore."

They sat quietly for a long moment. Then Sam broke the silence with: "I'm a little jealous of you guys. That you two can still be friends and honest with each other." When Blaine sat up a little straighter at that confession, Sam glanced over at him with a smile. "I haven't always been good at honesty in relationships. I always mean well but my intentions are selfish, I guess. When I first came to McKinley, I was more worried about what people thought of me than I should've been. It took the glee club to teach me that being open with other people could save me a lot of heartache."

The sentiment was one that Blaine had heard before from Kurt and he took a moment to appreciate that New Directions had been there for Sam last year when he'd been at his most helpless. Blaine hadn't known much about what was going on beyond what Kurt had been telling him at the time, but he could imagine what it was like for Sam to fight for every scrap of dignity and standing idly by while everyone around him assumed the worst.

Sam nudged Blaine with his knee. "Glee club can be like that for you too now. You're one of us."

Blaine laughed, nudging back. "I'm not sure what I'd be learning, though."

The way Sam smiled then as he picked up the game controller again and said, "Sure, you do," stirred the breath right out of Blaine. In that moment, he knew with a resigned sort of terror that he could love Sam a great deal if he let himself.

*

The thought stayed with Blaine. It cycled through his thoughts throughout the next week -- through the weekend and recurring through his classes. It must have shown on his face whenever he saw Sam in the halls and during lunch. He tried to play it off like normal. He didn't need Sam thinking that anything had changed. He didn't want anyone seeing that he saw Sam as someone who could look right through him, who he could love quietly and calmly and happily, but he couldn't help it. When he and Sam parted ways after walking down the halls, hunched together in conversation, Blaine couldn't help staring after him.

"I've seen you." Blaine twitched, recognizing Travis's voice, and turned to listen. Travis was behind him, looming with a sneer on his face. He wasn't even looking at Blaine but after Sam. "You should be ashamed."

"Excuse me?"

"You're even worse than Kurt," explained Travis. "He's bad enough flaunting his gay all over the place, shoving it in our faces, but you --" only then did Travis's eyes snap to meet Blaine's. "You're a sneak. You come in with your high and mighty attitude. You make the rest of us think we're safe and then you take advantage of it."

"Advantage?" Blaine echoed, taking a step back.

Travis was staring hard at him, brows furrowed. He followed Blaine for that step. Blaine had already made note of Travis's physical size, but now his incredible height and the slight bulk of his shoulders, though no more than Sam's, was more threatening than it had ever been before. In that moment, Travis was everything Blaine had prepared himself to face when he transferred: hulking, hovering, and with a judgmental gaze. The worst part was that Travis was the most dangerous of bullies: the kind that saw your insecurities for what they were. Even before Travis opened his mouth, Blaine knew that what he said would be razor sharp.

Sure enough, though he didn't look the least bit pleased about getting to say so, Travis snarled, "When are you going to get into your head that guys like Sam are never going to like you?"

Blaine didn't ask for clarification -- whether he meant guys that were good like Sam or guys that were straight like Sam. He didn't want it. He'd been good at standing his own ground up until that point and Travis's words crack the veneer of calm he'd been determined to keep. So Blaine looked away. It was only for a moment, but it was enough of a surrender that he felt the guilt of it in his throat. He knew better.

Travis didn't let up through the rest of the day. It was like now that he knew Blaine's secret, he couldn't stop himself from punishing him for it. When he saw them together in the halls again, Travis shoved past Blaine roughly, sending him crashing into Sam.

"Hey!" Sam said as he set Blaine back on his feet. His voice projected clearly over the noise in the halls, with an edge of anger that had never been there before. To Blaine's horror, Travis actually stopped and looked back. "You should at least say sorry!"

Travis's eyes narrowed and Blaine knew that he was looking at Sam's hands around his shoulders. He braced himself mentally, but he still tensed up when he heard Travis's voice ring out. "To that fag? Why bother?"

Sam moved to confront Travis directly and Blaine immediately gripped at his elbow. "No," he said with a hard tone to his voice. This was the last thing he needed. "Stop it. He isn't worth it."

"I can handle this," Sam hissed at him and then did a wide-eyed double take. "Wait, how long have you been putting up with this?"

