One Week

Pairing: Blam, Blaine/Sam.

Warnings: Infidelity, small bit of non-con, public sex, rimming, mild dirty talk, explicit sexual content, slash, and probably a bit of OOC-ness just because of the prompt itself. Wow. That's a lot of warnings, lol.

Disclaimer: Dude, not mine. :c

Prompt: Sam and Blaine used to be friends with benefits, but Blaine is now dating Kurt. Blaine doesn't want Kurt to know about his past relationship, and Sam finds out about this. Sam uses their past relationship to force Blaine to have sex with him for a week. Blaine enjoys it so much that he leaves Kurt for Sam.

A/N: This was written for the Glee Kink Meme for the prompt above. I might continue this, I might not. It really depends on if I can find the time. Anyways! I've always been really interested in Blam, and when I saw this prompt, I kind of fell in love with it, even though it doesn't end well for baby Kurt. There's a lot going on in this, and it's the longest fill I've ever written for any fandom, but it was so much fun! I shouldn't have liked it as much as I did, I'm sure.



"How are we going to beat the Warblers at Regionals without Kurt?" Rachel moans, putting her head in her hands.

Puck rolls his eyes, tossing his arm over the back of his chair casually. "Why don't we just go over to that Dalton place and drag Kurt back with us? There's no way he'll overpower these guns," he says, kissing his biceps.

"Because that won't work!" Rachel spats. She has, of course, already considered that, but came to the conclusion that they'd only be unsuccessful, and possibly lose Kurt as their friend.

"Sure it will," Puck huffs.

Mercedes stands up, her teammates looking at her. "Rachel's right. It won't work. He's not going to come back."

Sam's brows quirk up, his expression curious as he asks, "Why won't he come back?"

There's silence as Mercedes bites her lip, knowing the information isn't hers to share. She's been in this position before, and it didn't end too well. But she also knows that none of them will leave her alone if she doesn't tell them, so she gives them only the bare minimum amount of details, "That Blaine kid? The Warbler? Kurt's dating him."

"Bow chicka wow wow," Puck says, high-fiving Finn who looks pleased that Kurt's finally moved on for real.

"I wonder he he's lost his V-card," Santana exclaims.

Brittany's brows furrow together in confusion. "Kurt's already getting Valentines? But it's still January…"

Sam's no longer listening to his glee friends. So, Blaine's dating someone now? Dating Kurt? No, that's impossible; Kurt just isn't Blaine's type. But still—Sam has to know for sure. He's far too nosy to just let this slide.

After rehearsal, he corners Mercedes and plasters a huge, winning smile on his face. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Uh," Mercedes says as she grabs her book bag from the floor and tosses it over her shoulder. Sam has never really spoken to her before, so she wonders why he suddenly is now. "Sure?"

"May I have Kurt's number?" Sam blurts out before he even thinks of an excuse as to why he needs it.

Mercedes gives him a look-over, frowns, and hitches her hands on her hips. "You might be cute, white boy, and maybe you're Kurt's type, but like I already said; he's not coming back."

Sam shakes his head. "It's not about getting him back." He rubs the side of his face nervously as he tries to think up something. "I just, you know, wanted to try and make things right with him." Sam nods fervently, surprised with himself. "We haven't really talked much since the week we did duets."

"Well," Mercedes sighs as she reaches into her bag, grabbing a piece of scratch paper and a pen, and Sam feels victorious. "I guess it'll be okay if I give it to you." She scribbles Kurt's number and passes it to Sam. "You did take a punch for him."

"Right," Sam says, smiling before he programs the number into his cellphone. "Thanks, Mercedes."

She doesn't say "you're welcome" or anything like that; she simply nods and scoffs off, but not without turning around, her face set and her eyes narrow, "But if I hear that you tried to ruin his happiness at Dalton, I'll give you another black eye."

Sam swallows hard, but quickly recovers with a wide grin. "You don't have to worry about me."

And it's true.

Kurt ought to worry about someone else affecting that happiness.


Sam's confident he knows the answer to his own question. Blaine's a creature of habit; he doesn't change much over time, and they were together only a year ago. He also knows that Blaine's ashamed of the history they share; he doesn't want to be seen as the loose guy that fucked a friend just because he was bored and Sam was there.

But there's that small possibility that he could be wrong, and Sam has to know for sure.

He hopes that Kurt won't take a text out of the blue badly.

Hey Kurt, it's Sam. –S

Sam? How'd you get my number? –K

Mercedes gave it to me. I wanted to ask how you were, how Dalton is treating you. –S

They chitchat over text for a good twenty minutes until Sam decides that it's time to just come out with it: Mercedes says you've got a boyfriend? Named Blaine? –S

God, what all did she tell you? –K

He wishes Mercedes could have told him more.

Is it true? –S

Yeah, why? –K

Sam pauses to think. He's got to be clever, otherwise Kurt might get suspicious and end the conversation.

Is he your first boyfriend? –S

Yes, he is, and he's quite valiant. –K

Valiant? His ass.

Are you his first boyfriend? –S

He figures that being forward is the best policy.

