Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/948362.

Rating: Archive Warning: Category: Fandom: Relationship: Character: Additional Tags: Stats: Explicit No Archive Warnings Apply M/M Glee Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel AU Published: 2013-08-30 Words: 44001

Like I've Never Seen the Sky Before

by missbeizy Summary

Blaine is a sixteen year old homeless runaway. Kurt is a twenty five year old Broadway performer. One afternoon Kurt quite literally stumbles over the poor boy on the street, accidentally beginning a relationship that's more than complicated from the start.

Notes

Blaine is seventeen before the shenanigans start, which is the age of consent in NY, if that's an issue for you. Also you can blame yanks02 for this one, too! Much of the structure of the story here came from her mind. :) Warnings: age difference (not used as a kink in terms of the story, really), mention of Blaine's Sadie Hawkins bashing, neglectful parenting, and one sex scene toward the end that contains very light spanking (the generic sexy bedroom roleplay kind).

The first time that Kurt notices the homeless kid, he's burned his tongue on a cup of perfect, if slightly too hot, coffee--it's a contradiction that sends his already foul mood in an even more foul direction because his favorite barista had really killed this mocha after he had been looking forward to it all day. Now all he can taste is the faint metallic aftertaste of a scorched tongue on top of a bad day. Trying to shake off the petulant anger that snaps down his spine, he literally trips over someone who is sitting on a semi-secluded bit of sidewalk under an archway next door to the doughnut shop that Kurt had just exited. In doing so he knocks over something that the person has tucked between their outstretched legs. Dollar bills and coins spill over the cold, gritty sidewalk, some of the coins tinkling loudly as they fall and spinning off sideways right down through the sewer grate.

He feels a flash of guilt as well as a unhealthy dose of entitled regret; he knows that he should feel pity for the homeless that he comes across every day, but when most of the interactions he has with them involve being accosted rudely and persistently for money, often with the most offensive language possible, it's difficult to manage concern all of the time. But now he's gone and disturbed this one and his manners assert themselves. He stoops low to help the boy gather the grubby money back into the hat that Kurt had overturned, going so far as to retrieve even the coins that had rolled all the way over the edge of curb and into the street. His hands are disgusting by the time he's done, but he still feels so badly about it that he hardly notices. "Sorry about that," he says with a polite smile, straightening as soon as the task is complete. Unpleasant for them both, he's sure, but at least this kid hasn't cursed at him or called him some homophobic slur. He expects the unwashed, unfocused gaze of the average New York City homeless person but instead finds himself staring into the most beautiful pair of honey-hazel eyes that he has ever seen, framed by a mop of relatively tame curls and a smile that could stop traffic. The boy can't be a day over seventeen, and even though he bears the obvious, grubby result of living outside on the street, he's relatively put together, clad in outerwear and shoes that are worn but look well taken care of. He has gloves and a scarf, as well, and even though none of it matches he's arranged it all to look as if he isn't completely desperate for private space to dress in. Kurt realizes that he's staring. "Thanks," says the boy, hugging himself into a ball again. "Most people would've just walked on by." He doesn't seem intoxicated or disoriented at all. Kurt has no idea what he's doing but he continues to stand there, entranced by the fall of curls over the boy's forehead. "What do you do to earn it? Usually it's a guitar or drums, but I don't see anything like that." Maybe he can pay back whatever he lost the boy with his clumsiness. "I sing," he replies, face lighting up. Even that faint shift from polite to engaged is enough to make his already natural beauty triple. Kurt blushes under his earmuffs and scarf. "I guess I could listen to a song, then, since I got your money all dirty." "Awesome," the boy says. "What kind of music do you like?" Kurt smiles and shifts his coffee from one hand to the other. It's probably safe to drink, now, but he wouldn't be able to appreciate it after scorching his tongue. He takes the lid off. "I'm in a pop kind of mood today, I think," he says. "Do you like mocha? I barely sipped this, and my mouth only touched the lid--" The boy blushes. "That's sweet of you. Um. Thank you." He continues to blush and duck his head even as he accepts the warm drink. Kurt notices that he shivers all over as he drinks it, but shyly, as if he is embarrassed by how obvious his enjoyment is. Kurt wonders if he hasn't had a hot drink in a while, or if he hasn't eaten today, even. After downing the coffee in a frighteningly quick series of gulps he looks up at Kurt and asks, "How do you feel about Katy Perry?"

Kurt laughs, delighted. It's not what he'd expected the boy to say. He launches into a medley of popular choices. The combination of songs and the transitions between them are startlingly mature for a street performer, but what gets Kurt the most is his voice; it's smooth and confident and perfectly suited to what Kurt had requested but mostly it's just so much better than Kurt had expected it to be. It makes him feel something deep down in the pit of his stomach that he hasn't felt listening to someone sing without musical accompaniment in years. He wishes he had the coffee cup in his hand still because he needs to hold onto something; the intensity of his enjoyment of this guy's singing is vibrating in his empty belly like a plucked guitar string. He actually feels a little dizzy from it. When he's done Kurt breathes out a high-pitched, "Oh my god, you're incredible." "If only all the bars and coffee shops felt the same way," the boy says, turning his cheek politely when Kurt drops a twenty dollar bill in his hat. "That's very generous, thank you. I should sing you another for that, that's--" "I would love to hear more," Kurt says, smiling, "but it's not necessary." He feels awkward for a moment, thinking that it's probably for the best that he move on, because the guy is looking up at him with a silly, happy smile turning up the corners of his chapped lips that makes Kurt's stomach twist pleasantly--a little too pleasantly. "It's supposed to get really cold tonight. Just--use it to keep warm, okay?" "I will, thank you." Just before he's out of shouting range he turns back, not even sure why he's asking. "Hey. What's your name?" "Blaine," the boy replies. "I'm Kurt," he answers, breathless with the urge to close the distance between them again. "It's nice to meet you, Kurt." That smile.

"They're not all the same, you know," Rachel says, curling her arm through his and steering him around a stream of traffic. "Though I'm not sure if it was a very good idea to tell him your name, Kurt, I mean, you are fairly well known." "Unless he's been to see a Broadway show some time in the last year, I highly doubt that," Kurt replies, a smirk making his mouth sharp. "And it's not as if I told him my last name." "Give yourself some credit, babe," she says. "You've been successful for a new grad." He hadn't expected Broadway in just four short years after graduating from NYADA, much less to have already escaped the chorus. It's not a leading role but it's close, and he's had excellent reviews so far.

On top of that, he and Rachel have managed to stay out of competition with one another, which has done wonders for their friendship and Kurt's continued sanity. "Anyway," he continues, "you should have seen this guy." "Blaine." "Yes, Blaine. Even for being a little--you know, street-worn, he was beautiful, Rach. Dark curls, olivetoned skin, hazel eyes you could lose yourself in, and a really solid tenor, I mean not just solid but with personality behind it, like the music really meant something to him, you know? Passion. So much passion and creativity, just in that one little pop medley that he had in his back pocket." She pauses next to him at a crowded crosswalk, looking somewhat scandalized. "Oh my god, you have a crush. How long has it been since your last crush? This is stupidly exciting. We should get drinks to celebrate." "Oh, can it, Berry. I guess--I dunno, he was special. I know it's silly; I'll never see him again, but for those five minutes I felt--like when you remember something that you have been trying to remember for days and at the most random moment it hits you? That's what it felt like." "Tragicomedy gold," she sighs, clutching his forearm. "Are you writing all of this down? Because if you aren't then I will." He stops just beside the subway entrance and kisses her cheeks. "I can always count on you for perspective. This is me." She waggles her fingers at him as he disappears down the steps. "Any time, sweetie!"

Kurt doesn't go back to his little coffee and doughnut shop after rehearsal for a while--he's ridiculously busy at the theater and between that, dance and vocal lessons, and his half-hearted attempts at designing in his leisure time, he has to trim the optional daily detours. Especially the ones that involve very optional doses of sugar and saturated fat. It's two weeks before he gets an afternoon to himself and thinks why not and goes back. He honestly doesn't expect to see Blaine again. Homeless people move around a lot to avoid drawing the attention of the police, especially when they live near businesses, so it's highly unlikely that Blaine would still be in the same spot weeks later. Kurt slips inside of the shop with a quick glance at the little tucked away spot on the sidewalk and-there he is, wearing the same clothes but different gloves and with a different hat holding his earnings. He looks more or less the same, but he doesn't notice Kurt. Well then. Kurt buys two coffees and six doughnuts. "Fancy meeting you here," is the genius line that spills from his lips when he plucks up the courage to walk past Blaine's piece of sidewalk.

The look that crosses Blaine's face is nothing short of joyful. He laughs and gathers himself into a neater arrangement of limbs, almost self-consciously so. "Kurt," he says, slowly, testing the name on his tongue, as if he might have forgotten, but Kurt can tell that it's just for show. "Blaine," he replies, holding out the extra coffee and the doughnuts. "I don't mean to be weird. I just-haven't been able to take your singing off of my mind. Is this weird? I'm sorry." Blaine smiles. "It's unnecessary, but I appreciate your kindness. I really do. I'm--I'm not sure how special my voice is, really, but if it's made an impression on you then I am--very pleased." Kurt glances at the blanket that Blaine is sitting on. It doesn't look too frightening, and though Blaine looks cold he doesn't seem unbalanced in any way. He's obviously articulate and well-mannered, so he can't have come from a life that began too horribly. Kurt knows that he shouldn't find this reassuring because it truly doesn't guarantee anything, but he does. He hasn't lived in the city long enough to feel comfortable in these situations, and he's willing to admit that. "May I join you for a while?" he asks. "Of course." They sit together on Blaine's blanket and drink coffee. This is certainly not something that Kurt had ever imagined himself doing, but nothing about the choice feels wrong. He doesn't even notice the stares of passersby. He maneuvers it so that Blaine ends up eating all but one of the doughnuts. "How have you, um, been?" he asks. "Aside from a little chilly? Okay." Blaine smiles. "I managed to duck in and out of a shelter without too much fuss. It's going better than last winter, anyway." Kurt bites his lip. The thought of living that way for over a year terrifies him, but he doesn't want to insult Blaine by acting overly concerned. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm not sure I even have the right to be asking you anything; we're total strangers." "I sang for you, you've fed me," Blaine says, hands motioning. "That's good enough for how are you's as far as I'm concerned." He pauses, breaking up the last doughnut as if wanting to savor it. "So--how are you?" Kurt laughs. The idea that Blaine would care about his life--it's almost too much in that moment. He's by no means a star yet, but he makes a decent living and has a respectable apartment in a quiet, clean neighborhood. He doesn't have to worry about where his next paycheck or meal will be coming from. How much to share, though, is the question. "I'm--great. Very busy at work, but in a good way. My social life is in the crapper, but then it never got much farther than the bathroom door, anyway." Blaine chuckles. "I find that hard to believe."

"And why is that?" He pauses, cheeks going faintly pink. "Sorry, I--I'm not sure if we've gone past the how are you's and traveled far enough to be in range of the you're really cute's." Kurt blinks. He'd never considered for a moment that Blaine might be gay, too. It had just seemed like a moot point; that would never matter between them anyway, so why think about it? "I went too far, huh?" Blaine adds, when the silence stretches on too long. "I--maybe?" Kurt answers, smoothing the hair at the back of his head nervously. "But only because I sort of want to say that the feeling is mutual? I'm not sure if that's--wow, this is awkward." Blaine smiles. "I have an idea." "Oh, please, rescue me with this idea," Kurt begs, rolling his eyes in mock self-deprecation. "I'm going to sing for you, and we can just log that away for later." "Excellent idea."

During the last few weeks of October Kurt sees Blaine a lot. They don't talk every time. In fact, most of the time, Kurt just walks down the opposite side of the street and watches Blaine from afar. He's sweet to almost everyone who stops to listen to him sing, excellent with older people and kids especially, all happy, polite language and a singing voice that proves to be as reliable as his mood. There are positive things--one time he catches Blaine playing with a dog on its owner's leash for a good ten minutes and he swears he's never seen Blaine smile so brightly. Another time Blaine is joined by someone with a guitar and they sing for a small crowd and seem to make a lot of money. Several times he finds Blaine in conversation with people who seem to know and adore him. Unfortunately, there are also upsetting observations. Kurt overhears more than once, usually late at night, Blaine having to fend off offers that no one should have to hear. It's mostly older men who seem to think that he's too pretty to just be singing for his money, and once or twice Kurt is tempted to step in, but it never gets physical and he'd only get someone--most likely himself or Blaine--hurt. But then something obviously physical does happen and he's not there to witness it. One afternoon he finds Blaine sitting with no hat out, a bruise ringing his right eye, and he can't just walk past. "Hey, Blaine, I was--in the neighborhood." Yet another brilliant line. Maybe one day Blaine will actually be charmed by these attempts at wit. "I'm sorry that you're in this neighborhood, in that case," he answers, smiling. He looks rough around the edges; bruised, eyes red-rimmed and skin pale, mouth severely chapped. "It's good to see you." "Can I--can I buy you lunch?" Kurt asks, on a whim.

Blaine stares up at him. His little blanket nest is a bit messier than usual, and his scarf is missing. "Look," he says, slowly, carefully, "I really appreciate that you care so much. You're a nice guy. And I know I look a little worse for the wear today. But I--I can take care of myself. You don't need to buy me meals. I'm not starving. Not yet." There's a flare of pride in his eyes that makes pain explode in Kurt's gut. "There are people out here that have it much worse than me." How can Kurt explain to him that it's not just pity? That he's scared for Blaine, who has obviously been assaulted, that he wants to know more about him, that he wants to interrupt Blaine's unfortunate life to satisfy something inside of himself that he can't even name? That he's being selfish maybe more than he's being kind and that even knowing this, he can't bring himself to walk away? "You need to get that looked at," Kurt says, a desperate bid for continuing the conversation, pointing to Blaine's blackened eye. "I just--" He takes a breath, feeling a quiver of fear in his stomach. It's only getting colder, and if Blaine is going to continue to have to fight off attackers while trying to keep warm, fed, and sing for people-"Can I get us coffee, at least? It's been a while since we talked," he asks, running out of ideas. "That's--that would be nice," Blaine answers. After he has caffeine and sugar in his system Blaine explains to him what had happened. "There's--competition, I guess? For places to sleep, for material to sleep on, for--food and other items. I got ganged up on. They managed to get some of my gloves and things." He wipes crumbs from his mouth discreetly. "The punch, though--that was--this guy propositioned me and when I told him I wasn't--for sale, he got handsy. I had to toss a punch. He tossed one back. Then he saw a police car parked across the street and took off. I'm okay." His blushing face tells a slightly different story. "Does that--happen a lot?" Kurt asks. "I guess I'm better looking than a lot of the people out here," Blaine says with a shrug, as if he honestly doesn't understand the concept of his own attractiveness. His face twists up with misplaced humor. "What, you wouldn't pay for my services?" Kurt can't bring himself to laugh, but he does smirk gently. "Blaine." "Sorry. I just--if you can't laugh at your misfortunes out here, you tend to get run over by them, you know?" "Can I ask you a personal question?" "Shoot." "How old are you?" He hesitates. "I'll be seventeen soon." Sixteen. God. Kurt just nods. "And you've been here for a year now?" "Yep." "So you left home--or--however you--at fifteen?"

"It was a little bit of both," he replies, sounding distant. "It's not a very uplifting tale." "Honey, I sing show tunes for a living. Try me." Blaine looks interested at that, but only smiles and shrugs, shifting closer to Kurt's warmth on his threadbare blanket. "I guess it's not nearly as complicated as I'm setting it up to be." He licks his lips to wet them. "I went to a school dance with a friend. A male friend. After, waiting to get picked up by his parents, we--got beat up by a bunch of jocks. We both spent time in the hospital. My parents were upper middle class, very socially connected, and--after that, after I refused to go back into the closet, they basically cut me off. Convinced all the extended family, even my brother to--to turn me away. Said I got in trouble with the law, said I'd gone bad. It got so unbearable at home that I couldn't even--I had to leave." He shrugs the pain off, eyes going dark. "It wasn't always like this, here in the city, though. I had friends when I arrived, and I managed to get off the books work, but because of my age and--everything, I just had no way of navigating life in a city without a guardian. Over time my friends asked me to leave, or told me they couldn't keep giving me a place to stay despite the fact that I usually managed to pay them rent of some kind. One day I just had no place left to go, so I--started living like this. I learned where to go and get help, but if you do that too much they try to get information out of you, and being underage I'd--get thrown into the system. It's worse when you're gay, too, the foster thing, I mean, and I--when I turn eighteen it'll be easier, but for now--" Kurt honestly doesn't know what to say to that. "I'm sorry that your family was so horrible to you," he says, finally. "I--no one should have to face that kind of abuse at home." He flounders for something simple to add. "Can I ask--where are you from?" "Westerville, Ohio," Blaine answers. Kurt's eyes go wide. "I'm from Lima." That seems to draw Blaine somewhat out of the dark cloud he's settled into. "God, that's--well, maybe we have more in common than I thought." He smiles. "Of course, you're older than me, so we probably would have missed each other no matter what." "I'm twenty-five," Kurt says, smiling. "I'm not that old, thanks." Blaine stares at him, eyes round with curiosity. "You sing show tunes? And they pay you?" Kurt laughs. "I'm--a performer, yes." "Now you're going to tell me that you're a Broadway star or something." "Um. Broadway, yes. Star, not yet." "You're kidding." He's grinning, just one breath away from a laugh. "This is so embarrassing. But yes." Blaine urgently asks which play, and Kurt confesses, and they spend the rest of the daylight hours talking about musical theater and the roles they'd want to play and the characters they love the most. It isn't until evening goes pitch black around them that Kurt even remembers the world around them. As they part ways he leaves money, despite the fact that Blaine hadn't sung for him. "You would've earned it if I hadn't spent the last few hours chewing your ear off," he says, when

Blaine tries to give it back to him. "Consider it well-earned. I'm sure my friends would like to demand money for putting up with me on a regular basis. You're one of the lucky ones; you didn't even have to ask." Blaine laughs, clutching the forty dollars in his hand. He reaches out with the other, and it isn't until Kurt is holding his warm, rough, grimy fingers that he realizes it's the first time that they've touched. "Get home safe, Kurt," Blaine says, squeezing Kurt's hand. "Stay warm and safe tonight. For me, okay?" "For you," Blaine answers, smiling.

November is wickedly cold. Every time that Kurt parts ways with Blaine he feels progressively less comfortable doing so. Blaine manages to spend a night here or there indoors, but for the most part he's left out on the street, and though he's constantly working on more semi-permanent arrangements, they never seem to pan out. Hours of conversation have convinced Kurt that Blaine is who he claims to be, at least enough so that it wouldn't be the strangest thing in the world to call him a friend. Kurt is in the habit of making sure that his friends don't die from exposure. At first, he tries to convince Blaine to let him look for a better situation for him--a shelter or outreach program that won't ask too many questions. Or maybe one of Kurt's many friends who work with urban youth might be willing to let Blaine sleep on their couch on the colder nights. But Blaine won't hear it. It's the same wall that Kurt hits every time that he tries to buy Blaine meals or leave clothing or extra money with him--he'll accept small things but he has hard limits and sticks to them, no matter how persistent Kurt gets. His refusals are polite and self-effacing, and twist in Kurt's gut like fish hooks. Every time that Kurt walks the last few blocks to his apartment clutching his scarf over his face he thinks of Blaine huddled in the dark, freezing and alone and prey to other people who are more desperate than he is, or even just plain out of their minds from drugs or alcohol or cold or hunger or all of the above, and he almost can't make himself walk past the threshold of his warm, comfortable apartment. He knows that it's stupid to lose his mind so completely over the plight of one homeless boy. There are literally thousands of starving, unfortunate people stuck outside in the city right now, so many of them struggling even harder than Blaine, and just as many who won't make it through the winter, and Kurt has never cared before; one handsome boy with a cute smile and suddenly he's being socially conscious? On the other hand, Kurt knows him, now, and he can't stop thinking about him. If what Blaine tells him is true, his chances of surviving this year are much worse than they were last year.

What if one day he just curls up somewhere and doesn't wake up again and Kurt never again gets to talk to him, or hear his beautiful singing voice, or maybe see that little spark in his eyes that he gets when he flirts with Kurt in his dapper way, as if just being allowed to talk to Kurt like that warms him? One evening Kurt gets so worked up over it that he has to take a sleeping pill just to calm down enough to not turn around and go back and grab Blaine by the collar and force him to come home with him. He dials Rachel to tell her what he intends to do, then breathes a sigh of relief when his call goes to voice mail. Something about being unable to reach her stops him, and he doesn't go. She knows about his friendship with Blaine, but he hasn't admitted to her how attached he's become. Frankly, he hasn't admitted to himself how attached he's become.

Like so many of his life-changing conversations, this one features his father, lasts about three minutes, and is interrupted for a quarter of that time by Kurt struggling out of his leotard and into a pair of yoga pants. "Sorry, sec, Dad," he mutters. "So what you're telling me is you've made friends with this kid, and he's living on the street, and you want to help him but he won't let you?" Kurt waves to his instructor on his way out, shrugging past a crowd on the narrow staircase and then shivering when he bursts out onto the cold sidewalk. He's running late but if he can manage to catch a cab he'll still get to rehearsal on time, and it'll be so much warmer along the way. "That's about it," he answers, sighing, as he gives the cab driver the address of the theater. "Isn't it supposed to be like, record freezing temperatures the next few days?" "That's why I'm freaking out. He's not going to make it; the shelters are already busting at the seams. I know that he has nowhere to go. He's not a bad person, he's just--a runaway. An abused runaway, at that." "You know I normally wouldn't suggest that you get involved, Kurt. It's damned dangerous and I care about you a hell of a lot more than some stranger that I can't put my eyes on." Kurt smiles. "I know." "But here's what I think. You want to do the right thing and that's real honorable. This kid sounds like he's got a lot of pride and that can be a good thing, too. But I have a feeling that if you put your foot down and insisted, he'd go with you. He seems to be sweet on you, and a night or two on the couch isn't gonna hurt anybody. You just keep your pepper spray handy and lock your bedroom door and if he tries anything funny you call the police right away, alright? And you call me when you get him home." "I'm going to try, Dad. You're right. I've let him brush me off too many times." It never ceases to amaze him that he can tell himself these things and not act, but when he says them to his dad it's as if his intentions are being written in stone, and he suddenly feels the need to make good

on them. His dad is right; he has let Blaine's pride shut him down too easily over the last week. "Remember: call me." "I will. I've gotta go, Dad, I'm at the theater." "Love you, Kurt." "Love you too."

After rehearsal that night, Kurt makes a trip to the store. He buys an electric shaving kit and a barber kit, as well as a few pairs of undershirts, boxers, sweatpants, and sweatshirts in what he vaguely guesses is Blaine's size. He buys a first aid kit, a shampoo and conditioner for Blaine's hair type, and a few over the counter cold medicines, vitamins, and immune boosters, just for good measure. He has out of season outerwear that will do as a parting gift, if Blaine will accept them later. He doesn't want to go overboard and scare Blaine off, but there are things that he just doesn't have in the house, and he wants to make sure that while Blaine is there he has access to grooming items that are unused and that he doesn't have to feel he's taking from Kurt's possession. He stops by the Jewish deli around the corner from his apartment and buys soup and sandwiches, then goes home to put everything away. He makes up a bed on the couch with as many sheets and blankets and pillows as he has to spare, puts a can of pepper spray in the kitchen and the bedroom, slides the cordless phone under his pillow and takes some time to straighten up and make sure the bathroom is spotless. What he's planning to do tonight is probably the weirdest thing that he has ever done in New York, and that's saying something (some of the bars that Rachel has dragged him to are truly frightening places). Blaine is down the block a ways from where he usually is, hoarding a subway grate that Kurt knows can give off priceless warmth all year round. These spots are coveted during the colder months, and Kurt hopes that Blaine hadn't had to do anything dangerous to secure one. "Well look at you all comfy and cozy," he jokes as he walks up to Blaine, a smile springing to his lips. It's been a few days since they've seen each other and Blaine is a sight for sore eyes. He looks as if he hasn't shaved or changed since the last visit, but this doesn't bother Kurt anymore. It doesn't matter to him that Blaine's breath smells or that his clothes give off a constant smoky, unwashed odor--all it takes is one look at that face and that smile and he's rocking up on his toes like a kid in a candy store. "Hey stranger," Blaine replies. His voice is rough with cold and apparent lack of sleep. They make small talk for a few minutes before Kurt buys them coffee. When he returns he doesn't sit down next to Blaine as he usually does, though. He's put this off long enough.

"Can we talk about--this weekend?" Kurt asks. "If you're asking about my plans, I'm afraid they aren't interesting enough to share," he replies, smiling into the steam that wafts from his coffee cup. The flush it brings to his cheeks is attractive as well as a relief to Kurt, who can't help but notice how pale Blaine has grown over the last few weeks. "It's supposed to go below freezing, and I know that you don't have anywhere to go," Kurt says, no longer skirting the topic. He isn't going to let Blaine shrug him off this time, not when the threat of death is so real. "If I can keep this spot, I think--" "Blaine," Kurt interrupts, staring him directly in the eye. He reaches out and puts his hands on top of Blaine's gloved fingers. "If you're going to spend the weekend here, then so am I. I'm not leaving you out here, not like this. I'll sit in your lap if I have to to keep you warm. And I'll bring you food. You can either put up with me totally cramping your style, or--" He squeezes Blaine's hands. "--or you can come home with me, just for two days, get warm and clean and fed and sing for me where the acoustics are much better." Blaine's eyes fill with tears. He looks down sharply, staring at their hands wound together. His whole body shudders, just once, then goes rigid--a force of will so practiced that Kurt's heart aches. "Why are you doing this?" he breathes, voice ragged with pain. "Why are you trusting me like this?" "I'm taking a chance on you. That's all. I like you. I want to help you. Please let me." Kurt holds his breath; this is it. If Blaine rejects his offer now, he may not survive. And he may never allow Kurt to make the offer again, even if he somehow miraculously does manage to make it through. This could be it for them, no matter what. The idea of life without Blaine is suddenly and completely incomprehensible to him. Tears running down the scruff on his face, Blaine whimpers, "Okay. Okay, I'll--I'll come home with you." Kurt starts laughing and crying at the same time. He circles his fingers around Blaine's wrists, feeling almost as if he needs to seal the deal with a touch so that Blaine won't change his mind. "Let's get your stuff together."

