It Works For Us
*Story contains M/M relations, a bad attitude, and explicit sexual scenes.*
Blaine heard the
change in environment before it actually presented. Doors had suddenly begun to
close with much more vigour, overhead steps were faster, louder, and various
implements were meeting surfaces with uncharacteristic clatter. It was cool in
the office, temperature-wise, and Blaine had considered going upstairs to grab
a hoodie. It was a consideration he'd resolutely decided against when the upper
level had become a potential warzone. Instead, he did what he always did when
Grant got into a mood; he just kept working.
It wasn't the first time Grant got on a tear over God-only-knew-what-until-Grant-finally-decided-to-say-something, and it wouldn't be the last. An engine not cooperating with a needed tweak, a door that refused to stay level, his boss – it could be anything really. But if there was one thing Blaine had learned along the way, it was the fact that it was far easier to ignore the threatening storm and hope it would pass, then it was to confront it and risk stirring it up further. More often than not Grant would merely stomp out of the house and work out his frustrations on something metallic and unyielding. If that failed, Grant would go beat a round out of the heavy bag that hung in the weight room. It was only the very worst circumstances, when neither of these things soothed, that Blaine knew things had the potential to get ugly.
For the moment however, Blaine would just sit, wait, and listen. Get a feel for what was going on. Linger in the background and hope for the slam of the door or the sound of knuckles on canvas and not the pop and fail of drywall or splintering give of a doorframe.
Yet the crack that resounded to the right of the office and following sounds of matter dropping on to tile had Blaine clicking his tongue and flinging his mouse into the corner of the desk.
"Goddamn it," Blaine shouted, turning. "We just fucking fixed that wall..."
Grant was already standing in the doorway, arms above him, assumedly gripping the frame and breathing heavy. He always did that when he was trying to intimidate – made himself look bigger by taking up more space. Could be worse, Blaine thought. At least he wasn't standing an inch away from Blaine's face, growling and pointing.
Yet.
"Something wrong?" Blaine asked.
"Yeah," Grant's lip curled with the word. "I wanna talk to you."
Blaine's eyebrow lifted and the effect of the expression was immediate. Grant's teeth gnashed and every muscle in his already tense arms tightened. A rush of anxiety hit Blaine's heart with enough force to make the beat stutter. Goosebumps broke out on Blaine's arms as his stomach dropped. "Okay," Blaine said slowly. "I'm sure there's a reason our conversation was predated by the destruction of our house yet again. What that reasoning is however, I have no clue..."
"Don't." Grant stepped into the office. "Don't get fucking cocky with me. I swear to God that you do not want to get mouthy with me right now."
"Fine," the word came out with a more confident tone than Blaine actually felt. "Tell me what the hell your problem is then and I won't need to."
"My problem?" Grant stepped forward again and Blaine felt everything inside him liquefy. "My problem? You want to know my problem?"
Blaine nodded and forced his voice to stay smooth. "Yes, I do. Please fill me in on whatever issue it is that you're imagining now."
Grant exhaled with enough pressure to extinguish small forest fires. "I know what's going on here, Blaine. I'm not an idiot."
Blaine titled his head, brow tightening in a frown. "What are you talking about?"
"All this," Grant threw his arms around the space of the office. "And don't sit there and look all innocent. I hate it when you play your fucking games with me. It pisses me off."
Blaine pushed the chair away from the desk. He swivelled in Grant's direction but he didn't stand. "Gonna need more than that, champ," he said. "'Cause all I'm getting right now is that you hate my office."
The change in Grant was instantaneous. Grant took the two steps between them with the speed of flowing water and grabbed Blaine's shoulders in each hand, lifting him from the chair as if he weighed no more than a child. "I do hate your goddamn office," Grant hissed. "I hate every fucking second that you sit in here, everything you do, and everything you create in here."
"That hurts!" Blaine reached up and grabbed Grant's wrist. "Let go!"
"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Grant asked.
Blaine dug his fingers deeper into Grant's arms. "Stop talking in riddles. If you want to say something, just say it."
Grant released him so suddenly that Blaine fell back into the chair before he could regain his feet. "If I let go," Grant explained. "That's what you want, isn't it? For me to let go?"
"What are you talking—?"
Grant's voice dropped along with his hands. "I know you want to leave me."
Blaine looked up, stunned. "Why would you say that—?"