"It's nothing," Blaine insisted. "It doesn't even bother me, so come on, Sam."

"No." Sam turned back toward Travis and threw off Blaine's restraining hands. "You like shoving people around? You think bullying is cool?"

Blaine couldn't hear past the chatter of their spectators what his tormentor was saying in response to Sam's questions. Whatever it was, it was pissing Sam off because he was ripping his letterman jacket off of his shoulders and tossing it back at Blaine. Then there was shouting and Sam was throwing himself into a fight and the crowd was swarming around all of them, chanting and yelling and jeering.

He was being rescued, Blaine realized. Sam was defending him. Blaine surged through the thin layer of people that had blocked Sam from his sight. He shoved his way through to them and was grateful to find that other members of glee club had already made their way in to separate Sam from the bully. Blaine reached for him as soon as he was within arm's reach, touching his arms and his shoulders and holding onto Sam even as he was being hustled away from the scene to an area of the halls that was more secluded.

"Are you okay?" Blaine demanded. Sam's face was red from being struck and he winced when Blaine's fingers prodded gently under the mark. Sam covered Blaine's hand with his own and Blaine couldn't stop looking at the bruising that was already starting to develop across his knuckles. "Why did you do that? You didn't have to."

"Are you telling me that I shouldn't have stood up for you?" Sam asked. "Should I have kept walking after he called you that?" His fingers squeezed around Blaine's hand. "Is that what you've been doing?"

"No," Blaine said. "No, that's not it at all."

Sam's eyes narrowed like he could tell that Blaine was lying. "Then what?" he pushed.

He was always pushing. He didn't make a big deal of it all the time, but when he had something he wanted to make a point about, Sam always pushed. Blaine thought it was the best and worst thing about him -- best because it meant that every conversation with him showed Blaine something new and enlightening; worst because it meant that Sam was standing in front of him, injured and angry. It hurt as much as it thrilled him. Blaine didn't want people fighting because of him, but still, it was really nice to not have to fight for himself.

It had been a relief more than anything else to have Sam slip between him and Travis, to have a shield after weeks of having only his thin skin to protect him. Sam had always been a sort of righteous guy in the first place and being near him was comforting, as if the simple knowledge of his willingness to care for people was enough to foster endearment. Maybe Blaine just liked the potential of that. The reality of it was so much scarier. It carried a weight that Blaine wasn't ready to take responsibility for, and Sam was standing in front of him like it was nothing, like defending Blaine was something that everyone should do. The very thought made him feel weak and Sam's jacket slipped from his lax grip just before he started to crumple.

"Whoa," Sam murmured as he caught Blaine by the elbow and sort of heaved him toward the lockers. He bent to look Blaine in the eyes and stroked his cheek. "Hey, now, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Blaine replied shakily, but his eyes were caught by how his fingers were clutching at Sam's shoulders -- his broad, strong shoulders. "I just --" He slid his hand down Sam's arm, over the corded muscle to where Sam's knuckles had been split open by the Travis's teeth. "You're really brave, Sam, and I --" He swallowed thickly around the words, unable to deny that he was feeling especially vulnerable right now. "I've just never had anyone that would bother before."

The look that Sam sent him then was so soft and sad that Blaine could hardly help the way his breath hitched quietly in response, let alone keep his hand from curling behind Sam's neck and pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss was tender and brief and, very quickly, Blaine remembered that he wasn't supposed to like Sam this way and that kissing him was completely out of the question.

Blaine pulled away so fast that the lockers rattled against his back. "I'm sorry," he blurted at Sam's dumbstruck expression. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't --" mean it, he almost finished, except that he was having to put forth considerable restraint to prevent himself from leaning into Sam all over again. "Sorry," he whispered again and bolted.

*

“You can’t let it fester, you know.”

Blaine jumped and turned to face Kurt, who was standing offstage. Hunching his shoulders and turning back to the piano, he replied. “I’m not letting anything fester, Kurt. I’m just...” His words trailed off as his fingers brushed against the keys in front of him.

Sam and Travis had both received a week's worth of detentions because of the fight. Sam took in stride, but then, the fact that Sam had been punished for defending him wasn't the reason Blaine was hiding out in the auditorium. He just had nowhere else he wanted to be, not when his other option was home.

