Archive of Our Own

Blaine spends half an hour in the parking lot staring at his fake ID as an excuse to not get out of the car. It's actually not that awful, considering the fact that his friend had done him a favor getting it for him for next to nothing. He knows it's stupid to worry about such a little thing when he's ten minutes away from probably having sex for the first time in his life. He's—just as scared as he is excited. He'd even brought his own lubricant and condoms just on the off chance that the ones provided by the bathhouse turn out to be questionable.

The bottom line is that he is a seventeen year old virgin. He's turning eighteen next weekend and going off to New York for college in the Fall and he refuses to go with no sexual experience whatsoever. He wants a boyfriend in college, preferably one who won't run away as soon as Blaine's obvious virgin vibe starts pulsing. Trent had promised him that this place is relatively hygienic and had a regular flow of attractive guys; he's bound to find someone willing and not to gross to hook up with.

Finally, it's a choice between going in and having time to find someone and having to turn around and drive home (it had been a two hour drive) in order to make his curfew. He's numb as he walks across the parking lot, and even more numb as he enters the establishment.

The air is humid and the rooms dark. The walls are painted black and there are things randomly scrawled everywhere in black light paint, sharp neon words and shapes, some of which are arrows that guide him to the front desk.

A bored looking guy, probably in his early twenties, is sitting behind the front desk (which vaguely resembles the hostess stand in a restaurant) playing Angry Birds on his cellphone. Blaine stands there, clutching his wallet. He'd dressed down to just jeans and a Henley for the sake of not drawing attention to himself. He has apparently succeeded in becoming invisible, because he has to clear his throat several times to get the guy's attention.

"ID?" the guy asks, finally, and Blaine hands it over. He gets a smirk and an eye roll in response. "Sure thing, buddy." He points. "Lockers are over there. There's a five dollar deposit if you want one to store your stuff. You can change in there, too. Towels and pool shoes in the sauna, you can't go in dressed. The cover fee gets you four hours. There's a membership if you're interested, then you can stay as long as you like."

He pays, refusing the offer of the membership politely, and makes a lot of affirmative noises in regards to the rules while trying not to make eye contact. He does get the locker and he gets to change alone, which is nice. He's still terrified, but having got this far his first time jitters are calming down. So far it's been as clinical as going to the dentist.

There are several sauna rooms at the back, and even more corridors leading off into parts unknown, all lined with doors painted black and numbered with black light paint. There are little tags on the doors that show whether the room is occupied and off-limits or—singly occupied and waiting for more. Blaine blinks.

Oh. Oh.

His face flushes with heat. He can hear some noise through the doors, and the louder ones make his belly twist up with lust and panic. He's not sure how he feels about going behind a closed door with a stranger. There are men wearing t-shirts with the bathhouse logo everywhere who look to be in charge of keeping things in line, but it's still all kinds of scary for Blaine, who feels his nerves working themselves up into a frenzy again.

He chooses one of the more sparsely populated saunas and closes his eyes, letting the steam into his lungs. There are a few guys in here, some young, some old enough to be his father (which he admits does freak him out a little), but no one is touching anyone and everyone is wearing a towel so it's—not the weirdest thing ever.

He wonders if it's possible to just look the first time you come and not do anything. His heart lodges in his throat and the longer he sits there alone with no interest shown in him and no desire to approach anyone the more agitated he gets. He starts questioning the entire plan; what if sex is not just a given? What if he is just so young looking that no one wants to take a chance on him? What if he had the wrong idea entirely about this? He'd been pretty specific when he'd told Trent what he was looking for, but...who knows? This is Ohio, and maybe he isn't going to find what he's looking for as easily as that.

He tilts his head back against the wall and lets his mind float blankly, trying to calm down. He probably looks like an idiot sitting there in a sauna having an existential crisis about whether or not he's going to get laid by a stranger today. Probably not an attractive vibe to be giving off.

He's shocked back to awareness when someone sits down next to him—an older guy, probably mid-thirties, who kind of reminds Blaine of their family accountant. Not ugly, not attractive, not thin, not fat, just—an average looking guy.

Who looks at him sideways, adjusts himself under his towel and asks, "First time?"

You have no idea, Blaine thinks. He replies, "That obvious, huh?"

The guy grunts. "What's your name?"

He goes with the name on his ID for lack of creativity, "David."

"Nice to meet you, David." The guy says his name with air quotes. His stomach tenses up. "I'm Mark."

"Hello," he says, politely.

Mark's hand lands on his thigh. It shifts from his knee to mid-thigh and then higher, and a spark of panic shoots through him, drawing his back up straight. He has no idea what he'd expected to feel at this point, but gut-wrenching fear had not been part of the plan.

"You don't have to be nervous," Mark says, voice kind of neutral and almost bored-sounding. "Everyone has a first time, right?" The man's hand slides up to his groin and he jumps.

"I think I—"

"Alright," a voice cuts in. "Leave him alone, Mark."

Blaine squints through the steam. The last thing he expects to see is a person near his age. A person near his age who is so beautiful that he's hard to look at, at first. Blaine is blinded by pale skin and a sculpted neck and eyes that flash—green, blue?—in the muted lighting.

Mark's hand falls off of him and he exhales in relief.

"You're such a killjoy," Mark grumbles, standing and crossing the sauna.

Blaine stares up at his savior, swallowing thickly. "Um, thanks."

"Come with me," the new guy says, beckoning.

Oh, my god. Blaine freaks out for three seconds, and then when he can't stop feeling his dick twitch in interest he decides to cut his losses and go with someone that actually turns him on. He follows this new guy into one of the rooms. There's a small cot and also something that looks like the table at a doctor's office. He sits nervously on the cot.

His rescuer closes the door behind them; he's wearing a robe, not a towel, and he crosses his arms. "Do you need a ride home?"

Blaine deflates, pulse racing. "Huh?"

"Do you need a ride or did you drive here yourself?" he asks, eyebrows up.

"I, uh, drove myself."

"I'll walk you out, if you want to avoid getting picked up on the way."

Blaine's stomach starts to eat itself. He—this guy has no interest in him at all. He just thinks that Blaine is an idiot kid who walked in with a fake ID, completely unprepared. The fact that this is more or less the case isn't important. Blaine just feels—rejected, and stupid, and it has everything to do with the fact that this guy is gorgeous and hasn't even looked at him twice.

"I—I appreciate the gesture, but I came here for a reason," Blaine says, dying a little with each word. "It's this or a gay bar, and frankly I'd rather not put on a show and pretend."

"There are so many other options," the man says, looking sad. "Is this your first time?"

"Yes," Blaine admits, blushing.

"You're gorgeous. You seem smart. How is this your only option, sweetheart?"

