Something Went Down in the Tent

They had intended to spend the night out underneath the sky together, but instead the rain was capturing the starlight so that neither of them could get to it.

Every tear slips slowly down the sides of the tent, leaving only the faintest trace of its existence on the side. Inside, two boys hold each other amongst the air beds and sleeping bags and pillows and rucksacks and whatever else is lost amongst the ruins of their trip. They're laughing through the thunder that shatters the night and they're laughing through the lightning that fills the air with broken electricity. One is telling stories of his father and that time they watched Brokeback Mountain.

"From what I gather, something went down in the tent," he tells the other, imitating his father's exact tone, and both crack up again at how appropriate, or inappropriate, this statement is in the present.

Another shot of thunder is heard from outside, and, although both boys don't realise it, they come closer together, draw back from the outside and into each other. It's subconscious and very brief, but in those few moments, the dark-haired Blaine Anderson and the pretty, petite Kurt Hummel are ignited by the spark of lightning that accompanies the timpani of a thunderstorm.

Blaine buries his head into Kurt's hair for a moment, taking in the scent of some kind of conditioner and hairspray and how, somehow, in the night, it looks brighter, the auburn hues more pronounced.

What gives a girl power and punch? Is it poise? Is it charm? No, it's hairspray!

Why on earth did lyrics from Hairspray just cross his mind?

He silences them by planting a soft kiss on Kurt's parting. The other boy says nothing, but rolls over, onto his side, so he's lying over Blaine's knees and his arm is curled around his waist, grabbing Blaine's shirt and twisting it into a fist, and Blaine can't help but be taken away by the beauty of his profile.

"Hey, Kurt?" he asks softly, his exhale coming out as a faint whisper, an echo of his words. "Can I try something? Please?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want...to try something. With you." Somehow his voice doesn't seem anywhere near as certain as his last request. He settles for moving his hand from the centre of Kurt's back to the end of his jumper and watches how Kurt's eyes follow the path intently, although he can't read the expression on his face.

Understanding Blaine's intentions, Kurt, his throat blocked by an unusual combination of love and fear, simply nods.

Slowly, carefully, Blaine peels the jumper away, and is surprised to find that Kurt isn't wearing anything underneath. Now that he thinks about it, that doesn't surprise him at all. In the moonlight that manages to pass through the wall of the tent, having fought its way through the rain, Kurt's skin looks bright and shining; the light catches on the delicate angles of his hipbone and clavicle.

Blaine feels like he's a child again, unwrapping an early birthday present, the drugs of excitement and apprehension running through his veins as the gift he'd been begging his parents for months for was finally about to be his.

And Kurt was his, and he was Kurt's.

His eyes move from the waistline of his jeans, right up his body, seeing his chest rise and fall a little heavier than normal, and right up to Kurt's face, which, although looks peaceful as he lies there, head resting once again on Blaine's lap, still seems a little afraid.

He's thinner than Blaine had expected, yet still so fragile and antique and delicately formed. The light catches on each little vertebrae, on his shoulder blades, desperate to escape from the prison of Kurt's fairytale skin and become wings for him to fly. He understands now why Porcelain was such an appropriate nickname. If he had any talent for art, Kurt would be his muse.

Kurt's eyelids flutter as he readjusts himself to the light before looking down, surveying his own body.

"My turn."

Blaine hadn't been worried until these words, not really. He should have expected them, but the thought of Kurt seeing his body scares him, because he knows that his form is nowhere near and beautiful and what will Kurt think of him?

The cold air is the first thing he can feel as his skin is slowly exposed. Then he can feel Kurt's eyes on him, taking in every inch, while his face is twisted into emotionless concentration.

And both boys are just sitting there together, their breaths mingling, staring at each other. There's something spellbinding about the miracle that is the human body that just holds them there together, suspended in this one moment as the storm passes by them.

But then they're kissing, and neither knows who is leading how, but their lips are pressed together and it's awkward and neither really knows what they're doing but it's so heartbreakingly beautiful at the same time. They break apart for breath, to catch a smile, then come together again in a tangle of limbs and sleeping bags and God knows what else.

Kurt's hand has found its way in Blaine's wild curls, but Blaine's moving downwards now, his kisses falling on Kurt's pretty little neck rather than his lips. Kurt's head is arched backwards, exposing his exquisite collarbone, even the top of his ribcage, fearless now and instead filled with courage. He smiles at the thought, but then a tiny gasp issues from his lips instead. Blaine's fingers are tracing over tiny scars, glinting silver in the dim light, and kissing each one. Kurt's first impulse is to stop him, to get him away from them.

Wait – Blaine's kissing them. He could have recoiled away, left them alone and ignored them completely, but he's kissing each one, every place where he had previously considered his skin to have been destroyed forever.

And Blaine doesn't care about them at all.

He doesn't know how Kurt got them, but he's sure he'll tell him in time.

Once he's finished on one hip, he goes to the other, unblemished one, places a single kiss onto it and just then watches Kurt's face as he trails a single finger along the waistline of his jeans, seeing that strange combination of relaxed tension shift from one end of the spectrum to the other. His chest rises and falls erratically, slow in the inhale, fast on the exhale, while his back curves into a graceful, dancer's arch. He's Blaine's little Odette.

Kurt slides beneath Blaine, his toes now brushing the entrance to the tent. And the pair of them lie there for a while, kissing softly and sweetly. Kurt notes how Blaine tastes of salt and sweat and sex. Blaine notes how Kurt tastes of something floral, mingled with unadulterated desire. Each can feel the other's heartbeat through their chests. It's the wonder of human existence, life flowing through veins.

And in the midst of everything, the rain continues to dance.

They had intended to spend the night out underneath the sky together, but instead the rain captures the starlight and brings it down for them.