Uh, I suppose so? I mean…he's never mentioned any other relationships? Why? –K


Just curious. Anyway, I better go. Lots of homework, and I gotta think up a good song to sing for our glee assignment. Talk to you later! –S

He considers texting Blaine next, but Sam doesn't want Blaine to run from him this time. So, instead he decides to pay his ex-friend-with-benefits a little visit in Westerville.


It's a good thing that Sam never tossed out his old Dalton Academy uniform. Wearing it allows him to make his way through the school without confused glances and awkward questions so long as he keeps his head down. It wouldn't do him any favors if someone noticed who he is, and that he's back.

As he walks down the halls, it's almost like nothing's changed. It's like he's a student again, before any of the crap happened. He finds himself sort of missing Dalton, even though he's tried not to ever since he was kicked out. He misses being on the sports team, the school mixers with the neighboring all-girls private institute, and the guys who were once his friends.

He still cannot believe he got kicked out of this place for academic failure. Did no one understand that he had dyslexia? It's not like he tried to get bad grades on purpose.

Sam remembers exactly where Blaine's dormitory is; it's nearby the choir room just in case he ever wanted to practice late at night. It's secluded; a little further away from the others in his wing, and a single. He remembers that Blaine never liked having a roommate, and even when Sam offered himself, he still said no.

Blaine was nothing if not stubborn.

Finally, he's standing in front of Blaine's dorm room, number 394. And he cannot back out now after he's gotten this far. He inhales deeply, reaches out, and knocks on the wooden door.

"Who's there?" Blaine calls out and Sam's breath hitches at the back of his throat, finally hearing his voice again after all this time. He cannot remember how to speak, or do anything, really. All he does is stand outside Blaine's door, his eyes wide and his mouth open, fist still in the air. "David? Is that you?"

Collecting himself, Sam grunts and hopes it sufficient enough to pass for a yes.

"Coming," Blaine sighs.

He hears Blaine's soft footsteps, the turn of a knob, and the opening of the door. Blaine turns around without looking up at Sam and walks back to his desk, saying, "If you've come to ask my opinion on the list of possibilities for songs for Regionals, I haven't decided which ones I like best yet. You only gave the list to me a day ago."

Sam closes the door behind him and clears his throat, "I'm not David."

Blaine turns around so fast that Sam's surprised his neck didn't crack. "Sam? Wh-what are you doing here? How did you get in? Is that still your Dalton uniform? You kept it? They let you? Why are you here?"

"Keep your pants on," Sam says and swiftly clicks the lock on Blaine's door before he takes a step away from it. "I've come to see you," Sam tells him, and tries to give him a genuine smile, but he just can't. Whatever it was that they had ended badly, and he couldn't pretend like things were peachy keen between them anymore. So he fakes it.

Blaine releases a sarcastic laugh and holds his hands behind his back, trying to look casual. Sam knows it's all a façade; Blaine's practically having a panic attack right now. "I thought I made it perfectly clear that I didn't want to see you again."

Sam stuffs his hands in his pockets, smirking. "Guess you didn't make it clear enough."

"Get out," Blaine says, his mouth a fine line. "Leave. I don't want to see you; I don't want to talk to you." He starts to look desperate when Sam doesn't follow his orders. "We don't even like each other anymore."

"I wouldn't say that, would you?" Sam asks, taking one step closer.

"Did you seriously forget what happened between us?" Blaine almost yells. He realizes that he's acting a bit out of line, regains his composure, and lowers his voice. "How you humiliated me in front of the entire school?"

"I'd hardly call kissing another guy humiliating you in front of the entire school," Sam chuckles. "We weren't even really together."

Blaine doesn't tell Sam that he thought that they were really together or at least hoped that they were going in that direction. Instead, he just stares at Sam, looking confused. "What the fuck did you do to your hair?"

Sam mentally kicks himself for blushing a bit as he runs his fingers through his blond locks. "I didn't do anything to it, my sister did it," he lies.

Blaine glares at him and folds his arms over his chest. "Why are you here?"

"You haven't told Kurt about us," Sam says simply, grinning.

The silence that suddenly fills the room is almost palpable.

"What?" Blaine spats, his brows nearly furrowing into one line. "How do you know Kurt and I are together?"

Sam's smile grows wider. "So, you don't deny it?" He takes another step, now only about two feet away from Blaine. "Why haven't you told him?"

Blaine doesn't step back; he stands his ground. "Because there was nothing to tell; you yourself said we weren't together." He's nearly shaking with fury by now. Blaine doesn't want to deal with this; he made sure that the cut was clean and painful so that this day would never come where they'd actually be face to face again.

"Just because we weren't together doesn't mean we don't have a story to tell," Sam says. He takes another step closer, and he can smell Blaine's cologne. It, like everything else about him, hasn't changed. "Are you ashamed? Are you scared of what Kurt might think?"

Blaine's jaw clenches, his hands ball into fists. "I'm not ashamed, and I'm not scared."

"Then tell him," Sam says, tossing his cellphone to Blaine, who catches it. "Right now."

"No!" Blaine exclaims, his face furious as if Sam just asked him to kill his first born son.