"Look, I—" Blaine feels anxiety bubble beneath his skin. "I didn't come here for a lecture. If you're not interested, fine. I'm just going to keep coming here until I find someone, so it's really none of your business."

The man sighs. "What's your name?"

"Blaine," he blurts, forgetting his cover.

"I'm Kurt," he says, holding out a hand.

They shake hands. It's awkward.

"Look," Kurt continues. "Let me—this is going to sound completely insane, but let me take you out for coffee. It seems like you need someone to talk to."

"I'm not a charity case," Blaine replies, somewhat touchily. "I'm also not desperate or mentally unstable or incapable of knowing what I want. I just—want to get laid before I go away to college, okay? It's not rocket science."

Kurt tilts his head. "I'll ask again: have coffee with me, Blaine?"

Blaine blushes. He's feeling incredibly defensive, but Kurt is—trying, obviously. It's got to count for something. He breathes out roughly, trying to get a hold of himself. "Okay. Okay."

They get dressed in the locker room and then follow each other to a local coffee shop. Blaine's hands shake on the wheel the whole way there. What is he doing? This guy could be a serial killer for all he knows. He supposes that a crowded coffee shop isn't the worst destination, in that case, but it still seems—so weird.

"What'll you have?"

"Medium drip, thanks."

"Non-fat mocha and a medium drip, please." Kurt pays for their coffee and a big blueberry muffin, which they split.

"I—I'm not sure what you want to talk about," Blaine starts, stirring his coffee nervously.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," he answers, not caring anymore if Kurt knows. It's not as if it matters. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," Kurt answers. "Why that place?"

"A friend recommended it when I asked. There aren't exactly a lot of options here."

He uses the pause in conversation to look at Kurt. He's—stunning, to say the least. Slender, sculpted pale flesh. Beautiful blue-green eyes. A bone structure that a model would kill for. The longest neck that Blaine has ever seen. Impeccable clothing and hair. He'd kept his back turned when Kurt had changed at the bathhouse, but he's sure that there is nothing but creamy skin and wiry muscle underneath those fashionable clothes.

"No gay guys at your school?"

"Not that I know of," Blaine answers.

"You know," Kurt says, popping a piece of muffin in his mouth. "You could wait for college. Take it from me: college does wonders for the dating pool."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Blaine asks, assuming that Kurt is well beyond college.

"No," Kurt answers. "But I had plenty in college. I—I'm from around here, originally, and my high school experience wasn't the best. But then I moved to a big city and—gradually, my life changed for the better. I met some really great guys. I met awful ones, too, but that's just how it goes."

"Why would you ever come back here?"

"My dad is sick," Kurt says, looking away. "I'm spending some time with him."

"Oh," Blaine frowns. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Kurt gathers himself up with a deep breath and then releases it, sliding one hand across the table and gently taking Blaine's hand in his. "All I'm saying is that the first time is—important. You're not going to learn anything from those silly queens at the bathhouse, and you'll just feel—pointless, afterward. It matters, Blaine. You matter." He finishes his coffee and pulls out his phone. "I'm going to be here for a few weeks. Let me have your number. Maybe we can get together again?"

Blaine feels a thousand things at once; lonely, stupid, hopeful, and mostly excited to even be talking to someone like Kurt, who has escaped this hellhole in one piece. "O-okay."

"Look, I'm not asking you out on a date," Kurt says, smiling. "Don't be nervous."

"I wouldn't be nervous if you were," Blaine says, smiling—it's a botched attempt at flirtation that goes unacknowledged, for which he is grateful. He puts his number in Kurt's phone, and Kurt texts him so that he has Kurt's number.

"I've got to get home," Kurt explains, and walks him to his car.

Just before Kurt is out of earshot, Blaine calls out, "Kurt? Why were you at the bathhouse?"

"Same reason you were," Kurt answers, looking pensive. "I got tired of being lonely."

Blaine, half-asleep that night, texts Kurt "thank you". He doesn't check to see if there is a reply, but in the morning he does and sees that Kurt had sent him a simple smiley face. Somehow, that helps—he's not sure exactly how, but it does.

 

*

 

They agree to meet for lunch at deli down the block from the coffee shop they'd visited that Friday. Blaine vibrates through his classes, unable to stay still—he swims laps and schedules two extra Warblers practices just to keep himself busy. It's sort of an abuse of power, but he can't bring himself to worry about it. They'd won Nationals this year and he doesn't want them to come down from that high too soon. It's his last huzzah before he hands the Warblers over to Trent, after all.

He declines the usual weekend invitations to surprised faces and raised eyebrows and he has to admit that it's kind of fun to have mystery for once.

He ransacks his wardrobe for the trendiest things that he can find. He knows that it's not a date. Kurt is—so much older than him, and so amazing, of course it's not a date, Kurt had even said it wasn't going to be, but—

He's still excited. His birthday is this weekend and he's having lunch today with a gorgeous man.

Kurt is sitting at a table towards the front of the restaurant, wearing a button down covered by a black vest and jeans that hug his legs all the way down to a pair of knee-high boots. Blaine stares like an idiot, a blush stealing across his cheeks. It is almost unfair how hot Kurt is.

"Well," Kurt says, smiling. He stands, rubbing his palms down the front of his jeans. "You look a little less lost. And—I love the bow tie, god, that is so—adorable." He sits, eyes never leaving Blaine.

Blaine touches the bow tie. "Thanks, it's—kind of my thing." He smiles back. "How's your dad?"

Kurt goes still, then licks his bottom lip. "Sorry. He's been sick for a while and people have sort of stopping asking, almost like it's rude?" He lets out a breath. "He's good. I mean, he's comfortable. That's as good as it gets, but I'll take those days over the bad ones any day." He pauses. "So, Blaine. Where do you go to school?"

"Dalton Academy," he answers. "We won the National show choir competition this year." He puffs up with pride, just a little.

Kurt blinks. "You're in the show choir?"

"I'm head of the show choir."

"Oh, my god, that's—I was in glee club all through high school, too, just—at McKinley High in Lima."

"We competed against them at Sectionals," Blaine says, grinning ear to ear. He'd pegged Kurt for a performing artist/fashion kind of guy, so he's not surprised, but it's nice to have that instant connection. The Warblers have been so important to him; they've made him the person that he is today. "I transferred to Dalton after getting bashed at my old public school," he says, softly.

"Oh," Kurt breathes. "That's awful. I got a lot of abuse, too, but never—never that badly."

"It was a long time ago," he says. "I saw a therapist for a while, and then the Warblers—I've come to terms with it."

"No one special to help you through it?"

Blaine smiles, shifting his water glass around. "I always thought—Dalton is so liberal. But no. It's funny. I feel like I missed someone somehow. It's this oddest sense of—like when you miss an appointment? I dunno. I probably sound crazy, huh?"