It's only a twenty minute cab ride but Blaine sleeps in the warmth of the car almost the whole way, one hand flung out toward Kurt's side of the backseat like an unconscious lifeline. Kurt watches him sleep, eyes wide and intent, and doesn't stop gazing at him until they arrive, reluctantly waking him up and then helping him carry his bundle of meager possessions up the stairs. It's strange for just one moment, standing there at the threshold as Blaine crosses it, eyes sliding shut in pleasure at the abundant warmth inside. He breathes deeply, eyes gliding from left to right to take in the full view of Kurt's home, almost as if he's inhaling it as well as soaking it in with his eyes.

Kurt puts his things near the coat rack, then coaxes him out of his ragged outerwear and shoes. Blaine blushes when he takes his things. "I'm sorry--not used to--letting go of things, it's--" He takes a breath and shivers, eyes still wet with tears from earlier. "Now that I'm here with you it's hitting me how--gross I am, I--god, I'm so sorry," he rushes to say, and the tears spill over again. Kurt frowns. "Oh, Blaine. No. No, don't ever say that. Don't feel that way." His throat is aching, but he manages to steel himself long enough to go on the offensive. "I don't want this to be weird, but I did sort of plan to do this. I picked up a whole bunch of stuff that I want you to use; it's all yours while you're here. Shaving stuff, and shampoo, and medicine, that kind of thing." He feels ridiculous. Blaine is staring at him as if he is something superhuman. "I can't accept all this," he breathes raggedly, "it's too much, Kurt." "I can afford it. I want to. Please." He takes a moment to look away, not wanting Blaine to feel overwhelmed. Blaine is so small without his coat and scarf and gloves and shoes, a couple inches shorter than Kurt and withered in a way that only deprivation can accomplishment. He still has a good set of shoulders and a steely strength to his legs, but the effect of that is undone by how skinny he is overall and how unhealthy the pallor of his skin has become. He hasn't been completely ruined by his lifestyle, but he's on his way. Kurt can't watch him degrade any further. He just can't. "O-okay, I--I'll just take care of myself, then, please don't let me interrupt your routine." Kurt smiles. "Okay. Everything is in the bathroom--use it all, okay? Take all the time you need. There's a change of clothes on the couch there, and when you're comfortable we can eat dinner. I'll be in my bedroom so don't worry about--anything, okay?" "Thank you," Blaine says, and means it with every inch of him. "Thank you, Kurt." It's a relief to disappear into the bedroom and lock the door, not because he's afraid of Blaine but because that had been for whatever reason incredibly hard--the crushed pride in Blaine's eyes, the painful series of offers--and Kurt needs to be alone and call his dad like he promised he would.

Blaine is in the bathroom for hours. Kurt hears the electric razor hum for the majority of that time, and then comes the soft snip of scissors, the muffled application of various things from bottles and, finally, the shake of a towel. He suspects that Blaine spends just as much time cleaning up after himself as he does cleaning himself. The bathroom door opens and he listens to Blaine cross the room and dress himself in the boxers, undershirt, sweatshirt, and sweatpants that Kurt had left on the couch. And then nothing.

The smell of body wash, aftershave, and deodorant on a wave of humid shower air crawls beneath Kurt's bedroom door and he breathes it in, feeling a curious warmth flare through his body. It's been a long time since he's had the smell of another man in his living space, and there is something terribly enticing about it. He waits, and finally the knock comes. "Kurt? I--I'm done, can I put dinner together for us, or... I just want to do something?" Kurt opens the door, hoping that Blaine doesn't notice that he'd locked it. Of course, that thought goes right out of his head the moment that he lays eyes on Blaine. The transformation is nothing short of remarkable. The clothes fit, thank goodness, but it's everything else that hits Kurt at once--Blaine has not only shaved but given himself a rudimentary haircut. Even his eyebrows are trimmed. His curls are tamed with product, lying flatter but not flat. His skin is scrubbed so clean that it's red and glowing. He smells amazing, like soap and mint and sweetness, and without that layer of grime and the restorative power of warmth and a hot shower, he looks like any other guy Kurt might walk past on the street. Except he isn't. He so, so isn't because he is probably about ten times hotter than the guys that Kurt walks past on the street. Kurt stares. Blaine blushes. "Big difference, huh?" "You're beautiful," Kurt says, totally forgetting himself. When Blaine ducks his head and smiles, he rushes to add, "I mean, you always were. When I saw you that first time, I literally stopped breathing for a second. I could hardly look away. That's why I stayed. I didn't need to see you like this to know that." He has no idea if his compliments are desired. And even if they are, he has to remind himself that Blaine is barely of the age of consent, even if-God. He's an idiot. He needs to control his damned mouth and his thoughts and his rampaging hormones. "Please don't take this the wrong way," he says, guiding Blaine into the kitchen. "I'm not hitting on you, I just--want you to know what I see." "It's been a long time since anyone cared enough to notice," Blaine replies, sitting at the breakfast bar. "I appreciate that. I really do." Kurt can't stop staring over at him in between heating up the soup and getting out the bowls and plates and napkins. He's gorgeous, and if he isn't averse to compliments, then Kurt doesn't see the harm in throwing a few moony smiles his way. He can't help but notice how fidgety Blaine is until the food is ready, and by the time that it's on the plate he doesn't hesitate to say, "Eat all you like. There's more, and I don't want it to go to waste." He watches Blaine go through an entire container of soup and three sandwiches before he stops to guzzle a bottle of water. They don't talk, and Kurt has no desire to interrupt. When the food is gone, he offers Blaine a vitamin C tablet and a mild pain reliever/fever reducer,

because he has a feeling that Blaine has the beginnings of a cold and it can't hurt. They sit in silence for a while, and finally Kurt can't resist taking Blaine's hands in his. He'd trimmed his nails and scrubbed them so hard that the skin is still pink around his fingertips. "I can't even begin to thank you for all of this," Blaine whispers. He smiles a little sadly and adds, "This is the first time that I've felt comfortable touching you. You're so pale and clean; I always felt filthy before." "I never minded," Kurt breathes. It's perhaps not the smartest idea, but he brings Blaine's hands to his mouth and brushes a soft line of kisses across his knuckles, left hand and then right, then rests his cheek against the too-prominent bones and smiles at him. Blaine's eyes are hopelessly round. "I don't deserve this. This is--insane." "Insane, I'll give you. That other thing, not so much," Kurt replies, watching him. His eyelids keep dipping, no matter how happy he looks. "You must be exhausted. Why don't you go and sleep? I'm going to turn in early." It's actually not so early anymore, but Kurt doesn't feel the need to point that out. Blaine nods and Kurt follows him to the couch, helping him put together the last stack of pillows and arrange an extra blanket. He looks so small underneath the covers. Almost as soon as his head touches the pillow his eyes shut. He reaches out at the last moment, touching Kurt's arm. "Thank you. So much." His voice goes soft and sleepy at the end and Kurt smiles, reaching out and smoothing a few wayward curls off of his forehead. "You're welcome, Blaine."

He has no plans for the weekend, which turns out to be for the best, since he can't quite seem to take his eyes or attention off of Blaine for more than a minute or two at a time. They eat--a lot, and often, almost too much for Kurt but he sort of can't stop feeding Blaine, it's like a compulsion--and go through Kurt's movie and then music collection, and once Blaine is recovered a little from the cold he sings to Kurt everywhere. He sings in the shower and on the subway, in Kurt's kitchen as he helps cook and clean up after, on the sofa as he listens to Kurt's iPod while Kurt takes some work calls, and it keeps Kurt smiling through everything. They don't talk about sensitive topics. Kurt finds it easier to just allow Blaine space to take care of himself--he showers twice a day and uses the damned razor so much that Kurt wonders what the hell he has left to shave off, and then those thoughts become inappropriate, and he blushes and very much does not imagine all of the places that Blaine is neatly trimming. At least, he makes a valiant effort not to. Just two days of proper living has transformed Blaine into a happier, more relaxed version of the person that he seemed to be on the street.

On Sunday night, they watch television together for the first time, and Kurt does his best not to creep across the cushions and put an arm around Blaine the way that he wants to. The urge to touch him, hold him close and keep him safe, has been almost constant since the day that they met, and it's no different now. In the end it's Blaine that closes the distance, and Kurt has to stop himself from smiling too widely when he gently inches across the couch and asks, "Do you mind if we...?" He shrugs halfway under Kurt's arm and Kurt tugs him close without waiting for him to finish. "Okay?" Kurt asks, when Blaine is cuddled up against his side, head tucked under his chin. His hair smells good, like the shampoo Kurt had bought for him. "Mm, yes," Blaine sighs, and though he doesn't loop an arm around Kurt's waist he does tuck himself completely against Kurt's side until he's practically buried there. Kurt's eyes drift shut, a smile on his lips.

In the morning he can't tell if he'd dreamed it or if Blaine had kissed his temple and gone to use the bathroom and then never come back. A quick search of the apartment seems to confirm that he had. Kurt sits on the toilet lid and cries for five minutes straight, indulging himself in the emotion like he indulges in chocolate on a bad day, and when it's over he takes a look around and notices that Blaine hadn't taken any of the things that Kurt had bought for his stay, just the used outerwear that Kurt had offered and left on the coat rack on Sunday. He knows that they'd agreed to the weekend and nothing more, knows that the weather is better today and that Blaine could probably make it at least this week without trouble, but Kurt had hoped that he wouldn't just disappear. He can still feel the ghost of Blaine's lips on his skin, tingling like a brand. It's only when he's walking out the door that morning that he notices the CD lying on the breakfast bar. It's just a blank case with a piece of paper slid in where the jacket should be, a short note that reads, "This is my soul, or a part of it at least. I never seem to be able to sell them (pardon any unintentional puns), and it seems fitting that I leave it with you now. Thank you so much for everything that you've done for me. I hope you enjoy it." Later that night Kurt puts the CD into his computer and sits there with his headphones on, listening to what he can only assume is the soundtrack of Blaine's life laid out over twelve songs. By the time he's done listening to it--a variety of everything from pop to classic rock to show tunes, belted out in that soft tone that he's become so enamored of, emotion as thick as mud throughout--he's a mess, pacing his bedroom in his underwear and rumpling his hair with nervous fingers and crying like an idiot. The CD is a litany of loss and pain and rejection, interwoven with bursts of joy so clean that Kurt almost can't make it past them. Somehow the happy songs feel even more painful than the sad ones, popping as they do like bubbles of fantasy against a backdrop of dark reality, a relief so temporary that one might wish they hadn't revealed themselves at all, because their destruction is inevitable from the

moment they appear. Most of all, it had made him miss Blaine so much that he finds he can't breathe in the empty space that Blaine has left behind.

Blaine has left his usual spot outside of the coffee shop, and Kurt can't say that he's surprised; though he doesn't really understand it, he knows that Blaine accepting his offer of hospitality had taken something vital from him, and that staying those two days had been more than he could handle, in the end. Besides, the CD had been an unambiguous goodbye. Kurt rips it and puts the songs on his iPod, but he listens to them less often as the days pass; it's just too painful. The music makes him remember Blaine dancing in his kitchen over a sink full of dishes, singing one of the tracks, and it's all he can do to stop the tears before they come. He's on the subway and it's the last place in the world that he wants to have an emotional breakdown in. The hurt of losing Blaine dulls but doesn't fade. They're enjoying a warm snap again, so there are moments when he manages to not think about Blaine cold and hungry outside, but they're only moments. The truth is, he wants Blaine back, not because he wants to "save" him, but because he wants him back.

Rachel has been on his case ever since he met Blaine to go out on a date with someone his own age, someone available--she'd sympathized with him over Blaine's disappearance and Kurt's feelings for him, even went so far as to promise that she'd keep an eye out for Blaine, but she just won't allow him to wallow--so even though he knows it's probably not a good idea he agrees to meet this guy David that she's been going on about for dinner one night in November. Kurt had a really great show tonight so he's in high spirits and, at first, David seems nice. He's good looking and well dressed and he makes all the right gestures and says all the right things; that is, up until they're walking away from the restaurant, a polite but not too wide distance between them. Kurt is keeping an eye out for a cab. They're in a part of Queens that he's never really explored before and he's relying on David to get them to a more populated corner. The date had gone fine but he has no great urge to draw it out; he'll be so relieved when he can climb into a cab and be on his way home. And suddenly, out of the blue, he he hears a snippet of one of Blaine's songs. It's not coming from a radio and it sounds so eerily familiar that he stops in his tracks, glancing in the direction of the sound. He knows that sound because it's Blaine's voice and not the original artist's.

"Kurt?" David asks, frowning. "Everything alright?" If he were to run off in search of a disembodied voice right now, that would probably be pretty horrific date behavior. But it's Blaine, the first sign of him in what feels like forever though he knows it hasn't been that long, and Kurt can't ignore it. "I think I saw someone that I know, can I...? God, I'm sorry, it's just that the last time we saw each other it was--and I've been worried ever since." He knows he sounds ridiculous, but he can't bring himself to care. David glances around. There isn't anyone in sight--Kurt is fairly sure that they haven't even passed anyone for three blocks--and he looks understandably confused. "Sure." He smiles in a half-hearted way. "I'll come with you." Blaine is tucked up under an awning a block away, bundled in the coat, gloves, and scarf that he'd taken with him when he left Kurt's apartment. He looks just as ragged as he had before that lovely weekend, and seems to be sick--his voice is nasal as he sings and he's sniffling--and Kurt feels a flash of longing and worry so deeply that his body actually hurts for a moment. Kurt comes to an awkward stop in front of him, breathes his name and watches horrified embarrassment break over his features. "Kurt," he says, and it's reverent but horrified all at the same time. Behind Kurt, David's face curls up into a scowl. He lowers his voice and hisses, "Kurt, don't--" "How are you?" Kurt asks, not hearing David's voice. "Getting by," Blaine answers, looking nervously between David and Kurt. "Who's your friend?" "Oh," Kurt says. "This is David. David, this is my friend Blaine." Blaine reaches out a hand and then drops it when David flinches, nervously wiping his dirty fingers along equally dirty jeans. David looks at him as if he were a diseased animal, not even able to manage a hello. The silence drags uncomfortably. He eventually takes Kurt's arm and pulls him away. "Are you serious? Kurt, this is ridiculous." "I know him. What's the matter with you?" Kurt hisses. "Maybe you think you do, hon, but he's just another bum, for god's sake." Kurt's throat closes up. "Get off of me." He pulls away so fast that David actually recoils. "And I'm not your 'hon'. Goodnight, David." He turns on his heel, vibrating with rage but not wanting to give Blaine time to slip away or worse, think that he cares what David thinks. He's never ditched a date in the middle of the street like that before, but he has no regrets now. He doesn't even notice David cursing and stomping all the way up the block. "You didn't have to do that," Blaine says, curled up deeply inside of his bundle of clothing. "Kurt, it's okay. I get it all the time, worst than that, even, and--"

"No," Kurt grinds out. "No, you don't get to do that. It's bad enough that you have to suffer out here every day; you don't have to take shit from corporate assholes who probably just wanted me to stick my hand down their pants on the cab ride home anyway." Blaine pulls back, shocked silent by Kurt's anger. Kurt has never let his temper get the best of him in front of Blaine before, but something about how long it's been since they've seen each other last, the way that Blaine had left, the way that Blaine had made him feel, all compiles in the span of seconds and Kurt is left standing there, heart pounding, thoughts going into overload. "I'm taking you to the diner on the corner," he announces. "Come on." Blaine is still so shocked that he doesn't question the order. Kurt helps him carry his things and tucks them safely under the booth once they're seated. They get a few odd looks from the patrons in the diner, but Kurt is beyond caring. He feels as if he's giving off steam, he's that frustrated with the world, and as long as he's a paying customer he's going to sit here with whoever he likes, thank you very much. Keep staring, grandpa. They order cheeseburgers and fries and milkshakes and Kurt doesn't talk again until they've devoured the food and are decided on ordering a second round of milkshakes. Blaine is using the wet nap that had come with his burger to clean his hands and face. He tucks it into his pocket when he's done. Kurt is embarrassed to realize that Blaine had eaten his food with a much greater degree of neatness than he had. The thought flies from his head when Blaine leans over and takes his hands across the table. "Did you like the CD?" he asks, looking happier from the food alone. Kurt melts. "I loved it. I--you're amazing, but it was the personal element that--I felt you in that track list, Blaine. I felt as if I was walking right alongside you through all of your trials. It was passionate." "I'm glad," he replies, then smiles wider. "Glad that you think it has merit, anyway." "It has more than merit," Kurt says. They let go of each other's hands when their milkshakes arrive-different flavors this time. "I know why you left, so I'm not going to bother asking. But I--" He pauses, taking a swallow. He's not sure what he wants to ask. "I have trouble letting people take care of me," Blaine admits, shrugging his greasy head of curls out of shape. "My parents made me feel as if everything they did for me or gave me was being kept track of, tit for tat. After a while it just seemed easier to take care of myself, so that I wouldn't have to feel that way ever again. I know that you're a generous person, that you can't just forget about me, and it's not really an excuse, I just--want you to understand me." He smiles. "And it's nice to have you popping up all the time, I have to admit. This is more like the birthday that I'd hoped to have this year." Kurt frowns--it's his birthday? "Why didn't you say? The big one-seven? This calls for cake." "Oh, god, no, even I couldn't eat anymore after all this." "To go, then."

Blaine stares at him. "Kurt, I don't--" "It's your birthday. Come on, indulge me. I love occasions. Any excuse to eat cake and celebrate and enjoy glitter without shame." Kurt playfully widens his eyes. "I ditched my date for you. Consider it a trade off." He doesn't want to admit that the David for Blaine trade off had been much more in his favor simply by default; he's also unwilling to admit that he isn't above a little manipulation if it means that Blaine will sleep on his couch tonight. "Well, when you put it like that," Blaine answers, smiling. "Okay." It's a quiet cab ride back to Kurt's apartment, and Kurt revels in how easy it is to just be around Blaine. He doesn't feel defensive or protective of himself. He doesn't feel the need to make small talk. It's the most comfortable that he's ever felt around someone that he has also been attracted to. Once they're upstairs, he puts his hands together. "I know I have candles and things around here somewhere. Rachel was very creative last year on my birthday." "Is that your, um, high school friend that came to New York with you?" Blaine asks, hanging his coat and gloves on the coat rack. "Well, I followed her here, but yes, that's the one." He begins rummaging through the kitchen drawers. "She's a bigger diva than even I am, but I love her pesky butt." Blaine smiles, digging his hands into the pockets of his ratty jeans. "She sounds like a nice person, from what you said before." "She's in this off-Broadway thing at the moment and I swear I haven't heard the end of it since she got her call back. But she's a darling, really. More so now than when she was younger, though, I have to clarify." Kurt pauses, tilting his head at Blaine. "Why don't you go clean up? Your stuff is still in the bathroom, and the things I bought for you to wear are in the corner of the linen closet." "I appreciate that, thanks. It's been a while," Blaine answers, smiling sheepishly. Kurt watches him. "You're welcome, sweetie." When he comes out of the bathroom an hour later, scrubbed clean and looking comfortable in his sweatshirt and jeans, Kurt holds up a pink and a green sparkle-covered party hat in each hand. "Which do you think goes better with dove gray?" he asks, smiling brightly. "Is that--a unicorn hat?" "Yes," Kurt answers. "Problem?" Blaine giggles, taking the green one. "None whatsoever." "Excellent. Ready for cake?" "I'm ashamed to admit it but yes, cake time, please?" The revelation of the slices of diner cake--huge yellow slabs covered in whipped cream and strawberries--dotted with candles makes his face light up. Kurt turns the kitchen light off and motions with a flourish. "Two part harmony?" "You'll sing with me?"

"Of course!" Blaine stares at him over the flickering candlelight, shadows dancing across his face, and then opens his mouth and begins to sing, and Kurt joins in. Their voices harmonize perfectly around the silly, simple lyrics to Happy Birthday, and by the time they finish they're both caught in each other's gaze over the cake, so much so that Kurt has to remind Blaine to blow out his candles. He wonders what Blaine had wished for.

They eat the birthday cake sitting on Kurt's living room floor, wearing unicorn horn hats and singing show tunes that come up on Kurt's iPod until there's nothing left but whipped cream-smeared plates and the soft drone of the television set to a low volume somewhere in the background. Kurt leans back against the legs of the coffee table and watches Blaine hum and lick cream off of his fingers. He seems so carefree and relaxed, when just hours ago he had been freezing and groggy on the sidewalk. Kurt can't bear the thought of him going back out there, especially not on his birthday. When it's quiet again and Blaine is looking even sleepier, eyelids dipping, Kurt asks, "Stay?" "The night?" Blaine counters. His voice is rough and the way that he says that, head tilted, looking older than he is, sounding older than he is, makes Kurt's skin flush. "Not just the night," Kurt replies, stretching a hand between them and gently pushing his fingers through Blaine's hair. He can't resist those curls when they're post-shower springy and glorious like that. "I don't want you to stay because I feel obligated to take care of you. I want you to stay because you make me--indescribably happy. I miss you when you're not around. I like you. I'm being selfish, wanting you to stay. You know that, right?" Blaine smiles crookedly at him, turning his cheek into Kurt's palm with a long, shuddering sigh. The contact makes his cheeks darken and his eyelashes flutter, their long shadows painting his cheeks. Kurt brings his thumb up, traces one spiky dark shape all the way from Blaine's cheek to his jaw. "I can't say no to you," Blaine sighs, obviously not comfortable committing but not wanting to leave at the same time. "If I stay, I'm going to insist on doing chores in exchange, at the very least--dishes, cleaning, laundry, errands. You have to let me earn my keep. That's my condition. Okay?" "Agreed, as long as you let me buy you a cot to sleep on," Kurt counters. "This couch is alright for a night or two but beyond that it'll kill your back." Blaine smirks, as if he wants to say I sleep on the sidewalk, you do realize that, right? But all he does is nod, and Kurt drops his hand from Blaine's face to his arm and then onto his hand, which he spreads wide and then tangles in his own. "Happy birthday, Blaine."

"You're coming, right? I have the tickets, just let me know when you want to meet up for lunch and I'll bring them." "Of course I am, Rach, the theater has known for weeks. My understudy is stepping in for me just so that I can go watch you break a leg." Kurt swerves around a patch of tourists. "When he overtakes me in popularity, steals my job, and I'm forced out onto the street I'll be on your doorstep, though, just as a fair warning." "Hush," she hisses in his ear. "Besides, if I don't get to meet this new roommate of yours I am going to become very cross, very quickly with you, sir." He's been putting off the introduction for a while, simply because he has no idea how Blaine and Rachel will be together, and he has no idea what to introduce Blaine as. They're not just friends or roommates but really they aren't anything more--aside from the occasional cuddle or hand holding, they aren't dating. At least, he doesn't think they are. "I'll ask him if he wants to come with me," Kurt finally allows. "And then you can take us out for drinks and show off and interrogate him, within reason, okay?" She squeals softly into his ear. "Yay!"

Kurt is so often not at home that he typically sees Blaine late at night and early in the morning. He only has a "normal" weekend every now and then, so typically they're limited to Sundays as their only full morning until night day together. They spend a lot of that time walking in parks and eating at little hole in the wall places that Kurt has discovered accidentally since moving to the city. They go to music shops and thrift shops and antique shops because they love all of the above (vintage, drool). Kurt helps Blaine pick out affordable clothes and knick knacks for his little area of the apartment, and they buy vinyl records to listen to back home, and even though Blaine shies away from every dollar spent he allows Kurt to indulge him, and Kurt insists that he's doing most of this for himself and not Blaine, anyway, even though they both know it's not the truth. The sight of Blaine in neatly pressed pants and button-ups is more than worth a few dollars at the second-hand store, he thinks, eyes wide as Blaine tries on each colorful combination for him, doing little spins and smoothing wrinkles over his backside and across his wide shoulders. Kurt tries not to stare, but it's a near thing. In just a few short weeks he looks healthier than Kurt has ever seen him. He does seem to catch cold easily, but Kurt makes sure to take him to the walk-in clinic every time, and they get him on medication before it gets out of hand, and as time passes he seems to shake off the constant bugs. It's on one of these trips that calls for blood work that Kurt observes, glancing over at the next room,

"God, the STD testing always gives me the creeps--I feel like I could contract something just sitting on the chairs." Even though Kurt isn't having sex at the moment, when he does, it's safe; after he'd lost his virginity in college he'd started the tradition of being tested every six months, just to be sure. "I've never been tested," Blaine says, conversationally. "Really?" He nods, then shrugs, smirking. "There's really no need when you haven't, you know, ever had sex, much less the unprotected kind. And it's not as if I'm using needles or anything." Kurt trips over a toddler and almost gets into a physical altercation with the child's mother before righting himself, looking like an idiot at Blaine, who isn't watching him at all. Before he can open his mouth and blurt something truly asinine at top volume, such as, "You're a virgin?" he bites his lips shut.