"Just shut up." Ten years seemed to fall over Grant's face. He sat down heavily on the loveseat across from the desk, propped his elbows on his knees and lowered his face into his hands. "I can hear you, Bee – laughing at all the clever things your friends are saying. They're all so goddamn smart and funny aren't they? You don't laugh with me like that – you don't talk to me like that. How is that they get to know you in ways that I don't? It makes me feel like a fucking idiot."
A sigh fell from Blaine's lips before he had a chance to bite it back and Grant looked up with a sharp frown. Blaine struggled to keep control of the sour words that threatened to spring to his tongue. "No, Grant. That's not true. Yes, I like my friends. Yes, I enjoy the fact that they can relate to the things I like and the things I do. But that's where it ends. We're just friends. I'm not going anywhere. I love you."
Grant snorted. "Right."
Blaine pushed himself out of the chair and walked across the office. He knelt in front of Grant and put both hands on Grant's knees. "Baby, please..."
"Don't, Bee," Grant pushed his hands away. "Don't baby me. I'm not fucking stupid. I know everyone thinks I am but I'm not."
Another sigh slipped out and Blaine stood before dropping beside Grant on the couch. "I'd tell you how freaking stupid you're being if it wouldn't end up sounding like I was saying you were right. Because I don't think you're stupid, Grant. And I don't think I, or any of my friends, are smarter than you. Furthermore, I'm not a liar anymore than you're an idiot; so I wouldn't say I love you if I didn't. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." He leaned into Grant's shoulder and Grant shifted away. Blaine followed by moving that much closer.
"You know something?" Blaine asked, waiting for Grant to look over. When Grant refused, Blaine nudged into his side. "If I ever find out who it was that made you feel like you you're so damn unworthy, I swear to God I'll kill them with my bare hands."
Grant finally looked over long enough to roll his eyes. "Tough guy now."
"Of course." Blaine smiled at Grant's expression. "I'm Superman, remember?"
Grant snorted. "Mighty Mouse, maybe."
"Hey!" Blaine lifted his hand and shook his finger. "That mouse could lift a train."
He didn't have time to counter against Grant's grab. Grant was quicker, trained, and there was no pause while thought morphed into action like Blaine's reactions tended to require. So Blaine was caught, wrist twisted and arm bent behind him before he even knew what was going on. He had a moment of panic – until he felt Grant move lips to taste the back of his neck and speak against his skin. "Did you just shake your finger at me?"
It was said with the inflection of residual anger. But Blaine knew the tone beneath the sound: the throatier rumble, the catch in Grant's breath, the hidden desperation that begged Blaine to make the argument go away, that said although Grant had started it, he was flailing at finding a way to stop it.
"No," Blaine answered with a quirk of lips. "It was a twitch is all."
Grant reached up and tugged Blaine's hair with his free hand. "Twitch, hmm? Looked a lot like a finger shake to me." He leaned and Blaine had no choice but to fall face-first into the cushion of the loveseat.
A muffled "Oof" was all Blaine could manage as he struggled to wrench his neck to the side and take a breath underneath Grant's weight. Grant only had about three inches on him. But he was built and solid where Blaine was slight and slim. Grant had no problem overpowering, outweighing, or ensuring compliance. Blaine stopped struggling the moment he realised that the stealthy slip of Grant's hand was not for further roughhouse though. Rather, the wandering limb travelled around Blaine's waist and reached easily into his pyjama pants.
"And here I thought I hated you in these pants," Grant chuckled.
"Dick," Blaine mumbled playfully and a sharp pain shot through his trapped arm. "Ah, fuck! Hey!"
"What was that?" Grant asked innocently, keeping pressure on Blaine's arm while casually palming Blaine's cock.
"You know," Blaine chuckled. "Weirdest thing... but I just can't seem to recall what I was about to say."
"Hunh, that is weird," Grant agreed and light touches became pulses and squeezes as flesh began to waken and thicken.
Blaine rocked into the touch and hissed when the movement caused another tug of pain from his snared limb. Grant hummed into his hair. "Don't move so much," Grant said. "You'll hurt your arm."
Blaine could ignore the tightness in his forearm. He could even disregard the pressure in his bicep and shoulder. The twist in his wrist however, he could feel all the way up to his jaw. It was a distraction to Grant's increasing strokes that was making him grit his teeth and screw his eyelids shut. "Grant," he huffed. "You have to let go."