Kurt's face is a wash of unreadable emotion. He smiles, shaking his head. "No, not at all."

They eat in silence for a while. It's comfortable. Blaine can't remember the last time he actually had a comfortable silence with someone.

"So you sing," he says, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

Kurt grins. "Yes."

"God, I'd love to hear that."

"It may shock you."

Blaine raises an eyebrow. "Why, do you have like a super low Barry White voice? It's always the skinny ones." He looks Kurt over brazenly.

Kurt actually blushes. "The opposite, actually. I'm a countertenor."

"Oh, wow," Blaine breathes. "I would've given my entire collection of 2010 Vogue magazines for a countertenor in the Warblers."

"You really need to stop being so perfect," Kurt breathes.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Kurt goes on to talk about himself some more, and Blaine hangs onto every word. It's almost creepy how alike they are in so many ways. Not to mention that it's rare to find someone who is impressed rather than confused by his polity and attempts at charm. Kurt blushes when he holds the door for him as they leave the cafe and again when he opens Kurt's car door for him.

"Sorry, it's—habit," he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets nervously.

Kurt leans against the side of his car, lingering. Blaine doesn't move. He doesn't want this to be over; he doesn't want to say goodbye to Kurt. He's—drawn to this man, in almost every way that it's possible to be drawn to someone who he has only known for such a short period of time.

"Can we drive somewhere? I—just really want to hear you sing in the car," he admits, laughing.

"I get to pick the song," Kurt says, waving a finger at him as they get in the car. He slides on a pair of sunglasses; the window is down and his hair is flying everywhere.

Blaine feels a swell of happiness rise so sharp and sudden that it takes his breath away. He—he really likes Kurt. "Okay."

Kurt ends up picking a song that he hasn't heard before, which is no small thing. His voice is beautiful; high and clear and so natural. Blaine has heard countertenors, of course, but none that come over as practiced as Kurt. He'd had several boys try out for the Warblers claiming to have the range and they'd basically lied their way through the audition.

"You are incredible," Blaine says, when the song ends. "Please tell me you're on stage at least three nights a week somewhere." They hadn't really touched on Kurt's job much.

"I'm actually a fashion designer," he says, smiling. "But I do community theater when I have the time."

"God, you're—are you even real?"

Kurt laughs. "I could ask you the same."

An awkward silence falls. Blaine looks away, cheeks blazing. This is—kind of insane.

When they circle back around to the cafe Kurt sees him to his car. He's been trying to think of a way to invite Kurt to his birthday party that his parents are throwing on Sunday without freaking him out. He decides to just go for it.

"Um. So, my birthday is this weekend. The Warblers are going to probably get me trashed tomorrow, but my parents have insisted on throwing a party on Sunday—I wouldn't want to take you away from your dad, but is there any chance that you might want to stop by?"

"I'll have to play it by ear, of course, but—I'd—I'd like that, Blaine." They're standing just inches apart. Blaine can feel Kurt's body heat, and it's intoxicating.

"Let me give you my address and the time?"

They exchange information. Saying goodbye now is no easier than it had been before, but they do eventually part ways, stammering and blushing.

Blaine rolls the windows down and sings to radio at the top of his lungs the whole way home.

 

*

 

The weekend goes as predicted; The Warblers not only get him drunk on Friday evening but also on Saturday afternoon. He's feeling pretty rough on Sunday morning when the caterers start to arrive. His mother tuts at him and pushes him into the shower. He eats a greasy breakfast and drinks a lot of water.

By the afternoon he's starting to feel human again, and by the time the actual party starts he's fully recovered. He entertains his relatives and friends with conversation and a performance or two with the Warblers.

He gets a text from Kurt about an hour into the party, saying that Kurt had gotten his stepbrother (who normally looks after his dad when their mother isn't home) to come sit with their dad and that he's on his way to Blaine's. Blaine hadn't counted on that, having heard nothing from Kurt since the last time they saw each other, and so the excitement that he feels is off the charts. At best he'd figured that he'd get a call or text tomorrow from Kurt, apologizing for being unable to come.

He pulls Trent aside. "Look, I—there's a guy. He's dropping by the party. Can you keep my parents busy for a while?"

Trent's eyes widen. "I knew it. You're going to tell me everything, right?"

"Later," Blaine whispers, smacking a kiss against Trent's hair and checking his phone. Kurt should be here any minute; the text had been about forty five minutes old when Blaine had noticed it. He dodges well-meaning aunts and shrieking cousins and makes it to the front door just as the bell goes off.

Kurt is standing on his front porch wearing a suit and holding a gorgeously wrapped box. Blaine's heart literally stops in his chest for the space of one beat. He exhales, eyes wide. He's had a few drinks, so he's not precisely sober about it when he breathes, "God, you look amazing."

Kurt laughs, thrusting the gift out in front of him. "Happy birthday, Blaine."

He has no desire whatsoever to explain Kurt's presence to his parents (he is so glad that Cooper hadn't been able to make it this year; he can only imagine what his reaction would've been), at least not yet, and if any of the other Warblers get wind of him having a guy friend at the party they'll probably try to sing to commemorate the moment and oh god no, so he drags Kurt into one of the back parlors where the music is still playing but not quite so loudly.

He is probably little drunker than he would like to be around Kurt. "Kurt," he breathes, sliding his hands into Kurt's. "Dance with me."

"Let's get you back some motor function first, sweetie," Kurt tugs his hand. "Where's the kitchen?"

"This way," Blaine says, and leads.

Kurt sits him down and makes him drink a bottle of water. They talk quietly about the party and its guests for a while, and Blaine opens Kurt's gift—a recording of the last all men's community theater production he'd done.

"I love it, I can't wait to listen to it," Blaine says, smiling and still holding Kurt's hand as the buzz of drunkenness slowly loses its edge. Champagne goes to his head fast but leaves just as quickly.

"Feeling better?" Kurt asks, smiling at him.

"Yes, thanks. After this weekend I honestly don't think I want to look at alcohol ever again."

Kurt smirks at him, ready to say something—and then the song changes. "Oh, I love this song. Okay to dance now?"

Blaine shoots up and only fumbles a half of a step. He takes Kurt's hand. It's—weird for a second. Blaine is used to leading dance numbers, even used to having dance partners, so this isn't new, but—it's Kurt, and—

Kurt puts one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his waist and begins to dance with him. It's a fast song, so they just kind of wiggle and thrust and act stupid together. It's good, clean fun.