What surprises Kurt about living with Blaine is that there is absolutely nothing awkward about it. He's had roommates before (hell, he'd had Rachel as a roommate for a while) and with every individual there had always been at least one thing about them that Kurt could never get used to--a sloppy habit, or a favorite food that had a smell that would make Kurt sick to his stomach, or a friend that he couldn't stand always coming over, or a job that kept them interrupting each other during downtime. But with Blaine it's just easy. They watch television together, Kurt surfs the Internet on his laptop, they eat dinner, Blaine gives him privacy when he's on the phone, they shower at opposite times, Blaine helps him with his vocal exercises and lines--all told, it just seems to work, with very minimal discussion. Blaine typically rises early, throws together a quick breakfast for them both before Kurt has to rush out the door, a new habit which Kurt has not managed to break him of--he feels weird having Blaine cooking his meals and cleaning his apartment, but he can't seem to ask him to tone it down, either. Every time he tries he recalls the conversation they'd had about earning keep and he just can't. This morning in particular Kurt's vocal coach had canceled and he takes the opportunity to sleep in and then completes an extended version of his moisturizing routine to great personal satisfaction. He doesn't hear Blaine bustling around, so he thinks he might try to jump into the kitchen before Blaine has the chance and make them breakfast--he has a new crepe pan to break in and now seems the perfect time. He slides a robe over his pajamas and goes for the door but stops halfway into the hall. From where he stands he can see all the way into the living room at an angle, so that Blaine can't see him standing there even though he can see Blaine's whole area of the apartment. Blaine is still on his cot just beside the sofa, his body drawn up tight under the blankets. Kurt notices the rapid movement beneath the covers and blushes, stepping half a step back into his bedroom and then freezing, his eyes riveted to the sight. Blaine turns his head into his hand and bites down on his knuckle, panting softly in the silence as his

hand moves on himself completely out of sight. Something about the not seeing makes it even sexier, and Kurt can't move from the spot, watching and listening as Blaine's breathing goes raspy and his knees, which are tenting the blankets, begin to shift around, and then he utters an explosive gasp, jerks upward and-He cleans himself carefully with a tissue and just as he rolls over to discard the it in the tiny wastebasket next to his cot, he sees Kurt's door ajar and squints in his direction. Kurt hastily steps back, face burning, and presses his forehead to the door. Shit. Over bowls of cereal (crepes are absolutely not happening now), Kurt blurts, "I didn't mean to--" Blaine is wearing a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt and colorful socks, his curls a riot around his face, which is covered in a day's worth of stubble; he looks older and sexy and Kurt can't stop hearing in his head, over and over again, that hitch of breath that had occurred when he'd come. He can't help but wonder what Blaine had thought of to get himself off. "We live together, Kurt," Blaine says, slowly, trying obviously to be polite. "It's okay. Your schedule changed and it threw me off--normally I'd take care of that after you left, or in the shower, at least." How is it that a seventeen year old is more comfortable discussing masturbation etiquette than he is? He clears his throat. "Sorry. I'm just--the world's most awkward person, sometimes." But Blaine isn't looking at him like that. He's looking at him as if he's an interesting riddle that Blaine intends to solve. "Do you still have rehearsal?" Blaine asks. "Um. Yeah." "I have grocery money leftover from last week. Chicken alright for dinner? I'll leave it in the oven to keep warm if you're running late." Blaine has been teaching himself to cook things beyond just scrambled eggs for breakfast, and when he doesn't manage new recipes successfully he always seems to make sure that there's something for Kurt to eat when he gets home. It's a new thing for him, to know that he doesn't have to always pick up crappy takeout or cobble something together out of questionably-aged things in the refrigerator. It's going to take some getting used to. He blushes. "That would be great. Thank you."

Rachel's schedule on opening night is such a mess that they don't get to see her until after the show. Blaine is carrying the bouquet of roses that they'd brought for her, hidden partially behind them when they find her on the street. The stage door experience had been brief--it's just not that popular of a show yet and she is a relative

unknown--but she's still glowing and bouncing in her dangerously tall heels. She throws herself into Kurt's arms. "You were amazing," he says, grinning ear to ear. "I know," she replies, smiling dazzlingly at him. "But enough about me. Who have we here?" Blaine holds out the flowers, smiling brightly. He looks so wonderfully turned out in his tailored jacket and crisp pink dress shirt and skinny tie. Kurt had managed to get Blaine to let him really dress him for once, and the results have tested Kurt's physical patience all night. He's lost track of how often he's reached for Blaine, only to stop at the last second to remind himself that they are not actually boyfriends. "Rachel Berry, this is my good friend and roommate, Blaine Anderson. Blaine, this is the reason I both survived New York and almost committed homicide during the same time period. I'll let you draw your own conclusions." Rachel swats him with the bouquet, then squeaks in concern when she loses a bud because of the sudden movement. She recovers flawlessly, kissing Blaine on both cheeks and then holding him at arm's length. "You never said your new roommate was a model, Kurt; he's gorgeous." Blaine laughs, ducking his face. "I really enjoyed the show, Rachel. It's a pleasure to meet you." "Ooh, and well-mannered," she croons, hooking their arms and leading them down the block. "Are you sure you have no interest whatsoever in the female form?" She's joking, but Kurt finds that a little too close to home, so he laughs and gently tugs Blaine back to his side. "Okay, none of that. You owe me alcohol, missy. And then, if he feels like putting up with you, you may badger him." Blaine grins. "We'll play that by ear." He gently bumps their hips together. "I seem to come over rather accommodating when certain people are around." Rachel stares at them, grinning, but waits until she's slightly behind them and Kurt's glaring at her over his shoulder to give him a huge thumbs up and a toothy smile. When they arrive at the bar, Blaine goes to use the restroom, and the first thing that Rachel does is jab Kurt in the side. "You forgot to mention that he's perfection in human form, you jerk," she hisses. He grumbles, ordering them a round of drinks. "You're a meddler. I control you by not telling you everything upfront." "Your dad asked me about him and I didn't have a thing to tell him," she goes on, tut-tutting playfully. "Oh my god, why are you talking to my dad?" "He calls sometimes, when you fall into your work jogs and forget that he exists." She sips her cocktail, sighing in relaxation. "Call him, silly. Tell him about your incredibly adorable boyfriend." "We aren't boyfriends," Kurt admits, sipping his drink. "We're--comfortable. Don't freak him out, okay?"

okay?" She smiles, fixing him with a serious eye. "Okay, okay. Let's talk about me instead." He smirks. "Tonight that is a perfectly acceptable suggestion." Blaine comes up behind Kurt, smiling, and puts an arm through his. He notices the drinks a moment later and frowns, whispering in Kurt's ear, "I'm underage." "And you're not buying alcohol, look at how well that works out," Kurt drawls, sliding him the drink subtly and putting his body between the bar and Blaine. "You don't have to drink if you don't want to, of course. I would be more than happy to take that off of your hands." "I'll try this, but I'm not really comfortable with getting drunk tonight," Blaine says. "That's excellent news," Rachel chirps, "because I intend to get rather stupidly intoxicated and then I can lean on your cuteness all the way home." Kurt smirks. Blaine gives him a desperate what have I just done sort of look, and Kurt shrugs, eyebrows almost to his hairline. "You got yourself into this mess," he whispers in Blaine's ear. Rachel likes to think these little bar trips are wild and crazy nights for all involved, but mostly they just drink until they're dumb and gossip about the performers in their overlapping social circles. It's not overly glamorous. Blaine chimes in occasionally and then they go off on tangents about Ohio and high school show choir competitions, but he's careful to avoid any mention of his personal history, so there is only so much that he can contribute By the end of the evening Kurt is well sobered up and he finds himself leaning back into the circle of Blaine's arms, wondering when they'd settled around his shoulders so completely. Rachel excuses herself with a not so subtle wink in their direction and heads off to the ladies' room. Blaine laughs, pressing his nose and mouth against the curve of Kurt's ear. "She's--out there." "She's not only out there, she owns property there," Kurt says with a chuckle. "Having fun?" "Yes, very much. I may even learn how to do this drinking thing properly one day." Kurt recalls high school parties with too many wine coolers and not enough cute, available gay boys, for his part. "It's not nearly as exotic as it looks. Although it does give me the excuse of a giant greasy breakfast the next day, so there's that." "And it gives me the excuse to cuddle you," Blaine whispers, "so you don't fall over." Kurt flushes. It's been ages since they've flirted, really flirted--in all honesty, that stopped when Blaine officially moved in--and after all they've been through it feels different than it had before. "You're a very excellent me-stand, thank you, sweetheart," he murmurs, cuddling back into Blaine more comfortably. "If we're going to get into a discussion about who is supporting who," Blaine begins sheepishly. Kurt laughs, shaking his head, which allows him to tilt it back on Blaine's shoulder so that he can look at him. "Oh no. We promised, remember? No keeping score." He kisses Blaine's cheek lightly. "You

don't owe me anything." Blaine sighs. "I'm trying to keep that in mind. It's--a lot, for me." "I know," Kurt replies. Rachel rejoins them then, and it isn't until they get her into a cab--she clings to them and kisses them both multiple times and shouts declarations of love at them for quite a while--that they have another moment alone together. Kurt dares to slide his arm around Blaine's waist and pull him close and Blaine goes easily, draping his arm over Kurt's upper back as they walk. He wishes that he were drunk enough to chalk it up to an indiscretion, but Blaine doesn't seem to mind or feel the need to clarify the gesture, so he doesn't say a word. Back home and more than ready for bed (alcohol makes him drowsy), Kurt finds himself caught between the hall and Blaine's little living area, made up of his cot and the small cube of a drawer beside it holding the few things that he's bought for himself with the spending money that Kurt has given him. Kurt watches Blaine turn down his bedding. "I was going to shower," Blaine says. "Is that okay?" He still compulsively showers, even now, sometimes three times a day. Kurt doesn't have to the heart to tell him that it's not necessary, not anymore, but since hot water is included in the rent and the building actually seems to have a surplus of it, he doesn't see any real reason to. "I can shower in the morning. I'll just brush my teeth when you're done." "You can brush your teeth while I'm in the shower, silly," Blaine says, skirting around Kurt, already undoing the buttons down the front of his shirt. Kurt's eyes follow the motion. Blaine notices and slows down, revealing the pale undershirt beneath by slow degrees. "Okay?" Kurt's tongue feels like a slab of chalk inside of his mouth. "Sure," he blurts, motioning vaguely. "Been there in a sec." He has to give Blaine time to get in the damned shower, at least. When he's alone he turns and braces his hands on the breakfast bar, feeling a flush crawl down the back of his neck and ears. Arousal sings sweetly through his body as it has all night, ever since he saw Blaine in that damned outfit, like a muscle that won't stop flexing involuntarily, only about ten times worse because Blaine is naked and wet and warm in the shower and that shirt coming off so slowly had been, at least in part, an invitation. Kurt's sure of that. God, he wants Blaine. He wants Blaine so badly. He takes a deep breath and shrugs out of his jacket and dress shirt, and then his shoes and socks, arranging these items neatly in his room. Once he hears the shower curtain zing shut he walks down the hall and into the steamy bathroom. Thank god he hadn't put up those clear shower curtains. He brushes his teeth and does a shorter version of his nighttime facial routine, but he doesn't rush, not really. "I had fun tonight," Blaine says from behind the curtain. Kurt watches the shape of him move behind it. "Thanks for taking me, and introducing me to Rachel. It's--the most fun I've had in New York so far,

aside from--meeting you, of course." "You keep implying that I'm doing these things for your benefit," Kurt says, smiling. "And I keep telling you it's all just selfishness." Blaine laughs, then sticks his head out from behind the curtain. His curls are wet and sticking to the sides of his face, and spiky-wet eyelashes frame his huge, round eyes dramatically. "And I keep telling you that you're a dirty rotten liar, because I know that's not true, Kurt Hummel." Kurt unwraps the towel from around his neck. "I'd love to know how you got all of this very good information on me." The shower curtain inches a little farther from the wall and Kurt tenses. Blaine stares at him through his eyelashes, water trailing down his thick neck and broad shoulders to places that Kurt can't see but knows fairly well after weeks of cohabitation and sneaky glances. "Black magic," Blaine answers, shrugging in mock innocence. "I'm unpredictable like that. What can I say?" It would be so easy to shrug out of his undershirt and dress pants and briefs and slide behind that curtain. Would Blaine accept him without hesitation? Would he breathe relief and pleasure, in that order? Kurt just smiles, putting away his creams and cleaners. "Sleep tight, okay?" He's just not sure. It doesn't feel right. Blaine smiles back just as brightly, no disappointment evident on his face. "You too."

In the middle of the night, Kurt feels sick and wakes up. It's weird--he never has this kind of reaction to alcohol, and it's a half and half sensation of feeling ill but not ill enough to throw up, so he goes into the kitchen and pops an antacid and a Tylenol, then paws through the refrigerator for a water bottle. He wakes Blaine up without meaning to. "You okay?" Blaine asks, shuffling half-asleep into the kitchen. He comes up behind Kurt and hugs him around the waist, gently pressing his face into Kurt's shoulder blade. "I blame Rachel," Kurt moans, sipping the water and letting Blaine's body heat sink into his. It feels good. The kitchen is cold. "Is the heat on the fritz? It's freezing in here." "I think it might be," Blaine says. "I'm warm enough under the blankets but it's a lot colder in here than it was when we got home." He is indeed sleep-warm, and Kurt isn't thinking clearly at all when he turns in Blaine's arms and hugs him close. How can he resist, especially when Blaine is using phrases like "we got home" after weeks of saying "your apartment". He feels the pleasure of that change deep in his belly.

"Remind me to call the landlord tomorrow, okay? Don't want you stuck here in the cold all day." Blaine smiles--Kurt can't see it, but he can feel it against his collarbone, where Blaine's face is pressed. "As long as I have blankets I'll be fine. Or have you forgotten where I've been living?" He ducks his face low, pressing it into Blaine's neck. It feels so good to be close, to have Blaine tucked up against him in this nighttime fuzzy haze. He shouldn't, but god-"I have a space heater," he mumbles. "Come sleep with me and we can share the heat." He doesn't mean it to be suggestive, but he can feel a ripple of something go through Blaine at the suggestion. He remembers that just hours ago he'd entertained the idea of joining Blaine in the shower-entertained and abandoned, he reminds himself. But it's too late to withdraw the offer now. "Are you sure? I don't want to invade your privacy," Blaine murmurs into Kurt's chest. "I'm sure," he says, even though he's not. It's no hardship to share the queen-sized bed with space to spare and, despite the fact that Kurt had felt the possibility yet again between them in the kitchen, he finds himself rolling over and sliding back into sleep as quickly as he'd come shaking out of it.

In the morning, though, it's different. He must have rolled over at some point and gravitated toward Blaine's body heat, because he wakes up with Blaine's ass snug against his crotch, and one of his arms arm flung over Blaine's waist. No morning erection, thank god, but that's not much of a consolation considering how close they are. He can't help but stretch in place just once before shifting away; Blaine's body feels perfect against his. As soon as he does, though, Blaine moans in his sleep and wiggles backward, closing the distance that Kurt had created between them. "Mmm, no, 's nice," he murmurs, rolling over and slinging a leg over Kurt's hips. Kurt freezes. "Blaine?" Blaine buries his face in Kurt's sleep-sweaty throat and inhales. "Yeah?" He comes awake at that, tensing and lifting his head. "Oh. Oh, god. I'm sorry." Kurt smiles, giving Blaine the time that he needs to pull away on his own. "It's okay," he says, when Blaine rolls off the bed. "It really is cold in here. I forgot about the sleep timer on that heater. Duh." He shrugs into a robe as he gets out of bed. "Hey--why don't you come with me today instead of staying home? I just have lessons and rehearsals and you can sit in on those." "Are you going to let me go to one of your shows, ever?" Blaine asks, pouting playfully. Kurt tenses. It's something that he's been self-conscious about, but he has been meaning to snag an extra ticket and invite Blaine. Soon. Really. "Maybe," Kurt replies, smiling. "Consider this a practice run?"

"Wouldn't that be weird for your co-workers? Er, co-performers?" "Nah, not if it's just the once," Kurt says. "It's actually pretty informal. I can sneak you in. And then we can maybe get diner out, something nicer than usual." Blaine blushes. "Really?" "Sure," Kurt says, shrugging into a pair of slippers. "I'm going to go shower." He drags his fingers over Blaine's side as he passes him, tugging at his pajama top hard enough to make their hips bump. "Coffee?" "Slave driver," Blaine gasps, rolling his front over Kurt's as he skoots past him through the bedroom door. "Sure. Hurry before it gets cold." He walks into the kitchen forty-five minutes later, skinny jeans, boots, button up and scarf all in place, hair swept up into a careful wave of spray, and Blaine stares at him over a steaming mug of coffee as if he has two heads. He automatically puts a finger to his teeth. "Did I miss something?" "No, you look great. You always look great." He offers the mug and Kurt takes a sip and moans. "God, you're amazing," he says. "I picked up a thing or two living outside of that doughnut place." He shifts into the living room, plucking up a pair of gloves that match Kurt's outfit that Kurt had planned on grabbing. "Speaking of that. Tomorrow I think I'm going to start looking for work. Now that I'm presentable I might be able to get something off the books, busing or dish washing or something, and I know some nice people down on that street I used to live on." Kurt hasn't thought of asking Blaine to work--really, it's no financial hardship to support him, and Kurt likes that he has had time to recover his health and body weight and record some more music in his spare time. He does so much for Kurt, as well; their arrangement has turned out to benefit them both more than Kurt had ever thought it could. He has thought once or twice of trying to figure out a way to get Blaine back into school, but that's a lot more complicated than just suggesting it. It's a conversation that they definitely need to have, but maybe not today. "I want to keep pitching in at home, so it would just be part time, probably, so that I can start to buy my own clothes and chip in for groceries," he continues, looking down, fiddling with the gloves in his hands, smoothing out the fingers one by one, then rolling them up again. "If you want to do that for yourself, of course," Kurt says. "I just don't want you to think that I expect money from you. I offered to support you because I can, easily. I like taking care of you, Blaine." "The thing is," Blaine replies, "I sort of like taking care of you, too. And this would enable me to do that better, and I--I want that." Kurt swallows. He nods, then, and smiles. "Okay. Whatever is good for you is good for me." He takes the gloves from Blaine. "We should get going, though. Being late for vocal coaching is definitely not good for me."

Having Blaine tag along is equal parts stressful and enjoyable for Kurt He likes sharing this side of himself with Blaine. He likes showing Blaine what he sings, how he moves, the way that he blends with his fellow performers. He likes hitting those high notes and nailing the difficult dance moves (he's always been more of a performer than a dancer by trade, so every time he perfects something complicated or advanced it's a big deal for him) and watching Blaine's eyes widen and his hands come together in awed, unconscious applause. And okay; prancing around in his leotard and dance shoes and watching Blaine stare, cheeks bright red, messenger bag clutched over his lap definitely does something for Kurt's ego. But he's sort of a control freak when it comes to his schedule, and having someone with him throws things off by a slight measure, enough to make his timetable run a few minutes behind the whole day. By the end of it he's managed to adjust to the change, enough so that when they're taking a cab to the restaurant that Kurt had made reservations at, he doesn't fuss when his phone rings and it's his father, a call that he wants to take but that will delay them even further. "Could you get our table, honey?" he asks Blaine, hardly noticing the endearment until it's out. Blaine goes pink and nods, disappearing inside. "God, I'm losing it," Kurt mutters, and answers the call. "Hey Dad." "Hey, stranger." Oh, god, this is going to be one of those conversations that Kurt totally deserves. "I'm sorry?" His dad laughs. "It's okay. I just wanted to check up on you. You're done with rehearsal, right?" "Yeah, I'm just going into dinner." "Anyone special?" And from the tone, Kurt knows immediately that his father knows. "Sort of? Blaine is--I'm not sure. But I think so, Dad." "I had to find out about this from Rachel, kid." "I know. I'm sorry. I'm--basically supporting him, and it's been a weird change for us both. I'm happy-so happy to do it, but between that and work and lessons and reads for next season, I just--god, I'm sorry, these excuses suck." He can practically hear his dad thinking over the phone. "I have a way that you can make all of this up to me." "Dare I ask?" "Come home for Christmas. Your brother is gonna be here with his family and Carole has this new vegan recipe thing she wants you to help her with--"

"I'm not sure if I could leave Blaine behind like that so soon." "Bring him." "Dad, we're not--" "Bring him as a friend. Don't make me repeat myself, kid, you know what I mean. He's a part of your life; that's enough for me." The affection in his father's tone makes him wilt. "I'll ask him. I really will think about it, Dad, and I'll let you know by the end of the week. Okay? I love you." "Love you, too." Well. This is going to be an interesting night.

Somewhere in between antipasto and canoli, though, Kurt never gets around to the topic. It's just that Blaine is so distracting in the candlelight of their little table, his neatly pressed jacket and bow tie perfectly set against the lines of his compact body, which has filled out with healthy weight and muscle so much in the past few weeks. His skin now has a glow to it, and his eyes are wider and wetter than ever, and even his smiles have shed that melancholy ring that they'd always come with before. He's happy, for the first time since maybe childhood, and it shows, and Kurt is thrilled. Kurt shares the huge cream and chocolate chip filled pastry with him, breaking off pieces between them and licking cream from his fingertips. Blaine keeps swiping dots of it off of Kurt's lips and then popping them into his own mouth, and it's so unconsciously, innocently sexy that Kurt can't stop the warmth that rises against his skin with every touch. He is enthralled. He's always enthralled by Blaine, but at times like these when they can be the focus of each other's attention to the exclusion of all else it's so much better. And so much worse. They sip dessert wine even though it doesn't go with the canoli, so Blaine's a little flushed from that as well, loose at his joints, laughing easily, joking easily. No time like the present. "So I have a proposition for you," he begins, feeling relaxed from the wine, as well. "Oh, god, that's a hell of a setup." Blaine giggles at Kurt over the rim of his wine glass. "My dad wants me to come home for Christmas. I know it's just a week away, but you haven't found a job yet, so I thought--" Blaine's eyelashes flutter thoughtfully. "You want me to apartmentsit?"

Kurt hesitates, fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on the tabletop. "I would like you to come with me, actually." "To Ohio?" Blaine's face freezes. His entire body, in fact, has gone as still as stone. Kurt realizes all too late what he had just asked without a second thought. "Oh, my god. Blaine. No. We'd--we'd fly in, go directly to my dad's house, eat dinner, open presents, and leave the next day. No wandering, no sightseeing, no accidentally running into anyone you know, I promise. I won't let that happen." "I'm--not sure about that." He doesn't look like he's breathing. "Seventeen is the age of consent in New York. You don't have to worry about your parents anymore, Blaine." Even as Kurt says the words, he knows that he's making a mistake. Of course Blaine worries about his parents. Blaine hasn't even begun to address his feelings for his parents. God, what the hell had Kurt been thinking? "It sounds so simple when you put it like that," Blaine says, voice gone cold. "But it isn't just about technicalities. It's about fear. It's about not knowing if I'll ever feel safe, even a thousand miles away. Don't you get it? What it would take for me to get on a plane and go back there right now?" Obviously, he hadn't. He'd been so sucked in by fantasies of Blaine coming home to meet the folks, of eggnog and mistletoe and presents and holiday cheer, that he hadn't even taken the time to wonder if Blaine might not want to go for reasons of his own. "You can't fix everything, Kurt," Blaine whispers miserably. "You can't just--give me freedom by sheer force of will. I know you think that you can, but you can't." Kurt sits back in his chair, eyes wet and staring at the checkered tablecloth. "I'm sorry. I'm--I wasn't thinking when I asked. It was wrong of me to ask." He pays for the meal with a thoughtless toss of bills on the table, hands shaking as he does so. He is disgusted with himself and unsure of what to do next aside from take himself out of Blaine's sight. "I want you to have the apartment to yourself tonight," he says, shaking as he stands. "I don't deserve your company right now." Blaine shudders, eyes rolling damp and pained just once before he jerks in place, disturbing the money on the table and nearly overturning his wine glass. "You don't have to--to do that, for me, I--" "It's your home, too," Kurt spits, eyes welling. "Please. Please just go home. I'll--I won't be longer than after the show tomorrow, I just--I have to go. I'm sorry."

He makes it as far as Rachel's liquor cabinet before she tugs the glass from his hand. "Talky first, drinky later. Sit." He sits, feeling like the world's dumbest rag doll. "I fucked up with Blaine." She makes a "yes, keep going" motion with her hands. "I asked him to come back to Lima with me for Christmas, without even thinking about his past. He-he freaked out completely, though less severely than I deserved. I don't even know what I was thinking." "Oh," she breathes. "Is that an 'oh, it's not so bad, Kurt' or an 'oh, you're an idiot, Kurt'?" "The latter." "Hallelujah. We agree. Can I have that drink now?" "No," she replies, shifting close and patting his leg. "I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to go buy the most expensive flower arrangement that you can find in this city at this hour. You're going to go home, give them to Blaine, apologize for being an insensitive jerk, and tell him that you'll be more than happy to deposit him into my hot little hands for holiday fun time, which by the way I will be enjoying with my spectacular assortment of friends and talented colleagues. My dads are coming out and having it catered; it's going to be superb. And after I've secured him a semi-lavish entry-level job at the theater--at which I have so many connections now it is to die for--and we have become best friends for life, you can have him back. Okay?" Kurt laughs so hard that he starts to cry, and all at once he's surrounded by Rachel's perfumed arms, getting the world's tightest hug. "Oh, Kurt. Sometimes you can be so silly when it comes to boys." Sometimes, irony is so delicious that even he can't bear to spoil it with his withering one-liners. He hiccups, crushing her little body against his. "I love you, Rachel." "I love you, too, sweetie." "The question is, where in the hell do I get flowers at one in the morning?" "Leave it up to me," she says, winking saucily at him.

