{Jon}

Jon spent the afternoon tending the simple animal needs of his body: water, sleep, slow movements. Finally, it was time to pick up Kurt. His stomach buzzed pleasantly with anticipation as he pulled his ball cap down low over his face and headed back out.

Kurt's text said: <don't get out leaving my shit at Nicky's for the week>, so Jon waited in the driver's seat in the driveway, watching Kurt come out of the garage studio. His posture was slumped and his mouth was flat. Kurt slung his acoustic into the back seat and dropped into the front seat, folding in half to thump his head on the dashboard.

Concerned, Jon touched his shoulder as he backed the car out of the drive and turned for home.

"I am a steaming pile of shit." Kurt's voice was muffled against the dashboard. "Someone fucking fire me and put us all out of our misery."

It was so over-the-top that Jon laughed a little. "No one's firing you, you're the lead singer."

Kurt's laugh was cracked. "That's a joke, oh my god, if you could have heard me today." He put his hand to his throat, making quacking noises, and Jon shot him a look, half-laughing, half-worried. "Dying ducks would have been better." He did sound hoarse.

"So...you had an off day. Kurt, I've heard you. Rest your voice—you'll be fine."

However, it took Kurt most of the car ride to climb down from his tragic mountain of despair, and Jon couldn't tell if Kurt enjoyed the drama or if he was genuinely on the verge of jumping off a cliff. He drove with one hand on Kurt's shoulder and made sympathetic noises since rational argument didn't seem to make a dent.

Finally Kurt lifted his head, carefully flicking tears away without messing up his makeup. "I'm not fucking this up. We worked our asses off to get here." He shook his hair out of his face, taking a deep breath. "You're right, Jon, I just need to rest my voice. Tomorrow will be better."

Jon's hand gripped the steering wheel like he might strangle it, pretty sure where Kurt got the idea that he was a 'steaming pile of shit'. He kept his mouth shut about Nicky; this was Kurt's dream and sometimes you had to make it work with shitty people. Kurt was as much an adult as he was.

"Enough of my drama, god, I'm sorry." Kurt turned to him, his eyebrows lifting. "You're a sight for sore eyes, White. How was your afternoon? How are you?"

Jon smiled. "I am excellent. Head screwed on nice and tight. We have the living room to ourselves tonight—Cary's working to a deadline."

Then he had to explain the graphic novel project to Kurt and answer a hundred questions about Cary's drawings and art classes and studio. By the time they pulled up to the house, Kurt was bright-eyed and energetic again, jumping up the steps with his guitar in his hand.

Jon laughed, following more slowly. Kurt's emotions were as varied and colourful as his wardrobe and after years of grey, it was like stepping into the sunshine and realizing he'd been missing half the spectrum. It took some getting used to, but he was loving the change of scenery.

He found himself asking what he would give to keep Kurt's colour in his life as long as possible. 

{Kurt}

As they moved around each other in the kitchen making dinner, Kurt's afternoon with Nicky and the band vanished like it had happened a hundred years ago. Jon's hip brushed his, his hands touched Kurt's shoulder on the way by, his eyes sent warm, wordless messages when they met Kurt's.

Kurt did not have a category for this evening with Jon. They weren't on a date—they were in their own home together. He suspected there would be kissing later, but he honestly wasn't in a rush to get there. (Unless he thought about Jon's body rippling against him this morning; that move had taken off the top of his head and emptied his brain for a hot second.)

There were guys who liked to have dinner or drinks before getting down to their skin together; Kurt respected that, but it felt like work. Forty minutes or an hour making light conversation that wasn't too personal, that didn't ask too many questions and made no promises for the next day. Kurt always felt like he was doing a 'keep away' dance to hold his heart safely out of reach.

This was not that. Jon felt different today, warm and soft, and Kurt didn't know if it was because he didn't have school or work today, or some other reason. Whatever it was, Kurt wanted to hear all Jon's stories and savour every moment. It was easy and comfortable as slipping into his robe to be together, and simultaneously made him so hungry for more.

Jon made a rainbow mountain of sliced vegetables, laughing as Kurt pretended to sob over the onions he was chopping beside him, music beating out of their Bluetooth speaker. The sizzle of oil and soy sauce, the fragrance of garlic and ginger and cooking chicken filled the kitchen, and Kurt leaned his chin on Jon's shoulder to watch him stir fry, swaying to the music.

