For Keeps

8. Special for you.

Jon protested wordlessly, pressing his palms into the bed. Kurt bit his lip, his eyes crinkling at him. "What?" he asked softly. "Am I not doin' it right?" He nuzzled his face into the skin he was exposing, kissing Jon in the corners and curve of his rib cage and belly. Jon shivered and sighed, trying not to take over and do it himself.

Finally Kurt tugged his shirt free from his waistband and laid it aside. "Was that so hard, love?" he teased.

"Wrong question," Jon said drily.

Kurt's eyes danced with laughter as he stroked his hand enticingly over the front of Jon's pants. "Hm, what should I take off next? I think we better get your socks off."

Jon groaned, laughing as Kurt left the button of his pants untouched and instead knelt on the bed to peel off his socks. Jon twitched and wiggled. "It makes me so uncomfortable to have you take my socks off."

"Are you ticklish?" Kurt glanced mischievously at him, as he stroked the bottoms of Jon's bare feet.

Jon giggled, curling up and pulling his feet away protectively. "No," he said in spite of clear evidence to the contrary. "I just want to take off my own socks."

"I'm just practising," Kurt said, rolling him onto his back and slinging a leg over Jon's hips. "For when you're a decrepit old man who can't bend down to put on his own socks."

Jon drew in a breath, taking in the length of Kurt's body above him, the warmth of his smile, the glint in his eyes. The idea of growing old together, of watching the laugh lines come in around Kurt's mouth and walking hand in hand more and more slowly over the years did something to his heart. He felt himself unlocking and opening to let Kurt in, the hinges of his innermost parts stiff with disuse. If he could have Kurt Visser for all those years, it would be a gift beyond his ability to measure.

Half Jon's mouth smiled. "When I'm a decrepit old man you'll be even older, Visser. I'll be pushing you around in wheelchair."

Kurt's fingertips pressed into the skin of his chest, finding a melody that he bent to re-trace with the flicker of his tongue. "Imagine the wheelchair races in our old folks home," he said.

Jon laughed, but it cracked and he took Kurt's hand and put it where he needed it. "Please just take my pants off already," he whispered.

Kurt hummed to himself. "It would be my pleasure."

Jon lost time under the warm weight of Kurt's body, the stroke of his hands and the touch of his mouth. He tried to hold out for his partner to come with him, where Kurt pressed into the soft flesh at the top of his leg, but Kurt's fingers were playing him expertly, making a melody that was now familiar and also exquisitely new each time.

"Kurt--I can't--" Jon said breathlessly and then laughed as he came, fingers tangled in Kurt's sweat-damp hair.

Kurt flopped onto the bed next to him, grinning. "Happy birthday, love," he said. "How did you like your present?"

Still shuddering with residual waves of pleasure, Jon curled towards him. "I love you, Kurt Visser." He slid a hand over Kurt's hip under his robe, "C'mere--let me finish you," he said softly.

Kurt pulled free, a mischievous light in his eyes. "Oh nope. You're not lifting a finger tonight, Jonny-Jon."

Speechless, Jon lifted his empty hands, then spread them over the front of his own body. "But--you're my favourite part."

Kurt paused, tipping his face at him, then leaned over to kiss the corner of Jon's mouth, stroking his cheek. "I have never been with a man like you, Jonathon White," he said. His lips curled in a smile. "But it's still no."

*...annnd 14 and unders you may resume reading here lol*

Kurt dug in the pillows and pulled out the bottle of massage oil. "You just have time for a back rub and then you need to sleep. I'm sending you to your twelve hour shift as full as I can make you."

Giving in, Jon let Kurt turn him on his face. It felt like an embarrassing over-abundance of pleasure for Kurt to be stroking his hands over his shoulders, the smell of the oil blending with the rich fragrances in the room, but he couldn't deny how much tension he was carrying in his body day after day with little time and no space in the library to stretch.

"Tell me about your kids, Jon," Kurt said. "What stories have I missed?"

Jon smiled in the dark made by his arms, and told Kurt about Jordin getting the part of a sugar plum fairy in the Christmas play, and Dusty's letters to his mom, and Darla Kickingbird praying the tent. Kurt was quiet when he was finished, working a knot out of Jon's right shoulder, then he said.

"Where's she at? Dusty's mother."

Jon named the treatment centre in southern Alberta.

"That's a good one," Kurt said. "Their rehab program will kick your ass or kick you out on your ass if you're not serious. If she made it this far, that's a good sign." His hands slid to knead Jon's left shoulder. "I'll put in a good word for her this week."

"Hm? With who?" Jon asked. "That's confidential, I shouldn't have told you her name."

Kurt chuckled wryly. "With her Creator, love. We pray at the end of our AA meetings. Or at least, we have a minute for people to pray silently if they want. I'll hold Darla Kickingbird up every night 'til I hear she's out and back with her kids. That's a hell of a journey, but she's got two good reasons to make it through."

A moment ago, Jon had thought it wasn't possible for him to love Kurt more than he already did, but he felt his heart stretching open even wider. He hadn't known that Kurt still prayed to anyone. On a day he wasn't so tired he wanted to ask all the questions about that.

"Cary had to tell me what day it was today," Kurt said lightly. "Why don't you celebrate your birthday, Jon?"

His fingers were rubbing up Jon's neck and into his hair and Jon felt himself sliding close to sleep. "It doesn't seem important," he said, his voice muzzy against the blankets. "It's just another day."

"You're important," Kurt said, kissing Jon's shoulder and stroking the muscle over his tattoo.

Jon was quiet, feeling in the pit of his stomach how small and inadequate he was for most things, most days. "I don't think I am," he said.

Kurt's hands stilled and he leaned his forehead between Jon's shoulders. "Oh love." He wrapped his arms around Jon's chest. "Strongly disagree." The words brushed his skin and Jon relaxed, letting himself be held, like he did the second before he tapped after a good match.

He fell asleep with Kurt's fingers rubbing his scalp through his hair and slept so deeply he was aware of nothing around him.

When Kurt shook him awake, Jon realized he'd been drooling on the pillow, and blushed as Kurt laughed. "How late are you going to be up?" Jon asked him, climbing back into his pants.

Kurt put a thumb in his book. He'd put on a pair of Jon's joggers and a warm shirt under his robe and his eyebrows lifted with interest behind his glasses. "A couple hours maybe, why?"

"I'll text you when night chores are done to talk." Jon smiled. "Or possibly immediately on arrival. I have all night to get to the laundry."

Kurt's mouth curled. "Sure I'll wait for you."

"Seven o' clock in the morning is going to come pretty early," Jon said, worried.

Kurt shrugged. "Weekend's coming. I got nothing on Saturday but sleeping and playing Christmas carols and catching a minute with you in your study breaks."

Jon paused, arrested by that idea. "Wow. What would that be like? To actually have a weekend off."

Kurt narrowed his eyes in a smile. "Right? You should quit living vicariously through me, love, and get some time off yourself."

2006 words.