Sam smiles, circles Blaine and stops when he's standing right behind him, and brings his mouth close to Blaine's lips. "So, you are scared," he whispers. "Is it that you don't want him to know that he's not your first? That you're not a virgin like you've been telling him all along?"

Blaine doesn't move. He doesn't even breathe. And Sam grins, knowing he's hit the nail on the head.

"Hmm," Sam muses, grabbing his phone out of Blaine's loose grip. "I wonder what would happen if I told Kurt about our past myself."

"NO!" Blaine yells, smacking Sam's phone out of his hand. He sighed, almost grunting. "You're right, okay? I don't want him to know about us."

"I thought so," Sam says, opening his phone.

Blaine hates Sam so much right now. Hates that Sam's got him wrapped around his finger, but he can't find a way out of this one. "What's it going to take for you not to tell him?"

Sam's laughing. He doesn't realize that this deep, dark side of him is open again; the part of him that never fails to show itself whenever he's with Blaine. He'd never do this to anyone else because they don't deserve it. Blaine himself doesn't really deserve it, but Sam chooses to ignore his better judgment. "What it's going to take is that for a week, it's going to be like old times."


"Just you and me."

"Absolutely not—"

"Starting now."

"Fuck you," Blaine swears, his teeth clenching.

"Unless, of course, you want me to have a little chat with Kurt." He already knows that while Blaine might not agree with it, he's still going to go with it. Sam watches Blaine struggle with what to do; he's not sure if he should give into Sam, or if he should tell him to fuck off and deal with whatever consequences might come. "Sit down on your bed."

When Blaine doesn't move, Sam's smile grows wider. "Don't make this difficult, darling," he says, running the back of his hand along Blaine's cheek.

Blaine glares at Sam, but eventually does as he's told. He turns around and sits on the edge of his bed, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"Do you know what I miss most about us?" Sam asks, kneeling down in front of Blaine. He places his hands on Blaine's thighs, and loves how Blaine jumps from the contact. "Any guesses?"

"No," Blaine says, his voice dangerously low.

Sam reaches up, his hand ghosting over the buckle of Blaine's belt. "I miss the feel of your skin beneath my touch," he reflects, undoing the clasp with a small clink of metal. "Soft kisses in between classes when there were people around who could see us, and eager, fervent ones when we were alone in your room or mine." He pops open the button and pulls down the zipper. "When everyone was in the commons or in the courtyard to enjoy free class periods, while we were in empty classrooms or darkened hallways, and you had to bite down on your arm to keep from crying out when I jerked you off." Blaine's staccato breathing filled the room as Sam slid Blaine's belt off and away from the loops of his trousers. "How you always hinted that you loved me, but never quite said the words, because you were hoping I'd say them first."" He slips his hands down into Blaine's trousers and slowly starts to pull them down. "Do you remember those times? Do you miss them, too?"

Of course he remembers. They were nights with Sam. He can remember every fucking night with Sam as if it just happened yesterday, and he's pretty sure he'll remember them until the day he dies, no matter how hard he tries to suppress or forget those memories. He can't, because they're now a part of him; like limb or a lung, his heart or brain.

He can see the outline of Blaine's cock through his strained boxer briefs, and Sam grins as he allows his fingertips to gently graze over the swollen flesh through the material, and Blaine gasps and tries to pull away. Sam tucks his fingers into the waistband of Blaine's underwear and slowly eases it down around his hips, but stops before he frees his cock. "Do you?" he repeats.

"N-N-No," Blaine chokes, trying to hide his rosy cheeks.

"No?" Sam asks. "I guess I ought to remind you, then." He works off Blaine's boxers the rest of the way till they're around his toned thighs, and Sam leans in and breathes in his scent. He smells the same, and they're in his same dorm room, and after all this time it's like nothing has changed; like they're still friends who just so happen to also fuck.

The thing that has changed about Blaine, however, is his cock; it's thicker and a little longer than Sam remembers. It's throbbing and reddened, begging to be touched, no matter how hard Blaine's trying to not want this.

Blaine balls up fistfuls of his sheets when Sam wraps his fingers around his cock and squeezes. Sam's hand is sweaty and anxious, like he's about to change his mind about being here and back out of this right now, and just when Blaine's almost positive he can breathe easy again, Sam's tight grip moves along his shaft.

And he's disgusted with himself that he let this happen; let Sam have his way with him, just like when they were younger. They were never official, but Blaine always wanted to be. Blaine was ready to give everything to or give up anything for Sam. The hand that pumps him is a painful memory; one that causes a watery, weak sensation to flow through his body like he's going to be sick, and Blaine shuts his eyes tightly and bites down hard on his lower lip.

"Remember that time in US History?" Sam whispers, looking up at Blaine's distressed expression through his pale, long lashes. "When we were sitting in the back of class during that godforsaken movie?" His hand slides up and squeezes the head of Blaine's cock, drawing one stifled cry. "What was it about again?"

Blaine's forehead scrunches up. "Signing of the Declaration of In-Independence," he stammers.