The next song has a strong bass line and more of a club vibe to it. Kurt's hand slides from his waist to his back, pulling him in closer. He inhales sharply. The heat between them is almost stifling. Kurt's left knee keeps brushing between his thighs, and because of the height difference that means he's edging closer and closer to a very awake and interested part of Blaine's anatomy.

It happens so gradually that Blaine can't tell when they go from silly shoulder and hip wiggle dancing to grinding, but Kurt's cheek is against his hair and Kurt's leg is between his legs and his left hand is around Kurt's neck and Kurt's right hand is at the small of his back and god, it feels so fucking good to be close to another guy like this that Blaine could cry.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

Blaine can feel himself start to harden in his dress pants, and he wonders if Kurt has noticed. The idea both terrifies and excites him. Kurt's fingers dig into his back and they rock closer, and closer, and Blaine lets his hips roll a little. Kurt's thigh is as hard as a rock against him. He lets his face press against Kurt's neck. He's never really known what it might feel like, to be aroused by another person and to be so close to that person at the same time. He hitches his pelvis a little and his erection finds the flat of Kurt's hip and he gasps.

"Blaine, s-stop," Kurt breathes, gently pushing at Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine blinks up at him, tipsy and turned on and embarrassed. "Sorry, god—you just—feel so good. I'm still a little drunk."

Kurt's face is pink. "Let's get you back to your party, okay?"

 

*

 

Over the course of the following week they go out three times; once to the movies, once for dinner, and once as a sort of joke they go back to the bathhouse.

"It's actually kind of funny when you've been going for a while," Kurt explains. There's nothing nerve wracking about the place with Kurt by his side, talking to him and telling him funny stories about the various men who've been going there for years. There's apparently a lot of in-fighting and drama, and Blaine has to force himself not to crack up whenever one of the fantastic characters in Kurt's stories strolls past in a towel.

He wonders why he ever thought that he'd find what he was looking for here. Some of the men are attractive and even close to his age, no doubt, but—well, Kurt makes it all seem kind of silly and shameless.

"You have hooked up here before, though, right?" he asks. "I mean, what's the point otherwise?"

Kurt shrugs. "A few times. Sometimes, seeing my dad sick gets to me and I just need to blow off steam. Pardon the pun."

Blaine clears his throat. "Want to hit one of the back rooms? We can relax. I have music and some food in my locker."

"Sure," Kurt replies.

They settle on the cot in the small room, sharing ear buds and sandwiches. They go through several playlists, laughing and singing and talking about their musical preferences. Kurt also apparently can't stand mayonnaise. Blaine hates mustard. They swap sandwiches.

Hours later, Blaine leans over and takes the ear bud from Kurt's ear. Kurt has dozed off listening to the music. He'd seemed tired all day. Blaine can only imagine how hard it must be for him, the situation with his dad, and how he has to give up his time off to sadness instead of relaxation.

Kurt jerks awake when the cord of the ear bud brushes his cheek as it comes off.

Blaine smiles. "You should've slept in."

Kurt blinks himself fully awake, digging his palms against his eyes. "God, sorry. I—you're probably right. I was up with Dad for a while last night."

Blaine just stares at him. He knows he's acting like a lovesick puppy, but he can't help it; he is as undone by Kurt as he has ever been by another person. He wants to touch Kurt. He wants to kiss him and cuddle with him and make him sleep. He wants to take care of him and know him and make love to him. He knows all of this is stupid and sudden and childish, but he can't change the way he feels.

Kurt is staring back at him. The air is suddenly thick between them. He holds his breath.

"Come back to my house with me?" Kurt asks, staring at Blaine's mouth. "I'd like you to meet my dad."

"Only if you promise me that you'll sleep," Blaine says, wetting his lips.

"Deal."

 

*

 

Meeting Burt is not as bad as Blaine expects it to be—he's incredibly friendly and manages to turn the awkwardness of speaking to someone stuck in a hospital bed in their living room after a rough chemotherapy treatment into humor. Kurt lights up around his dad like a Christmas tree. He leaves them to talk after the introductions and giving Burt his evening medication and meal.

"Kurt is a wonderful person," Blaine says, once he's out of earshot.

"He's the best son a guy could ask for," Burt says, smiling at Blaine. "So, you two—are friends?"

Blaine's blush betrays him. "Um, yes. I'd like—I hope he'll notice me in a different way, maybe, soon but for now we're just friends."

"Tell me a little about yourself, Blaine."

Hours go by in this fashion. He tells Burt his entire life story, an even more detailed version than he had given Kurt, truth be told. There's just something so paternally open about Burt that makes him want to confess everything. They laugh and cry together—well, Blaine does most of the crying (Burt's eyes go wet when he relates his Sadie Hawkins experience)—and by the time they're all talked out Blaine feels lighter than he has in years, and Burt has drifted off to sleep.

He wonders what he'd done in a previous life to deserve meeting the Hummels in this one, and can't believe how, in just a few days, he's managed to feel closer to Kurt and now his father than anyone else in his life outside of his own family.

It's getting late. He wonders if he should just leave, maybe text Kurt to let him know—they'd come in separate cars, after all, so it wouldn't be a big deal to go now. But something about the warm, quiet, homey feel of Kurt's house makes him want to stay, and even overstep a little. He puts together a small tray of food and brings it upstairs. Kurt has to be starving; they hadn't had dinner, and lunch is a distant memory. He peeks quickly into several rooms before finding Kurt asleep in a room that might be a guest room but seems to be scattered with some of Kurt's things. The bedside lamp is on, though Kurt is asleep under the covers.

He puts the dinner tray on Kurt's desk and wanders over to the side of the bed, sitting down. Kurt is dead asleep but not peacefully; his eyebrows are drawn together and his eyes are moving beneath their lids. It's been at least three hours, so Blaine decides that it might be a good idea to wake him from whatever unpleasant dream that he's having.

He nudges Kurt's shoulder. "Kurt? Kurt."

Kurt comes awake suddenly, grabbing Blaine's wrist so hard that it hurts. He stiffens, blinks sleepily, and loosens his grip. "Shit, sorry. You scared me." His pulse is jackhammering against his throat. Blaine watches, transfixed. "Is Dad okay?"

"He's sleeping peacefully, unlike his son," Blaine says softly, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb against the pulse point at Kurt's wrist. "Bad dream?"

"I um, I—yeah, I get them a lot," Kurt admits, pushing the blankets down around his waist. He's wearing a t-shirt and boxer briefs.

Blaine decides to take a risk. He knees over Kurt's legs and settles on the other side of the bed, lying down on top of the covers. "I think what you need is a good old-fashioned cuddle, Kurt Hummel." Kurt laughs, climbing on top of the blanket. His legs are pale and covered in hair that's so fine that it's almost invisible. Blaine tries not to peek too much as he opens his arms. "Come on. I have it on good authority that my hugs are among some of the best hugs that Ohio has to offer."