"You are extremely distracting," Jon said, laughter in his voice as he attempted to keep their meal from burning.

"Hm?" Kurt said innocently. "I'm just dancing—music makes my body want to dance. Did you ever go clubbing, White?"

"Baptist pastor's kids have no rhythm," Jon said. "I'm a terrible dancer."

"I don't believe it," Kurt said. He put his arms around Jon, snugging them together.

(Was this allowed now? Was this one of 'all the things'?)

For a second, Jon leaned back and let Kurt move them together, then he ducked and turned, pinning Kurt's arms and backing him up against the sink. "Dinner, Visser," he said firmly, and kissed him quick on the lips before letting him go.

Kurt chuckled to himself, catching his breath and straightening his shirt. As it turned out, Jon was stronger than him. "All right, I can wait. Bossy pants."

"Hungry pants," Jon corrected him. "You won't be sorry when you taste this."

"Mmm," Kurt said ambivalently. It was a highly suggestive noise and Jon shot him a glare, his face pink. Kurt's eyes laughed back at him. "You're so responsible," Kurt said.

"You like it," Jon said, smiling as he dished up three steaming bowls of brown rice and stir fry.

Kurt moved to pull up a chair at the table, feeling like the food had its own gravitational pull. "God I really really do."

Jon carried a steaming bowl of rice and stir fry upstairs for Cary, then Kurt heard his feet running back down the stairs. Jon flashed him a grin as he entered—Christ, that smile could have made whole armies lay down their arms. Kurt was in no way immune.

He knew Jon well enough now to wait a minute for Jon to bow his head for a silent grace before digging into his food. Honestly, looking around this kitchen with Jon next to him, Kurt felt like a moment of thanks was only fitting.

"So is this a date, Jon?" he said after they'd wolfed down the first bites of Jon's crunchy, salty, ginger beef and vegetable creation.

"You would know better than me," Jon said, giving him a warm look.

"Difficult to put a label on us," Kurt mused. "You feel like your own category for me, Jon White."

"Mutual," Jon said, his eyes lowered as he neatly used his chopsticks to capture rice and vegetables together.

Kurt had given up on the fiddly bamboo utensils and was using a spoon. "Do you think you would have dated if you were out in high school?" he asked.

"Um, I was out in high school," Jon said, narrowing his eyes in amusement. "I marched in my first Pride parade the summer I was sixteen. Best day of my life up to then."

Kurt was floored. He'd assumed Jon had only been out to his family all these years. "Christ, you beat me to it by six years," he said. He put his chin in his hand. "Well, this is an interesting twist. Any ex-boyfriends I should know about, White?"

Jon scoffed. "No."

"I can't believe no one volunteered to kiss you before now, with those delectable lips of yours."

Jon ducked his head, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "There weren't any other gay guys out at my school. I didn't want that with someone I didn't know." He sighed. "I wanted to date. I wanted to take someone to prom, show up at his door in a tux and just have that whole thing you dream about when you're a kid. It just—didn't work out for me."

"Once you turned eighteen you must've known you could find guys online."  Kurt said. This had certainly been his own thought-process at that age, and he hadn't even had the freedom to be open about his interest in guys. "Not everyone's looking for a one-time hook up,"

"Ugh," Jon said. "That literally sounds like the worst thing in the world—tapping on a strange guy to meet up and try and make conversation over drinks and loud music while I'm wondering if he just wants to get me in his car and put his hands under my clothes. No offense, Kurt. That's just not me."

"None taken," Kurt said. "I'm just trying to figure you out, darlin'." There was a whole mystery to Jon's sexuality that was very intriguing to Kurt. He couldn't instantly answer his questions by checking Jon's Grindr profile—Jon's interests and preferences were woven into his whole person, his whole story up to now, and the only way to uncover all of that was to get to know him slow, real time. Hopefully, at some point, hands on.

An alarming thought occurred to Kurt. "Wait. Does sex not interest you at all?"

Jon laughed, turning bright pink. "That's a question."

Kurt laughed, waving his hand as if to clear the air. "Sorry, bit of a one-track mind with me."