"Ah, yes," Sam reflects, thumbing over the tip of Blaine's cock, collecting the fluid that had pooled there. "The signing of the Declaration of Independence—and it was so boring, but that class period wasn't, was it?" He brings his other hand up, rolling Blaine's balls in his palm. "We were passing notes back and forth and you vehemently tried to turn me on during class." Sam's strokes come faster and faster. "So, I got you back by unzipping your pants and stuffing my hand inside, jerking you off until you came all over yourself and your newly pressed Dalton trousers."

That image of them together bursts in his brain. Sam's well-placed thumb runs down the underside of Blaine's cock and he cries out, thrusts into Sam's hand and comes, splashing pearly droplets into Sam's hand in quick pulses, emptying him completely. Blaine falls back into his bed, his shirt sticking to his chest through a sheen of cool sweat as he heaves for steady breath.

Sam reaches for a tissue and cleans his hand off, smirking to himself as Blaine still struggles to calm down. Blaine looks beautiful, just the way he remembers; tanned and toned and entirely exquisite. And Sam finds himself missing Blaine, missing this, and he's glad he made the conditions one week instead of one day, because he already wants more.

He gets up and dusts himself off. Sam wants to stay, but knows he's not welcome. He allows his fingertips to lightly graze over Blaine's bare thighs before he turns to leave, clicking the lock and opening the door, "See you tomorrow."


Sam cannot believe he finally has a purpose for his old Dalton uniform.

He causally reclines in an overstuffed wingback chair in the library and buries his face in a book he has absolutely no interest in, his eyes peeping out over the top for any sign of Blaine.

The library at Dalton is far different than the one at McKinley. Here, students actually used the encyclopedias and databases to do their schoolwork, the entire room silent. At McKinley, if anyone was looking at a book, it was usually a magazine or the latest young adult novel, but most of the students used the computers to surf the web. Sam recognizes a couple of the students, but doesn't dare say hello. Kids at Dalton talk and he needs to avoid confrontation at all costs.

Like clockwork, Blaine strolls in, clutching his textbooks to his chest with one hand while he holds his cellphone in front of his face with the other, surprisingly alone. The corners of Sam's mouth curve up into a smile as he watches Blaine settle down at a table nearby in the corner, and he's totally clueless that his world is about to be shaken up.

Keeping his face hidden in his book, Sam pulls himself up and makes his way over. Once he's standing in front of Blaine, he gently lays his book down in front of him. It's on US History. "Miss me?"

Blaine almost jumps out of his skin; his hand clutches his chest, and he glares up at Sam. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asks. It's almost a plea for Sam to leave him alone.

"Did you forget about our arrangement?" Sam's grin is wide and devilish.

He slams his book closed, then remembers where he is and he looks around, making sure that he didn't make too much of a ruckus. "I am not playing this game with you anymore."

"Game?" Sam asks, sitting down next to Blaine.

Blaine's jaw tightens. "You cannot blackmail me, Sam."

Sam's face softens, his fingers walk across the table till he rests his hand on Blaine's, who quickly pulls away. "So, you're going to tell Kurt?"


"Yeah, that's what I thought," Sam tells him as he slithers down off his chair and onto his knees. Blaine looks around frantically, making sure that no one just saw that before he grabs a fistful of Sam's straw-like hair and yanks on it.

"No. Not here," he says in a dangerous tone.

Sam's not affected by it. "Why not?" he asks as his hands quickly undo the front of Blaine's trousers. "We're in a fucking corner and there's maybe four other people here including the librarian, and they're all in the front."

Blaine's eyes are wide and furious. "Anyone can see us," he explains, trying to zip his pants back up, but Sam slaps his hand away.

"Well, then I'll have to tell them they're welcome once we're done," Sam says simply, reaching into Blaine's pants, getting his hand around his hardening cock. "It's not like you don't want this," Sam reflects through a smirk.

"I don't want this," Blaine hisses, trying to knee Sam in the side, but he only ends up kicking the table. The noise it makes is loud, and he decides that it's probably best to try not to move at all and just talk his way out of this before he catches someone's attention. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Those words strike a chord with Sam. Why is he doing this? Blackmailing never really was gratifying to him; he's not that kind of person. He thinks it might be because he misses Blaine, because he regrets that he was too fucking scared to admit his feelings, that he wishes he could go back and make things right. Maybe then they would have been an actual couple instead of just fuck buddies.

He hopes there's still time to make it right, but he only knows one way to do it; only one way that'll actually work on Blaine no matter how much he protests.

"Because you want this," Sam tells him, craning his neck so that he can look directly into Blaine's eyes from beneath the table. "You know you don't want Kurt, but you want a relationship. You want a relationship more than you want him, so you'll settle, because he won't go anywhere and maybe in five…ten years you might actually be happy." His fingers wrap around the base of Blaine's cock. "But that's not ideal for you. It's not even close. What you want is what we had."

"We didn't have anything!" Blaine whispers, his voice cracking.

"But we did. We did, Blaine." He brings his mouth close to Blaine's cock and blows gently on it. "We might not have had titles, but we had love. I was just too scared to say it, and you didn't want to say it first."

Blaine stares at him, his expression unreadable. "I don't believe you."