“You’ve been avoiding Sam for nearly five days, Blaine. I would think that throwing a punch for you would earn a spot on your good side.” Kurt came over and perched delicately on the piano bench next to him, crossing his legs and resting one hand gently on Blaine’s wrist to still the restless motions of his fingers. "Whatever happened, whoever screwed up -- you have to fix it."

Sighing, Blaine looked at Kurt solemnly for a moment before speaking. “I screwed up.” His wrist flexed as he clenched his hand into a fist, and Kurt soothed the tension with soft fingers.

Kurt was silent for a long moment and Blaine looked away from him to stare morosely at the keys in front of him, while waiting for Kurt’s judgment.

“You’re right. You probably did screw up.” At his flinch, Kurt soothed him again while continuing, “But running away isn’t the solution this time.” His chuckle was rough and bitter. “I know that I don’t have any room to talk, but we’ve both learned the hard way that you can’t outrun your problems. You have to face them.”

Blaine curled in on himself and leaned his head gently against Kurt’s shoulder, slipping his wrist out of Kurt’s grasp until he could tangle their fingers together. “Aren’t you even going to ask what happened?”

“I don’t have to ask, Blaine. I could see it on your face. You’re in love with him and you think you’ve ruined your friendship with your feelings. You feel like you’ve laid a burden at his feet and now you’re running because you think he can’t possibly want to stay friends with you.”

"Almost right," Blaine admitted, astonished and scared for what that might mean -- if he'd already been so obvious and if maybe the damage was already too much. “He's angry with me.”

"Probably," Kurt replied, shrugging his shoulder, and Blaine picked up his head to meet Kurt’s eyes. “You won't know for sure until you speak to him. Don’t retreat just because you think it'll be safer that way, Blaine. There’s no such thing as polite distance in McKinley. You have to let it all hang out and you have to take risks -- it’ll be better if you do.”

*

Even after Kurt's advice, it took him the rest of the week to work up the courage to find Sam on his own. He even went so far as to sabotage himself by having Kurt pick him up for school so that he would have to either convince Sam to drive him home or confess his cowardice to Kurt in exchange for a lift. This whole week, Blaine had been avoiding being caught alone with Sam -- easier done than he'd thought it would be, even when taking the detentions into consideration -- and it was wearing thin on them both.

With the detentions over with, though, Blaine had expected Sam to show at glee club, but it seemed that just when Blaine'd got the idea in his head to talk, Sam was absent. He fidgeted all through the performances because he knew Sam's car was still in the parking lot -- that it meant that Sam had chosen not to come to glee club and that it was probably because of him. His thoughts were filled with Sam and the way that he'd looked lately -- upset and so quietly, expressionlessly angry. So Blaine fled the choir room almost as soon as Mr. Schuester dismissed the glee club, desperate not to be outwitted in this last-ditch effort to repair their friendship and set things right.

It took him a little time, but eventually, Blaine found him in the gym. It was late but there were still stragglers lingering on the treadmills and among the free weights. None of them were from the football team or the hockey team, thank god; he and Sam had enough trouble as it was between the two of them without those two groups finding out about their drama. Sam had hoisted himself onto one of the vertical workstations and was dutifully doing knee raises, apparently trying to work out the stress of the last week if the determined line of his jaw was any indication.

When Sam caught sight of Blaine in the mirrored wall, a grim expression tightened around his eyes. It made Blaine ache and, once again, he wished he could take everything back -- pretend like this last week had just been a terrible nightmare. He approached Sam cautiously, giving him a wide berth -- wider than he ever had, even when they'd been strangers -- and stood between Sam and a weight bench, trying hard to maintain the eye contact he'd been avoiding lately.

"What are you doing here?" Blaine asked, taking in the heavy sheen of sweat that coated Sam's skin and the visible stains soaked into his gym clothes. He must have come straight here from glee club while the fight was still inside him. "You're being ridiculous."

Sam dropped to the floor and scooped up his towel from a nearby bench, taking a seat with a huff. "Can we please not do this here? I don't want to fight with you."

"Then just listen," Blaine said. "You don't have to say anything."