"Of which?" Grant teased and tightened his hold on both arm and dick.
"Grant, I'm not kidding," Blaine gasped. "You'll break my fucking wrist."
Instantly Grant let go of Blaine's wrist and slipped his hand up to grab Blaine's forearm instead. "Better?"
The ache of the joint being released and returning back to right was almost as painful as the hold itself had been, but Blaine nodded and sighed with relief. "How about this?" Grant asked, refocusing attention on Blaine's crotch. "This all right?"
"Un hunh," Blaine closed his eyes and let Grant play. "That's just fine."
Grant laughed. "That's it? Just fine? Unappreciative bastard..." Grant squeezed, impossibly tight and Blaine groaned, jerking his hips to push into Grant's fist.
"That's better." Grant leaned further, pressing his weight against Blaine's back while he tasted the skin of Blaine's throat, ear, and jaw. "You know," Grant mumbled against him. "I could let go of your arm and use my other hand to touch you as well."
Blaine's breath stuttered – from the friction on his cock or the weight draped over his back, he had no clue which. "Don't..." he paused to catch a breath. "Stop." Another breath. Apparently one word at a time was all Blaine's throat was going to give him. "Please."
"Mm hmm," Grant chuckled. "That's what I thought."
Blaine frowned and released another puff of air. "I meant..." gasp, frown, "don't stop..." breath, groan, "what you're..." Blaine growled and tried to turn into Grant's kisses. "Never mind." He had to see Grant's face, had to taste Grant's mouth. It didn't matter that Grant wouldn't say it – Grant didn't need to speak the words as long as Blaine could read them in his eyes.
For as much as familiarity breeds contempt, it also brings understanding. It wasn't hate that urged the arguing, it was fear. It wasn't the need to control that forced the overbearing attitude, it was a need for control – and that meant a world of difference in Blaine's eyes. Grant wasn't trying to control Blaine; Grant was trying to control his own life, his own sense of worth.
Yet as much as Grant needed the dominance, Grant hated that part of himself. Blaine saw it every time he looked at Grant and saw the desperate fear after a bout of fury. Saw it every time Grant stumbled over saying he was sorry. Saw it in the painstaking way that which got destroyed was rebuilt and repaired.
Blaine let himself get lost in Grant's eyes. And Grant never looked away once they'd caught each other's gaze. He merely jerked faster, drawing skin with a tight grip until Blaine cried out, thrust into Grant's fist and came. While shudders rippled from belly to toes, Blaine closed his eyes and just felt: Grant's weight over him, Grant's heat warming him, and when Grant finally pulled away Blaine groaned a low moan of disappointment.
Grant chuckled and dragged Blaine upright with him. "Get up," he growled playfully. "You've already made enough of a mess without lying in it."
Blaine responded by turning into Grant's arms and pushing them both back into the other corner of the loveseat, half-straddling Grant's lap, half-clinging to Grant's warmer body. He pressed a kiss on Grant's neck and frowned at the lowered eyes and distant stare. "What's wrong now?" Blaine asked.
"Why do you do it?" He caught Blaine's eye when he didn't get an answer and their gazes locked. "Why do you put up with me? I'm a fucking idiot."
Blaine cut him off. "Stop. Just stop. You're not an idiot." He grinned. "All right, I'll give you that the temper issues can be a little much. That's a no-brainer. But I love you just the way you are." Blaine shrugged. "Maybe I'm just as fucked up as you are, hmm? And so what, right? Then we're fucked up together."
Grant gripped Blaine's hand hard enough to hurt. "I'm sorry. I just can't help it. When I think of you leaving..." he shook his head and lifted Blaine's knuckles to his mouth. "I love you, Bee. I think I'd lose my mind if you—"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah," Grant snorted. "That's easy to say."
Blaine shook his head. "I mean it." He shoulder-checked Grant lightly. "I like it. I like you. Yep, you piss me the hell off sometimes. Sometimes you even scare the fuck out of me. And yes, I'd like to sit through a few less repair jobs on the drywall."
Grant cracked a smile and shook his head.
"But I like that you feel things as passionately as you do. I love that you care with your whole self. That part of you is attractive to me – for whatever reason, whatever the cause, I don't know. That's just the way it is. People can tell me I'm crazy a thousand times but it's not going to change the way my brain works." Blaine worked his thumb out of Grant's grip and used it to stroke the back of Grant's hand. "Or my heart."