In the end, it had come down to a choice between the I'm sorry I upset you, please forgive me bouquet, and the I'm sorry I upset you, please forgive me, my love, bouquet, since Kurt sometimes has trouble deciding whether or not he and Blaine are kind of sort of but not really dating. The funny thing is that he's not sure there's any difference between the two arrangements aside from the fact that the second option had been twenty dollars more. Apparently, love is expensive. Apparently, he's a sucker. These two things go together rather well.

And of course none of this matters once he's standing outside of the door to his own apartment feeling like an asshole and an intruder at the same time. He enters quietly, flowers shaking in their cellophane wrapping in his sweaty hand, plucks up the courage to cross the living room, and finds Blaine's bed empty. Fear stabs through him like a knife, cold and sharp. He races down the hall. Blaine isn't in the bathroom. He charges back down the hall and into his own bedroom-And finds Blaine asleep on his side on the bed, face buried in his pillow. Oh, god. Thank god. For a moment he'd thought--he really thought that Blaine had-He remembers waking up on his couch with a CD and the burning brush of a kiss against his skin as the only tangible proof that Blaine had ever been there. He remembers feeling as if Blaine had taken one of his limbs with him when he'd left instead of last season's overcoat. He tosses the flowers aside and kneels on the bed. "Blaine?" Blaine jerks awake, hand halfway to the pepper spray under the pillow, and then freezes when he realizes that it's Kurt. "I thought you were going to--" "You weren't in your bed," Kurt gasps out, embarrassed when his voice cracks. "It was cold. We forgot to call the landlord," Blaine says, sleep-slow and sweeter for it. "I'm sorry, I'll-" "No," Kurt says. "I'm sorry. I just--the thought of you being gone, just like that, again, I was terrified." Blaine looks confused. Hours ago he'd been so angry for so many good reasons; Kurt understands why contrite behavior might not be settling easily with him right now. "How do you feel about attending Rachel's holiday festivities this year while I'm gone? She's apparently throwing the social event of the season, and she may be able to get you a job at the theater. Also I think she wants to steal you from me, but I told her to stuff it," Kurt rambles, desperate for progress. Mostly just desperate. "I don't need to be looked after," Blaine says, but his tone isn't angry or defensive. "I need you to understand that. But I know that all of this is coming from a good place, so I'm not--angry, anymore. I-I'd like to go to Rachel's party and talk with her friends." Kurt grins, he can't help it; he's managing somehow to fix this, and that is a start. He plucks the flowers off of the nightstand. "Um. These are for you." Blaine stares at him, eyebrows rising. "Which was the backup plan? The flowers or the party invitation?" "I'm not sure now," Kurt admits, chuckling. "I--I know you don't need looking after. I just don't want you to be alone on Christmas, and I really have to see my dad. It's been too long."

"I understand," Blaine says. "All I wanted was to be allowed to say no. And for you to realize how thoughtless your invitation was." "You were, and I did, and I am so sorry." They kneel there facing each other for too long; Kurt can't stop himself from reaching out to break the awkwardness by sliding his arms around Blaine's neck and pulling him into a tight hug. Blaine sighs against him and deflates, tension fleeing his body. "I hate fighting with you," he whispers, turning his face into Kurt's neck. "Me too," Kurt says. "And you always win, which makes me cranky." He can't help that, and laughs nervously as soon as the words escape. Blaine jabs him in the ribs. "You really need to catch up with me, then, or you're going to eventually lose your I'm eight years older than you street cred." Kurt sometimes feels as if it's the other way around, with them. "As if I've ever played that card, Blaine Anderson." He smiles, tugging Blaine down onto the bed, unwilling to let him go. "Stay?" "Alright," Blaine replies, smiling.

Christmas goes by remarkably quickly. There isn't time to catch up with his family as well as he'd like, but the moments that he has with Finn and Marley and their son Devon are priceless. The dinner consists mostly of dishes that Kurt himself had invented after his mother passed, plus the childhood recipes that Finn had enjoyed. The vegan recipe (apparently little Devon has decided to strike out on that noble path) only makes it so far in terms of popularity. He gets several very thoughtful gifts from his family--mostly gift cards to his favorite stores because they honestly would not have the first clue of what to buy him, and he's fallen out of contact too completely recently to have felt comfortable handing over a detailed wish list. He only hopes that the things he's been idly collecting for them satisfy. They seem to be very happy just to see him, but he feels strongly about gift giving having a personal touch as well as an artistic flare. He spends the hours from midnight to about three in the morning on Christmas day alone with his father by the Christmas tree, drinking hot chocolate with his cheek on Burt's knee. They'd opened the gifts on Christmas Eve as per tradition, so they're surrounded by an explosion of shiny paper and bows. Devon had been more interested in the boxes than the toys inside of them. Kurt smiles, recalling the carnage and his cries of "Uncle Kurt!". "He didn't want to come, then? Blaine?" Burt asks, finally, when all other topics have been exhausted. "His family is from Westerville."

"The family that abused him so badly that he ran away?" Kurt nods. "What's this kid's last name?" "Anderson, why?" Burt coughs. "No reason. Just might look into it, is all. Maybe they'll perk up a little if their local congressman shows an interest--" "Dad." "Don't worry about it, Kurt. I'll be discreet if I decide to look into it. No kid should have to suffer like that. He's not far from eighteen, right?" "Less than a year," Kurt answers, and wonders what exactly his dad is thinking about. Burt grunts and nods, and lets a hand come down on Kurt's hair. It's weird to enjoy this still at twentyfive, but Burt's heavy fingers in his hair make the anxiety in Kurt's body just melt away. "I can't believe I left him with Rachel," he sighs. Burt laughs. "Best thing for him. She's a live wire. You talk to him since you left?" "We've been texting, but he hasn't said much. I think Rachel is taking her aspiring best friend duties very seriously. We wished each other Merry Christmas a few hours ago. He sounded really happy." "Good, good." Burt takes a deep swallow of his hot chocolate. "You ask him out yet?" "Dad." "Come on, gimme some details, Kurt. You're killing your old man, here. You haven't had a boyfriend since what'sisname, Brent, Brandon, back when you first started as an understudy--" "Brad, actually. And I know. Thank you for reminding me of how vastly unsuccessful my love life has been." "Tone," Burt hums, nudging Kurt's shoulder. "Come on. Give." "Sometimes I forget that we're not dating," Kurt admits. "It's reached that level of stupidity." "What are you waiting for? Ask the guy out." "Why do I have to be the one to ask?" (What if he doesn't want me that way?) "Good point. But still. Someone's gotta do it. It might as well be you." "I don't want to mess up our arrangement. If we tried to date and it didn't work out, we'd still have to live together with me practically supporting him, and that would be horrible for us both." He sighs. "I feel like I have the power in the situation, no matter how hard I try to share it, and I don't want him to feel pressured." Burt nods. "True." He shrugs in his chair, face twisting up. "But sometimes you gotta take a chance on people, Kurt. Sometimes it's worth it. When you look back on this time, you're gonna regret all the

weeks you wasted wondering, questioning yourself. You're not gonna be relieved that you waited, trust me. Life is too short, and you're a smart kid. I think you know what you want." That's the scariest part of all.

It's only three days away, in the end, but by the time that Kurt gets back into the city he's dying to see Blaine. He's curious about how Blaine feels after a few days with Rachel and, though he would never admit it, he's dying to hear about her party and he's sure that Blaine will give him the uncensored version of events that he'd never get from Rachel herself. He calls Blaine as soon as he gets off the subway. "Guess who's back in town?" he asks. "Kurt, you texted me when you landed. I figured. How was your flight?" "Boring. Stuffy. I feel diseased. Are you home?" "On my way, actually. I went to pick up some of your favorites." Kurt really hopes that that means eclairs from the bakery around the corner. "Spoiling me will get you everywhere. I'll be home in twenty or so?" "I'll be here," Blaine says, and Kurt can hear the smile in his voice. It makes something warm and tingly shoot up Kurt's spine. He's never before experienced that keen sense of anticipation of coming home to someone that he's been thinking about for days. He misses Blaine so much that it's like a physical ache throbbing under his skin, rising to the surface in the form of full body flushes that just won't stop cresting. Blaine is putting things away in the kitchen when Kurt finally gets home, wearing a pair of dark wash jeans that are so tight that they leave nothing to the imagination, paired with a red sweater that is no kinder to Kurt's hormones, hugging his lean little torso all the way down. His hair is gelled in a way that Kurt has never seen it done up before, pressed down in a wave over his head. He looks like a schoolboy. He looks like heaven. "Hey you," he breathes, and Kurt's heart pounds in his chest. He stands there like an idiot, gawking. It's Blaine that closes the distance between them, sliding into Kurt's arms. Kurt curls down around him, relief flooding his body in waves at the tangible proof that Blaine still fits there as perfectly as he had days ago. Kurt closes his eyes, wraps his hands around Blaine's shoulders and back, trying to box him in closer. He can feel Blaine breathe him in in return, and the soft search of Blaine's hands along his spine. After several long moments of holding on, Blaine whispers, "I guess you want to take your shoes off at some point." They laugh together and Kurt stands straighter, eyes dancing over Blaine's face. It's harder to do that, really, harder to stop the urge to lean in and kiss that plump mouth, especially when it's curled into a

really, harder to stop the urge to lean in and kiss that plump mouth, especially when it's curled into a smile that way, especially when it looks like home, and especially when it's right there. "Pastry?" he asks, feigning distress. "Pastry," Blaine answers. "You are the best." They eat eclairs and Blaine tells Kurt about the party. "Well, first, she got me drunk at least three times. I totally fell for the eggnog trick." Kurt laughs. "She also insisted on buying me clothes. I fought tooth and nail, but god she's worse than you. Her dads are-just awesome, we went sightseeing and ice skating and shopping and they took me to this kosher place-oh man, so good." He walks around the kitchen, gesturing with his hands. "I had such a great time, Kurt, it was--amazing. No word on the job yet but she thinks she can get me something backstage. Just the idea of that--I would be so thrilled." Thank god for Rachel, Kurt thinks, and makes a mental note to send her thank you flowers. "How was your family?" Blaine asks, finally. "Great," Kurt answers, smiling. "We caught up. Devon is getting so big. I put on like five pounds from pie alone, I'm sure. It was great to see my dad. I forget sometimes how much I miss him until I see him." Blaine smiles. "I'm glad. I think it worked out for us both, don't you?" "No thanks to me, but yes, I think it did," Kurt says. "Oh stop," Blaine replies, circling the breakfast bar and leaning over to press a kiss to Kurt's cheek. "What's done is done. And besides, I have an epic day of crashing on the couch, watching bad reality television, and eating this entire box of pastries with you planned. Don't cramp my style, Hummel." Kurt grins, glancing over at the living room. Blaine's cot is folded away and the couch done up with pillows. "Obsessive compulsive planner," he says, giving Blaine his best I am judging you face. "You know it," Blaine replies.

As is so often the case, "watching television" is mostly just an excuse to curl up together on the couch and talk while the reruns they have on DVR play in the background. The sun has gone down on the opposite side of the building so it feels later than it is. Kurt lights a couple of candles to keep things cozy (he's sure that once Blaine catches on to his candle fetish there will be judgment, but as of right now he's free to indulge). There's a box of decimated eclairs on the coffee table. His sugar high is waning and he has Blaine tucked up under his chin. "I thought about you a lot while I was away," he says, softly, disturbing a few strands of gelled hair

above Blaine's ear. "Yeah?" "I wish I could help you with your parents," he whispers. Blaine stiffens, but only a little. "It's not your problem to solve. I'll--I'll get there, in time. Don't worry, okay?" "I'll try," Kurt replies. After a pause, he smiles and says, "I like your new look." "Yeah? I do, too. I feel--neater. Rachel seemed to like it, too. Although at some point she sighed and looked at me and muttered something about 'vaguely Eurasian children', so I'm not sure how much I can trust her at this point." Kurt laughs. "Oh, god. I'll never be able to get you out of her clutches now." "She's sweet," Blaine says, sitting up and snagging the last eclair from the box. He breaks it in half and hands Kurt one. "But I do have to say, after a few days I was looking forward to you coming home." Kurt nibbles the chocolate top of the eclair. "Me too." Blaine settles down again, and then laughs suddenly. "Oh, I forgot! She bought me boxing lessons." Kurt chokes. "She what?" "I mentioned wanting to take some kind of self-defense that could also double as exercise and apparently she went out with a boxing instructor recently, so she suggested it, and then bought me a month's worth of lessons." "That's amazing, Blaine," Kurt says, the image of Blaine all sweaty and wearing boxing gloves zooming past his mind's eye. "You know, I think Rachel might actually like you better than me." He smirks. "And I resent that you let her spoil you but you fuss every time I try to do the same. You owe me at least a few shopping days now." Blaine rolls his eyes and flops back, putting his cheek back on Kurt's chest. "One day I'll figure out how to pay you both back." "No scores," Kurt whispers, kissing Blaine's temple. He feels Blaine's cheek go warm. "No scores," Blaine says. As it gets darker outside and the candles glow brighter, Kurt finds it impossible to stop his eyes from slipping shut every few minutes. He's exhausted from traveling and burnt out from the sugar leaving his system. He really should force himself to get up, change, and put something in his stomach that might actually help, but he can't bring himself to untangle Blaine's body from his. Blaine is snoring softly against his shoulder. He nudges him. "Lemme grab a blanket," he murmurs by way of explanation, and Blaine grumbles and sits up far enough so that Kurt can grab a blanket from his cot. The TV had powered off hours ago so it's silent except for the distant hum of traffic in the distance. "Bed?" Blaine mutters, motioning toward his cot. "Nah," Kurt replies, pulling Blaine down beside him on the couch and flicking the blanket over them. "C'mere."

"C'mere." "M'kay." He breathes out once as Blaine settles in front of him, his back snug against Kurt's front, and falls asleep.

He wakes up to stifling heat and Blaine's ass churning against his morning erection. One of these things he doesn't mind much. He tips the blanket off of them far enough to let the heat out but not enough to disturb Blaine, who is whimpering in his sleep and sort of--wriggling. Kurt holds his breath. It feels amazing and he has to admit that if they had taken the time to change into pajamas last night this would have probably already been over, at least for him, but the tight restriction of the jeans they're both wearing has subverted that outcome. His right arm has fallen asleep under his head and his left is somewhere between them, so it's not as if he'd been clutching Blaine in his sleep, but he might as well be now for how close they are. He feels absolutely disgusting in yesterday's clothes and really, really wishes that he hadn't fallen asleep in them. But he supposes that's for the best--he needs to cool off right now, and feeling gross is helping. Blaine wakes up not long after, groaning and kicking off the blanket. "Should have changed," he mutters, grumbling and making noises that indicate he's feeling much the same way. "Yeah," Kurt agrees, rolling over a little and popping his fly. He's not hard anymore, at least not enough for it to be obvious, and he just wants his pants off. He wriggles out of them and loops them over the back of the couch, then does the same with his shirt, leaving him in an undershirt and briefs. He sighs in relief. Blaine sits up and does the same, and Kurt can't help but stare. Blaine is hard in his boxers, though they're loose enough to provide some modesty. His compact legs and round ass are all Kurt can see well from this vantage. He really can't complain about the view. "Couch hogger," Blaine declares, smiling down at him. He had rolled onto his back and sort of sprawled the moment that Blaine had stood up, so he has a point. He straddles Kurt's thighs and sits on his knees. "Hey, move over." "We need to get up," Kurt sings, squinting and rubbing his eyes. "Not get comfortable again." "Says who?" Blaine asks, planting his hands on either side of Kurt's head on the couch cushions and leaning over him. Kurt's breath hitches. Having Blaine over him like that, all morning sleepy and bed-headed and still half-hard, is too much. All of this is too much.

He sits up on his elbows, which Blaine clearly isn't prepared for; the motion brings them very close, very fast. Blaine stares down into his eyes; his pupils have gone wide and he's holding his breath. Kurt has waited a very long time for someone whose breath he could steal away that easily. He stares at Blaine's lips, then up at his eyes, so wide and full of wanting. Blaine bends closer, just minutely so, lips parting, but it's enough. It's permission. Kurt leans up and presses their mouths together, one hand flying to grasp the back of Blaine's neck. Blaine whimpers and twists down, pushing Kurt down into the couch cushions, his hands coming up to cradle Kurt's face. Kurt can't even feel the kiss, he's that far gone into oversensitivity from the overwhelming relief of kissing Blaine, finally, after waiting so long. He groans into Blaine's sleep-sour mouth and pushes his lips apart with his tongue, hungrily seeking more contact as Blaine's body settles on top of his. He doesn't recall wrapping his calves around Blaine's thighs, but they're there. He doesn't recall pushing his free hand up underneath Blaine's undershirt, but it's there. He gasps out of the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. He can't breathe. His body is humming. He wants to wallow in the reality of kissing Blaine, of what it means, but his body has waited so long for Blaine's warm, aroused weight against his that all he can think about is having more. He's hard enough for Blaine to be able to feel it easily, and if Blaine were to just shift his hips an inch or two to the left they'd line up perfectly, and-"Why did you stop?" Blaine asks, voice rough with arousal. "Blaine," Kurt whimpers. "Please don't stop," he whispers, brushing their mouths together again. "Please, please, touch me--" "God," Kurt gasps, dragging Blaine down by the back of his neck again. "God, come here." He wraps his legs around Blaine's waist and grinds their hips together, savoring the shudder as Blaine twitches against him. He runs a hand down Blaine's spine, then up again, then back down, teasing the edge of his boxers. He just wants to feel Blaine everywhere, wants to know the shape of the arousal beneath his skin more than he wants to come or do anything more complicated that just rut against him. Blaine sucks kisses out of his mouth like a man starved for them, high-pitched, desperate noises falling from his parted lips. He paws at Kurt's hair with his hands, rocking their bodies together. "Want you to be my first everything," he moans. He was Blaine's first kiss. He's going to be Blaine's first-He brackets Blaine's face with his hands and makes the next kiss softer, longer. He tries to slow down, gently dragging their tongues together, exploring Blaine's mouth with his, wet little nips that only seem to set Blaine further alight, not calm him. He's moving almost unconsciously now, grinding the shaft of his cock against Kurt's thigh. Kurt splays his fingers over Blaine's belly, feeling it heave. "Let me touch you?" he breathes, kissing Blaine's ear, then his neck, then his shoulder. "I'm--" He sounds a little embarrassed.

"It's okay," Kurt answers as he slides his hand into Blaine's boxers and curls a fist around him. "It's okay." "Oh my god," Blaine gasps, thrusting down. "That's it," Kurt whispers. "I can't stop--" "Don't, then." "Oh, god, I'm--" "It's okay, sweetheart." "Kurt," Blaine gasps. He feels so good in Kurt's hand--hard as a rock and wet at the head, surging and throbbing against Kurt's fingers like an independent heartbeat. The way that he can't even control his hips snapping forward, can't stop working himself through the channel of Kurt's dry fist-When he goes over the edge it seems to last forever, warm spurts of thin come jerking all over Kurt's hand and the inside of Blaine's underwear. He makes the sweetest little noises when he falls apart. Kurt breathes heavily against his shoulder, on fire in almost every sense of the word. He doesn't move for fear of spooking Blaine, but he does gently wipe his hand off on his boxers and pull back enough to kiss his slack, trembling mouth. "Oh my god," Blaine breathes, eyes drifting shut. There is the briefest of disconnects between how Blaine makes him feel and the fact that he'd just jerked Blaine off, and then Blaine's mouth twitches into an overwhelmed, satiated smile, and the two collide and combine in the simplest way possible, until Kurt can't stop himself from giggling into Blaine's sweaty throat. "Please tell me that I'm not the only one," Blaine pleads, all on one breath. Kurt kisses him, so full that he could burst. "You're not the only one." Blaine laughs, and god, the cinch of his tiny waist, the sweet, warm spill of his hips and round ass under Kurt's fingers, the way that he's all post-orgasm loose and spread so wide over Kurt's pelvis-He's stunning. "Show me--I want to--" Blaine inches down Kurt's legs, eyes hungrily roaming Kurt's torso, mouth wet and open and working. Kurt's body throbs. "What would you like to do?" He bends low over Kurt's belly where the undershirt has ridden up from his briefs and kisses the hair and skin there, eyes flashing. "Want you in my mouth. Can we...?" Oh. "You don't have to," Kurt blurts. First time, first time, first time, is all that he can think.

Blaine stares at up him, hair a wreck, face flushed so red at his cheeks and nose and ears that he looks like he's wearing stage makeup, the blunt tips of his fingers tugging at the waistband of Kurt's briefs. "I've wanted to do this to you since the moment you smiled at me," Blaine breathes over Kurt's bulge, desire ringing in every word. "I want you. I want you so bad." Kurt watches in awe as Blaine's hips rut down against the sofa. He presses his face between Kurt's legs and inhales deeply. Kurt hisses, threading his right hand through Blaine's hair. Blaine's swollen mouth dragging over the curve of his cotton-covered cock is almost more than he can take. He arches his hips up, seeking more contact, Blaine's jaw in his other hand, fingers tracing the wet slit of Blaine's lips with the pad of his thumb. When Blaine drags his underwear down and he flops back onto his belly, hissing at the slap. "You're so perfect," Blaine breathes, staring, drool collecting at the corners of his mouth. Kurt can't help but smear that spit, draw it across Blaine's bottom lip until it shines. He's burning with the need for friction, thrusting up into nothing as Blaine stares at his cock like he's afraid to touch for fear of using it too roughly, "Go ahead," Kurt says, hips churning. "Put your mouth on me, honey." Blaine surges forward, dragging the flat of his tongue up Kurt's length. Kurt twitches on his belly, neck arching, back coming off the couch. The hand that he has in Blaine's hair twists. He ruts himself against Blaine's tongue and lips, desperate and fast, wanting, needing more. He thumbs Blaine's mouth open. "Lips over your teeth," he whispers, sitting up just enough to get the angle right as he holds himself up for Blaine, who does as he's told and then sinks down. The warm, wet pressure around him is bliss after so long with nothing but his own right hand for company. He breathes out, eyes rolling back in his head as Blaine begins sucking choppily around him. "Oh, god, just like that." Technique doesn't matter when Blaine finds a comfortable arrangement and angle, because Kurt is sliding wetly in and out of that mouth, between those swollen lips, and Blaine keeps stopping to lick him, only to latch back onto the head of his cock every time, whimpering around him and taking him inside again. He wants it so badly, so obviously, that Kurt can't feel anything but urgency race through his body. "Use your hand," he rasps, thighs spread and shaking. Blaine holds him and then begins jerking him up and down, suckling the head of his cock at the same time. "H-harder." His eyelids flutter shut when the sensations begin to become overwhelming. "God. Yes. Yes, just like that. Just like that. I'm--close, you don't have to--god--" Blaine tugs harder, faster, lashing the head of Kurt's swollen, leaking cock with his tongue. "You can come in my mouth." "Blaine--" "You can," he whispers, sucking harder. "Want you to. Please." "Fuck," Kurt hisses, rutting deep into Blaine's mouth, one hand on the back of his neck as he spills, jolt after jolt hitting the back of Blaine's throat and the roof of his mouth. "Oh Blaine." He floats on the pleasure for as long as he can, head thrown back, still throbbing in Blaine's mouth. He feels Blaine swallow a few times, knows that it's not entirely what he'd expected judging by the hesitation between the first and second throat bob, but that's okay.

He gently slides from between Blaine's lips, shivering and gasping when the cold air hits his shrinking, damp erection. He smooths his fingers down Blaine's neck and opens his eyes just in time to watch Blaine kissing the line of his hip bone, mouth still red from sucking him. "Hey," he says, and is surprised to hear how wrecked his voice is. Blaine glances up, lips still tasting, now somewhere around Kurt's upper thigh. "Mm?" "I'm trying to think of something really witty or poignant to say, but all I've come up with so far is why did we wait so long?" Blaine grins, kissing Kurt's flaccid length, which is still shining with his spit. "That was amazing." "I had noticed," Kurt replies cheekily. "You felt so good," Blaine goes on, licking sweat from Kurt's balls in a way that should not be sexy at all but very much is. "God, I--want to do it again." Kurt laughs. "I'm not sure that I ever recovered that fast, even at your age." The silence stretches, warm and thoughtful as the physical urgency ebbs. Kurt shimmies out of his underwear and undershirt, strangely unconcerned about the nudity (it doesn't hurt that Blaine had lined the couch with a sheet earlier in the evening), and Blaine does the same though slower, which gives Kurt time to just stare. He's gorgeous--broad shoulders, wide chest, tiny waist, hips that almost flare, they're that delicately shaped, and an ass so thick that Kurt has to force himself not to put his mouth on it right then and there. He's hairy in all the right places and his cock is thick. It's almost unfair how attractive he is, and Kurt can't believe that he's wasted so much time one room away when he could have been acquainting himself with that body on a nightly basis. Blaine crawls back on top of Kurt and they cuddle up under a thinner blanket, turning to face each other. "I don't want this to be weird," he murmurs sleepily. "Is it weird?" Kurt actually thinks about it, carding his fingers through Blaine's gel-sticky hair, which is coming apart in clumps from all the moisture. Kurt thinks about waiting. He thinks about being realistic. He thinks about doing the smart thing, perhaps the right thing, about seeing how things go between them, about how things might change when Blaine is old enough to get a job and take care of himself, when Blaine doesn't strictly need him anymore, or possibly meets someone in school and realizes that he's missing out on a variety of romantic or sexual experiences. He thinks about what his dad had said at Christmas and realizes that he could what if this opportunity to death, or he could just accept it for what it is and enjoy every second of it. And since when has Kurt Hummel ever done anything by half? He turns his face against Blaine's ear and whispers, "I love you. I'm not sure if that's the question you were asking. But it's my answer." He feels the warm spill of Blaine's tears before he sees them, feels the contraction of Blaine's body in his arms, and when Blaine's frame begins to shake with the sobs, Kurt holds and rocks him,

whispering, "I'm here, it's okay," and keeps repeating the words until Blaine falls asleep. He wonders if that had been the first time that Blaine had ever heard those words and believed them.