It was sort of awkward being here like this. He felt like he was about to fall apart but he knew that Sam only saw this put-together guy whenever he looked at him. He saw this perfect specimen of class and good taste, who maintained a demeanor of elegance even as Sam introduced him to the mundane aspects of teen-hood like video games and fake alien languages. Blaine had let him keep that image up until lately, and he wished every day that he'd dissuaded Sam of that impression from the moment they'd met. Maybe then, kissing him out of the blue wouldn't have proven to be so disastrous -- maybe instead, it would have just been just one of those little mistakes Blaine made every single day.

Sam made a waving gesture with the fold of his towel before scrubbing at his neck. He looked absolutely exhausted and Blaine wanted to take him somewhere else, any place they could just be the two of them again. He would give anything for Sam to look at him again and not see every bitter flaw that he'd been hiding, that had revealed themselves at the height of his weakness. He didn't know what he was doing by revealing even more of himself, though he hoped that maybe Sam would appreciate his honesty enough for it to fix things.

He shoved that impulse down, though, and started speaking. "Sam, I know what you think of me," he said. "I know you must think that I'm this guy that's got it all figured out. That I know what I'm doing. That... that I'm strong. I'm here to tell you that I'm really not."

His voice stammered over the words and it must’ve been that quiver, more than anything else, that made Sam really pay attention. "I don't know what I'm doing. I sing because that's all I can do and if I fail at that, I've got nothing to fall back on." Blaine looked shiftily to the side, couldn't stop from feeling the humiliation of exposing himself like this, and when he looked back, Sam was staring up at him with a rapt expression. "I'm scared all the time, Sam. I'm not at Dalton anymore and there's nothing out here to protect me. I'm always at school or hanging out at a friend's house because I don't want to go back to mine. A-and I know that I can come on too strong sometimes because I let my emotions get the better of me."

Blaine faltered and fell silent. He knew that he had other things he wanted to say -- reassuring things that would wipe away the awkwardness that sat between him and Sam, words that would deny everything he knew he was feeling for Sam at this very moment. He'd never been a good liar. He'd always told himself that it was better to say nothing at all than say something that wasn't true, but with Sam, it was different. He'd do anything at all to make sure that Sam never stopped looking at him like he was amazing and wonderful and perfect.

"About what I did," he said, amazed that he was able to keep a steady as he spoke. "Forget it ever happened. I was grateful that someone was willing to stand up for me and --"

"Kurt stands up for you all the time," Sam cut in, setting aside his towel and standing up. "I don't see you kissing him."

Blaine took a step back. "Well," he started, silently berating himself for searching Sam out, for thinking that a final confrontation to clear the air might be a good idea. He searched for the best excuse that he could give: "Not anymore."

"So you kiss everyone that stands up for you?" Sam asked. "I didn't think you were that kind of guy."

"I'm not!" Blaine insisted and then sucked in a harsh breath when he nearly stumbled, stopped short in his retreat by the weight bench at his back. "Sam --"

"So you don't kiss everyone," Sam said, stepping in close, and he looked so quietly furious -- intense in ways that Blaine had only seen a couple of times, "but you kiss Kurt and you kiss me. What am I supposed to think about that?"

"It was nothing," Blaine told him desperately, feeling trapped and acutely aware of Sam wrapping his fingers around the barbell behind Blaine's back, framing him. "I didn't mean it."

"Why do you do that?" Sam asked.

Blaine dropped his eyes to Sam's shoulders, tearing his gaze away from Sam's deeply curious expression. His heart was hammering inside his chest, panicked. "Do what?"

"You lie all the time," Sam explained and then his fingers were on Blaine's jaw, tilting his face upward. "And you really suck at it."

Blaine tensed up when Sam slanted their mouths together. He couldn't believe this was happening, but there was the indisputable fact that Sam was kissing him, that he was pressing their lips together tentatively like he had more reason than Blaine to be scared. It was like Sam had struck him, like he had punched through the most vulnerable part of his defenses. When Blaine inhaled, sharp and involuntarily, all he could breathe in was Sam. It was Sam's nose pressed against his cheek and Sam's body leaning against his and Sam's taste on his tongue when he finally broke, giving in with a groan.

