{Kurt}

They ate a feast of cold meats and fruits and cheeses cross-legged on the floor, the hardwood gleaming in the candlelight. Jon handed over his phone for Kurt to play him his favourite songs. As the night deepened, they lay with their heads together, their legs stretched in opposite directions, talking about music and lyrics and song writing.

Jon held his hand.

Kurt wove their fingers together, playing with Jon's fingertips. Jon's nails were neat and short; there were freckles faint over the back of his hand. He'd forgotten that such a simple thing could be so thrilling.

Entwined by their fingers, they ended up lying quietly while music rippled over them. Jon's hand tightened on his and Kurt held his breath.

"Can I ask you a question, Kurt?" Jon asked quietly. "Not as your practise boyfriend. Just as your friend who doesn't know anything about being 'out' as a grown up."

"Sure," Kurt said, turning his head to glance at him. "Not that I feel like a grown up," he added.

"Was that drummer a hook up? Or a boyfriend?"

Kurt rubbed his ear with his free hand, remembering a thousand hours in Nicky's apartment, the beat-down carpet he could never be sure he'd gotten clean with their second-hand vacuum, the fridge with the drawer that wouldn't slide closed because the plastic was cracked. Nicky's bed, covered in slippery satin sheets, was the only decent piece of furniture in the whole place. "Um, I would say Nicky's in his own category. I lived with him a couple years. It wasn't super pretty, to be honest. Probably why I prefer hook-ups to havin' a boyfriend now."

Jon had propped his head in his hand to listen; he wrinkled his nose, but Kurt thought his hazel eyes were more amused than angry. "Why do you prefer hook-ups?"

Kurt slung his arm behind his head, thinking that over. "Nicky was controlling. He kind of ran my life. And just took what he wanted at the end of the day." He buttoned his mouth shut; that was more than he had intended to say here. Jon's face had gone blank and his mouth was hard.

Kurt blew out his breath, digging his fingers into the hair at the back of his head for comfort. "Anyways, with a hook-up, the terms are all up front. I choose who and what I want. If they don't like it, I just call a cab and head home. Best case scenario, it's a good time and I'm free to go do my thing after. No one pulling the strings on me."

Jon sat up and Kurt opened his eyes wide to watch him unfold his hand, spread it open, and stroke his thumb along the heart line in his palm. He shivered involuntarily.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Jon said in a low voice. "Nicky."

Kurt said, "I mean—I made my own choices that kept the lights blazin' on that shit show well past what shoulda been an encore. I could've sobered up and got out years ago." He sighed. "Not gonna lie, White. If you're just askin' as my friend. I've done some shit I regret since you knew me last."

Jon's shoulders bowed, candlelight touching skin of his throat where his pulse leapt in time. "I haven't been a saint myself." The words were low and dry as sand. Moving slowly and deliberately, Jon stretched out next to Kurt and laid his head on his chest.

Heart thundering, Kurt brought his arm down to hug Jon's shoulders, afraid to startle this man into pulling away from him again. Jon's body was surprisingly weighty against him—Jon was strong. Kurt didn't dare stroke the bare skin under his hand to trace the shape of those muscles, but he imagined it.

"There's some shit under the bridge since high school, Kurt Visser," Jon whispered.

Kurt's arm tightened a little, and Jon didn't go anywhere. "Yup." It was such a hell of a long shot that he would ever be more than practise for a man like Jon.

"I like you sober." Jon rubbed his face sleepily against Kurt's shirt and Kurt had to remind himself to breathe. "I like you like this." His fingers found the earring in Kurt's ear and played with the ends of Kurt's hair.

"Me too," Kurt said huskily.

It was almost four in the morning by the time Kurt could bring himself to get up from the floor and find his car keys. Even Jon was rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"You seriously going to drive across the city now?" Jon asked. "We have a spare bedroom."

Kurt looked up from where he'd been tugging on his boots, unsure if he'd heard that right.

"Just crash here tonight," Jon said. "I'll make us breakfast in the morning. Do you have anything tomorrow?"

"No," Kurt said breathlessly. He knew this wasn't more than the offer of an actual bed, but his heart was in his throat. It was one more confirmation that this was real, he actually welcome in Jon White's house.

"I'll show you your room," Jon said.

Hours ago, it had seemed so unreachable and unlikely that he would get any closer than a tour of their house. Now Jon was passing him a clean, folded towel and an extra blanket and saying good night. The shy, sideways smile he gave Kurt was so endearing Kurt thought his chest might explode. He peeked around the door of the spare room to watch Jon pad down the hall to his own door, rubbing his hand through the back of his crew cut. Jon was so damn cute--was he aware of how cute he was?