It should be weird, Kurt curling up in his arms like a kid, but it's not; he loves the way that Kurt tucks his cheek to Blaine's chest like he wants to be smaller, loves the way that Kurt's impeccably styled if somewhat sleep-squashed hair tickles his nose. He loves the way that Kurt smells and the way that Kurt's skin is still kind of cool despite being under the blankets for hours.

They fall asleep together. Blaine wakes up blearily around ten o'clock and manages to text his mother that he's staying overnight at friend's without waking up Kurt—who sleeps on, only this time without the bad dreams.

At around one in the morning Blaine gets up to pee, which wakes Kurt, and Kurt goes to use the bathroom as well as check on his dad. They share the room temperature fruit and water that is left on the tray that Blaine had brought up for Kurt (everything else is probably not safe to eat). They're half-asleep again when they crawl back into Kurt's bed.

"Can I be the big spoon for a while?" Kurt whispers.

Blaine's body reacts before he can ignore the rough wash of breath across his ear, but all he does is hum affirmatively and Kurt scoots up behind him, lining their bodies up together. It's so comfortable, so warm, that Blaine falls asleep almost immediately.

He wakes up around six in the morning—the room is full of pre-dawn light—hungry but rested.

Kurt's thigh is between his. Kurt's arm is wrapped around his waist. He breathes out, feeling the weight of it push back against his ribs. Oh. Oh, god. Most prominently, Kurt's morning erection is slotted between his ass cheeks. He holds his breath. Until Kurt mutters in his sleep and rubs against him, fingers closing in a fist around his shirt. He can feel the distinct shape of the shaft of Kurt's cock, warm and hard against his underwear.

He could do nothing. He could—he could do something. If he did something, would Kurt freak out? Kurt would probably freak out. Oh, god.

Kurt's voice rumbles against the back of his neck, sleep-rough and low-pitched, "If this is a dream it is a very very good one." He doesn't press closer, but he doesn't move away, either. Blaine doesn't speak, but his breath comes faster, and he knows that Kurt knows that he's awake. "Blaine," Kurt breathes, lips brushing his skin. "Are you awake?" Kurt's fingers slide up and under the undershirt that Blaine had fallen asleep in. The pads of his fingertips are hot against Blaine's skin.

"Yes," Blaine chokes out. He's kind of hyperventilating now, so it must be pretty obvious. Kurt's fingers gently pet up and over his chest, brushing nipples that have gone as hard as pebbles.

"God," Kurt breathes, nuzzling his nose up into Blaine's hair and letting his breath out; his cock throbs against Blaine's ass and he pushes forward, rubbing it up and down. "Oh god, tell me to stop."

Blaine's cock is so hard that it actually hurts. He is fully tenting his boxers now, and if Kurt moves his hand downward it's pretty much going to be over in the next few minutes. Fuck, he is going to embarrass himself. Better to just—

Blaine grabs for Kurt's hand, which is stalled just underneath his collarbone, and pushes it down his stomach and under the waistband of his boxers. He can't help it; he needs to come so badly, he needs Kurt to touch him right now more than he needs to continue breathing or maintain his dignity.

"Please," he moans. Their slotted fingers wrap around the base of his cock.

Kurt's lungs fill with air. He moves suddenly. Blaine falls onto his back from the removal of the support, panting frantically as Kurt rolls over on top of him. Kurt slots their legs together and bends over him, breath coming hot and fast.

"I want to kiss you," Kurt exhales.

Blaine lets out a high-pitched whine and grabs Kurt by the hair and slams their mouths together. It's messy and full of teeth and it's still the most amazing thing that has ever happened to him. He gasps, feeling breath rush against the sides of their mouths, as Kurt braces his weight on his hands on either side of Blaine's shoulders. They kiss as if they're drowning and only staying connected by the mouth will save them. Blaine can't stop dipping his tongue in between Kurt's lips, can't stop wanting more, and more, and more. His head swims.

Kurt lets his weight down against Blaine's pelvis, and Blaine whimpers and wraps one leg around the back of Kurt's knee. "Oh god, oh god I can't—Kurt this is so embarrassing I can't—"

"I don't care," Kurt growls, sucking a bruise into Blaine's throat. "I don't care." He reaches down between them, jerking Blaine's boxers down around his thighs. He thrusts forward, his flat, soft belly scraping across Blaine's throbbing erection. "Come, come all over me."

Blaine sobs and ruts up against Kurt, and that's all it takes; he comes, embarrassment pulsing through him, heat throbbing against his skin as wet spurts fall all over his belly and their shirts.

"Touch me," Kurt moans, thrusting his cock through the sloppy smears of semen all over Blaine's belly.

Blaine wraps a shaky hand around Kurt's bobbing cock and Kurt comes moments later, pulsing in his completely inexperienced grip.

"Oh, god," Kurt moans, collapsing on top of him.

He wraps his arms around Kurt's waist. Kurt is shaking harder than he is. He presses his lips to Kurt's sweaty temple and breathes out, savoring the wonderful, loose throbbing that has taken over his body. He feels—amazing. It had been right, it had been wonderful, he is so—so incredibly happy that it had been Kurt.

"You were right," he breathes, burrowing closer into Kurt's body. He's heavier and far stronger than he looks. "About waiting. Turns out I just had to wait a few days."

Kurt shakes with laughter, face tucked against Blaine's shoulder. "Can we—can we get up? I think I've slept more in the last day than I have in a week and I really would love a shower and a hot meal."

"Sounds good," Blaine replies. "I need to call my parents. Do you want me to check on Burt while you shower?"

"Please," Kurt says. "His morning meds and meal are already laid out." Kurt kisses Blaine, smiling. "Thank you."

Blaine's eyes sparkle in the early morning light. "Any time."

 

*

 

It hits him when he's alone in the kitchen loading the dishwasher (Kurt had cooked breakfast, so he had offered to clean up while Kurt spent some time with his father); he just had sex. He is no longer a virgin. He just had sex with a gorgeous, talented, amazing man who is probably the sweetest person that he has ever met.

He actually does a little happy dance across the kitchen when the reality settles in. He's mid-shuffle when Kurt comes back into the room, grinning.

Blaine freezes, arms above his head.

Kurt giggles. "You are the most adorable thing that I have ever seen." He slides across the tile, wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist and kissing him. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Blaine answers, beaming, leaning a little on tip toe to wrap his arms around Kurt's neck.

Kurt kisses him again, and this time it isn't the sort of kiss you just pull away from; he backs Blaine up against the kitchen counter and takes his time, gently opening Blaine's lips with his tongue, exploring Blaine's mouth. It leaves Blaine dizzy and warm and half-hard in yesterday's jeans.