They kissed ferociously then, spectators be damned, with Blaine dropping his jacket to cling to Sam's shoulders, and Sam splayed his fingers at Blaine's back, dragging him in like he wanted nothing more than to devour him, which was really weird actually because --

"Wait," Blaine mumbled, actually saying the words into the other boy's mouth. "Sam, wait --" Sam backed off slowly, sliding his hands to Blaine's hips for a little squeeze and kissing at Blaine's chin before letting go altogether. He looked dazed -- with a happiness that was disorientating -- and Blaine abruptly felt his plan crumble in the face of Sam's lopsided smile. "This is not how I expected this conversation to go."

"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"I really have no idea anymore," Blaine told him, drawing in a soft breath when he saw Sam suck his own lower lip into his mouth. "Disaster, probably."

Sam reached for one of Blaine's hands and just held it. "So now what?"

Blaine laced their fingers together. "Could I convince you to take me home?"

*

They hovered on the steps of Blaine's home, hidden mostly in shadow with only the street lamps to cast light on them, and Blaine couldn't find it in him to say goodbye just yet. His lips were still tingling from the strength of Sam's kiss, like the memory alone was enough to make him feel like he was being kissed again.

He leaned back, pressing his shoulders against the walls of his home so that he wouldn't lean forward instead. The situation they were in was tenuous enough without succumbing to the urge to pick up exactly where they'd left off in the gym. Up until half an hour ago, he would have pinned Sam as completely straight, but then Sam had kissed him. It was only out of tact that Blaine wasn’t giving into his desire altogether. Still, though, Sam's features were bathed softly in the distant light and he was biting into his lower lip -- so nervous and handsome and curious.

Blaine clasped his hands behind his back, trapping them between his body and the wall so that he wouldn't reach for Sam's jacket to yank him closer. It had always been his downfall, Blaine knew: men who wanted for guidance; there would always be a part of him that wanted to share, whether it was knowledge, friendship, or more. When he looked at Sam, temptation welled up inside his chest, saying that here, here was someone who thirsted to know more, who ate up information without hesitation if only there were someone to give it to him.

It would be foolish of him to hope. He was the kind of person that wanted too much, too frequently, and having been presented with momentary pleasure, Blaine couldn't deny that he hoped to string out that moment for a long, long time. He had the physical memory of Sam's touch imprinted on his skin now and with that came a fervent longing for more. Blaine just wished, more than anything, that he had the nerve to bridge the sudden gap between them -- to get the awkwardness over with so that they could go back to being just friends or to do something, anything, so long as they weren’t in this awful limbo anymore.

Sam scuffed his sneakers against the porch and huffed as he looked off to the side. He laughed to himself and said, "Jesus, you weren't kidding. You’re really bad at this."

Blinking, Blaine managed to lift his eyes from Sam's smile to his eyes. “Bad at what?" he asked.

"At the whole romance thing," Sam replied. The step he took forward made Blaine snap to attention with a greater effectiveness than his words. It was a mirror to how Sam had approached Blaine in the gym just a little while ago. He couldn't help that he was licking his lips in anticipation while Sam just kept right on speaking and stepping until he was pressing Blaine into the wall and whispering into the shell of Blaine's ear: "At knowing when I want to kiss you so hard you can't breathe."

Blaine turned, just a little, to see what Sam looked like when he was this close, when he was saying these things, when he was stirring a need inside Blaine that was unlikely to ever get met. He only managed to get out, "Sam --," before he was being kissed.

A part of Blaine expected Sam to be tentative. Despite having felt firsthand how capable Sam was of fierce and sudden passion, a part of him had wondered if that passion had cooled during the drive over. He also feared that Sam might regret having made any motion at all to return Blaine's attraction. That was Blaine's mistake; between the two of them, he was the one still doubting, not Sam. The first touch of his mouth against Blaine's was proof enough that his interest wasn't hesitant, and Blaine's yearning helplessly spiraled up to meet it, casting aside fear altogether and surrendering to the taste and feel of the other boy's kisses.