Kurt wraps a ticket to his show around Blaine's toothbrush in the morning before he goes to work and when he gets home later that night Blaine is at the door when he opens it, pajama-clad and grinning ear to ear. It's the first time that Kurt has been able to haul Blaine against him and do what he's wanted to do for months after getting home--turn him and press him into the door and kiss him until they're both breathless. When they break apart Blaine asks, panting, "I finally get to see you in that flimsy outfit going all out?" Kurt laughs. "I'll make it extra special, I promise." There is something special about that performance, though he gives one hundred and ten percent as he always does; no matter how hard he tries not to he can't help but feel drawn to the section of the orchestra pit that he knows Blaine is sitting in. Rachel had insisted on coming with him and Kurt is grateful that Blaine has someone to cling to at the exciting parts. At least, he thinks they're pretty exciting, and the few times when he manages to glimpse Blaine clapping and bouncing in his chair it goes right to the center of his chest. He is proud of how far he's come since NYADA, and to be able to share that with Blaine now means so much to him. He doesn't have time to come out during intermission but he does catch a glimpse of Rachel and Blaine sipping champagne in the lobby, Blaine looking amazing in the suit that Kurt had insisted on buying for him, his hair done up in that controlled wave that Kurt has grown so fond of lately. The boxing lessons have done very good things for his shoulders and arms, as well, Kurt notices with just a bit of a leer. Later, grabbing a bite to eat, Rachel loops her arm through his and smiles. "It's about time." He smiles, tugging her close. "It felt right. I'm not sure why. It's--good, Rach. It's really good." "I'm happy for you. Really, I am." She means it, and there's no caveat, and he can't help but turn into her side and kiss her cheek. She's been his savior in more ways than one this year. Blaine comes back from the bathroom and starts cutting up his chicken pot pie into neat sections, all exuberance because apparently he'd run into one of the other performers from the show in the diner bathroom and had a really great conversation about the second act. Kurt leans over and kisses a drop of sauce from the corner of his mouth. "Should I be jealous?" Blaine smirks, rolls his eyes, and tangles their fingers together on the sticky table. "Don't be ridiculous, Kurt." Rachel grins at them both, eyes filling up with tears.

Later that night Blaine wraps Kurt up in his arms and whispers, "The dress rehearsal could never do it justice. You were amazing. Your voice gave me chills, and I couldn't take my eyes off of you." Kurt feels something in his chest bubble over at the compliment, but at the moment he has to admit that he's more interested in the curve of Blaine's neck under his lips, in Blaine's pulse against his open mouth. "I did warn you that I had many talents," he says, rolling over on top of Blaine and kissing him. Blaine, flushed and squirming, tilts his head back, only to have his Adam's apple promptly set upon by Kurt's roaming mouth. "Oh--that's--" Kurt sucks marks, one right after the other, from the softest part of Blaine's throat all the way to his collarbone, thumbing his nipples through his pajama top all the while. "Come to bed with me," Kurt rasps. "We--are?" "My bed," he clarifies, dragging Blaine's hips against his. "Need you in my bed." Blaine groans. "If you want that--you're going to have to let me go--" "Conflict," Kurt gasps, rocking their bodies together. Post-performance adrenaline is pumping through him; he's alive with the memory of the pride in Blaine's eyes as he'd watched Kurt perform, and he just needs. He needs Blaine's touch and Blaine's pleasure and Blaine's love. Blaine's hands close around the swell of his ass and his thumbs hook in the waistband clinging to his lower back, pushing the bottoms and Kurt's briefs down around his thighs. At the same time he wriggles until his cock pops free of his underwear and suddenly they're pressed against each other, warm and hard. "Like this?" Kurt breathes, making the cot shake dangerously as he thrusts back and forth. "Please," Blaine gasps. Kurt slides his arms under Blaine's shoulders. He can feel the head of Blaine's cock push against his, the hard ridge of the underside of the crown catching on his as they grind. "Oh, god, oh god, Blaine, yes--" It's been years since he's taken such keen pleasure from rubbing off on another man's cock, and the way that Blaine feels under him, their cocks pinned between their bellies, especially that bit at the very bottom of Blaine's stomach where he's all soft and round just before the sharp cut of his hips takes overKurt gasps, biting down on Blaine's earlobe and clutching him. And then Blaine does something, shifts his hips or thighs, and their cocks rub together so perfectly that it seems unreal, Kurt's head catching just below Blaine's and sticking in place--there's just enough

sweat to let them thrust but not enough to kill the friction, and hair keeps catching so that Kurt feels every pass, and god, Blaine's legs are so high around his back that he's practically bent in half. "C-close," Blaine moans, digging his fingernails into Kurt's back. Kurt cranes his neck so that he can stare down between them; Blaine's shorter, thicker shape is swollen and red at the tip against his longer, more slender length. The contrast between their skin tone and the faint brown hair on Kurt's body opposite the darker strands of Blaine's is lovely, but it's the wet smears of pre-come all over their bellies and shafts that really make him throb. "You feel so good," he gasps. Blaine's legs bend and fold alongside Kurt's torso. Kurt pins him by his hips to the mattress, rutting down against him, hard and fast. "Come for me, honey." "Kurt," Blaine cries, and Kurt can feel him begin to pulse, and then the rush of spurts as he comes between them; it's everywhere, all over their bellies and chests, even streaked across Blaine's nipples. Kurt slides through the wet mess, shivering at the easy glide. The added lubrication slows him down and he bends low, licking a streak of white from Blaine's chest. "Oh my god, you don't have to--oh--do that--" "Love the way you taste," Kurt hisses, hungrily mouthing lines of come off of Blaine's chest when he realizes how much Blaine likes him doing it. He can feel Blaine's eyes on him the whole way to his thighs, which are still bent up; Kurt nudges them back until Blaine is exposed completely. He tugs the twisted, damp underwear and pajama bottoms from Blaine's legs and tosses them aside. He nuzzles his way back in between Blaine's thighs and kisses at the spent flop of his cock and balls until he begins to stiffen again. It takes a while but he does get there, not all the way but enough for Kurt to get a very satisfactory second mouthful. Blaine is sweaty and messy and perfect, legs in the air, spread so wide that he's hanging off either side of the cot, head thrown back, throat corded up and bright red, begging softly under his breath as Kurt slowly, slowly sucks him, not allowing the friction or the speed that he'd need to come but just mouthing him. Kurt inhales shakily, letting go for long enough to suck at Blaine's balls, one and then the other, making him gasp and twitch. "You like that?" "You're so bad," Blaine hisses. "I already--and you haven't even, once--" Kurt drags his tongue over the soft pouch of Blaine's belly. He almost says something about it, about how he loves it, especially the way that it looks when it's streaked with drying come and heaving, supporting Blaine's swollen cock. He kisses his way back up but this time slides a hand between them, taking them both in hand. He rolls his wrist, working them noisily in his fist, eyes locking with Blaine's. "Gonna get there again for me?" he breathes. Blaine's hazel eyes have gone so yellow that they look almost inhuman; he's shaking, sweat dripping down his hair line, throat heaving. "Please, harder, I just--need--" Kurt presses their mouths together. His muscles are screaming at him, and he's so close; Blaine is throbbing hot against his shaft and he wants to feel him come again so badly but he needs to move. He begins circling his hips and that's what tips him over--he bites down on Blaine's bottom lip and comes, soaking his hand and their cocks and Blaine's belly again.

"Never made it to the bed," he gasps, wrist twinging as he keeps stroking Blaine. "Too sensitive?" "Don't stop," Blaine whines. "Close." Blaine drops one hand to Kurt's ass and squeezes, holding on as Kurt holds him down and keeps going. "Oh, god. Ohgod yes. Yes. Kurt. Kurt." When he comes in Kurt's hand it's much less than it had been before but no less intense in execution, his body shivering apart sweetly. He collapses when it's over, chest heaving. "Well," Kurt pants. "We definitely have to move to my bed now. We've wrecked this thing." Blaine giggles, eyes rolling back in his head.

Blaine starts his job as backstage help that March. It had taken a lot of finagling and the pay and hours aren't much, but he gets to work in a theater and earns enough money to buy his own clothes and personal necessities, so it's automatically better than anything that he's managed to find before. It gives him back some independence and a lot of confidence. The first time that he saves up enough to buy Kurt dinner he practically comes out of his skin with excitement all through the meal, straight through to serenading Kurt on the street corner afterward as they wait for a cab. Kurt threads their fingers together and pulls Blaine into his arms. He's beautiful under the streetlights, hair neatly arranged, clothes hugging his compact body in colors both complimentary and bright, and Kurt can't help but kiss him. He doesn't give a damn that they keep missing empty cabs. Blaine tightens his arms around Kurt's waist. "We should probably start walking if we aren't going to hail a cab." He grins, knowing that his actions are in complete opposition to his words. He keeps kissing Kurt and pressing their bodies together. "It's weird having a job to wake up for." "Why did you have to start being a responsible adult right after we started," Kurt lowers his voice, burying his mouth against Blaine's ear, "fooling around?" "Why Mr. Hummel," Blaine breathes as Kurt's lips open over the curve of his ear. "You'll start a scandal." Kurt grins, splaying an open palm across Blaine's lower back. "Just wait until I get you into a cab. I'll show you a scandal."

"I had to leave Finn in charge, so you can imagine the state of my blood pressure," Kurt says to Rachel over the phone, sewing in his lap, reading glasses low on his nose as he fixes the button hole that's come loose on this shirt. "Marley's good, though, she has all the lists, and the numbers of the places

we've put orders in with. I have faith. I won't be able to be there until the morning of, though, hence the stress." "I'm sorry I can't come home with you. I know that every birthday is special for your dad after everything he's been through," she answers. "Your dads have your gift, and I'll give your love to Finn," he replies, recrossing his legs. Rachel and Finn had thankfully long ago made peace with one another. "If all goes as planned I'll be able to get Dad to the hall before he freaks out and realizes what I've done." She laughs. "Oh shut up, he'll love it. Who wouldn't love a lavish party thrown in their honor?" "Are you sure you know my dad at all, Rach?" "You know what I mean. It's your idea; he'll get used to it and he loves you." She pauses, then adds in a cheeky tone, "And don't complain, you; you have a gorgeous boyfriend to keep you distracted with fabulous dates and romantic gestures and I am sure incredibly athletic sex until then." "You are eerily well-informed," he states, not even embarrassed about it. "I've seen him at those boxing lessons, you know. You haven't. I think there's something fundamentally wrong with you that you haven't made that happen yet." It's true; Kurt has never managed to time it so that he gets a chance to go down and watch Blaine box, or even so that he gets home in time to see Blaine all sweaty in his little gym getup. "I keep trying," he admits, with a half-feigned sigh of regret. "One day. I live for the moment." "He's getting pretty good, according to Julian." Kurt coos. "Julian, huh? Tell me about Julian." "You can thank Blaine for the next few hours, then, because it's all his fault, and there's a lot to say." The truth is, Kurt loves this kind of gossip. He sets his sewing down and draws the pint of ice cream that he'd left to soften on his bedside table into his lap. For once Blaine is working and Kurt has the afternoon off; it's the perfect time to enjoy a nice, juicy lady chat. "Okay. I'm ready. Don't leave out the details."

Kurt has been waiting for his call back for days. He desperately wants this phone call to happen before he gets on a plane to make sure that his father's birthday party goes off without a hitch, but he's cutting it close, which is playing hell with his nerves. Blaine had actually shooed him out the apartment at one point just to put some space between them before they ended up bickering because, truth be told, Kurt is kind of having a diva fit right now. The role he's going out for is much like the one that he'd had last season, only the material is much closer to his heart, and he really, really wants it. He wants it bad. He's doubled his training and spends half the time he's home stretching and practicing the moves or singing the songs over and over again, until they're perfect.

until they're perfect. It helps that he has Blaine to run lines with, even to sing with, as the person that Kurt would be playing opposite of has Blaine's range and it works out perfectly. He knows that he blew the audition out of the water. Now it's just a question of what the other performers might bring to the table and what connections there are behind the scenes that Kurt isn't aware of that might give his competition an advantage. He knows that he has both an impressive education and solid employment to back him up. He knows that his look and his talent are special. But you can never account for hidden nepotism or agendas. So he waits. He feels he might as well just have his cellphone surgically attached to his hand, at this point. He even stops dead in the middle of sex with Blaine--with Blaine--once or twice when his phone goes off at the worst possible moment. Of course when it finally happens he's in the shower, because that is how these things go. He almost kills himself getting out of the bathroom, across the hall, and into his room where he'd left his phone on the bed. The spinning high kick that he does in lieu of the shriek that he can't let out when they ask him to come back for a second audition is something that he is glad to be alone for. Success rushes through his blood like champagne bubbles and before he's even ended the call he's throwing on his clothes--he doesn't stop to check his hair or the line of his pants--and rushing out the door. He finds Blaine backstage at Rachel's theater putting up lighting rigs and without a care for how impolitely he's interrupting, he tackles Blaine and squeals, "I got the call back!" "Oh my god, Kurt," Blaine breathes, holding him tight around the shoulders as his co-workers smirk at them and scatter thoughtfully (this isn't the first time that Kurt has just sort of shown up and pounced Blaine). "I'm almost done here--and then we can celebrate?" "I'll hang around the block and freak out some more," Kurt replies, and spins around, and skips down the aisle of the theater without waiting for a reply. He can hear Blaine giggling behind him. Once Blaine gets off work they execute a rigorous and completely undignified series of squeaky, hand flailing hugs and kisses on the sidewalk before Blaine steers Kurt in the direction of their favorite Japanese restaurant where Kurt drinks warm sake and eats with a fork like a dummy while Blaine effortlessly maneuvers chopsticks and makes fun of him the entire time. The conversation about the role tapers off naturally as Kurt comes down from the buzz of the morning's events. "I'm just so glad that I got the call before I had to travel," he says. "I mean, what if I'd missed the call during the flight and they hadn't left a message or the call didn't go through, or--" "And I know how you feel about flying, honey," Blaine replies, popping a piece of unagi in his mouth. "Trust me." He chews, then puts his chopsticks down on his plate. "I have a confession to make. Related to that." Kurt blinks. "Oh?" "Your dad called one day last week when you were at work. I didn't answer--but I did hear the message he left. He seems like a really awesome person." He fidgets and blushes. "So much has changed in the last few months, and I--I know that you never asked me, and I know why you didn't. But. Did you--did you want me to come with you to your dad's party?"

Kurt puts his sake glass down slowly, then smooths the napkin on his lap free of wrinkles. He frowns, leaning across the table to shorten the distance between them. He desperately doesn't want to say the wrong thing. "Of course I did. But it hasn't been that long since Christmas, and I offended you so badly then with the same question." "Rachel kind of--told me the same thing." Blaine smiles. "I don't want you to think that I've been snooping, she's just--kind of hard to shut down." He inhales, steadying himself. "She insisted on buying me a ticket, so that I could join you. I think I'm ready to--at least go back to the area, anyway. I think it'd be good for me. If you aren't against the idea. Which you totally can be. I'll pay her back for the ticket, I promise." Kurt reaches across the table for Blaine's hands, heart racing. "Are you sure you want to go?" "I'm sure about us," Blaine replies. "I'm sure that I want to meet your family. I'm sure that I can't keep avoiding Ohio as a whole just because I'm not ready to face certain--demons." He exhales. "I may be a drag once we're there, I'm not going to lie, but I'd really like to try." "I am so proud of you," Kurt whispers, squeezing Blaine's hands. "If things get to be too much, there are safe places, safe things we can do. I won't let you be alone, okay? Of course I want you there with me." Kurt is overwhelmed by the conversation, but in the best way possible. He's wanted to take Blaine home to his family for a long time. He's wanted Blaine to feel strong enough to go back to Ohio for a long time. "Okay," Blaine answers, smiling at him, eyes a little wet.

Traveling isn't really any more glamorous with a boyfriend along, but at least Kurt now has someone to sleep on during the flight, so he supposes that there are perks. Blaine also insists on carrying their bags and holding doors for him and it's really the sweetest thing ever, and Kurt gets to be lazy, which is nice because he so rarely indulges in laziness. He wants to have introducing the boyfriend to the family butterflies, but he finds that he almost can't-he knows how special Blaine is, and even though Blaine's life is still sort of up in the air, Kurt has never doubted the way that they feel about each other. That's all that matters to him right now, and he suspects that his family will feel the same. As it turns out, everything is going according to schedule--Kurt has a quick power lunch with his sisterin-law and she puts all of his fears to rest. He's still not quite sure if the "surprise" part of the surprise party is going to remain intact until the moment that he drives his dad to the hall where they're having the party, but he's going to make every effort to hold the ruse together as long as he can. Blaine is happy to help, running last minute errands and making phone calls, but there is surprisingly little left to do--Kurt has been planning this for weeks and Marley really had taken care of so much-and so Kurt never lets him go far, keeps a hand on him or a smile ready for him at all times.

He's already gone quieter, smaller, less bright, and Kurt's heart aches for him. It's a wildly helpless feeling when you realize that nothing you can do or say will make whatever is upsetting your partner go away. And then Blaine meets Devon, and Kurt realizes that he's just found the ticket to keeping Blaine preoccupied for the rest of the weekend. When they meet Devon proudly announces, "My name is Devon!" Blaine replies, "My middle name is Devon. That means we have to be best friends, I think." Marley and Finn look from Blaine to Kurt and grin; Kurt laughs, shaking his head. He can practically hear their silent but joyous cries of babysitter! Blaine is sickeningly good with kids. Kurt loves his nephew, but he has mixed feelings about parenthood (liking other people's kids and wanting to be a parent being very much not the same thing), and he wonders if that's a conversation that he and Blaine will ever have to have. Blaine and Devon hitting it off definitely makes things easier; Devon remains distracted and entertained and Blaine lights up like a Christmas tree at the easy interaction, and Kurt can spend the morning making sure that his dad is in the right frame of mind for what he's about to spring on him. When it's time to get the show on the road, Kurt drives their rental car from Finn's to Burt and Carole's. "Hey, kiddo," Burt greets him, drawing him into a hug that lasts for a long time. It's nice to disappear into his father's embrace and feel like a little boy again for a few moments. "Happy birthday, Dad," Kurt breathes, eyes shut. "What, no present?" Burt teases as they settle in the kitchen. Burt gets them some iced tea. "It's in the car," Kurt says with a chuckle, sitting in the chair that used to be his. "Carole at work?" What Burt doesn't know is that Carole is actually helping set up the party. "Yeah, she had to cover for someone," Burt says, joining him. "Still couldn't convince that boyfriend of yours to come meet the folks, huh?" Kurt blushes. "Don't worry. You'll meet him soon enough." It's not a lie, so Kurt doesn't feel too badly.

It's not the biggest party that Kurt's ever organized--he has urban weddings under his belt, thank you very much--but it is the first of his dad's birthdays that he's put together. It had been a challenge to make sure that all of the relatives that he knows his dad would have wanted there were invited, as well as an assortment of locals, people from the garage, people from the community, people connected to Finn and Marley, and even some of Burt's political supporters and colleagues. "I didn't hear the phone ring, Kurt," Burt insists yet again as they pull up in front of the catering hall.

Kurt had constructed the fiction that Carole had called to say that she would be too late for dinner at home, and to meet her at a restaurant instead. This is where the plan mostly falls apart, because the hall is obviously not a restaurant and his dad isn't stupid. But he's also a good sport and so, once he realizes what's going on, he follows Kurt into the building with only a few token protests. When the lights come on and everyone screams "Surprise!" and confetti fills the air, all he does is smirk at Kurt, smile at the assembled crowd, and tug his son into a bone-crushing hug. "Meddler," he whispers, kissing Kurt soundly on the temple. "Love you, Dad." "Love you, too. There beer at this thing?" he asks with a wink. "It's my birthday, I don't wanna hear it, Kurt." Carole comes over, looking rather fetching in the cocktail dress that Kurt had picked out for her, and kisses him on the cheek with a soft, "Hello, Kurt," then slides into Burt's arms. "Of course there is," Kurt answers his dad, smiling as the party goers begin to loosely organize themselves to approach Burt and offer birthday wishes. Finn and Marley and Devon come up for a special round of hugs, which end with Burt lifting Devon onto his shoulders, and finally, somewhere behind them, Kurt notices Blaine in a crisp button-up and tie, half-hidden behind Finn's height. "There's someone who I'd like you to meet, Dad," Kurt says, and feels the weight of the words settle heavy on his tongue. This isn't a casual introduction. Blaine means something to him. He's the first boyfriend that Kurt has ever really anticipated bringing home. And it's funny, but it isn't until Blaine and his dad are looking at each other that Kurt realizes just how serious this could be, if they play their cards right. "You weren't kidding when you said soon, huh?" Burt asks out of the corner of his mouth. Blaine steps up between them, posture perfect, hand extended, and Kurt knows that he probably spent the last half hour in the bathroom making sure that his clothes and hair were perfect. Since moving in with Kurt he's never once taken for granted the chance to be fastidious about his appearance. "Mr. Hummel," Blaine says, "it's an honor to finally meet you." Burt takes a long, steady look at Blaine as he firmly shakes his hand. He doesn't let go, maintaining an intense but open sort of eye contact before letting his hand go. Blaine immediately gravitates toward Kurt and Kurt toward Blaine, and even under scrutiny Kurt can't stop himself from sliding an arm around Blaine's waist and kissing him once, soft and dry on the lips, before pulling away. This apparently tells Burt all that he needs to know, because he laughs and smiles and shakes his head. "Well," he says, "Alright then. It's good to meet you, too, Blaine. I'll let you two go have some fun. There's beer somewhere in here and it's got my name on it, and in a little while we'll get to know each other better, okay?" Blaine laughs. "Absolutely, sir." Carole lingers behind, eyebrows raised at them both. "You must be a keeper, Blaine. You didn't even get the second much less the third degree."

"Yet." Kurt grins. "Blaine, this is my stepmom, Carole. Carole, Blaine Anderson." Carole kisses Blaine's cheek and gives him a hug, then glances through the crowd to find Burt again. "After we've put some food into these people, we'll chat, okay? I just want to make sure that Burt doesn't get drunk too fast--he hasn't had beer in ages and he is not the heavyweight that he thinks he is." She smiles sweetly. "It's nice to finally meet you, Blaine." "Absolutely," Blaine says. "And it's my pleasure, ma'am." When Carole is out of earshot, Kurt smiles into Blaine's shoulder and gives him a sideways hug. "Okay?" "They're so nice," Blaine breathes. "They already love you," Kurt answers.

It's probably the most drama-free party that Kurt has ever been to. The seating arrangements work perfectly and the food seems to be satisfying everyone. It had been a challenge to accommodate a wide variety of tastes, diets, and allergies while still having enough simple food on hand to please his dad at the same time. He does overhear a few vaguely confused and even some slightly homophobic comments about him and Blaine, but for the most part his family is supportive and fairly liberal, especially in light of Burt's political platform (Kurt still rolls his eyes at those who'd jumped on the bandwagon simply because of Burt's constant support of equal rights, but he'll take bandwagon jumpers to unrestrained homophobia any day). By the time that the cake is sliced and everyone is a little loose from alcohol and filling the dance floor, Kurt is as relaxed as he can ever remember being at a family function. Blaine is dancing with Devon in the middle of the floor, Devon standing on his dress shoes, and it's just about the most darling thing that Kurt has ever seen. One of Kurt's aunts leans over, breath so thick with alcohol that it could probably be lit on fire, and says to him, "Honey, you better marry that boy. They don't come any cuter than that." He laughs. She moves on before he has time to respond to the suggestion. It's a pretty good one, as suggestions go, but he is still very firmly in the experimental stage when it comes to thinking that far ahead. It's just too soon, and Blaine isn't even eighteen--though the thought does put a smile on his face. "I can't seem to find a dance partner to match my height," Blaine says, circling the table as Devon flies back into his dad's arms. "I think I might have a solution to that problem," Kurt drawls playfully, tugging Blaine back out onto the floor. "I thought you might," Blaine replies, just as the song changes to a slow dance, and sinks into Kurt's arms, letting his head rest on Kurt's shoulder. "Missed you. I feel like we haven't had a moment alone since we got here."