Well, if Blaine didn't believe him, then Sam would have to give Blaine something to believe in.

He pumps Blaine's cock till he's completely hard, and then eases his warm mouth down onto the head. Sam feels Blaine's body tense up as he suppresses a moan by biting down on the back of his hand. He wonders if Blaine wasn't so wrapped up in pleasure if he'd be humiliated right about now. As it turns out, Blaine's not blushing from embarrassment, and he's definitely not pulling away.

Blaine tastes just as Sam remembers him tasting; musky, a little salty, and completely intoxicating, and he smells like fresh soap. Blaine's cock twitches when Sam presses his tongue flat against the underside, and a groan works its way up his throat, seeming to come from the pit of Blaine's stomach that he cannot stifle.

Sam licks him again, tracing lines along the shaft with his smooth tongue from base to tip. He can feel Blaine's thighs start to tremble around him, and he softly places a hand on either one, gently coaxing him to relax. Blaine's fingers tangle in Sam's yellow hair, encouraging him to stay instead of thrusting his head down onto him. Sam hollows out his cheeks and sucks, his head bobbing up and down as his tongue swirls around the head of Blaine's cock.

And it's too much. Everything that Sam said before, and what he's doing to him now is enough. Blaine's stomach tightens as his balls draw up, spurting milky white fluid down the back of Sam's throat.

Right then and there, Sam makes a promise to himself not to eat or drink anything for a couple of hours; he wants Blaine's taste on his tongue to last him for a while.

He licks Blaine's cock clean before he does up his pants for him and emerges from under the table. Sam looks around and isn't surprised to see that no one is staring at them; no one noticed a thing. He turns to Blaine, grins, and wraps his hand around the back of his neck.

Blaine grimaces from the touch and doesn't lean into it, but he's not pulling away either. He just sits there; looking at his textbook in front of him as the red in his cheeks slowly starts to diminish. "I can't believe you just did that to me, in public," Blaine mutters.

"Funny, I don't remember you complaining when I was doing it," Sam reflects, his fingertips gently tracing small circles at the nape of Blaine's neck.

"Do you know of any guy that ever complained mid-suck?" Blaine asks sarcastically as he tries to rearrange his clothes so that he looks presentable.

Sam doesn't say anything, he just smirks. He's sure that somewhere out there, some dude was successful at turning down a blowjob during the act itself, but also knows that there's no way that guy is ever going to be Blaine. He enjoys it and Sam's lips far too much.

He leaves the same way he did yesterday by telling Blaine that he'll see him tomorrow, but just before he walks away from the table, he slyly pulls out Blaine's physics textbook when he's not looking and leaves with it tucked into his Dalton blazer.

Sam needs a reason for Blaine to come to Lima tomorrow instead of driving back out to Westerville, and he thinks he's found the perfect one.


He gets a text message from Blaine around noon the next day.

Did you take my physics textbook? –B

Sam grins.

Maybe. –S

You're messing with my fucking life. I need my physics book for class tomorrow. –B

Looks like you're going to have to come over and get it. –S

What? You stole it from me! You should bring it over here. –B

I don't feel like it. –S

I don't give a shit! I need my textbook. –B

Then you know where to find me. –S

It takes all of ten minutes for Blaine to finally text him back.

Fine. Give me your address. I'll stop by after school. –B

Sam wonders if he's slowly starting to win Blaine over again.

It's almost five o'clock once there's finally a knock at the door, and Sam's glad that both his parents work late. When he opens the door, Blaine's standing there with his hand out, face set, and eyes narrow. "My physics book, please?" he asks, waiting, and Sam half-expects him to tap his foot.

"Come inside for a sec," Sam instructs as he steps aside and holds the door open.

Blaine's face scrunches up some, like he's trying to weigh the options. He knows what's coming; it's part of their little agreement, and so far, Sam's kept his side of the bargain. Kurt's none the wiser that Blaine has a past that he wants to keep hidden.

"Fine," Blaine says, and walks inside. He's been in Sam's old place, but the one in Lima is new to him. It's odd to see familiar furniture in an unfamiliar house. He sees his textbook resting on the entry hall table and reaches for it.

But Sam steps in front of him, blocking his way. "Not so fast."

Blaine rolls his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

Sam doesn't need telling twice. He slams Blaine up against the nearest wall, one hand tugging his dark hair; the other cupping the side of his face as Sam presses his lips against Blaine's. It's the first time they've kissed since Sam left Dalton, and Sam can tell that he caught Blaine by surprise if the moan that was swallowed up by his mouth is proof at all. His mouth moves against Blaine's easily as if they were never apart; he knows Blaine, and Blaine knows him, nothing's really changed, and he's thrilled beyond belief when he feels Blaine kiss him back. He swipes his tongue along Blaine's lower lip and nibbles on it gently, his hands slide down Blaine's body, fumbling to untuck his button-up shirt.