They kissed like that for a long time -- in full view of the whole neighborhood -- with Blaine surrendering himself. He let Sam crowd him, let himself get pressed between the unforgiving wall of his home and Sam's chest. Blaine even encouraged it, arching into it with a slip of breath that escaped when they parted briefly. At first, his hands were at Sam's arms, clenching at the tense muscle, but they were quickly clawing up to cover Sam's shoulders. When he felt their strength, the thrum of their barely restrained energy, he dug his fingers in. Sam was bigger than he was -- not massively bigger like Finn or anything but still taller and broader and with more potential for bulk than Blaine. He liked that he had to lift onto his toes if he wanted to surge into a kiss and if that didn't quite do it -- if he still needed something deeper and more fierce -- he liked that he could drag Sam down to meet him. It wasn't a huge difference that they had to cover; it was just enough that, when Sam hauled him close and bent to kiss him, Blaine's arched back relied entirely on the splayed fingers of Sam's hands to steady him.

The want that curled low in Blaine's gut was intimately familiar. It was the same feeling that had built in him back in the gym -- the indescribable need to wrap himself up in Sam. They were fitted together, the two of them, and the minuscule space scared and thrilled Blaine. When Sam's hands settled low on his back, like they had ownership or control of Blaine's body, he felt as if he was walking the edge of desire and reason, and at the same time, a desperate giddiness crawled up his spine saying, Seize your chance! Take it while you can!

Sam could take it, Blaine decided. Sam was kissing him back and holding him close, so that meant that he wanted Blaine, right? So Sam could take it if Blaine demanded a little more. Even if Sam were to tell him in five minutes that he was making a huge mistake, Blaine didn't want to let this opportunity slip past him.

He murmured Sam's name on a breath between kisses and, just when Sam seemed ready to pull away, he said, "Come inside."

Sam leaned back to give Blaine a searching look. "Why?" he asked.

Blaine dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the front door. He bounced them in his palm and glanced up at Sam. "You know why."

Touching the line of Blaine's jaw with his fingers, Sam leaned in again to kiss Blaine -- slower this time, as if he wanted to memorize Blaine's feel -- and when they parted, Blaine actually made a low noise of relief. Sam took the keys from Blaine's lax fingers, unlocking the door himself, and when Blaine turned to lead the way in, he wrapped an arm around Blaine's waist just to splay his fingers across his belly.

Sam murmured against the back of Blaine's neck: "Have you thought that maybe I'd like to hear you say it?"

Shivering, Blaine nodded. "After," he promised.

The foyer of Blaine's house was dark but for the soft glow of the streetlights through the side windows. They fumbled through the doorway together. Blaine let himself get shuffled deeper into the foyer and heard Sam close the door behind them and drop the keys to the floor without his hold on Blaine loosening.

"Come here," Sam said, even though they were already pressed close. Blaine expected to lead the way to the stairs so that they could go to his bedroom but Sam's hand pulled him to the side instead. "No, right here."

Blaine found himself facing the wall in the foyer of his parent's house -- with them sleeping, probably, right upstairs -- and Sam was leaning into him, pressing them closer and closer until Blaine had his cheek against the wall, until he was shuddering at the sensation of being covered completely, and Sam was bracing himself against it with his forearm. He could feel Sam from the back of his knees to his shoulder blades. He could feel the weight of his mouth at his hairline and how Sam nosed up behind his ear as he laid kisses along the length of his neck. What made his breath catch more than anything else was the hard nudge of Sam's erection at the curve of his ass.

When he realized what it was, Blaine couldn't help the soft, "Oh," that slipped past his lips or the way he twisted suddenly -- not to get away, but to simply move so that he could feel the rub and catch of their clothes between their bodies. It burned through him. "Sam," he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

"You can’t hide from me," Sam whispered as his hand fisted in Blaine's shirt and tugged it up. A second later, there were short nails scraping below his bellybutton and Blaine rose up on his toes, whining. "I can see right through you."

Blaine spread his fingers over the wall and shoved at it, still not struggling. He wanted to see how much room he could make for himself in the bracket of Sam's arms. Sam swayed just a bit but then he planted one leg and slid the other between Blaine's thighs. As quickly as he'd pushed, Blaine was back against the wall, writhing over Sam's knee. He didn't stop pushing against the wall; Blaine wanted them to be flush together, to feel the strength of Sam's body bracing against him, and to have the heat of Sam's breath at his collar.