Shivering, he comes down off of tip toe and takes a breath.

"You drive me crazy," Kurt whispers, cupping Blaine's face in his hands. "I—it was too fast this morning, I'm sorry. You deserved more than that."

Blaine blushes. "Actually, I'm—kind of glad it was. I was too wound up. And if we'd taken our time—I might've gotten all." He waves his hands in the air. He smiles. "It was wonderful, Kurt. You are wonderful."

"Do you, um, you need to get home, I'm sure. It's the weekend. You have plans. Your parents are probably worried." Kurt is actually blushing. It is the cutest thing ever. "Finn is coming over with his daughter to spend the day with Dad, so I could make sure you get home alright?"

Blaine had talked to his mom while he'd been rinsing dishes. She had been on her way to a friend's for a stay-over and his dad is working one town over, probably for the entire weekend. "My parents aren't home, actually."

Kurt bites his lip. "Oh."

"But I'm, uh. I'm sure you have lots of things to do." Blaine's heart is pounding against his chest. "And it's—I don't want to push you into things you're not ready to do, I really don't—I'm not that kind of a person," Kurt rambles, eyes locked on Blaine's mouth.

"Oh no, of course not, that's not even a concern for me, I just—" Blaine's hands fall idly down Kurt's back, finding the edge of his pajama pants.

"Fuck," Kurt swears, kissing him, grabbing him by the seat of his jeans and hauling their pelvises together. "Oh my god, I—let me go change, okay?"

Blaine doesn't get to meet Finn and his daughter because they pull into the driveway just as he and Kurt are leaving (Burt had taken one look at the hickey on Blaine's neck, smirked, rolled his eyes, and verbally chased them out of the house, telling them to "deal with it" elsewhere). Kurt hops out of the car with a quick, "Um, he's—he'd totally give you the third degree, he can be kind of protective, so we'll save that meeting for another time?"

Blaine laughs. "Sure." Frankly he's flattered that Kurt has alluded to another time. He watches Kurt hug Finnand pick Finn's daughter up and spin her and cuddle her for a few minutes.

And then they're on their way.

 

*

 

He tells himself the whole way up the driveway that he's going to be cool about this. He's going to offer Kurt lunch, he's going to give him a tour of the house, he's going to suggest that they both unwind, and then he'll thank his successful parents for being able to afford a Friday afternoon cleaning service because he intends to take Kurt into his bedroom and not come out for at least eight hours.

Of course, this all goes to hell the second the door closes behind them. Kurt drops their bags and drags Blaine back against him and starts kissing the back of his neck and sliding one hand underneath his shirt. Over the last twenty-four hours Blaine has realized that he has no willpower at all. He'd thought himself an old-school, blushing romantic before meeting Kurt, when apparently he's just been a sex-crazed maniac all along. Okay, so—he still likes the romance. Can you be a romantic sex-crazed maniac? Because this is what he is.

Who knew?

A large part of it is that even though they're kind of frantic about it, it still feels sweet and special. The way that Kurt touches him makes him feel like Kurt has never touched someone like this before. It feels romantic, in its own way, even if it's hungry and maybe a little too passionate considering how long they've known each other.

He turns in Kurt's arms, gasping into the kiss as his shirt is unbuttoned and pushed off his shoulders. "Bedroom?"

"Later," Kurt growls, tangling his fingers in Blaine's hair and licking his way into Blaine's mouth. "God, I just—I'm doing it again, but I want—I want to make you feel so fucking good." He drops to his knees on the tile of the entryway to Blaine's house, licking across Blaine's belly. "I want to make you come so many times that you forget your own name."

Blaine chokes on his own breath, sinking his fingers into Kurt's hair, messing it up. "Oh, fuck. Oh god, yes."

"Can I, can I touch you?" Kurt asks, scraping his fingernails down Blaine's hips, letting them catch on the waistband and then the pockets of his jeans. Blaine is straining so hard against his zipper that it hurts.

"Yes," he gasps.

Kurt snaps the button on his jeans and tugs the zipper, burying his face against the bulge, mouthing at the cotton of Blaine's underwear.

"Oh god—" Blaine falls back against the wall with a thump and Kurt follows on his knees, humming hungrily as he sucks at Blaine's cock through his underwear. "Please, please."

Kurt tugs the underwear down, groaning as Blaine's cock bobs in front of his lips. He licks at the head lightly, letting it bounce off of his tongue. It's already swollen and red and leaking, and Kurt licks off the moisture again and again.

"Kurt," Blaine whines.

Kurt breathes a cool stream of breath over the soaked tip and Blaine keens, throwing his head back. He wishes he could process what it feels like when Kurt finally starts sucking him, long wet hard pulls of his cheeks and lips and swirling laps of tongue, but he's too busy trying not to come to really focus on the details—it's a sensory overload that he's all too happy to get lost in.

"What do you want?" Kurt asks, pulling off to breathe; his hand takes over, jacking Blaine with smooth, hard pulls.

"Oh my god—what—do you mean?"

Kurt slurps around the head again, dragging his tongue under the head and licking at the sensitive spot just there. "Where do you want to come?"

Jesus, he has a choice? Blaine's mind struggles to catch up. He's so wrecked, sweating everywhere, pants around his knees, that he blurts the first thing that comes to mind, "On your face. All over your freckles, want to come on them." It's probably some kind of weird sexual deviancy, but he's wanted to streak those freckles with come since the moment he saw them.

Kurt grins and his hand moves faster, focusing more on the tip than the shaft. Without saliva the lubrication dries up quickly and the friction increases, so Blaine gets close again in record time. His knees wobble dangerously.

"Oh god, oh god, don't stop," he gasps.

He's mortified when he spurts, and the first strand hits Kurt's chin. Kurt angles him higher, and he dribbles low gushes all over Kurt's cheeks and mouth and nose. It's so fucking hot that he can't even breathe through the orgasm and he starts to see spots. When it's over he actually almost falls to a sitting position, but Kurt is there to catch him by the hips.

Kurt takes a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans off the come, grinning all the while.

"You need to—stop doing this—so that I can return the favor at some point," he pants.

Kurt smirks and kisses his nose. "Let's clean up and eat something, I'm starving."

"Wh-what about you?" Kurt's hard-on is tenting his sinfully tight black pants, and Blaine is itching to touch him again.

"Benefits of dallying with an older man?" Kurt throws out, and disappears in the direction of the kitchen, ass swaying back in forth. He is—really kind of amazing, Blaine thinks.

After they eat (canned soup and grilled cheese and the last of the almost overripe bananas), they take turns showering, and then Blaine does insist on giving Kurt a brief tour of the house before they crash in his room.

