Page 83 of Hurt

Kurt grabbed his hand and gently laid it against his cheek, earning another surprised inhale from Grant. Hazel eyes fluttered open, and they stared at each other with their noses brushing.

“Can I…God, Wanyin,” Grant grunted. “Can I kiss you?”

Panic fluttered in his chest, but he wanted him to kiss him. He liked feeling his strong palm holding him, thumb brushing against the rise in his cheek. Even with Kurt’s hand over his, Grant acted as if it was the single greatest thing he had ever felt.

Kurt nodded.

Grant brought their lips together more smoothly than Kurt had. He kissed him with a reverent confidence, tilting his head so he could deepen it.

Heart hammering, Kurt tried to keep thoughts of Ezra and everything that had happened to him out of his mind. This was Grant. The man who wouldn’t touch him unless Kurt told him he could. The man who ate a spicy taco and gave him his hand when Kurt was asking him to let go.

The man who he gave his first kiss to.

It was a shocking realization, and Kurt jerked back, taking a deep breath to calm his heart. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“No, no. Don’t…I’m sorry that was too much. I shouldn’t have gotten greedy an—”

“I wanted you to.”

Grant paused in his rambling. “You weren’t scared?”

“I was,” Kurt admitted. “But not of you.”

He was scared that all the terrible things that had happened against his will would mingle with the things he wanted to happen. That he wouldn’t be able to differentiate the touches, that thoughts of Grant would be clouded.

His smile was brilliant. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

Kurt kicked a rock and forced his heart to stay in his chest. It was hammering with anxiety but also with desire. Kurt wasn’t sure which one was stronger.

“That was my first…it might not have been good…” he tried to explain lamely.

Grant blinked in realization. He didn’t have to say it. They both knew that it was the first consensual touch Kurt had ever experienced.

“It’s you,” Grant said. “So, it was perfect.”

Kurt had to roll his eyes. “Lame. Go home.”

He turned and walked back to the bar, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders.

“Can I see you again?” Grant called out.

He didn’t turn around. “Does it matter if I say no?”

The engine roared to life, and Grant watched until Kurt disappeared into the bar before gunning it out of the parking lot.

When the door closed behind him, he fell back against it, fingers brushing up against his lips. He could still feel Grant’s breath against his lips—little tingles tickled along the plump flesh, and it was pleasant. He felt drained, but the little bud of hope was blooming. Something good could grow in his bruised and battered body.

An open palm slapped him, and pain exploded in his right temple.

“You’re a Weaver bitch now?” Ezra’s voice hissed in his ear.

In the pitch black of the bar, he hadn’t seen him or sensed his presence. But he could feel it now.

“Do you really think scampering off to the Weavers will get you off the hook?” Ezra’s voice was so low it had Kurt straining to hear. Something crashed against his head, and he collapsed to the floor. Liquid poured down his face, and broken glass shattered around him.

Fighting unconsciousness, Ezra grabbed his face and jerked him up. Blinking the beer out of his eyes, he could just make out his figure in the dark.

“I told you I was tired of your disobedience. I’ve been lenient, but this is too far. You seem to have forgotten who you belong to. You’re my plaything, and I decide whether your next breath will be your last.”