"Wow," Sam gasped. When Blaine threw his head back, whimpering as he squeezed his legs around Sam's thigh, Sam laughed quietly and snuck his fingers below the waist of Blaine's pants. "Just wow. Do you even see what you're doing, Blaine?"

Blaine didn't have time to answer. He was too busy trying to fight for breath while Sam's hand moved from the wall to his hair. Sam was still murmuring words against Blaine's skin but now it was a low thrum near his Adam's apple. When Blaine strained, Sam's fingers tensed in his hair and his mouth moved over Blaine's cheek. He turned to meet him instinctively, kissing him with teeth and tongue for a few moments before he had to bury his face in Sam's neck because there was a hand covering his dick.

"Aah, Sam --"

Sam pulled at Blaine's hair again until his throat was available for more open-mouthed kisses. "How’m I doing?" he asked. "Tell me."

"You’re good," Blaine managed to stammer. His hands were in fists against the wall. His whole body felt like it was boiling over and it was hottest where he rutted around Sam's thigh. He was arched like a bow between Sam's chest and the wall, reacting helplessly to the minute twitches of Sam's hand around his dick. "So good, so good, ah!"

"Do you need more?" Sam asked. When Blaine remained wordless, he egged him on by sighing his name.

"Yes," Blaine answered, though he really didn't. He was perfectly okay with being covered by Sam's bulk. He liked the way he felt embraced by it but he was greedy and selfish and he wanted everything that Sam was willing to give him. "Please."

"Okay, okay," Sam said, giving Blaine a quick squeeze before sliding his hand out of his pants. "Just hang on."

Blaine happily pressed his cheek to the wall again and took momentary comfort from its cool temperature while he waited for Sam to make a move. Sam's hands were like brands against his body, feeling like fire as they stroked over Blaine's hips briefly before hooking at the hem of his shirt and pushing it up. Blaine helped, taking his shirt off entirely and tossing it to the side before putting his hands back to the wall. He heard the rustle of Sam removing his clothes and turned his head slightly, suddenly attentive when he heard a zipper being pulled down.

"Relax," Sam said, though Blaine hadn't said anything. He rubbed his knuckles at the small of Blaine's back and bent to kiss between his shoulder blades. "We aren't doing anything."

"We're doing something," Blaine replied, voice going high and breathy as Sam stepped in behind him. He was scared. Sam was, too, if the tremble of his fingers at Blaine's waist was any indication.

"You wanted more." Sam dropped another kiss to his shoulder. "Did you change your mind?"

Blaine shook his head. "No."

Sam's fingers shook as they undid Blaine's fly and carefully pushed at his jeans until they were around his thighs. When Sam whispered for reassurance, Blaine gave it to him. Even when Sam didn't, Blaine made sure he knew that this was what he wanted. When Sam pressed them together, he rocked back into it, slumping lower against the wall. He thought that it would be weird to have Sam's dick near his ass but the pressure felt good, weighted. It just wasn't where he wanted it.

Blaine squirmed upward, lifting onto his toes, and Sam's fingers dug into his hips to steady him. There, he thought, finally -- they were moving together in the way he wanted: close to bare, with the thick body of Sam's dick sliding past his entrance, and the damp cloth of their underwear chafing his skin. He shifted in the bracket of Sam's hands, unable to truly guide how they moved, but it was enough -- more than enough -- to allow him to murmur wet words into the fold of his arms. He couldn't concentrate on himself long enough to discern what he was saying, but whatever he said had Sam rutting between his cheeks with quick, shaky jerks and bending to cover Blaine's back.

"Close," Sam warned, breath ghosting over Blaine's shoulder before his teeth followed suit. Blaine smothered his surprised cry in the crook of his elbow when Sam's teeth sank into his skin and bit his lip to stifle a moan when warm lips soothed over it. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I --"

Twisting, Blaine fisted a hand into Sam's hair and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. He licked into Sam's mouth, tasting him and taking his mouth for himself. He might've been on his toes and with only an arm against the wall for leverage, but Sam wanted him there, relying on him for all of his pleasure. Blaine really didn’t mind. So, when Sam's voice broke on a moan, Blaine let him go. He leaned into the wall, pressed his cheek to it again, and let himself feel the power with which Sam moved against him.