They're wearing comfortable lounging clothes, freshly showered, and full, and Blaine can't think of anything he'd rather do then spend the rest of the afternoon in bed with Kurt.

He puts on some music and they crawl under the covers and it's—just awesome. They kiss and touch, no urgency this time. Kurt slowly undresses him, kissing him in places that make him blush, in ways that he never would've imagined even wanting to be kissed. And Kurt lets him return the favor. They've never been completely naked together. The revelation of Kurt's body is sacred to him; Kurt is beautiful, miles of creamy skin broken up by freckles, long slender limbs and clean lines. He's so achingly masculine that every part of Blaine can't help but respond.

Blaine takes his time licking and exploring Kurt from neck to ankle, and when he's finally ready he crawls beneath the blanket and trails his lips along the curved, hard length of Kurt's cock.

"Oh, Blaine, you don't have to—"

"Let me," Blaine breathes, nuzzling his cheek between Kurt's legs. The way that he smells, the way that he feels—Blaine wants him so much. Wants to touch him and make him react so very, very much. "Please just—let me know if I'm doing something wrong."

It gets weird somewhere there in the middle, Blaine not sure what to do with his teeth and tongue at the same time, and Kurt's beautiful, warm, pale body distracting him. He'd never considered being so messed up about the recipient of his first blowjob that he might screw it up, but this is exactly what happens.

Kurt is literally acres of gorgeous spread out on the bed under him; his long throat exposed, his muscled arms flung out, his beautiful chest and soft, flat belly arched up, his long soft-haired legs everywhere around Blaine's body. He is hard to look at, he is so lovely.

Blaine keeps catching the head of his cock with his teeth, keeps losing his rhythm and resetting the buildup of tension. He knows that he's not doing a very good job of it but Kurt is so patient, guiding him with a hand on the back of his head, whispering little commands that bring him back into focus.

It's a long, embarrassing act, but that doesn't stop Blaine from shaking with arousal at the feel of a man's cock in his hand and mouth for the first time. It feels right, it feels like he's been waiting his whole life to feel this particular brand of comfort. He loves the way Kurt tastes and feels, loves when Kurt pushes deep into his mouth and cuts off his breathing for just a second. And all the fumbling in the world doesn't stop Kurt from coming with a low, desperate moan in Blaine's fist, the muscles of his quivering thighs and belly standing out in stark relief against the rest of his pale flesh.

It's the most beautiful thing that Blaine has ever seen, and he's breathless with inadequacy and the desire to do it again and do it better.

They lie quietly after that.

Blaine eventually says, "I'm—sorry, that was—"

"Beautiful," Kurt says, stroking his hair. "You were so honest, so natural. Shhh, don't—" Blaine's eyes fill with tears, and Kurt pulls him in close. "Hey, don't."

"Sorry, I'm just—so glad you're here with me now and not someone else."

They nap, then wake up and watch a movie and order a pizza, and Kurt makes an attempt to suggest that they could do anything else that Blaine wanted, and Blaine tugs Kurt by the string of his pajama pants back onto the bed, and it starts all over again.

 

*

 

Kurt doesn't even have to try to get him hard; he's pretty much gone as soon as skin is revealed and Kurt's body is against his. It's almost comical. Kurt straddles his waist and sits on his thighs, swatting his hands away as Kurt takes his cock in his fist and begins a slow, light stroke that reduces Blaine to begging after about ten minutes. He's never bothered to go slow when masturbating, never seen the point in drawing in out, but he has to admit that there's something to someone else forcing a limit onto the cadence and pressure.

Kurt just watches him, pale green-blue eyes shimmering in the late afternoon light, a smile so faint on his lips that if you blinked you'd miss it. He looks wonderfully, playfully smug, as Blaine pants and rocks under him, as he begins to plead for more.

"Have you thought about your preferences, ever?"

"Wh-what do you m-mean?" Blaine tries to focus, but Kurt's long, slender, unrelenting fingers are turning the head of his cock purple with blood, and the air smells like pre-come and sweat.

"Do you think about being inside of someone else—or the other way around? Neither is also an option."

Blaine's cock throbs in Kurt's fist. "Oh god don't talk like that I'll—"

Kurt stops stroking him. "Better?"

"Um," Blaine pants. "I—I haven't, really, but I—want to try both."

Kurt shimmies a little higher on Blaine's thighs, the soft spill of his ass cheeks rubbing against the grain of the hair on Blaine's legs. "How about right now?" Kurt writhes on top of him, erection bobbing enticingly. "I could—ride you."

A bead of pre-come swells at the head of his cock, though it's bobbing untouched. He groans. "Oh my god. I'm going to come if you so much as look at me again, Kurt."

"I have something to help with that, if you want to try it out," Kurt drawls, low and sexy, arching his hips; his cock brushes Blaine's, and Blaine stares, mouth slack.

"Like a—"

"Cock ring?"

"O-oh, god." His cock dribbles again.

"It's not nearly as kinky as it sounds. It's just a little strip of leather, really."

"Okay." He—kind of can't think around the idea of being inside of Kurt, now. The intimacy of it, the way that it would be the two of them getting off together instead of taking turns—he gently strokes his hands over Kurt's hips. "I mean, yes, Kurt, I—I'd love to do that with you."

Kurt smiles, reaching over the side of the bed and into his bag. He comes back with several condoms, the cock ring, and a bottle of lubricant.

"This should be comfortable, so if it's not, tell me," he says, snapping the leather around Blaine. He adjusts it several times. He slides the condom down around Blaine's cock with a practiced motion that makes Blaine ache.

"That's fine," Blaine breathes. He's shaking, so turned on that he just wants—more.

"Do you want to—prepare me, or should I?" Kurt asks, breathing unevenly.

"L-let me," Blaine says, reaching for the lubricant. Kurt lets him, and instead takes himself in hand and begins stroking his long, slender cock instead. Blaine's trembling fingers trace the curve of his hipbone and the swell of his beautiful, high, round ass. He strokes the barely-furred crack, then parts Kurt's cheeks.

"Rub me," Kurt breathes, pupils blown wide. "Little circles, harder as you feel me open up." He seems a little—spacey, already.

Blaine does as instructed, feeling his pulse race faster and faster as that tiny crinkle opens up to a ring of muscle which—oh, god, Kurt is so small inside, how is he ever going to fit and not hurt him?

"OhgodBlaine," Kurt moans, head thrown head. "You're not hurting me, okay. You can push harder."

He does, and his pointer finger almost accidentally slides inside to the second knuckle. Kurt whimpers. He pushes, a little frightened about doing this for the first time, until his finger is buried inside. The second ring of resistance had been a little weirder.

"Oh," Kurt sighs. "Oh, fuck. More."