Jon rumpled his hair up with his hands, sliding Kurt a look he couldn't read. "Look. I'll be honest, Visser. Up until recently, I would have said no—I'm not interested in banging it out with some guy." He made a face. "That just sounds gross and risky and all up in my personal space. I can look after myself alone in the shower, thank you very much."

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. At least Jon wasn't some kind of heavenly being with no bodily needs. "Why up until recently?" he teased.

Jon took his hand, playing with his fingertips. It made Kurt lose his cool a little, and colour came into his own face. Jon touched him so rarely, he was so careful about where he put his hands, that when he did Kurt felt it all over his body, and his heart yearned towards Jon.

(Put all the strings on me, love, if it ties me to you)

Those words had been beating in Kurt's throat for days, until he'd finally written the whole damn song in his notebook, in a pent-up rush of feelings he couldn't share anywhere else.

Jon was calm and steady beside him and that settled Kurt back down. "Up until recently," Jon said, "The guy I imagined having sex with was just some random—cute guy in my class or the barista at my coffee shop. Someone I barely know, except for how they look." His mouth tucked in; there was a dimple that appeared when he was unhappy. This seemed very unfair to Kurt, that Jon would be so kissable when he was sad. "I think I was hoping for what my parents have, you know?"

"Nope, you lost me," Kurt said. His throat was tight, holding Jon's hand.

Jon's eyes touched his face, "I wanted someone who planned to be there through thick and thin—not just the night he did his hair for a date. Someone to make pancakes with on Saturday and go to bed together in old pyjamas. Someone who knows all your secrets and still..." He fell silent, rubbing his knuckles against his chest, then shrugged, just a twitch of his shoulders. "And still is glad to see you come in the door. I wanted sex to be part of all of that. I think...I think I would like it that way. With someone that knows me that well."

Jon took a big breath and made a smile. "And you just asked me about dating and I'm talking like I need a marriage proposal first. I must sound really stupid and naïve to you."

Kurt cleared his throat, putting Jon's hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. "It doesn't sound stupid, love. It sounds beautiful. You can't be the only gay in the world who wants sex to be part of a whole, you know," He gestured around the kitchen. "A whole committed deal."

He wasn't brave enough to ask—Is that what you asked me earlier today? Could I ever be the man who signs up for that with you, for real?

"Well, I wouldn't know," Jon said, stretching his chest open. He looked tired. "It's not on the table anymore. I gave up hope years ago. I assumed my standards were dumb and unrealistic and I should just make the best of being alone because my body doesn't work with a woman and it doesn't work for a hook up." He hunched his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable with admitting this. "When this job at River House came along it looked like a godsend--everything I want to do with my life apart from having a relationship. So I wiped my socials and packed it in. No more gay. Just Jon."

It hurt Kurt's heart to hear Jon describe that like a simple subtraction problem, as if Jon's sexuality could be segregated from the rest of him and disappeared under grey Tshirts and a baggy hoodie. "You're pretty young to just give up, Jon," he said.

Jon laughed once. "My dad said the same thing."

Kurt studied him, rubbing his thumb over Jon's knuckles. Jon was still looking small and embarrassed, so he offered his own candour. "Hooking up doesn't always work for me either. I'm real clear up front: if I'm not calling the plays, I'm not getting on the field. Anyone who taps me knows it. And even with that, if he drives up in one of those muscle cars my brother gets off on—or if he's pushy and not listening to me about something that shouldn't matter. Sometimes my body just goes—nope. We are not down for this tonight."

A worried wrinkle appeared in Jon's forehead. "What do you do then?"

Kurt shrugged. "Sober Kurt collects his keys and clothes and says—have a good time finishing alone." He laughed. "Usually I pretend to get a text and I'm like—oh, my mom's in the hospital getting cancer treatments and I need to go. What's he going to say? We're both just volunteers. He took his shot and he missed it. His loss."

Jon made a smile back, but his leg was jumping under the table while he hung onto Kurt's hand. "I have so much anxiety just listening to you talk about that."

"Well, I'm on holidays to be with you," Kurt said, his smile deepening. "So don't even worry about it." He didn't want to let go of Jon's hand, but the carpet heaped with pillows in their living room looked very enticing. "What are we doing tonight?" Kurt asked.

Jon lifted his chin, colour high in his face. "I don't know." His voice had roughened. "Call the play, Kurt."

2563 words.