Instinctively, Blaine reaches around and grabs Sam's ass, squeezing his round cheeks with his large hands. Blaine knows that Kurt is the safer bet; Kurt wouldn't leave him, wouldn't hurt him, and would love him no matter what. But where was the passion in that? The challenge? Sam's really who Blaine wants, and he's always known that, but has just been too damn afraid of being heartbroken. Maybe the risk that Sam could leave him, could hurt him, and might not love him no matter what made all the difference? Blaine felt like he had something to fight for, something to work at, and something to earn and gain instead of something that was just handed to him on a silver platter.

When Sam's lips find his neck, Blaine doesn't even bother holding back the whine that escapes his mouth. There's no use in pretending he doesn't want this anymore, because it's a lie; it'd be like trying to say that the sky wasn't blue, or the grass wasn't green, or that his blazer wasn't navy with red lining and an ornate "D" on the breast pocket. Sam suckles the sensitive skin of Blaine's neck, bringing up a small mark beneath his lips.

Sam nudges his leg in between Blaine's thighs and rubs up against his groin. His long fingers make quick work of getting Blaine's pants down around his knees, pressing his palm against his cock, drawing a deep groan out of him. Blaine's unsteady hand pulls Sam's polo shirt over his head, tossing it over his shoulder, and undoes the front of his pants enough to get his fingers around Sam's cock and he strokes it hard and fast.

"You're right," Blaine says, resting his sweaty forehead against Sam's bare chest, nipping at a pink nipple till it hardens, and he thrusts his hips up so that his aching cock rubs against Sam's, causing delicious friction. "You're right. I have missed this, miss you."

Sam tilts Blaine's head up and kisses him again, putting every feeling he can into it: how he's sorry, how he wants a second chance, that he thinks about Blaine all the time, that there's no one he wants more. He keeps his thumb on his own cock but wraps his fingers around Blaine's, holding them both in one hand as he squeezes and tugs up.

"Tell me how much," Sam pants against Blaine's parted lips, his hand frantically pumping, and the noises that Blaine is making are a mix between guttural groans and breathy whimpers.

Blaine's tightly grips Sam's shoulders for support as his knees buckle under him. "M-M-More than anything…" Blaine stammers, his face scrunching up, his eyes shutting tightly. There's no way he would have admitted that had he and Sam just been having a casual conversation, and he knows that he's going to end up regretting it later on, but right now, he doesn't care. All he cares about is Sam's hot body pressed against them, the feeling of their throbbing cocks touching and moving against each other, and Sam's warm tongue licking along his collarbone.

Sam pushes Blaine harder into the wall as slides down his sticky body and pops Blaine's cock into his mouth as he jerks himself off. One well-placed lick at the sensitive head is all it takes, and Blaine's nearly sobbing as he comes, shooting white threads into Sam's mouth and onto his lips. The taste of him, and the fact that he did this to Blaine—how undone he has made him—draws his orgasm out of him immediately, his body stiff and shaking as he continues to lap up every drop Blaine gives him.

Slowly, he pulls himself to his feet and places his lips on Blaine's tenderly, running his tongue along Blaine's, hoping he'll be able to taste any last remnant of his fluids. They stand there, speechless, half-clothed, and still breathing unevenly. Sam places one final kiss along Blaine's jawline before he takes a step back, does up his pants, finds his shirt and throws it on.

"Did you mean what you said?" Sam asks, watching as Blaine rearranges his clothes. "Do you really miss me?" He sounds hesitant and worried that he's not going to get the answer he wants, but he has to know. He bites his lower lip nervously and tucks a lock of his now damp hair behind his ear.

Blaine's lips are one tight, thin line, his wide, sad eyes meeting Sam's. "I don't know," he admits. Really, he does know; it wasn't just something he said in the heat of the moment. But he's not sure if he wants Sam to know that just yet. Sam broke his heart once, who's to say he won't do it again? "I need some time to think."

"I miss you," Sam confesses before he can hold the words back. "But you don't believe me, do you?"

This is too much to handle right now; it's all been happening too fast. Just a couple of days ago, Sam showed up outside of his dorm room, and before that, they hadn't seen each other for a whole year. He's not even sure if they still know who each other is anymore, or if they are just pretending that no time has passed, that their past no longer exists. He needs some time—especially time away from Sam—just so he can get his head clear and decide what it is that he's feeling is true and what he wants is real.

"I'm not sure," Blaine says, shrugging. "You never wanted a relationship before. You never wanted to be serious…exclusive. You can't blame me for doubting you." He wonders what will happen when the week is over. Is Sam still going to be there, wanting him, or is he going to disappear again?

Sam stares at him long and hard before he gives a curt nod. It hurts, but he knows that he's really got no one to blame but himself. "Maybe we shouldn't see each other tomorrow," Sam suggests.

Blaine's brows furrow in confusion. "But what about our deal? I still don't want you to tell Kurt."

"How about I call you?" Sam asks, his smile just barely visible.

Blaine agrees to a phone call and takes his physics book from Sam and leaves, but not before Sam places a small, lingering kiss on his lips.


He's never thought of himself as the kind of guy that might be into phone sex until he's done it with Blaine two days in a row; one day while waiting for football practice to start, the other in during the thirty-minute break that Blaine gets from Warblers rehearsal.