"We haven't, really," Kurt confirms, sliding his hands down Blaine's back. "I booked us a room at the Best Western down the street. Not exactly the Ritz, but it's close and I didn't want to have to drive. We're going to be here until the bitter end, so we might as well get some quiet afterward." Blaine frowns. "We're not staying with your brother?" "We could've," Kurt says, shifting his lips to Blaine's ear. "But I kind of want you to myself tonight." Blaine's cheek goes warm against his. "Oh." "It's always so crazy back at home. I just--I want to take my time. Is that okay?" Blaine makes a soft, surprised noise against Kurt's jaw and his face goes even hotter. "God, you can't just talk like that, there are so many hours between now and then." "Having you squirming in anticipation of every second of our night together isn't exactly off-putting to me," Kurt whispers, grinning into Blaine's skin. After a few dances more they break apart. Kurt catches up with relatives who he hasn't seen since high school or before, and Blaine gets gently interrogated by aunts and uncles and cousins who all seem to be suddenly very protective of Kurt. Blaine also spends quite a while sitting with Burt and Carole; Kurt curses his luck as he gets pulled onto the dance floor by his Aunt Meredith just in time to be whisked out of earshot. He is one hundred percent sure that his dad had planned it that way. All Blaine tells him after is, "Your dad is wonderful. I'm fine. No, really, I'm fine, Kurt. You're so lucky to have him, and Carole." After that Burt delivers a very embarrassing speech that makes Kurt cry in front of his entire family (the phrase "all thanks to my famous Broadway star son" had been used not once but twice), then a series of closing remarks (drunk uncles should never be allowed mic privileges), and finally a few upbeat and completely corny dance songs that taper off into the staff beginning to clear away the remains of the food. They have the place until midnight but Kurt is already looking forward to being able to take off his dress shoes and enjoy a shower. He's exhausted. Blaine seems to notice, and keeps bringing him watered down drinks and choice bits of food from what's left at catering table. At one point he shows up with dessert and stays, rubbing Kurt's shoulders and feeding him spoonfuls of custard. "Okay, now you're just buttering me up," Kurt laughs when Blaine puts another bite in front of his mouth. "You worked so hard to make this night special for your dad," Blaine replies. "I'm making sure that you feel special, too." He leans over and gives Blaine a custard-flavored kiss, and when he pulls back with a loving glance at his boyfriend's face, he notices his dad and Carole watching them with sweet, matching expressions. He knows that they can see how in love they are with each other, and for once he doesn't mind being watched.

It's two in the morning by the time that they get to the hotel, both of them frighteningly awake from a second wind that had hit about an hour before. They take turns showering because it's faster, and also because Kurt gets fussy about his evening routine when he's traveling. When Blaine is in the shower after him Kurt takes the time to change into a pair of silky underwear that he's been saving for just such an occasion. He has some tea lights in his bag that he lights and sets up around the room. He'd also brought a blanket from home that he now swaps for the scratchy, unappealing one on the hotel bed, and after that he's satisfied with the room, and settles down to wait for Blaine to join him. Blaine comes out of the bathroom wearing a towel, stopping short when he notices the changes. It's not much, Kurt supposes, but the candlelight and the familiar blanket seem to instantly relax him and he smiles, eyes wandering with a gentle kind of hunger over Kurt's body on the bed. "God, you're beautiful," he says. "And thoughtful." Kurt not only wants to give this a bit of romance, he also wants Blaine to feel safe. He smiles and holds out a hand which Blaine takes, allowing himself to be tugged down over Kurt's lap. They kiss sitting up against the headboard, soft and slow and for a long time, feeling no need to talk or do anything else in that moment but sink into each other and relax. Blaine's towel is loose enough around his hips so that all Kurt has to do to have him naked in short order is gently push it aside. Blaine is already warm and throbbing against his stomach, but there's no urgency to it. He just puts his arms around Blaine's waist and goes on kissing him. Blaine's eyes are liquid gold in the candlelight, and it isn't the first time that Kurt has had trouble breathing just looking at him. He loves Blaine in his lap like this, so close, their bodies twined but also comfortably reclined at the same time, no stress or acrobatics, just them. "Tired?" Blaine asks, stopping to breathe. His chest rises and falls unevenly against Kurt's. "Not at all," Kurt answers. Blaine smiles, tipping their parted lips together. "That's good." "Oh? Do you have plans for me, Blaine Anderson?" He tilts his head and kisses Kurt. "Actually." He pulls away with a wet smack, staring into Kurt's eyes. "I was sort of hoping that you'd make love to me." Kurt shivers, letting out an uneven rush of expectant breath across Blaine's mouth. He tries to say something but the words just won't come and so to stall for time he wraps his arms around Blaine's torso and rolls them over. He leans down and kisses Blaine, soft and then not so soft, working Blaine's lips open with slow presses of his tongue until Blaine is squirming beneath him. It occurs to him that he hadn't set out the condoms and lubricant that he'd picked up at the drug store earlier in the day in reach; the presumption had just never occurred to him. They have been enjoying a rather satisfying sex life without that particular act so far. He has had a feeling lately, though, that it's been on Blaine's mind. Blaine confirms this suspicion when he says, nervously, "I, um, left the bag at the edge of the bed, just there--with the--condoms, and lube." His face burns bright red, but Kurt pretends to be too busy retrieving the items to notice.

"Want you so much, sweetheart," he says, taking his time kissing across Blaine's warm, clean skin, exploring the flesh of his shoulders and upper arms, the clean lines of his chest and belly, and the perky smudges of his nipples. Blaine's eyes slide shut, pleasure twisting his features, one of his hands threading through Kurt's hair. Kurt always struggles to find that sweet spot between considerate and rough enough to get the reaction that he seems to be able to get when he's a little rough with his kisses and touches. Blaine has always enjoyed it that way, and there have been times when Kurt has wondered how far he could push that envelope, but right now it's enough to leave teeth marks down Blaine's thighs and half-moon mouthsized hickeys along his neck and collarbone. By the time that Kurt finishes working him over he's straining so hard that the slightest brush of Kurt's belly against him draws a gasp from his lips. "Kurt, please," Blaine begs, hips churning. "God, you're killing me--" "In a good way, I hope," Kurt answers, kissing Blaine into the pillows. "I don't even know how you--you know just what to do, it's--" "I'm going to assume that I'm on the right track here, then?" Kurt asks, sliding down Blaine's body to kiss the blood-flushed head of his cock. "Oh, god." "I'll take that as a yes." He doesn't do more than kiss for a quite a while, dragging his parted lips up and down the shaft throbbing visibly on Blaine's belly. Every other pass he stops to suckle the head between his lips and lick the pre-come back into his mouth with a barely suppressed moan of satisfaction. He repeats the same pattern on Blaine's balls, drawing each one into his mouth separately, sucking and then laving them with his tongue. "Lift up for me, sweetheart," Kurt asks. "Oh," Blaine whimpers, lifting his ass off of the bed. "Still on the right track?" Kurt asks, somewhat impishly, as he gently lifts Blaine's balls out of the way and kisses at the warm skin just below them. He's already so gone--stomach heaving, cock pulsing visibly, eyelids heavy. "Yes, yes," he pants. Vibrating with anticipation, Kurt drags the flat of his tongue over Blaine's perineum and feels him twitch on the bed in response. He relaxes into a rhythm once he's sure that Blaine is okay with the direction that he's taking, kissing the spot again and again and, finally, opening his mouth over it until it's wet under his lips. "Oh my god--" "Mmm, feels good?" He keeps on until Blaine is squirming and he can feel Blaine's hole clenching wildly against his chin, but he isn't ready to give it attention just yet. He wants to be sure that Blaine is relaxed enough to enjoy every minute of this, so he moves his mouth back up to Blaine's cock instead.

"Kurt?" Blaine whimpers. "Going to take care of you," Kurt breathes, wrapping his lips around Blaine's cock. With his right hand he holds Blaine's balls up and hooks his thumb underneath them, gently massaging his perineum while his mouth works up and down the shaft of his cock. "Oh," Blaine moans. "If you don't stop that now I'm--" He gasps, tensing. "Kurt. Kurt." "It'll feel better if you come first," Kurt says roughly, lips tingling from the friction of sucking. He licks a slow, wet circle around the head of Blaine's cock. "And then later when you're around me, I can get you hard again." Blaine's cock pulses in his hand. "Oh my god." "That's it." He comes a dozen strokes later, spurting over Kurt's fingers with a cry. "Please," he gasps, thighs spreading. "Please, touch me there. I feel--god, it aches, I just want--inside, please?" Kurt slicks his fingers with lubricant but takes his time, tilting Blaine's spent cock out of the way and lifting him by his thighs so that he's exposed a little more completely. His plump cheeks spread as easily as his thighs had, revealing the hair-dusted asterisk of entrance, throbbing and brown-pink and so appealing that Kurt has to stop rubbing against the bed for a moment before he loses it then and there. "Have you played with yourself before?" he asks, both to distract Blaine and educate himself, fingers unsteady as he spreads Blaine's cheeks apart. "N-no," Blaine whimpers. "I wanted to, but then we--we started--and I thought I might as well let you-let you show me how." Kurt inhales shakily at that, letting his lubricant-slick fingers settle on Blaine's thigh. He doesn't want to go in cold like that--and he'll admit that Blaine's confession is distracting him--so instead he allows himself to be drawn in lips-first, his nose nudging Blaine's perineum as his mouth brushes Blaine's hole. Blaine cries out. "Want my mouth here?" Kurt asks, brushing his lips back and forth. "Want my tongue inside of you?" "K-Kurt, yes--" He kisses the quivering pucker with relish, sinking between Blaine's cheeks and finishing the motion with a soft dab of the tip of his tongue. Blaine contracts around him and Kurt moans into his skin; he's so sensitive, so responsive, it goes right to Kurt's head--and other places. "Thought about doing this so many times," he confesses, working the tip of his tongue against the spot, feeling it gape and contract wantonly. "You have the most amazing ass." Kurt shivers, holding Blaine open and licking him harder and harder still, until his rim gives way and he can use his thumb to keep Blaine still while he pushes his tongue inside. Blaine keens, arching off of the bed. It's only natural to allow the tip of his thumb to trail after his tongue, tracing Blaine's wrinkled rim with it. Between Kurt's tongue sliding in and out and the tease of the single finger pad, Blaine is quickly reduced to rocking into him, grasping the blanket between his fingers and making the most deliciously filthy noises.

"Hand me a couple of pillows?" Kurt asks, after a moment of consideration. He works them under Blaine's hips so that he can put his legs down and still be high enough for Kurt to reach him. "God, that's better," Blaine says. "Mm," Kurt hums, and moves his face back between Blaine's cheeks. He loses track of how long he stays there, but Blaine is a mess by the time that Kurt reaches the limits of his endurance for that particular angle, ass fluttering around his tongue, his fingers in Kurt's hair. Kurt reaches for the lubricant, grinning into Blaine's thigh. "I'm going to try and stay on task this time." Blaine squeaks, "That was off task?" Kurt laughs, warming the lubricant between his fingers, then traces the shape of Blaine's rim with the pads of his pointer and middle finger. "I meant to do this," he explains, drawing firm, slow circles there. Blaine's eyes roll back in his head. "Kurt." "You're so relaxed," Kurt breathes, switching direction. He wets his fingers again but this time doesn't stop pressing until the tip of his middle finger breaches Blaine's body. "Okay?" "God, yeah." "Push out against my finger." Kurt sets his wrist and turns the single digit in a slow swivel as he pushes it in. Blaine's body is hot inside, silky and clenching--Kurt's cock throbs in involuntary anticipation. "Oh--ohohoh--" "That's it, sweetie," he whispers, bottoming out at the last knuckle and gently circling the finger inside before pulling out, slowly, and then pushing back in. "Taking my finger so well." "More?" he asks, hips moving. Kurt slows down, staring up the length of Blaine's trembling body. "Yeah?" Crackles of lust snap down his spine as Blaine's ass squeezes around his finger. "God, feels so good, please, just, more," Blaine begs, one hand creeping down his belly to grasp himself, but he doesn't do more than squeeze just once before gathering his balls in his hand instead, lifting them out of the way so that Kurt can have unimpeded access to his ass. The second finger meets almost no resistance and so Kurt doesn't reach for more lubricant; Blaine doesn't seem to need it at all. When he's sure that Blaine is comfortable he crooks his fingers and-"Kurt--" Blaine's ass closes so tightly around Kurt's fingers that they're almost pushed out by the force of it; Kurt gasps, presses his mouth to Blaine's thigh and begins working his fingers in and out, massaging Blaine's prostate with every pass until Blaine's cock is dribbling all over his belly hair. Kurt loves doing this, but he's never been with someone who has responded so enthusiastically to their ass being opened up, and it's going straight to his head. The intensity is almost too much; he wants to bury himself inside of Blaine so badly that he's having trouble maintaining a rhythm with his fingers.

He breathes out roughly, wrist twinging, then changes angles, all while watching Blaine's pleasurably agonized face tremble and sweat. His mouth is dropped open and his forehead wrinkled up and he's tugging at his nipples with his right hand, which Kurt finds extraordinarily distracting. When Kurt moves to slide a third finger alongside the other two, Blaine's whole body twitches. "N-no," he gasps, reaching down to put a hand on Kurt's head. "Too much?" Kurt asks, concerned. Blaine says, sounding overwhelmed and out of breath, "I love what you're doing, baby, but--I really want your cock inside of me." Kurt isn't usually one to clock sex, but he spares a glance at the nightstand and when he sees how long it's been he can't say that he's surprised that Blaine is asking for the next step. His shoulders and neck ache from how long he's been holding this position and it feels good to rise on his knees and stretch as he crawls up Blaine's body, settling over him with a soft exhale and finding his mouth as soon as he's comfortable. Kurt's cock feels as if it hasn't been touched in ages, and when it slips through the wet mess of seminal fluid and pre-come on Blaine's belly he quite literally shudders, holding Blaine's smaller body under his own. He finds the strip of condoms and tears one off. "Can I...?" Blaine asks, moving to intercept the foil packet. Kurt's pulse flutters. He holds his breath the entire time that Blaine spends opening the condom and rolling the thin latex down and over him; he's sensitive after waiting this long and something about watching Blaine handle the condom with inexperienced fingers makes his body ache with arousal. He steadies himself with one hand between them and guides himself down and under, breathing heavily against the side of Blaine's face as he just sort of rubs there, letting Blaine feel the shape of him. He needs a moment to successfully resist the urge to just push inside and Blaine seems to understand; he kisses Kurt's sweat-soaked, limp hair until they're both a little calmer. Kurt strokes himself one more time, making sure that the condom is secure as he presses the head of his cock against Blaine's wet, fluttering hole. "God, that feels good," Blaine gasps, sounding almost surprised. His right hand settles on Kurt's ass. "Did you think it wouldn't?" Kurt asks, moving against him with hard little nudges, working the crown of his cock into the shape of Blaine's rim. "I didn't think that I'd want it this badly," Blaine replies, going so loose all at once that Kurt pops past the first ring of muscle without any effort on his part. He inhales sharply, eyelids sliding shut. He hadn't meant to--push in like that, but Blaine's body is just so ready-Waiting suddenly seems pointless. Panting, Kurt angles his hips and presses down, sinking in the rest of the way, the second ring of Blaine's anus opening around his cock. Blaine clenches around him in surprise. "God," Blaine whines, knees splaying wide.

Even after all of that preparation there's still a significant stretch; Kurt edges in until his pelvis is snug against Blaine's but doesn't move, just allows himself to feel their hearts race together. Blaine feels so perfect around him. "Please," Blaine begs, hips rolling under Kurt's body. "Wanna feel you move." He kisses Kurt hungrily, urgently, the hand that he has on Kurt's ass pulling him in deeper. When Kurt doesn't respond to that quickly enough Blaine whimpers and blurts, "Kurt, please, fuck me." Kurt presses his face against Blaine's throat and lets his body down against Blaine's completely, pinning Blaine to the bed as he carefully pulls out, spreading Blaine open, only to surge forward and fill him up again. Blaine's breath hitches. Kurt knows all too well how odd it can feel in the beginning, so he just works Blaine through it, not stopping but allowing him get used to it. "Touch yourself, sweetie," Kurt says. Blaine is hard again, which sends a ripple of pleasure down Kurt's spine. "Not yet," Blaine answers, panting, "too close." Kurt kisses him, trying to let his thoughts scatter so that he can last. It's been a long time; he's forgotten how good it feels to be buried inside of someone, and it doesn't help that Blaine is making desperate, breathy noises, that his limbs are wound all around Kurt's, that his ass seems to be trying to keep Kurt inside every time that he pulls out. "You're not gonna hurt me," Blaine breathes, moving his folded legs away from Kurt's sides to allow him to get even deeper. "Don't--don't hold back, okay?" How is he supposed to continue breathing when Blaine says things like that? He puts his hands around Blaine's small waist as an anchor and pushes into him harder, faster. "Yes, please, don't stop," Blaine gasps, shaking. They go back and forth between slow and deep and fast and shallow, then fast and deep, and this is when Blaine starts to lose it, eyes shut and body dripping sweat and his ass a pulsing, grasping heat around Kurt's cock. If it weren't for Kurt's unwavering desire to see Blaine's expression fall apart the first time that he comes with Kurt inside of him, he would've loved to have had Blaine on his hands and knees with his ass in the air, would have loved to have taken him as deeply as that position allows. Thinking about all the possibilities now open to them--Blaine riding him or Blaine flat on his back with his knees pushed back to his ears--brings Kurt to the edge so fast that it's like whiplash. "Oh my god, I--" Blaine reaches between them, taking himself in hand. "Just a little more," he breathes, working himself on Kurt's cock and god, Kurt can feel every squeeze. "Just--give me a minute." Kurt can't move anymore or he's going to come, so he holds his breath and lets Blaine use him. It only takes a few minutes and Kurt is glad to be able to just watch, Blaine's sweaty fingers wrapped around his swollen cock, a little irritated from too much friction but throbbing at the slit and ready to spill. "God," Kurt gibbers, shaking from head to toe with restraint as Blaine's ass clenches around him. "God--" "Kurt," Blaine gasps, jerking himself frantically, roughly, and falls apart again.

He collapses when it's over, chest splattered with the few weak strands of release that he'd managed the second time around. He rouses himself after a moment, lifts his thighs high against Kurt's sides, exposing himself as much as he can in this position. Kurt whimpers, rolling his pelvis, grinding himself deep. "Wish we didn't need the stupid condom," Blaine pants, drawing a come-streaked finger across Kurt's open mouth. "I want you to come inside of me, want to feel it." And that's just too much--Kurt breathes a squeaky whimper and comes, hips twitching, fingernails digging into the soft, fatty bulge at the upper curve of Blaine's ass. He thinks he might actually black out for a few seconds; when he opens his eyes the world is fuzzy in front of them. He can't remember the last time he'd-And then he realizes that he sort of never has made love like this. He's had affection, even a certain measure of love before, but never like this. There has never been anyone quite like Blaine. For a moment it's so overwhelming that he has to bury his face in Blaine's chest to get away from it. Blaine's fingers move through his hair, unaware of just how much of a comfort they are right now. "Hand me my towel?" Blaine asks. "Don't move, okay? I've got it." He cleans them up as best he can; the towel is still damp, so it does a pretty thorough job, and when Blaine is done Kurt feels about three hundred percent better. "I'm gonna lose the condom, let me," Kurt says, and pulls out carefully (though it's more of a plop as he's gone soft), tugging the latex off as he does so, knotting it and tossing it aside. He lowers himself back down, half onto Blaine and half onto the bed. "Are you okay?" he asks sleepily, propping his chin up on Blaine's chest. Blaine looks distinctly hazy, but he's also grinning. "Okay would be an understatement." He lowers his voice, his lip against Kurt's hair. "You were amazing." He slides lower on the bed, getting comfortable and trailing an arm around Kurt's waist. "I'm kind of glad we waited. Being away from work and knowing that we had all the time in the world--it was perfect." Kurt grins, kissing Blaine's neck and then all the way down to his shoulder. "You didn't really need any help, you know." He moves up again, takes Blaine's earlobe between his teeth, then soothes the sting with the tip of his tongue. "You were so sexy." He breathes in the smell of sweat and come and Blaine, his head spinning all over again. Blaine blushes. "I kind of surprised myself. I mean I've always--gotten off thinking about that, but I thought it was just an idealistic fantasy, that when I actually did it it would hurt or be gross or--but god, that was--" "It can be," Kurt says, cuddling deeper into Blaine's arms. "It can be pretty much everything from god awful to the best thing you've ever felt, depending." He smiles. "It's usually faster, I mean, the--" Blaine laughs, rolling his curls over the pillow beneath his head. "I kind of assumed that an hour and a half of foreplay was an optional thing, yes." The laugh turns into a giggle as he tips his flushed, embarrassed face away from Kurt's for a moment. "God, you're nuts. I was ready before you even touched me." He smiles, touching Kurt's arm. "Can I be honest? I think I might prefer less build up. I was numb by the end. I love you so much for being careful with me, but--" Kurt grins sheepishly. "How was I supposed to know that you were the roll me over and stick it in type?"

Blaine's mouth drops in mock, surprised offense. "How was I supposed to know, you jerk?" He rolls over on top of Kurt and begins tickling him. "Now you're in trouble." Kurt squeals. "No! No," he moans, thrashing. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" They giggle and flop around the bed, try to avoid the wet spots and fail, and before Kurt can shout a warning they topple right off of the edge of the bed and to the floor, shrieking indignities all the way down.

They spend the next day at Burt and Carole's house, catching up in a more casual, thorough way than they had at the party. Kurt gets a chance to talk with them alongside Blaine for the first time, and he's not sure what he'd expected but it's not the boyfriend interview that he'd worried it might have been. Blaine fits in easily with his family and is an excellent conversationalist, proper but also down to Earth enough to make everyone feel involved. After they shift into a comfortable silence over their pancakes and bacon, all Kurt can really recall of the conversation is a lot of laughter, and in his book that's a good thing. When Blaine goes to use the bathroom Burt moves into the seat that he'd vacated. "He's a great kid," he says. "Things seem pretty serious between you two." "Is it lecture time? Can it be lecture time after I eat my bacon?" He chomps playfully on his bacon in an attempt to put his dad off of the serious talk path. Burt smirks. "When are you gonna realize that I trust your judgment, huh? I'm happy for you, Kurt." Kurt deflates dramatically. "You're no fun." "I talked to his parents," Burt says. Kurt thinks he could hear a pin drop. "What?" he asks, mouth hanging open. "Oh my god, Dad, what--" "Look, he's gonna be eighteen in about six months. He can do whatever he likes then, and quite frankly his parents don't deserve him. They're cold people, Kurt. Cold as ice." He shrugs, chewing a slice of turkey bacon with a barely-concealed glance of longing at Kurt's plate. "But it's more than that. Even though they're not the kind of people I'd want to be around him right now, he's still their kid. They have a right to know that he's okay." Kurt shrinks in on himself, mind wandering as he tries to think of a way to tell Blaine about this without completely freaking him out. "It's always money with these kinda people," Burt goes on. "I admit I threw my weight around a little. Once they heard my name they were suddenly willing to invite me in--they weren't interested in cheesing off a congressman, no matter what my platform is." "Dad, what did you do? What does money have to do with this?"

"It's not what I did, it's what I found out," he says. Blaine walks back into the room just then, smiling curiously at the rearranged seating and the serious expressions on their faces. Kurt looks up, eyes wide, at his dad and then at Blaine and back again. His dad looks back at him, a question in his eyes, and Kurt sighs, and nods. "Blaine? We--we need to talk," Kurt says. Dread crosses Blaine's face in a barely suppressed flash--for a moment Kurt can fully read the desire in him to turn around and leave the room. But if Kurt's dad knows something that they don't, they need to hear him out. "Sit down, son," Burt says, motioning to the chair next to him. Blaine sits. "I know this is hard for you." He puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder and looks him straight in the eye. Blaine swallows, eyes dancing wetly in their sockets. "I told you last night that Kurt filled me in on your background," Burt says. "But what I didn't tell you was that I got myself involved a little more than that. I wasn't ever gonna tell you this unless you wanted to hear it, but--I spoke to your folks, Blaine. I let them know that you were okay, working and happy in New York and putting a smile on my son's face." Blaine shudders, almost laughs and cries at the same time. Burt smiles. "They didn't seem too happy about that last part. Hell, they didn't seem too happy in general. But they know now that you're alright." Blaine's hands are shaking in his lap. "Is that--is that all, sir?" He must understand that if they'd said anything more Burt would have already mentioned it. But Kurt knows that he has to ask; Burt is just trying to avoid that sore spot for his sake. Kurt's heart breaks, because he knows that what Blaine really wants to ask is Did they ask about me? Did they seem to care? Do they love me even a little? Do they miss me? "Your grandma Edith passed away not long after you left," Burt says, slowly. "You have my condolences for that. Your parents sorta hinted that you had good times with her when you were little." Blaine's eyes fill with tears. "Um. There were a few holidays, birthdays, yes, she--she always liked to listen to me sing. God, I--I knew she was sick, she'd been sick for years, but--" Kurt gets up and moves to sit at Blaine's other side, sliding two arms around his shoulders from behind and hugging him but not saying anything. He can feel Blaine's tears fall against his forearms. "It had been a long time since I saw her, I just," he goes on, until his throat closes up and he leans back into Kurt. Burt lets them have a minute and then he begins again. "I'm real sorry, kid. I know how much that hurts." Blaine, wiping at his eyes with a napkin that Kurt hands him, swallows thickly and nods. "Thank you, I'm--I'm just glad I found out from you and not them." "That's not all there is to it," Burt says. Kurt looks between them. "Dad?" "Your grandma left you an inheritance, Blaine. A trust fund, actually. Set to be released to you on your eighteenth birthday."