Kurt shut his door and dropped his head against it, his grin lifting his whole face. How did he feel so good about this evening? They'd done nothing and defined nothing. He couldn't account for the Jon White effect--he just felt better with Jon in the room.

Drunk with tiredness, Kurt surveyed the guest room. It smelled of beeswax and musty, unaired sheets. The carpet was clean and soft under his toes. It was perfect. He stretched face down on top of the bed and was instantly asleep.

{Jon}

Sunday morning, Jon was reading a psalm on his phone with tea steaming in his hand when the stairs creaked. Kurt appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, his clothes rumpled like he'd slept in them. He looked bewildered and flushed, lines pressed into his cheek from his pillow.

"Morning Kurt," Jon said, surprised by how light and glad he felt the moment Kurt appeared. He got up and put his arms around the other man--they hadn't hugged yet, but Jon knew from sparring where he would fit.

Kurt's breath hitched and his hands flew up to clutch Jon's shoulders. "I thought I dreamed it. I woke up an' I didn't know where I was."

Jon drew back just enough to check his crumpled face. "Hey--" He brushed a tear off Kurt's cheek with his thumb. "What? You didn't dream it--your practise boyfriend stayed up way too late with you last night. Now I have to finish a book report and start a paper on four hours of sleep."

Kurt's laugh cracked and he put his face against Jon's neck. "Sorry."

Jon steadied himself with his weight over his feet, wrapping his arms more securely around Kurt's body. "Don't be sorry. I regret nothing." He felt the other man take a slow breath and his shaking eased.

Kurt drew away, swiping his beaming face dry. "If you're not a dream I'm showering and waking up. Don't go anywhere."

Jon had opened his laptop and was well into the first half of his assignment when Kurt came back downstairs.

"So I stress-sweated all night on my first practise date with this gay I really like--do you have a clean shirt I can borrow?" Jon's eyes flicked up from his screen. Kurt's jeans rode low on his hips and Jon was momentarily baffled by the absence of body hair on his stomach and chest.

"Hello bish--my eyes are up here." The word was soft and teasing in Kurt's mouth, not the swear Jon was used to. He snapped his gaze up to Kurt's laughing eyes, his face heating.

"Just help yourself to something in my closet," Jon said. It felt weird to say--they had not been the same size in high school. Kurt was still taller, but Jon had filled out where Kurt's body had pared down to bare essentials. It wasn't sexy; Jon could have counted every rib. His eyes followed Kurt as he left, his chest tightening with a growing realization that for all Kurt's bravado, the intervening years had not been kind to his friend.

Jon stretched his shoulders back with a sigh and closed his eyes. He wasn't stupid—he knew this was essentially a hook up for Kurt. A temporary arrangement with a guy where Kurt laid out the terms and then was free to go when he wanted, no strings. Lying in the quiet of his bedroom this morning, Jon had turned over the things Kurt had said to him the previous night and put this together for himself.

He was a means to something Kurt wanted. Not the usual sexy-good-times, but maybe Kurt was after peaceful times in Jon's house. Access to the food in his fridge. A couple hours when they could pretend they were the kids they were before, no shit under the bridge. Kurt said he needed a holiday—maybe it was as simple as that.

Against all good sense, Jon had said yes. Twelve hours into being Kurt Visser's practise boyfriend, and he felt like his whole body was tuned to the other man. The last time Jon had felt this warm and happy, he'd been high on opiate-based painkillers. The words Let me be good to you. Let me be your sober, responsible boyfriend were on the tip of Jon's tongue.

Jon had to bite those words back, unsaid. He was not free to say them; the terms of being his real boyfriend were far too unfair for Kurt to accept. Jon had nothing, really, to give. Except this, here. He could give Kurt a holiday in his house. He could love Kurt up, like he was play-acting his part as the practise boyfriend. No one needed to know how much Jon wasn't playing. He would let Kurt go when he wanted to go; that was the deal.

Jon would worry about how shitty withdrawal was going to be another day. Today he had woken up with Kurt Visser sleeping in the room next to him. Today was going to be a brilliant day.

1742 words

*What do you think of the terms of Jon and Kurt's arrangement?  Do you agree with Jon's assessment, that this is essentially a hook-up without the sexy bits?

Any guesses why Jon says he hasn't been a saint himself?*