Blaine's moans and muffled grunts sound different over the phone; deeper than in person. Whenever Blaine gets a little too excited, he accidently presses buttons on his cell from holding it against his cheek too hard, and Sam thinks it might just be the cutest thing ever.

But today's a new day, and he doesn't want phone sex three times in a row. He wants to really see Blaine. He's just not sure if that's what Blaine wants; if Blaine is finally ready to see him again, if he's had enough time on his own.

Do you have any plans for tonight? –S

No, why? –B

He thinks it's almost hilarious that Blaine even bothers asking why he wants to know if he's busy tonight. Blaine knows why he's asking.

I want to see you. We had two whole days apart. –S

I know that. –B

So, how about it? –S

Sam has to wait five whole minutes until Blaine texts him back.

I guess so. We need to talk. –B

Wow. Way for Blaine to be a bone kill. Those four words are never good, especially when it's him and Blaine that the conversation is between.

Alright. When should I pick you up? –S

Be here around seven. –B


Sam's sitting on the edge Blaine's small twin-sized bed as Blaine paces his room with his hands behind his back, his expression tense.

"So, I've thought about it," Blaine finally announces. "About if I really miss you. If I miss us," he quickly adds when he notices that Sam looks a little confused.

"Oh, okay," Sam says, nodding. "And?"

Blaine stops in his tracks right in front of Sam and puts his hands in his pockets. "Before I tell you, I have some questions."

Dammit. Why couldn't this just be easy? "Shoot," Sam shrugs.

"How can I possibly trust you?" Blaine asks, leaving it at that.

Well, that's a difficult fucking question if Sam's ever heard one, and he's not too sure how to answer it. He can't, in good faith, promise Blaine that he'll never hurt him again. But love is about taking a risk; knowing that being so devastated that it fucking eats you up inside is just as much of a possibility as having so much joy that you're just about in tears. "I don't know how to get you to trust me, I'm just asking that you do; that you give me a second chance to try and make this right."

Blaine looks at his feet, trying to hide his face. "It scares me how quickly my feelings are coming back for you," he admits.

Sam understands that, because he's feels it, too. "Kind of makes you wonder if we never should have been apart, doesn't it? Wonder if we were always supposed to be together?"

He doesn't expect Blaine to say anything to that, so when he says, "Yeah, it kinda does," Sam's breath catches in his throat in surprise. Blaine's silent, contemplating something for a moment until he looks back at Sam and asks, "Do you miss me?" Sam opens his mouth, about to say that they already had this conversation, but Blaine cuts him off, "No, you said you missed being with me. I want to know if you miss me."

"Of course I miss you," Sam says as if it's the easiest question on the planet, but Blaine doesn't look too convinced. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat, "I do miss you. I've missed you every day for a whole fucking year. I never thought we'd be here again—I'd be here again, talking to you in your room, having a civilized conversation. I never thought I'd be able to kiss your lips or feel your skin beneath my hands or hold you in my arms." He looks down at his lap, rubs his forehead, and bites his cheek to keep from getting a little too emotional because that is not him. "I miss you so much I ache."

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, Blaine must have found a way that he could trust Sam.

Blaine has this look on his face that Sam has to admit he's a little scared of. He's about to ask what's up, but then Blaine's standing in front of him, his hands on Sam's shoulders, pushing him down to lay back on the bed.

Blaine's bed is small, a little too firm for comfort, and full of feather pillows that poke him in places. His blanket is soft, but too warm for how late it is in the season. Sam eases himself up the bed till his head is resting on the pillows and Blaine is hovering over him, palms and knees down onto the surface on either side of him, arms and legs holding him up. Blaine doesn't stop looking at him as he pushes Sam's shirt up, his toned abs now exposed to the cool air as Sam draws in a sharp breath. Blaine's hands wander down the length of his chest, followed quickly by his lips and tongue as he tries to taste damn near every inch of Sam's flesh that he can get to.

When his mouth stops at just above the waistband of Sam's pants, he pulls away, marveling at how Sam's writhing and damn near whining from the loss. It feels like payback, like sweet revenge; Sam's been fucking torturing him for nearly a whole week, and it feels good to be able to do it back. His hands ghost over the bulge in Sam's pants before he palms it roughly, and Sam's teeth clench as he tries not to fucking sob from need.

"Keep your voice down or I'll stop," Blaine warns through a grin. "And I'll go somewhere you won't be able to find me."

Sam almost growls, but bites his tongue to keep from making any sort of noise. When he feels Blaine's steady hands undo the front of his pants before he completely yanks them off his body, Sam releases a small whimper. Sam's cock is heavy against his hot skin, practically begging to be touched, but Blaine doesn't. What he does do is stuff a pillow under Sam's ass and settles himself in between his legs, lying on his stomach.

Bringing his hands to Sam's ass, Blaine parts his twin globes, revealing his small, pink puckered entrance. Sam half-expects to feel Blaine's fingers there, but when he feels the wet and warm velvetiness of Blaine's tongue, his whole body tenses as he tries to close his legs or move away or do something to get Blaine to stop. "No, Blaine. No. What are you doing? Stop it."