"So what you're saying," Grant said, pulling Blaine with him as he rested further into the loveseat. "Is that it works for us?"
Blaine grinned and laid his head into the hollow of Grant's shoulder. "Yeah, exactly. It works for us."
It wasn't the first time Grant got on a tear over God-only-knew-what-until-Grant-finally-decided-to-say-something, and it wouldn't be the last. An engine not cooperating with a needed tweak, a door that refused to stay level, his boss – it could be anything really. But if there was one thing Blaine had learned along the way, it was the fact that it was far easier to ignore the threatening storm and hope it would pass, then it was to confront it and risk stirring it up further. More often than not Grant would merely stomp out of the house and work out his frustrations on something metallic and unyielding. If that failed, Grant would go beat a round out of the heavy bag that hung in the weight room. It was only the very worst circumstances, when neither of these things soothed, that Blaine knew things had the potential to get ugly.
For the moment however, Blaine would just sit, wait, and listen. Get a feel for what was going on. Linger in the background and hope for the slam of the door or the sound of knuckles on canvas and not the pop and fail of drywall or splintering give of a doorframe.
Yet the crack that resounded to the right of the office and following sounds of matter dropping on to tile had Blaine clicking his tongue and flinging his mouse into the corner of the desk.
"Goddamn it," Blaine shouted, turning. "We just fucking fixed that wall..."
Grant was already standing in the doorway, arms above him, assumedly gripping the frame and breathing heavy. He always did that when he was trying to intimidate – made himself look bigger by taking up more space. Could be worse, Blaine thought. At least he wasn't standing an inch away from Blaine's face, growling and pointing.
Yet.
"Something wrong?" Blaine asked.
"Yeah," Grant's lip curled with the word. "I wanna talk to you."
Blaine's eyebrow lifted and the effect of the expression was immediate. Grant's teeth gnashed and every muscle in his already tense arms tightened. A rush of anxiety hit Blaine's heart with enough force to make the beat stutter. Goosebumps broke out on Blaine's arms as his stomach dropped. "Okay," Blaine said slowly. "I'm sure there's a reason our conversation was predated by the destruction of our house yet again. What that reasoning is however, I have no clue..."
"Don't." Grant stepped into the office. "Don't get fucking cocky with me. I swear to God that you do not want to get mouthy with me right now."
"Fine," the word came out with a more confident tone than Blaine actually felt. "Tell me what the hell your problem is then and I won't need to."
"My problem?" Grant stepped forward again and Blaine felt everything inside him liquefy. "My problem? You want to know my problem?"
Blaine nodded and forced his voice to stay smooth. "Yes, I do. Please fill me in on whatever issue it is that you're imagining now."
Grant exhaled with enough pressure to extinguish small forest fires. "I know what's going on here, Blaine. I'm not an idiot."
Blaine titled his head, brow tightening in a frown. "What are you talking about?"
"All this," Grant threw his arms around the space of the office. "And don't sit there and look all innocent. I hate it when you play your fucking games with me. It pisses me off."
Blaine pushed the chair away from the desk. He swivelled in Grant's direction but he didn't stand. "Gonna need more than that, champ," he said. "'Cause all I'm getting right now is that you hate my office."
The change in Grant was instantaneous. Grant took the two steps between them with the speed of flowing water and grabbed Blaine's shoulders in each hand, lifting him from the chair as if he weighed no more than a child. "I do hate your goddamn office," Grant hissed. "I hate every fucking second that you sit in here, everything you do, and everything you create in here."
"That hurts!" Blaine reached up and grabbed Grant's wrist. "Let go!"
"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Grant asked.
Blaine dug his fingers deeper into Grant's arms. "Stop talking in riddles. If you want to say something, just say it."
Grant released him so suddenly that Blaine fell back into the chair before he could regain his feet. "If I let go," Grant explained. "That's what you want, isn't it? For me to let go?"
"What are you talking—?"
Grant's voice dropped along with his hands. "I know you want to leave me."
Blaine looked up, stunned. "Why would you say that—?"
"Just shut up." Ten years seemed to fall over Grant's face. He sat down heavily on the loveseat across from the desk, propped his elbows on his knees and lowered his face into his hands. "I can hear you, Bee – laughing at all the clever things your friends are saying. They're all so goddamn smart and funny aren't they? You don't laugh with me like that – you don't talk to me like that. How is that they get to know you in ways that I don't? It makes me feel like a fucking idiot."