Kurt exhales audibly. "Oh my god." "W-what? I don't--" "From the looks on their faces I'd guess that it's a sizable chunk of change." "Is this leading up to some horrible cliche where Blaine has to marry someone of their choosing to get it, or pretend to be straight if he wants to come home and claim it, or...?" Kurt asks, hands in motion. "No," Burt says, sparing Kurt a patient, amused smile. "It's in his name. He can claim it any time he wants to after his eighteenth birthday. They gave me the papers to give to him--most of it is identification stuff, his social security card, birth certificate, so that he can prove he is who he says he is to the bank, and there's this lawyer type--his card is in there, too. I didn't look at most of it; it's none of my business." His smile slips subtly into a frown, though, as he looks at Blaine. "I know that's not what you wanted to hear." Blaine's eyes well with tears again. "They--they didn't even want to give me the papers themselves?" "You have every right to feel hurt and disappointed," Burt says, gently squeezing Blaine's shoulder. "They failed you, kid. They were supposed to be there to love you and take care of you and support you and they didn't. Despite that, you survived. And hell, now, you're thriving. But that doesn't mean it's not gonna hurt, and it may always hurt." He only begins to cry, then, with Burt's hand on his shoulder and the truth unforgiving between them; and Burt and Kurt move at the same time, trapping Blaine close and warm between them. "Now I'm gonna let you two talk," Burt says when he pulls away. "You want these papers, Blaine, you let me know. You want me to come with you to talk to your parents some more, you let me know." Blaine continues to shake even after he stops crying, clinging to Kurt's arms like life lines. "I don't know why I'm surprised," he says, voice cracking. "Why would anything have changed?" Kurt has to be careful--if it were anyone else he would just say "screw 'em; they don't deserve you, take the money and run", but Blaine is so fragile right now, and he doesn't want to come off as insensitive. "Hey," he says. "Your grandma, she loved you--she loved you the way your parents should have. And she cared enough and noticed enough to see what was coming. She left you something so that you could be free of them, I think. Don't you?" Blaine's chest rises and falls unevenly. "I don't know what to think right now." He rests his cheek on Kurt's. "I guess I still fantasized that one day they'd--care. Regret. That they'd apologize, at least, even if we could never be close. I--I thought they'd w-want me, somehow, I--" His throat is closing up again and Kurt holds him tighter, lets him talk. "It's a lot to--to hear, that they never will." "They may," Kurt says, squeezing Blaine tighter. "There's so much time, still. But--for now--for now, Blaine, you can get your high school diploma and then start applying to colleges--you could really do something for yourself with that money. Sing, perform, whatever you want." He seems galvanized by that. "You have to let me--Kurt, you have to--" "I want you to use that money for yourself," Kurt says. "We'll talk about splitting things later, when you're in school, okay?" They don't talk about it for the rest of the day, but Kurt notices Blaine sliding a folder of important looking documents into his carry-on later that night. He isn't sure whether to be relieved or upset so he

indulges in a little bit of both, and only hopes that Blaine had done it for himself.

Blaine is quieter for some time after they go home, but his mood lifts gradually as their days go back to normal--he gets more hours at the theater and he and Kurt start to look into private high schools. They want to be ready when Blaine turns eighteen; he's already so far behind, and now that his options are virtually limitless they see no reason to wait or restrict their search to the public school system. Between Kurt's crazy, semi-nocturnal schedule and Blaine spending more time at work they sometimes only have a few hours of the day for each other, but they make the best of every minute, trying hard to not argue (it happens) or get in each other's hair in otherwise unproductive ways. Sundays are still their day. Kurt looks forward to them now more than he ever has before. Early on he'd warned Rachel that if she tried to drag him off for mimosas and French toast on Sunday ever again the way that she used to that he'd just start turning off his phone. She'd then promptly negotiated a trade off for Saturday evening drinks after matine, which works perfectly for them both. Sunday is the smell of coffee and fresh fruit and Blaine's mouth on his. It's morning breath and gravely voices and Blaine's legs wrapped around his waist, laughing and gasping his pleasure to the ceiling. It's the day that they finally decide that the cot is ready for retirement, and they gather the linens and Blaine's belongings and transfer everything to the bedroom, his pillow a colorful addition to the fabulous assortment already there on Kurt's bed and his even more colorful wardrobe so preciously domestic side by side with Kurt's. It's the day that Kurt gets the call offering him the role that he'd auditioned for. It's the first time that Kurt comes out of the shower to hear Blaine on the phone with Burt and Carole, laughing and grinning instead of just smiling and speaking politely. It's finally being able to enjoy being the little spoon. One Sunday in particular Kurt wakes up to Blaine's hand down the front of his boxer briefs. He arches his body, letting the pleasure of that curl down his spine. "Mm, good morning." "It is a very good morning," Blaine says huskily. "You are proactive today," Kurt replies, laying on the cheek, as Blaine edges up behind him. "I have many reasons to be," he says. "Mm, love the way you feel first thing in the morning. Love having you hard in my hand." "That isn't the only place you like having me," Kurt purrs, not going for witty, really, only relaxed enough to feel stupid with lust as Blaine's wrist twists just right and a jolt of sensation flares at the base of his cock. There's something about Blaine snuggled up behind him like that that makes the already present desire to go farther than usual double in Kurt. He breathes out, stretching from head to toe, feeling the ache travel in the wake of that pull. He slides a hand back, cupping Blaine's hip and tugging him closer. "God, you're throbbing already," Blaine hisses. "Let me--"

"No, no," Kurt says when Blaine begins to slide down his body. He turns and kisses Blaine, searing hot and fast, a little rougher than he'd intended but it gets Blaine's attention. "Fuck me." Blaine freezes, breathing warm over Kurt's open mouth. "Yeah?" Kurt churns his ass back into Blaine's cock. "Yes." He tries to think around a haze of lust. "Is that-okay?" He can tell that Blaine is nervous but isn't sure about which part; when Blaine just nods and grins at him he decides to see how it goes. He grabs a condom and the lubricant from the bedside drawer. He is definitely not the slow build-up type, not when he's already in the mood for it, but he slows down for Blaine, bending his neck back to kiss him and keep their bodies rubbing together. When it gets too warm he stops to shrug out of his pajama top and Blaine mimics him, and then the bottoms go, too, because he just can't wait. He'd rather just strip completely right away, but Blaine likes to tease him through his underwear before taking them off himself, so Kurt settles back down and recaptures Blaine's mouth still wearing them. "Put some lube on your hand," Kurt says. "J-just like that already?" Blaine asks. He is nervous. "I like it fast and a little--rough." "Oh, okay," Blaine breathes, in a gentle mockery of well why didn't you just say so. Kurt grins. "Come on, you won't hurt me. I can feel how ready you are, it's okay." Blaine strokes down and over the curve of his ass, sliding his underwear down and off with careful tugs, as predicted. His fingers are trembling. "That's the--problem, um. I'm kind of too ready. Kurt, I'm not sure how long I'll last, I--" So that's what's bothering him. Kurt kisses him. "Shh. Just put your fingers in me. Go slow with the first push, okay? Then you can do it faster." "God, okay, I--okay," Blaine whines, kissing Kurt's shoulder blade. Kurt helps him by reaching back and spreading himself, lifting his left cheek so that Blaine can freely run his lubricant-sticky fingers from the knob of Kurt's spine to just above his ass and down from there. Impatience claws up Kurt's spine. He wants something in him now. It's difficult to get blatantly cranky around Blaine but that's just the way Kurt is when it comes to bottoming; he wants it when he wants it and he wants it then and there and without fuss. He rolls his hips. "Inside. Two fingers, just--" Blaine curls his fingers in--it twinges for just a moment because the angle is wrong, but Kurt adjusts his hips and Blaine goes with it--and then Kurt hisses, spreading himself wider. God, the way that feels, the pressure and the opening up of his ass around Blaine's fingers and the stretch, it's fucking perfect, and he moans and bends, wanting more.

"All the way," he gasps, "hard, just, really hard." He can tell how excited his reaction makes Blaine and that makes it better, begins a loop of intensity that he can't hold on to; it rolls through him, electric and sharp and involuntary. Blaine's fingers are smooth and easy as they pump in and out of him, knuckle-deep and not retreating, just working his hole open. He doesn't need much to enjoy being fingered, and the pounding of Blaine's heart against his back is keeping him grounded. He falls into a sort of lull, floating on the warmth spreading through his belly and down his legs. It feels so good, and every time that Blaine manages to get his rim to shift against his knuckles it sends delicious jolts of pleasure down his body. He likes the pressure and body slap of fucking almost as much as the penetration, and he feels himself start to get fidgety when the fingering goes on too long. It's not enough. "Okay," he pants, tugging Blaine's boxer briefs down around his thighs. "Off off." Blaine wriggles out of them, then settles behind Kurt. "How, um--" "Just like this," Kurt breathes, twisting again to kiss him. "Just hold me like this, put some more lube on me and your cock and slide inside, okay?" He listens to Blaine's nervous panting, feeling drops of lubricant fall on his thigh and between them as they shift closer together. He listens to the crinkle of foil as Blaine opens the condom packet, and to the snap of latex as he puts it on, and then to the soft grunt that Blaine lets escape when he lines their bodies up. "Ready?" Kurt rolls back against him, gasping when he feels the blunt head of his cock. "Yes, now." "Shit," Blaine breathes, holding Kurt's hip and pushing. It takes a moment to get past the first resistance; Blaine is thick, but that's the best part; Kurt loves the burn and the stretch and the pressure more than anything else, and when Blaine hesitates halfway in he loses patience and slams back, impaling himself. "Blaine," he cries. "God, sorry, I just--needed--" "Wait, wait, wait." Blaine pants against the back of his neck. "Oh my god, I--I need a second." Kurt breathes heavily, hanging there by a thread, his cock bobbing on his belly. He typically waits until after his partner comes to take care of that; he likes separating the fucking and the coming when he's bottoming, but with Blaine the combination feels safe and he's so tempted to just-go for it, to squeeze his insides around Blaine and ride him from in front and just come, come so hard-But Blaine begins to move again after a moment, jerky thrusts that are much better than what he'd been doing before which had essentially amounted to nothing. Kurt grips the pillow beneath his cheek and sets his body, letting Blaine fuck into him, letting his body take it. Better, so much better-And then Blaine goes still all at once, curses under his breath, and comes without warning. Kurt freezes. "Oh god," Blaine whimpers, burying his face against Kurt's arm. "Oh god, sorry, sorry, sorry, damn." "It's okay," Kurt replies, sliding a hand between them to catch the condom firmly around the base of

Blaine's cock where it's slipping. He kisses Blaine's sweaty jaw. "Let me get this off you." He discards the used condom and gets another. Blaine is still half-hard--he's got this habit of being able to go around twice that Kurt has found himself incapable of resisting, especially at times when he can't seem to keep his mouth off of Blaine's cock--and he could go all the way again if Kurt's patient. "This is so embarrassing," Blaine moans, rocking into Kurt's hand. "Let me keep--" "Are you sure?" Kurt asks, still touching him. "We don't have to, I can--" "I want to, I can," Blaine says, breathing a little easier. "Touch yourself for me?" Kurt asks. Blaine seems comfortable with that so Kurt moves away, sprawling out on his belly, enjoying the cool brush of the sheets against his erection. He lets the jangling desire for more peter out along his spine and settles his flushed cheek on a pillow to watch Blaine there on his side, stroking himself, breathing shallowly and staring right back at him. "That's it," he says, wetting his bottom lip and watching Blaine's hand move. "Love how hard you stay, sweetheart." He spreads his legs on the bed, not even needing to look up to know exactly when Blaine's eyes jerk down to follow the motion of his thighs parting because Blaine moans and tugs himself harder at the sight. He intentionally lets his cheeks splay wide open, knowing that Blaine can see him stretched and slick. He has his boyfriend's full attention, and there isn't anything about that state of affairs that doesn't please him. "Gonna get hard so you can fuck me again? Make me feel every inch of your cock inside of me?" he teases, gently grinding himself into the mattress and making sure that Blaine notices. "I'm so hard for you; I'd stay hard for you and wait no matter how long it took." Blaine whimpers, cock swelling in his hand. "Oh, my god, Kurt." "Do you wanna fuck me like this? Fuck me down into the bed, push in as deep as you can go?" He can feel the pulse under his jaw pounding hard; he's so turned on that he can't bring himself to stop. He licks his lips again, staring at the curve of Blaine's cock, wanting it so badly that it aches. He puts his cheek back down on the pillow and lets his eyes drift from Blaine's cock to his face. "Ready for me?" Blaine groans and straddles Kurt's hips, bending low to kiss the back of neck. Kurt goes still beneath him, anticipation surging up his spine; he feels a wicked sort of joy that he only experiences just before he gets exactly what he wants in bed. Blaine surging up between his cheeks is enough to draw a groan from his throat, at this point; he bites down on the pillow, shoulder blades rising sharp against the slope of his back as Blaine pushes back inside of him and meets no resistance, just the hungry clamp of his body squeezing shut as soon as he bottoms out. And there's that impatience again, and the irrepressible urge to tell Blaine what he needs, right now. "Yeah," Kurt gasps, pushing up on his elbows as Blaine slams into him. "God, yes, fuck my ass." Apparently the threat of coming prematurely had been the only thing that had held Blaine back--with

that out of the way he stops reigning it in, doesn't ask Kurt if he's okay, just pushes Kurt's thighs apart and fucks into him, and it's perfect. Kurt doesn't wait to pick up where he'd left off with his idea about coming with Blaine inside of him; he lifts up from the bed and takes himself in hand. It isn't until he starts stroking his erection that he realizes how close he is, how easy it would be to just spill, god, this position is good, and Blaine's cock is so thick-"Gonna make me come," he whimpers, twisting, bending to take Blaine as deeply as he can, speed not being an issue anymore. "Gonna make me come so hard." "Yes, god, please, baby--" "Feel so good in me, so deep, god, you like that? Like my ass tight as a fist around you, all yours?" He closes his eyes, feeling the sensation coil. He's so close. Blaine's hands slip through the sweat on Kurt's sides, hook around his hips, and haul Kurt's ass back onto his cock, rough and sudden. Kurt hisses in surprise--Blaine holds him like that on his knees, fucks into him so hard and fast that Kurt's eyes roll back in his head. Something lets loose and Kurt cries out, pulsing in his own hand, coming all over the bed and his fingers. "Blaine," he sobs, throbbing around the cock inside of him. Blaine doesn't stop fucking him, doesn't lean down to touch him, just drags him back onto his cock again and again, panting and shaking. It takes a long time to get anywhere near Blaine coming again, and by then Kurt is so open and wrecked that it's all he can do to stay still for him. He's sweating everywhere and onto everything, sliding on the sheets, elbows and knees friction burned from rubbing against the bed, and unable to catch his breath. "God," he whimpers, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. "God, Blaine--" "Get up on your hands," Blaine murmurs, voice rough. Kurt's breath catches and he does as he's asked; Blaine is still hard as a rock inside of him, still fucking him relentlessly on his hands and knees. He doesn't think that he has ever enjoyed another man inside of him to this degree; he feels so sweetly used and comfortable and spent, to the point of perfect oversensitivity. God, and Blaine isn't even pulling out, he's just buried, grinding himself inside as if he can't bear to be even a fraction of the way out of Kurt's body. Kurt can feel the trembling, sweaty heave of his soft belly just over the curve of his own cheeks, can feel the hard columns of Blaine's thighs, the slap of his balls, the sweep of his thumbs going low, spreading Kurt's cheeks and then pressing them snug around him again. And then he slows down, dragging himself all the way out and slamming back in with a hiss. Kurt whines, shifting on his knees, ass throbbing. He can feel Blaine in his belly, he's so deep. "If we get tested," Blaine says into the noise of their bodies coming together, "can we stop using the condoms?" This is not the time to have this conversation, and a part of Kurt's mind is screaming at him, it's only

been six months, and another part is screaming please just keep fucking me. He believes that Blaine had told the truth about being a virgin and he knows that, for his part, he has no difficulty with sexual monogamy--it's a relationship requirement for him, and always has been--but-"We can talk about it," he ventures, gasping as Blaine presses in again. "When you aren't working me over like a professional." Blaine gasps a laugh, and Kurt can feel how close he is. "Don't make me laugh, not now--" Kurt grins, twisting to glance at Blaine behind him, olive-toned and overworked, his hair a halo of sweaty curls, some standing up in random directions, some stuck to his face with sweat, pupils blown, face fire engine red, nipples hard, belly heaving--he looks so good that Kurt could cry. Kurt can't resist rolling his hips, working Blaine's cock inside of him. "You've mentioned the bare thing twice now--so I'm going to guess that it works for you, huh?" He rocks back again, watching Blaine shake and sway on his knees. "You like thinking about coming in me, making me all messy?" Blaine shudders, clutching Kurt's hips. "Mm, maybe I like it, too, maybe I wanna feel your come inside of me, dripping out of me when you're done--maybe I like thinking about you licking it off, sucking it right out of me, or pushing it back inside with your cock and making me push it out again for you." Blaine whimpers, pelvis churning. "God you know just what to say to make me--" "Yeah? Come on. Come in me." It doesn't take much more than that; Blaine shudders behind him and tenses up, hunching forward and filling the condom for the second time that morning. He stays inside for a while and when he slides away it's slow, his hips gentle to avoid hurting Kurt. Kurt collapses as soon as he's empty, throbbing and open and so wet, and they settle side by side and just breathe until they can do so without wheezing. Sometimes he feels as if having an active sex life again is even more physically demanding than some of the routines that he has to do on a weekly basis. He's ashamed to realize when he wakes up an hour later that he had just passed out without a single word to Blaine. Of course, it's not as a big of a deal when he notices Blaine snoring like a puppy next to him. It's just after noon and he's starving and grimy with dried sweat and come and the bed is gross. He feels ridiculously lazy but many of these things are unacceptable, so he nudges Blaine awake and off the bed, then tugs him naked and limping into the shower. "We need to be clean, at the very least," Kurt says, grinning and walking Blaine under the spray. "I'll deal with the bed later. But I'm ordering pizza, okay? Don't want to cook." "I can--" "No," Kurt moans, "pizza. Pizza." Blaine grins, sliding his arms around Kurt's waist. "Okay. Pizza." He idly strokes the curve of Kurt's ass, lowers his voice and rasps, "You--were absolutely sinful. Especially after my little--" Kurt kisses him to cut him off. "La la la, no. I kind of sprung that on you, and you--" He blushes, pressing close. "You recovered impressively, sir." He kisses Blaine's jaw. "I'm going to feel that for days." Blaine squeezes him, draws him in close in a way that's almost possessive, and Kurt shivers. "I could

get used to seeing you all spread out for me." "It's only fair," Kurt replies, batting his eyelashes. "I do seem to get you like that quite often." "Maybe later, even?" Blaine asks hopefully, biting his bottom lip and lowering his eyelashes, fully aware that the combination always makes Kurt want to immediately rock his world. "Much later," Kurt agrees, and then tacks on quickly, "or at the very least well after pizza." Blaine giggles.

Six months later Kurt isn't surprised that it's Rachel who Blaine calls first when he gets the news of his acceptance to the private academy that he's been drooling over all summer--she had, after all, been the one to provide the introduction and a reference from her dads, who had thought about moving to New York briefly while Rachel was in middle school and so had a list of schools that satisfy Blaine's wishes right in their back pocket. The school has one of the most prestigious junior musical theater programs available in the area. Rachel tells Kurt privately later that Blaine's audition had had more to do with his getting accepted than anything else. He'd apparently killed it with an acoustic arrangement of a Katy Perry classic--one of the first songs that he had ever sung to Kurt, in fact, dirty and cold on the sidewalk. "Celebration, my place!" Rachel declares, which of course translates into her inviting half of her social circle for a cocktail party centered entirely around Blaine as the guest of honor, who blushes and stammers and drinks too much wine and has to be half-carried home, once he manages to stop kissing Rachel and telling her he loves her and making her turn red with pleasure in the middle of her apartment, of course. They have a little celebration of their own when they get home, though it's brief due to too much indulgence, but Kurt swallows Blaine down with hungry relish regardless, then rolls over and allows him to return the favor, and they fall asleep tangled in their dinner jackets, smelling like pinot and shrimp cocktail. Kurt keeps his dad updated as Blaine's birthday looms ever closer, because they have to fly back to Ohio to meet with the lawyer who is handling the transfer of Blaine's trust fund and, though Blaine had insisted that they can do it on their own, Burt wants to be there to drive them and won't hear a word to the contrary. There's tension around the topic, but now that Blaine has plans for the immediate future he seems to have become more accepting of the things that he can't change. Kurt, for his part, has learned to appreciate the consistency of baby steps, and to not be disappointed when changes are small.

"The last time we were here, I told you that I was a virgin," Blaine whispers. Kurt laughs, remembering how he'd had to hide his reaction. "That you did." "I am such a goofball." He smiles. "Did you believe me?" "Of course I did. You don't have a dishonest bone in your body." Kurt feigns disappointment. "We'll keep working on corrupting you. You'll never make it in the theater industry otherwise." Blaine swats him. "Oh, don't be bad. I just want to get this over with. You're right; there is something so much--stickier about this part of the clinic." "Oh, it's not that," Kurt says, waving a hand. "It's the guilt. Even though you know you're clean you always panic waiting for the results, as if you somehow magically had unprotected sex that you don't remember having or--" Blaine's eyes widen. "Well, now I feel that way. Thanks, honey." Kurt grins and chirps, "You're welcome." "The question is," Blaine whispers, running his arm through Kurt's and leaning in close enough so that only he can hear him, "are we flipping for who gets who first?" "Oh my god, you expect me to feel sexy after this?" "I expect you to be unable to resist fucking me with nothing between us but lube the minute we get home," Blaine purrs, lips brushing Kurt's earlobe as he talks, "and then to make such a mess inside of me. Yes." Kurt goes red and hunkers down in his chair, stage whispering in a mock-mortified tone, "I hate it when you're right."

It's the little things that happen as the weeks pass that let Kurt know that Blaine is healing. He disappears one Saturday and comes back at midnight red-eyed and tired, and Kurt finds out later that he'd gone down to the street that he'd lived on and personally thanked every business owner on the block for all the times that they'd saved his life with money, or a meal, or a hot drink or a blanket, and then proceeded to host a sing-a-along on the corner inviting them all, plus the unfortunate people that were still stuck on the sidewalk, feeding everyone and singing for them, and not leaving until he'd spoken to each individual and made sure that they had, if nothing else, a smile on their face. "When I'm successful, I'm going to do something to really help people," is all he'd said to Kurt that night, tucking his face into Kurt's neck and falling asleep in his arms. Kurt wants to say, you already have, but Blaine is dead to the world. He also walks in on Blaine several times having tense conversations over the phone with someone who he later learns is Blaine's brother Cooper, the only relative left that Blaine had truly attempted to reconnect with after the matter of his trust fund had come to light.

reconnect with after the matter of his trust fund had come to light. Their relationship is complicated, Blaine tells him, but he wants very badly to make sure that there's no way to repair it before giving up, because Cooper had been so far out of the family loop that he hadn't been aware of the details of what had gone on at the time. It's not much of an excuse, but he's Blaine's brother, and that earns him a chance to explain himself, if nothing else. Kurt can't believe that Blaine had felt strong enough to not only enter but navigate that maze, and it makes him hopeful for the future. Blaine's relationship with Burt, Carole, Finn, Marley, and Devon grows by leaps and bounds as birthdays and holidays encourage and solidify their affections. Kurt will sometimes forget to call or reach out, so much more now than when he was younger, but Blaine thrives on connection, and more often than not it's Blaine who reminds him to buy a gift or send a card or book a plane ticket or take a day off to visit someone on a special day. When Blaine starts school he has to cut back his theater hours to weekends, which he does with a frown because his little work crew has become like a second family, but they're all so happy for him-apparently there had been cake, which Kurt finds a slice of in the refrigerator with his name on it when he gets home from work--that he can't bring himself to ruin it with pouting, especially when Rachel assures him that there are always aspiring theater students looking to get a foot in the door and that his absence won't create delays for the theater. He has a panic attack the first week of school when he shows signs of trouble adjusting--it's been a long time since he's been a student, and self doubt makes him question whether he can do this or not, the academics and the music and the extracurriculars--so Kurt takes him out to the country that weekend and they have a picnic and drink a lot of wine and make love out in the open (not as glamorous as it sounds, but the bug bites are distracting, so Kurt supposes that he's succeeded?), and Blaine cries and confesses his concerns, but Kurt is there to remind him that he's brilliant and talented, and of course he can do it, and naturally, with such a perfect partner he is almost guaranteed the support needed for success-Which of course leads to a twenty minute giggling jog that seems to take care of his anxiety for that afternoon, at least. In reality, Kurt isn't sure how far his conviction takes Blaine, but they never seem to need to have that conversation again, so he supposes that he'd done something right.