"Shut up, you're going to love it," Blaine says, keeping Sam in place by pressing his palms down onto his hipbones. "Besides, I owe you." Sam groans, falls back onto the bed, and closes his eyes tightly, hoping that whatever Blaine has planned will go by quick.

He leans in, darts his tongue out, and presses the tip to Sam's flesh, teasing the sensitive opening. The taste is different; it isn't the most unpleasant thing in the world, but it's definitely not something Blaine would like having in his mouth on the regular. Blaine slowly swirls his tongue along the hole and smiles against Sam's heated skin when he feels his hips twitch and push into Blaine's mouth.

"Oh God, Blaine," Sam moans, biting down onto his fist to keep from crying out too loud. He's certain he should probably be disgusted from such a lewd act, but fuck, it feels so good.

Blaine smirks, spreads Sam's cheeks apart further and laps along his cleft, then rolls the sides of his tongue inward and thrusts into the taut, musky hole. He moves his hands from Sam's hips, leaving ten red fingerprints on his milky skin behind, and grips Sam's cock as his tongue thrusts in and out of him.

Sam's incessant stops quickly become don't stops as Blaine pumps him fast, his tongue stroking the warm walls of his tight channel. His hands dig painfully into the sheets, grabbing and thrashing at them as his orgasm approaches him like a huge tidal wave, without warning and not slowing down. Sam's stomach tightens, his body feeling like electrical sparks is being sent through it from his head to his toes as he comes, heavy white drops spurting onto his bare stomach as he arches off the bed.

"I hope I didn't mess up your sheets," Sam pants once he remembers how to speak, his eyes still shut, a sated expression on his face.

"It is fine, I'm already going to have to do laundry," he says, pushing himself up from his bed, pointing at his crotch.

Sam's brows fly up and his jaw drops. "Did you—?"

"Well, I certainly didn't piss myself over your erotic performance," Blaine smirks as he discards his pants, tosses them in the hamper, and motions for Sam to get off the bed. Once Sam is standing, he yanks off his bed sheets and balls them up, putting them to the side to be washed before he replaces them with a clean set from his closet.

Blaine turns to Sam and chuckles at how he's trying to cover himself up by stretching his shirt down to around his thighs, his cheeks slightly reddened.

"Wanna spend the night?" Blaine blurts out, looking directly into Sam's eyes, not even bothering to hide the hope he has that his answer will be yes.

In that moment, Sam knows that what they have is finally real, that it's what they both want, and that he doesn't want to be anywhere but here. "Yeah, I'd like that." Blaine flashes him a wide smile before he grabs a clean pair of boxers and jeans from his drawer and pulls them onto his body, and Sam looks at him curiously. "Are we going somewhere?"

"We're not, but I am," Blaine tells Sam, giving him a small smile. "I need to do something before I put it off any longer."

"Talk to Kurt?" Sam asks, fairly certain he's right.

He nods weakly. "I won't be long," he says before he leaves Sam alone in his dorm room.


"Blaine?" Kurt asks, looking confused and surprised to see his new boyfriend standing outside of his room. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to you," Blaine tells him in a serious tone, and when Kurt's face falls, his heart aches. Blaine knows he's a jerk for doing this, but he thinks that he'd be even more of a jerk if he didn't do this. Kurt deserves a guy that would give him the moon and the stars without even needing to ask for it, a guy who would be his one and only. Blaine's just not that guy.

He never was.

"Kay," Kurt says sadly, stepping aside to invite Blaine inside. He offers his desk chair to Blaine, who declines by shaking his head, and Kurt folds his arms over his chest. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Blaine really doesn't like himself right now. He wishes that it was possible for someone else to disguise themselves as him so they can do this for him, but he knows that's not going to happen. "I shouldn't have asked you out in the first place."

He's really glad that Kurt doesn't cry; he probably wouldn't have been able to take that well. Kurt just looks at the floor, his face colorless, and his jaw tight.

"I just think we'd be better off as friends," Blaine adds.

"You didn't even give us a real shot," Kurt says, sounding a little hysterical.

Blaine rubs his forehead, wanting to just sink into the floor or the walls or something. "Yes, I did, I just already screwed it up."

Kurt doesn't ask what he means; because it won't change anything other than hurt him even more. He nods, knowing Blaine's already got his mind made up. "You're probably right. We do make better friends than boyfriends."

He takes a step forward and pulls Kurt into a one-armed hug. "I'm really sorry, Kurt," he whispers, sincerely hoping that things will just go back to the way they were, at least until Kurt figures out that he's dating Sam.

"Don't be," Kurt tells Blaine, and the smile he gives him is genuine.


By the time Blaine makes it back to his dorm room, Sam's snuggled up on his bed in a pair of Blaine's pajamas. And he smiles wide; he's so happy, happier than he was when he was with Sam the first time because this is real, not just something on the side to satisfy their needs.

He strips down to his boxers and slowly eases himself into his bed, lifting up the covers and sliding towards Sam who sleepily throws his arm over Blaine's chest, pulling him even closer. Blaine brushes Sam's blond hair back and places one small kiss on his forehead before he rests his head back onto his pillow and closes his eyes.