A sigh fell from Blaine's lips before he had a chance to bite it back and Grant looked up with a sharp frown. Blaine struggled to keep control of the sour words that threatened to spring to his tongue. "No, Grant. That's not true. Yes, I like my friends. Yes, I enjoy the fact that they can relate to the things I like and the things I do. But that's where it ends. We're just friends. I'm not going anywhere. I love you."
Grant snorted. "Right."
Blaine pushed himself out of the chair and walked across the office. He knelt in front of Grant and put both hands on Grant's knees. "Baby, please..."
"Don't, Bee," Grant pushed his hands away. "Don't baby me. I'm not fucking stupid. I know everyone thinks I am but I'm not."
Another sigh slipped out and Blaine stood before dropping beside Grant on the couch. "I'd tell you how freaking stupid you're being if it wouldn't end up sounding like I was saying you were right. Because I don't think you're stupid, Grant. And I don't think I, or any of my friends, are smarter than you. Furthermore, I'm not a liar anymore than you're an idiot; so I wouldn't say I love you if I didn't. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." He leaned into Grant's shoulder and Grant shifted away. Blaine followed by moving that much closer.
"You know something?" Blaine asked, waiting for Grant to look over. When Grant refused, Blaine nudged into his side. "If I ever find out who it was that made you feel like you you're so damn unworthy, I swear to God I'll kill them with my bare hands."
Grant finally looked over long enough to roll his eyes. "Tough guy now."
"Of course." Blaine smiled at Grant's expression. "I'm Superman, remember?"
Grant snorted. "Mighty Mouse, maybe."
"Hey!" Blaine lifted his hand and shook his finger. "That mouse could lift a train."
He didn't have time to counter against Grant's grab. Grant was quicker, trained, and there was no pause while thought morphed into action like Blaine's reactions tended to require. So Blaine was caught, wrist twisted and arm bent behind him before he even knew what was going on. He had a moment of panic – until he felt Grant move lips to taste the back of his neck and speak against his skin. "Did you just shake your finger at me?"
It was said with the inflection of residual anger. But Blaine knew the tone beneath the sound: the throatier rumble, the catch in Grant's breath, the hidden desperation that begged Blaine to make the argument go away, that said although Grant had started it, he was flailing at finding a way to stop it.
"No," Blaine answered with a quirk of lips. "It was a twitch is all."
Grant reached up and tugged Blaine's hair with his free hand. "Twitch, hmm? Looked a lot like a finger shake to me." He leaned and Blaine had no choice but to fall face-first into the cushion of the loveseat.
A muffled "Oof" was all Blaine could manage as he struggled to wrench his neck to the side and take a breath underneath Grant's weight. Grant only had about three inches on him. But he was built and solid where Blaine was slight and slim. Grant had no problem overpowering, outweighing, or ensuring compliance. Blaine stopped struggling the moment he realised that the stealthy slip of Grant's hand was not for further roughhouse though. Rather, the wandering limb travelled around Blaine's waist and reached easily into his pyjama pants.
"And here I thought I hated you in these pants," Grant chuckled.
"Dick," Blaine mumbled playfully and a sharp pain shot through his trapped arm. "Ah, fuck! Hey!"
"What was that?" Grant asked innocently, keeping pressure on Blaine's arm while casually palming Blaine's cock.
"You know," Blaine chuckled. "Weirdest thing... but I just can't seem to recall what I was about to say."
"Hunh, that is weird," Grant agreed and light touches became pulses and squeezes as flesh began to waken and thicken.
Blaine rocked into the touch and hissed when the movement caused another tug of pain from his snared limb. Grant hummed into his hair. "Don't move so much," Grant said. "You'll hurt your arm."
Blaine could ignore the tightness in his forearm. He could even disregard the pressure in his bicep and shoulder. The twist in his wrist however, he could feel all the way up to his jaw. It was a distraction to Grant's increasing strokes that was making him grit his teeth and screw his eyelids shut. "Grant," he huffed. "You have to let go."
"Of which?" Grant teased and tightened his hold on both arm and dick.
"Grant, I'm not kidding," Blaine gasped. "You'll break my fucking wrist."
Instantly Grant let go of Blaine's wrist and slipped his hand up to grab Blaine's forearm instead. "Better?"