"Come on," Blaine found himself saying, ignoring how the elastic of his underwear was sliding down and how, when Sam thrust against him, it wasn't just cloth that he felt anymore. "Sam, Sam, come on."

Sam made a tight noise and suddenly the earth slipped out from under Blaine's feet as Sam hitched him up that last inch. Blaine flailed one arm out to steady himself against the side table. His cock was leaking now, attentive to the sensation of being suspended in the air, and it swayed heavily as he and Sam rocked together. Blaine strained to find some sort of traction, to do more than just brace himself, but he could barely meet the top of Sam's feet with his own -- leverage was impossible. He could only drop his head against the wall and give himself over to the beautiful, righteous boy who was with him.

"Oh, god," Sam said, shuddering. "Blaine, you --"

"Please," Blaine begged raggedly and cried out as he felt Sam's bare dick against his skin. "Do it, Sam. Please. I can't--"

With a groan, Sam finally came in thin streaks over Blaine's back. His grip on Blaine went slack almost immediately and Blaine dropped to his feet, relieved and desperate to find his own end. He tried not to bring notice to how hard he still was, wanting to be glad that he was desired at all, but shook all the same when Sam smeared his come over Blaine's tailbone with his thumb.

"Not enough?" asked Sam at the corner of Blaine's jaw. His hands slipped around Blaine's waist to cup at his erection. When his hips jerked of their own accord, Blaine felt Sam's smile against his skin. "Greedy."

"Yeah," Blaine agreed.

"It's cute. Really cute," he insisted while he jerked Blaine's cock. "Am I gonna make you...?"

Blaine nodded hastily, pressing back into the circle of Sam's arms, and held on while he lost himself to the tight pull of Sam's fist and came. It should have at least been a little funny to have Sam looking uncertainly at the smear of semen on his fingers from over Blaine's shoulder, but Blaine could only lift the hand to his own mouth, tasting himself over calloused skin.

"Shit," Sam gritted out, pressing down on Blaine's tongue with the fingers he'd sucked between his lips. "Go out with me."

Startled, Blaine mumbled, "Wha-?" around Sam's fingers, mouth gaping with such astonishment that they actually slipped right out, and he supposed it was a sign of just how gay he was that he felt bad about that.

Blaine hadn't thought Sam would ever say those words, but tumbling along behind them was: "Not that I'm saying that because of the sex. I promise. You're more than that. I mean, you’re a liar --”

“Oh, thanks.”

“But you want to be seen,” Sam insisted. “You're kind and you are strong and you deserve so much more than what life’s given you and your hair is awesome --"

"My hair," Blaine echoed, deadpan.

"It's curly and that's -- that's awesome?" Blaine twisted just soon enough to catch the edge of Sam's grimace. Sam sighed, his face certainly looking panicked enough for what he was spouting, like he expected to be turned down. "I like you, Blaine," he finally said. "Go out with me."

It was kind of ridiculous, Blaine thought, to like Sam for everything he was. Sam was scared of so many things with which Blaine could empathize -- being hated, being less than perfect, and being discovered -- and Blaine wished that he could just take Sam by the hand and show him that there was nothing to be scared of at all. There would be people who disliked him for just being himself, but that was the way it'd always been. It was impossible to be everything for everybody, no matter how much one might love them. He wished he could tell Sam -- right now, right this instant, while they had their foreheads pressed close and their clothes still tangled ridiculously at their knees -- everything that been running through his head a few minutes ago.

"Wasn't I supposed to tell you why I invited you in?" he asked and Sam nodded, smiling lopsidedly already. Blaine laced his fingers with Sam's still-sticky ones and stretched up a bit to kiss Sam. "How about tomorrow after school? We could play video games."

"But we always play video games," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah," Blaine replied fondly. "Then you can walk me to my car, same as usual."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "So far I'm not seeing the dateness."

Blaine smiled. "And then I'll kiss you goodnight." His fingers squeezed around Sam's. "Better?"

Laughing, Sam pressed a kiss to Blaine's temple. "The best."