The teasing is there from the start, though Kurt doesn't notice it consciously right away. It takes Rachel fanning herself and giggling and elbowing Kurt the first time that Blaine comes home while they are giving each other mani-pedis and drinking sangria on a rare, shared day off. Blaine is wearing his school uniform; a neat pair of slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a blazer and tie, all dark red with blue piping; his hair a neat wave of gel, his shoes shined, and he looks every inch the preppy schoolboy. "Oh, come on," she whispers drunkenly, which is of course loud enough for her voice to carry into the next room, "like you haven't role-played that one a thousand times already. I'm sure it's boring by now." Kurt squints. "Role-played what?" She cracks up so hard and for so long that Kurt actually worries she might pass out. After she leaves, Blaine smirks at him, standing in the doorway of their bedroom still wearing his

uniform. "Not a word," he says, leveling a finger in Blaine's direction. "It had crossed my mind," Blaine admits, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame. Kurt's not embarrassed because of the nature of the fantasy. He's embarrassed because he hadn't thought of it first--but Blaine doesn't need to know that. "Oh? Do tell," is all he says, fussing a little and blushing. "I dunno," Blaine drawls, walking toward him, shrugging ever so slowly out of his blazer (good lord his shoulders are practically busting out of that dress shirt). "I thought maybe one day when you came home from work you could ask me if I'd done my homework." He smiles slyly, working his tie loose, then undoing the knot. "I'd say no, sir--I've been so bad today, sir. All I did all day was think of you, miss you--but I broke a rule, sir, I got so hot thinking of you that I touched myself without asking, and now you'll have to punish me instead of reward me." He sinks to his knees on the carpet in front of Kurt, turning wide, wet eyes up at him. Kurt swallows, lifting the undone tie halves in his hand. "How should I punish you, Blaine?" "I think only a spanking will do," Blaine confesses, sounding so contrite that Kurt's cock throbs in his pants. And then he giggles; it's overwhelming and he just can't, at least not here and now; he has to get into character and gather the essential props. These things must be done correctly, thank you very much. Instead he runs his fingers through the cracks in the gel in Blaine's hair. "Have I told you that adore you today?" Blaine grins, biting his lip. "Yes. But tell me again." It's not until his birthday that Blaine surprises him with the game again, and he can't even regret not being allowed to prepare for it. He's crawling into bed after a long evening of very pleasant food and company and birthday cheer when Blaine slinks into the bedroom wearing the blazer and tie from his school uniform-And nothing else. Kurt sort of loses the ability to breathe for the time that it takes Blaine to get on the bed and straddle him facing away, presenting the swell of his beautiful ass pushing out from under the tails of the blazer. With a put on, sad little pout over his shoulder, he asks, "Going to punish me now, sir?" "Hm, how bad have you been, sweetie?" he asks. He strokes his fingers over Blaine's gorgeous ass, loving how sensitive he is here, and knowing that he has always wanted them to try this--the excitement that comes from knowing that Kurt has permission to bring his open palm down against those cheeks-"So bad," Blaine breathes, biting his lip. "I might need at least ten or--or twenty--" Fuck. Kurt inhales shakily, shifting his hips. "Take me out of my underwear, baby; give me a little kiss first." He isn't prepared for how hot it is, Blaine bending over his body to get at him from this angle, the

He isn't prepared for how hot it is, Blaine bending over his body to get at him from this angle, the globes of his ass spreading as his hips come up, right there, so close to Kurt's mouth. They've never sixty-nined before and this is so close to that positioning-He groans when Blaine's mouth sinks down around him, fingernails digging into Blaine's skin. "Ready?" he asks, kissing the curve of one cheek. Blaine, mouth full, nods eagerly, and settles on his spread knees. Kurt almost forgets what they're doing, he's so wrapped up in watching Blaine, blazer sagging around his elbows, the dark cut of the tie around his throat dangling down and brushing Kurt's cock and balls as Blaine's mouth bobs around him, wet and hungry, little whimpers escaping despite how tight his mouth's grip is, cock curved up toward his belly, drooling at the tip just from having his lips on Kurt. Kurt smooths his hand over Blaine's right cheek, then brings it down hard, trying not to hold back too much--the few times that they'd talked about this Blaine had said that he wanted to learn his own limits. The moment that the noise of that first crack dies down, Kurt can hear Blaine whimpering around his cock, so he does it again before he can over think it, on the opposite cheek; Blaine shifts on his knees, trying to stay on task, his cock dribbling all over Kurt's thighs. Kurt keeps going, layering the slaps so that they don't hit the same place exactly twice, using the stark rise of his own handprints as a guide. By the time he reaches twenty Blaine's entire ass is covered and he's not even really capable of blowing Kurt anymore, he's just sort of bent over mouthing at him, shaking a little and lost in the sting. "Still with me?" Kurt asks. "Y-yes, sir," Blaine whimpers, and something about that--god, it sounds stupidly natural, and Kurt's whole body twists up with it. "Took your punishment so well," he breathes, stroking Blaine's ass, which is swollen up and blazing hot to the touch under his palm. "I know you're going to be such a good boy for me from now on." Blaine whimpers, pressing his forehead into Kurt's thigh. Kurt drops soft kisses all over the handprints, laving the marks with his tongue until Blaine is whimpering again, sitting up on his knees, making the swell of his ass even more prominent as his body weight settles. The bend of his spine bleeding into the broadness of his shoulders, the thick muscles of his neck bulging where they meet those shoulders--the slick hair and the strength in his upper arms--that tiny waist and those flared hips--Kurt groans, so overwhelmed that he doesn't know what to touch next. "Shift forward," he says, when he decides that he just can't wait any longer. "Wanna sit down on my cock, sweetheart? You've been so good; I think you deserve a reward. Think you deserve a cock in that beautiful ass." "Oh, god, yes, please, sir, let me have your cock," Blaine babbles, scrambling to get lower. Kurt already has the lubricant tube in his hands. He needs that ass around him, squeezing him and moving up and down on him, before he spills like teenager all over Blaine's thighs. Blaine is incredibly relaxed from the spanking, so all it takes is a single application of lubricant and he's brushing off Kurt's attempts to use his fingers, begging softly, "Please, please, let me," before Kurt

gives over and lets him, helps spread him open so that he can just--lower himself and oh, god-He takes it in one smooth push, crying out and grasping Kurt's hairy thighs as he sits. Being able to watch as Blaine comes down around him again and again and again is just too much-Kurt holds on for dear life, tense from the second they begin; Blaine's handprint-covered, lobster red, lubricant-smeared cheeks jiggling as they cushion him against every thrust are certainly not helping his stamina. He closes his eyes for a while just to keep himself from losing it. Which turns out to be somewhat of a moot point when Blaine gasps, "Hold my wrists," and Kurt grabs them and holds them at the small of his back before he can even wonder where Blaine is going with this--and then Blaine leans forward against the restraint, angling his hips a different way and riding Kurt so hard and fast that the mattress shifts on the box spring, and then he's sobbing and coming, with nothing around his cock but air and Kurt's cock grinding against his prostate. "Oh my god," he sobs, bouncing freely, and just keeps coming, weaker streams jolting from the head of his cock to puddle between Kurt's calves on the bed. "Blaine--" "Shit, shit, shit," Blaine pants, twitching and shaking. Kurt realizes with a weak flop that he'd come inside of Blaine somewhere in the middle of all that and it hardly matters because Blaine just came hands-free riding him into the mattress. "Fuck," Kurt hisses, "fuck." When he slides out his come follows, lazy dribbles of white pale against the red of Blaine's cheeks, trickling down the back of his balls and plopping down onto Kurt's belly. He can't resist smearing what remains with his thumb, then the head of his cock, pushing the streaks back inside of Blaine's gaping body. "Push out for me," Kurt breathes, and groans when Blaine does, carefully, his ass contracting, emptying itself of what Kurt had pushed back in and also what had remained inside to begin with. "Love the way that feels," Blaine moans, shifting his hips, his ass throbbing around nothing, shining damp and open and leaking. "You always hated the condoms," Kurt observes, smiling and stroking Blaine's left cheek. "Just wanted you," Blaine replies, breathing shallowly, "just you. We never needed them. Never going to need them. Just want you." Kurt's heart pounds loudly in his chest. Blaine's confidence in them has always struck him both dumb and silent--not because he doesn't share it, but because he wants to lose himself in it exactly as Blaine does and never come out, and there are times when he just can't do that. This hasn't stopped him from trying, so he likes to think that it's a work in progress. He grabs some tissues and cleans Blaine off, just enough so that he can move without splattering everywhere, and Blaine does the same at his end of the bed, then joins him on top of the covers, shrugging the blazer off completely but leaving the tie. Kurt grabs it and uses it to pull Blaine into a searing kiss that leaves them both panting.

"Happy birthday," Blaine whispers, nuzzling their noses together. "Love you." "Love you, too," Kurt replies, smiling into the next kiss.

They talk about it before Kurt books the tickets and time off, and the only thing that Blaine insists on is that they make no plans to celebrate on his birthday. "I'm going to be really--distracted. I don't want you to churn out one of your awesome parties or gift ideas and have me just fall flat on it, okay? Let's arrive the day before, get it over with, and then maybe we'll celebrate when we get home?" Kurt can't bring himself to argue with Blaine, though he does have to rush to cancel something that he'd already started planning. Blaine knows him far too well. He calls Rachel and passes on the request, not surprised at all when she also has to cancel what she'd been plotting with the show choir at Blaine's school. "It was a flashmob, wasn't it?" he asks dryly. "No!" she gasps, and then mutters, "yes. How did you know?" He laughs, leaving that to rest. "Maybe some other time, Rach. He'd probably want to be involved, anyway." "You're no fun," she sighs. "Call me when you get back?" "Will do. Love you, tart." "Love you too." Kurt checks in with his dad before they leave for the airport, a last minute call that he waits to make until Blaine is in the shower. He wants to make sure that this is going to be as stress-free as possible for everyone, especially Blaine, who is already looking upset to a degree that makes Kurt worry. Kurt isn't sure that going back to Ohio is ever going to be something that Blaine can look forward to again, no matter what the reason for the visit. "I confirmed with the lawyer and the bank again this morning," he says, doing a last minute outfit check and running a lint brush over his pants. "I pre-booked a car so that we don't have to deal with the rental desk. I made two dinner reservations as far from Westerville as we can get without driving completely out of the way--" "Kurt," his dad says softly. "Calm down. It's gonna work out just fine." "I didn't want to do this on his birthday," Kurt sighs. "But he wants to get it over with. I dunno. I guess I can't blame him, I just--I love him so much, but sometimes it feels like so much of that is just--pain and worry and feeling inadequate, like I can never love him enough, or like love is useless because it doesn't solve anything." He can almost hear his dad smile. "Look at you, learning those life lessons. Although you obviously

missed the 'love does solve things' lesson. Called in sick that day, huh?" "Stop being wiser than me; it's debilitating to my self esteem," Kurt sighs at his own reflection. Burt chuckles. "Safe flight, kid. And for god's sake, no drinking on the plane. You'll regret it later." "Sure thing. See you soon. Thanks, Dad."

A bank manager takes them to a room in the back of the bank where they meet the lawyer that is assigned to handle the legal transfer of Blaine's trust fund. There are decisions to be made as to how the money will be held, decisions that Blaine now has complete control over, because as of midnight last night he is eighteen years old. After niceties, introductions, and proof of identification, they settle down to start the paperwork, and the door suddenly opens. Burt had declined to join them in the actual back room though he'd come to the bank with them ("I'll leave that up to the professionals, you need me and I'll be in the lobby") but Kurt had insisted ("I'm Blaine's partner," he'd said, and sat down firmly in the chair beside Blaine, and no one had said a word), and Kurt wonders if maybe his dad has changed his mind, when two complete strangers--a man and a woman--walk into the room and stop short. It only takes one glance at Blaine's face losing all of its color instantly for Kurt to realize who they are-naturally there's a resemblance, but Kurt sees red so quickly that it doesn't register the way that it should. Burt comes in just steps behind them, mid-sentence. "I told you, he--" Blaine stands, as if he literally can't remain sitting, and backs up a step or two, and Kurt stands almost at the same moment, instinctively putting himself between Blaine and his parents, who are staring at them as if they aren't made of the same stuff as the rest of the people in the room. "Blaine?" his mother says--she has a rough voice and an even tone, but Kurt finds it impossible to read her. Blaine's mouth opens but nothing comes out, and a protective urge rises inside of Kurt so fierce and sudden that he almost doesn't hear what his dad says next, his ears are ringing so loudly. Burt clears his throat. "They wouldn't take no for an answer." "Did you know about this?" Kurt rasps, shaking his head. "Of course not," Burt says, as sharp as he ever gets with Kurt, which isn't saying much. "He's our family lawyer," Blaine says, voice so full of pain that it hurts to hear. "Of course they knew." The lawyer begins, "Now, Mr. Anderson--" But no one is listening to him. The bank manager says, "If you aren't here for the transfer in some official or sanctioned capacity, we'll have to ask you to leave." Again, no one listens.

"You don't have to talk to them," Kurt says, stepping back and taking Blaine's hand in his as soon as he can find it with his own. He refuses to take his eyes off of Blaine's parents. "They aren't supposed to be here." "And who are you?" Blaine's father asks, looking properly suspicious for the first time. "Who am I?" he repeats, jaw tight, chest swelling up with rage. "I'm the man who loves your son, more than you ever could, that's who I am, you pathetic excuse for a father." He actually feels his body jerk forward, and he knows that if this were even a slightly less civilized encounter or place, or that if he weren't so much more concerned for Blaine's trembling hand in his than his own satisfaction, that he might for the first time in his life actually enjoy throwing a punch. Burt doesn't say a word--he's gazing at Kurt with what can only be described as concerned pride. Blaine's parent's faces go chalky white--they don't say anything, either of them, but they do look at Blaine, who has shifted to Kurt's side fully instead of remaining half-hidden behind him, and is clasping Kurt's fingers between his, not for support now but to display their unity--Kurt can feel the strength in him all of the sudden, standing there so tall and proud, and it's that that makes the tears of anger that he hadn't even realized were there spill over his cheeks, finally. "It's okay," Blaine breathes, stroking his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand. "It's okay, Kurt." He looks at his parents, and Kurt can feel him shake harder. "You--you shouldn't have come. I already had the papers. Why--why now? Just to satisfy your curiosity? One last look?" "There's no way that we can convince you to stop this base behavior and come home?" his mother asks. "All we ask of you is a little decorum, Blaine, and in time--" "Now wait just a minute--" Burt begins. "Excuse me?" Kurt says, at the same time. "Stop it, all of you," Blaine interrupts. He waits for silence, then looks back and forth between his parents, and there's a lot there in his eyes, but for the most part it's just--pity. "If all you came here to do is treat me the same way that you've treated me my whole life, then we don't have anything to say to each other." His hand tightens around Kurt's. "I'm happy. For the first time in my life I'm happy. I am in love, and I'm going to school, and I'm going to go to college to study something that I'm passionate about, and maybe I'll do some good for others later on because of that but mostly, now? I'm doing it for myself. I've been lucky enough to meet people who have taught me how to take care of myself, and given me the support that I needed to accomplish that." He glances at Burt and then Kurt, swallowing with difficulty. "So unless you intend to change your tune, I'm asking you to leave." The silence is thick and heavy in the room when Blaine stops speaking. Burt is staring at the Andersons as if he couldn't understand them even if he were given a hundred years to try. The bank manager and lawyer are standing, ready to go for security at Blaine's word, Kurt is sure. Kurt himself is just trying to back down and let Blaine handle this as he sees fit. It's uncomfortable and tense; he'd had so many things in his head that he'd intended to say if he ever got the chance to give Blaine's parents a piece of his mind, but now it's all garbled, and he doesn't want to speak for Blaine. Blaine can speak for Blaine quite adequately, as he has just proven. "If that's your decision," Blaine's father says, voice breaking. It's not emotion in his voice so much as it is strain.

"It is," Blaine replies. His knees are wobbling, though he's hiding it, and Kurt grips his arm tighter. Burt looks to the bank employee. "I'll just see these two out to their car, then, if that's okay with you." His eyes are as cold as Kurt has ever seen them, and he has a feeling that Blaine's parents are going to get a piece of Burt's mind today even if they don't get his son's, and knowing that makes Kurt feel capable of backing down. They don't even look at Blaine before walking out, but Blaine stares at them until they're out of sight, and only then does he collapse in the chair behind him, face white and blank and sweating. "Can you get him a glass of water, please?" Kurt asks the bank manager, who nods and shuffles out of the room politely. The lawyer excuses himself along with her, but Kurt hardly notes his politeness. He sits opposite Blaine, taking both of his hands in his. "Wasn't what I expected," Blaine murmurs, eyes closing. Kurt waits for him to keep talking. "Thought I'd--be so upset. Just. Kind of numb." "You're in shock, honey," Kurt breathes. "I guess. Didn't feel anything when I saw them but--wanted to be away from them. Thought I'd feel differently." "I know," Kurt replies, rubbing Blaine's hands harder. "I know." The lawyer waits an appropriate amount of time for Blaine to calm down and drink his water, but promptly asks when he does return, "Shall we reschedule? We can do that, Mr. Anderson, it's not a problem." "No," Blaine replies, perking up, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. "No, I'm--I don't want to come back here. No offense, ma'am," he says to the bank manager. She smiles understandingly. Kurt boggles at Blaine's ability to be polite even now. It doesn't take long after that--Blaine signs the papers, receives a stack four times the size in return, and a more concise verbal explanation of the amount of money that he's about to receive and how he can access it, and the options that he has in regards to the way it could be invested or held. Kurt is surprised to see all those zeros, but even more surprised to learn that there's almost no restriction on Blaine use of it--it's essentially just his to take, as of today, though there's a whole section in regards to a portion of it being allocated specifically for school tuition. "That's not a problem," Blaine explains. "I'm on a high school fast track and I hope to start applying to colleges within a couple of years." The bank manager chimes in, explaining that he can do a lot of the management online, but that there is also an account representative that he can speak to at their New York branch, as well, should he want to. It's surprisingly quick after that, considering how much money is on the table. Blaine asks questions and receives detailed answers, but all told it only takes a few hours. They shake hands, collect business cards, and Kurt walks Blaine out to the parking lot with an arm around his waist. Burt is standing next to their rental car. Kurt opens the passenger side door and nudges Blaine inside,

then circles around the car to join his father. They look at each other--Kurt's eyes wide and sad, and Burt's still rather stormy--and then Burt grabs Kurt and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. "Dad?" "I almost decked that guy," Burt admits. Kurt laughs--it's giddy and sort of hysterical, but he can't stop it. "Join the club. But--it wouldn't have solved anything." "It never does," Burt agrees, "but like cheeseburgers and beer, it would've felt damned good at the time." He can't argue with that. "Did you--talk to them?" "I wouldn't call it a talk. I'd call it a shaming. I didn't mean to be so--but damn, Kurt. Those people made my blood boil." He sighs, letting Kurt go with a glance at Blaine, curled up and eyes closed. "I only half meant it before when I told Blaine that he'd be better off without them in his life. I wanted to make him feel better. But a part of me still thought they're his parents. After today, though--I'm pretty sure I mean it." "I'm going to take him home, give him a shot of something strong, and put him to bed," Kurt says, opening the driver's side door. He tilts his head at his dad, feeling so proud that he could burst. "And maybe cheeseburgers and beer are in order, huh?" "It's good to know that you can still appreciate the simpler things in life even though you're a famous Broadway star now," Burt says, winking at him.

Weeks later, Kurt comes home after a show to find Blaine sitting on the couch in the living room surrounded by papers at arm's length in every direction. After hanging up his scarf and taking off his shoes he stops at the breakfast bar, puts down the Thai food that Blaine had requested for dinner, and walks over to the couch, leaning over to kiss Blaine's hair. "What's all this? Homework?" "Trust fund stuff," Blaine answers, rubbing his eyes. "I've been at it all night. I just want to make sure that I understand what I've got." He breathes out, sitting back against the couch cushions. Kurt slides down next to him, crossing his legs. "Kurt, I've--got a lot, is what I've got." It's the first time that they've acknowledged the dollar amount. "I think I need a financial adviser, for the non-tuition parts, anyway, especially since I intend to start donating to charity. Heavily. But our future comes first, so--financial advising. The private kind. I'm not sure I trust the bank." "I think that's a good idea," Kurt replies, rubbing Blaine's shoulders. "I want us to move," Blaine says.

That requires more of a pause. Kurt sits up, stares at the spread of papers, then asks, "Blaine?" "I'd like it if we moved to a new place. Together. We need more space, you can't deny that. An office, and maybe a music room. Just, something that can be ours. And I kind of want a dog?" That last one is a question. Kurt laughs, then bites his lip. "Are you asking me if I want to raise four-legged, fuzzy children with you, Blaine Anderson?" Blaine stares at him, heart in his eyes, completely serious. "To start. Yes." Kurt swallows, cheeks flushed with an anticipation of everything to come. He can hear it in Blaine's voice, the echo of promises being made between them that they've never really taken the time to discuss out loud. "Then my answer is yes," he replies, lacing their fingers together. "I want a pug. A little black pug. I'm going to name it Diablo and I'm going to train it to bite ankles." Blaine laughs. "I'll start looking at apartments, then--maybe Rachel knows a good realtor? I want to keep our location central to my school and your theater, but not too restrictive, since I'll graduate eventually and you may change companies, who knows?" Kurt nods, tugging their hands into his lap. "I'll start shopping around, too. We've got time; you should probably finish out the school year first." "You just want me all sweaty and hauling furniture in the middle of June," Blaine teases, kissing Kurt's jaw. "Ooh, can it be shirtless?" Kurt chirps. "Sure, as long as you join me," he replies, kissing lower. "But being able to watch while I'm comfortably unsweaty and possibly sipping a cold lemonade sounds so much more appealing--" Blaine gives up the subtly and slides into Kurt's lap, kissing up the other side of his neck. "You don't want to be sweaty and shirtless with me?" He curls his fingers under Kurt's sweater, splays them open over the warm skin of Kurt's back. "I'm disappointed." Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine's waist and pulls him closer, slotting their hips together and savoring the gasp that blossoms in Blaine's throat as a result. "Mm. I am not immune to persuasion." Blaine grins.

"I'm seeing a therapist," Blaine says one Saturday over dinner. Kurt had noticed the card on the coffee table last week, but he had wanted to let Blaine tell him. As far as he has noticed, Blaine has coped fairly well since coming home from Ohio a rich young man, after the one night that Kurt had come home to find him curled up in a ball sobbing on the bathroom

floor--something that Blaine had found in the bathroom from back when Kurt had brought him home that first time had triggered a crying jog that had begun with remembering his year on the street and ended with thinking about his parents--and had been so inconsolable that Kurt had considered calling someone for help. "I mean, I've been once, just as like a pre-consultation kind of thing," he adds, twirling spaghetti neatly between his fork and a spoon. "It was--upsetting, but I felt better after?" "That's great," Kurt says, and then goes on to ask about the doctor and why Blaine had picked her. The beginning of that stage of Blaine's recovery yields a lot of good things--he begins to heal around the loss of his parents in his life, but more importantly he learns to accept that the abuse they'd doled out had been something that he could not have affected and should not have had to suffer. He learns that it is also just as okay for him to move on from that wrongness for himself; he doesn't owe them blanket forgiveness and he doesn't have to excuse their actions, but he also can't allow the abuse to hold him back from his own life. He starts keeping in touch with his brother on a regular basis, and when that name begins to drop in their conversations all of the time Kurt smiles and encourages Blaine enthusiastically; he's stupidly curious about this brother, mostly because Blaine doesn't seem to want to give him any details about him, and all Kurt knows is that he lives in Los Angeles. It must be a hell of a story if Blaine is holding out on him, so he's willing to wait and maybe even eventually get it straight from the source.

A violent summer storm knocks the power out, but Kurt doesn't notice until he wakes up in the pitch black alone and has to stumble through the apartment looking for Blaine, who is rummaging through the cabinet above the refrigerator, muttering to himself. "They're under the island, silly," Kurt says, sliding up behind him and hugging him around the waist. "Did you move them?" Blaine asks. Kurt blinks innocently. "Maybe. Perhaps. Possibly. They're boxed up but I left them there in case we needed them." He smiles, kisses Blaine, and then says, "It wouldn't be a goodbye apartment week without one last blackout, huh?" "Guess not," Blaine answers, then goes quite for a moment as he finds and sets out the candles. Kurt lights them as Blaine continues to rummage for the flashlights but instead comes up with a blank CD case in his hand. "Hey, is this...?" Kurt smiles, mostly to himself. "God, it's been forever since I've seen that." Blaine opens the case, staring at the shimmer of candlelight reflecting off of the metallic circle. The note that he'd left for Kurt is still there, tucked behind the CD. It had been too small to safely keep in the jacket without risk of losing it at some point, so Kurt had moved it. Blaine re-reads it now, a faint, melancholy smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. "After I left you that weekend, I think I wasn't entirely convinced that you were real," he says, turning the CD over in his hands. "There were times when it was really cold, or when the hunger became too intense to ignore, when I hallucinated. I don't think I ever told you that. When you never get what your

body needs and instead a whole lot of what it doesn't, things can get hazy sometimes. When we'd go too long in between conversations, I'd convince myself that you were just--a figment of my imagination." He chuckles. "A fantasy sprung to life. You'd laugh if you knew how long it took me to realize that you were--actually a real person." "I'd never laugh," Kurt says, leaning on his elbows on the countertop. "Never." "The worst part is that you were so--perfect. What you represented--the man of my dreams, the man that I'd once hoped would fit seamlessly into my life, alongside the career I wanted, the kids that I--" He stops, biting his lip. "I had lost hope, and then you reminded me of what hope felt like, but I could never have that, that wasn't my life, good things weren't there for me--for other people, yes, but not for me, and--having you around hurt as much as it felt wonderful, because of that." "Oh, Blaine," Kurt breathes, shaking his head. None of this is really a surprise, but to hear it in Blaine's own words, with his voice cracking and hitching, is almost too much. "If you hadn't tripped over me that afternoon--" Blaine begins, eyes swimming with tears. "Don't," Kurt says, circling the counter and winding his arms around Blaine, pulling him into a hug so tight that it could bruise. "Don't. I love you. I love you so much, and we're here for each other." He kisses Blaine fiercely, holding his face in his hands. "Do you understand that? I mean, truly, deep down, do you get me, Blaine? I'm never saying goodbye to you." Blaine stares at him, eyes wide and wet, and smiles the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile that Kurt has ever seen. "I do now, Kurt. I do."

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!