The ache of the joint being released and returning back to right was almost as painful as the hold itself had been, but Blaine nodded and sighed with relief. "How about this?" Grant asked, refocusing attention on Blaine's crotch. "This all right?"
"Un hunh," Blaine closed his eyes and let Grant play. "That's just fine."
Grant laughed. "That's it? Just fine? Unappreciative bastard..." Grant squeezed, impossibly tight and Blaine groaned, jerking his hips to push into Grant's fist.
"That's better." Grant leaned further, pressing his weight against Blaine's back while he tasted the skin of Blaine's throat, ear, and jaw. "You know," Grant mumbled against him. "I could let go of your arm and use my other hand to touch you as well."
Blaine's breath stuttered – from the friction on his cock or the weight draped over his back, he had no clue which. "Don't..." he paused to catch a breath. "Stop." Another breath. Apparently one word at a time was all Blaine's throat was going to give him. "Please."
"Mm hmm," Grant chuckled. "That's what I thought."
Blaine frowned and released another puff of air. "I meant..." gasp, frown, "don't stop..." breath, groan, "what you're..." Blaine growled and tried to turn into Grant's kisses. "Never mind." He had to see Grant's face, had to taste Grant's mouth. It didn't matter that Grant wouldn't say it – Grant didn't need to speak the words as long as Blaine could read them in his eyes.
For as much as familiarity breeds contempt, it also brings understanding. It wasn't hate that urged the arguing, it was fear. It wasn't the need to control that forced the overbearing attitude, it was a need for control – and that meant a world of difference in Blaine's eyes. Grant wasn't trying to control Blaine; Grant was trying to control his own life, his own sense of worth.
Yet as much as Grant needed the dominance, Grant hated that part of himself. Blaine saw it every time he looked at Grant and saw the desperate fear after a bout of fury. Saw it every time Grant stumbled over saying he was sorry. Saw it in the painstaking way that which got destroyed was rebuilt and repaired.
Blaine let himself get lost in Grant's eyes. And Grant never looked away once they'd caught each other's gaze. He merely jerked faster, drawing skin with a tight grip until Blaine cried out, thrust into Grant's fist and came. While shudders rippled from belly to toes, Blaine closed his eyes and just felt: Grant's weight over him, Grant's heat warming him, and when Grant finally pulled away Blaine groaned a low moan of disappointment.
Grant chuckled and dragged Blaine upright with him. "Get up," he growled playfully. "You've already made enough of a mess without lying in it."
Blaine responded by turning into Grant's arms and pushing them both back into the other corner of the loveseat, half-straddling Grant's lap, half-clinging to Grant's warmer body. He pressed a kiss on Grant's neck and frowned at the lowered eyes and distant stare. "What's wrong now?" Blaine asked.
"Why do you do it?" He caught Blaine's eye when he didn't get an answer and their gazes locked. "Why do you put up with me? I'm a fucking idiot."
Blaine cut him off. "Stop. Just stop. You're not an idiot." He grinned. "All right, I'll give you that the temper issues can be a little much. That's a no-brainer. But I love you just the way you are." Blaine shrugged. "Maybe I'm just as fucked up as you are, hmm? And so what, right? Then we're fucked up together."
Grant gripped Blaine's hand hard enough to hurt. "I'm sorry. I just can't help it. When I think of you leaving..." he shook his head and lifted Blaine's knuckles to his mouth. "I love you, Bee. I think I'd lose my mind if you—"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah," Grant snorted. "That's easy to say."
Blaine shook his head. "I mean it." He shoulder-checked Grant lightly. "I like it. I like you. Yep, you piss me the hell off sometimes. Sometimes you even scare the fuck out of me. And yes, I'd like to sit through a few less repair jobs on the drywall."
Grant cracked a smile and shook his head.
"But I like that you feel things as passionately as you do. I love that you care with your whole self. That part of you is attractive to me – for whatever reason, whatever the cause, I don't know. That's just the way it is. People can tell me I'm crazy a thousand times but it's not going to change the way my brain works." Blaine worked his thumb out of Grant's grip and used it to stroke the back of Grant's hand. "Or my heart."
"So what you're saying," Grant said, pulling Blaine with him as he rested further into the loveseat. "Is that it works for us?"
Blaine grinned and laid his head into the hollow of Grant's shoulder. "Yeah, exactly. It works for us."
The End
Copyright © 2012 AF Henley
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