At that Blaine feels his confidence grow; it's easier now, figuring out the angle that Kurt prefers because his reaction is so immediate when Blaine does, and his body—his body is greedy, taking two fingers and then three as if it's nothing. Blaine loves the way that he feels, clamping down around Blaine's fingers, so wet from the lubricant.

And then he starts to ride Blaine's fingers, and Blaine's brain goes blank with lust. Kurt is—indescribable, face awash with pleasure and flushed with blood as he begins swaying, rolling his hips back and forth.

"Push your fingers in and out," Kurt whispers, no longer touching himself. His whole body seems focused on the intrusion. "Oh, just like that. Down, down a little, oh—god—" He licks his lips, and Blaine keeps going, and eventually he finds a better rhythm because Kurt is moving on him, over him, nipples hard. "Fuck, yes. Harder." And then, a few minutes after that, gasping, "Okay, I—need you, okay, are you—good with that, now?"

"Yes, please," Blaine groans.

"Okay just—slowly take your fingers out."

He removes them, boggling at how deep they'd gone, and at how weird it feels to not be inside of Kurt anymore.

"I'll go slow, tell me if I'm—if—" Kurt is kind of losing it as he lowers himself gently onto Blaine's straining, blood-flushed cock. "Oh. Oh, god, you're—so thick."

Thank god for cock rings, Blaine thinks. He probably would've come instantly if not for the restrictive leather clamping down around him. It's not precisely the most comfortable sensation, but he'll take whatever help he can get at this point.

Kurt reaches out and Blaine doesn't hesitate to slide their hands together, fingers lacing in mid-air. He sets his hips and begins to move, and oh—oh—

He's so snug and hot around Blaine's cock. It's—incredible. Blaine tries to breathe carefully and fails, squeezing their hands together. But it's more than that—it's Kurt wrapped around him, it's Kurt slowly rocking down onto him, it's Kurt loving his body with every squeeze. It's everything that Kurt is, all the kindness and generosity translated into something base and physical and immediate and wordless.

Kurt starts to ride him, soft little bounces and then frantic back to front sweeps, as he gets more and more wound up—his cock bounces at his belly, and Blaine wants to touch it but he also doesn't want to untangle their hands. Kurt seems to know exactly what he's doing, and it goes on for perhaps twenty minutes from there, winding their bodies tighter and tighter.

Blaine feels a twinge that isn't exactly pleasant, and gasps out, "Kurt I—I need to—I think—"

"Okay," Kurt gasps, flushed and sweaty and bent and fucking himself down into Blaine, fast and rough now. "Okay, I'll take it off and you can—oh—oh god could you give me another minute another minute I'm so close—" His face is twisted up, and if Blaine were not aware of the situation he'd think that Kurt is in pain.

Close? He hasn't even touched his—

Kurt sobs and twists up, fucking himself deeply onto Blaine's cock, and coming without a single touch, shooting strand after strand of semen across Blaine's chest. "Oh my god oh god, Blaine." His cock keeps going stiff in mid-air, still untouched, the slit gaping as it gives up its slick, pearly release.

Blaine frantically unbuckles the cock ring; it takes thirty seconds to get over the weird sensory delay, and then he comes inside the condom so hard that it actually hurts and makes his entire body twist up like it had been electrocuted. He's never felt an orgasm so hard, in so many places in his body before. He's covered in Kurt's come, flabbergasted at how Kurt had—just from—

"How do you do that?"

Kurt laughs, gasping. "Lots of practice." He sits there still twitching around Blaine's softening cock. "Um, you—you're actually the perfect shape and size for that, and the angle was just right." Kurt slowly, slowly lets him go, and then takes care of the condom. They clean up with tissues. "I'd love to show you all that, but—I think I'm actually broken."

Blaine laughs, and allows himself be gathered up into Kurt's arms. "Thank you," he breathes. "This is all so—god, I just—you are amazing."

"Sleep," Kurt whispers, smiling into Blaine's shoulder.

 

*

 

When he wakes up, it's morning and Kurt is sitting at the end of the bed talking into his phone.

"Do you need a ride? Oh, oh wow, okay. Yeah, I'll start making my way home. Okay. Love you too."

Blaine waits until he's hung up, then crawls down the bed and kneels behind him, wrapping his arms around Kurt's shoulders. "Have to go?" It's probably for the best; Blaine is sure that his parents will be home sometime this afternoon.

"My stepmother is back from her nursing conference," Kurt says. "We're getting some test results tomorrow at the hospital so I need to get home and help her out around the house today."

Blaine smiles, a little sadly, and presses his lips to the side of Kurt's neck. "Okay. Go shower, and I'll make us some breakfast."

It's a quiet, subdued affair; Kurt shuffles around the kitchen slowly with him, hair damp, looking comfortable but also a little less like the bedroom version of himself that had been so open and carefree just hours before. Blaine feeds him pancakes and fruit and kisses him, and they lick whipped cream off of each other's fingers and lips, and they laugh and dance to the radio and giggle and press fingers to flushed skin.

It's everything that he had ever dreamed his first romance might be; sweet and bright and free, like a kite flying on a tempestuous wind.

And neither of them wants to talk about the fact that there's just a week left, so they simply don't.

 

*

 

Blaine gets a call on Monday evening at around five o'clock (he's just getting out of Warblers practice, one hand loosening his tie).

"Hey, are you free?" Kurt asks.

"Just getting out of practice, what's up?"

Trent is walking behind him, swatting him repeatedly; it's been a running joke since his birthday that he still hasn't told Trent everything about Kurt.

"We got, um," Kurt breathes, high-pitched, "we got some great results from the doctors and I—Dad is feeling good, and Carole wants to go out to dinner. Would you like to meet everyone?"

Blaine's heart thuds in his chest. "God, yes, Kurt, just tell me where?"

"I'll pick you up from school in about an hour?"

"Okay." Blaine fist-pumps just once as he hangs up, and does a little spin.

"Alright," Trent says. "Now you have to tell me."

"I've got to change. Come on, I'll tell you everything while I pick out a jacket."

 

*

 

He's changed his outfit six times by the time that Kurt picks him up—he'd gone traditional but a little dressed down, a white dress shirt with a black jacket but accentuated with a playful bow tie and jeans instead of slacks, and he'd rolled his sleeves up.

Kurt kisses him across the console between the driver's and passenger's seat, and one kiss becomes ten before they are able to stop. Blaine breathes warm across Kurt's lips, a grin stretching his mouth wide.

"Drive. Drive before I do what I want to do."

"Do tell."

"I want to put my head in your lap and suck you off right here," Blaine says, kissing the sharp tip of Kurt's ear. "I've been thinking about doing that again nonstop."

Kurt squeaks and roughly shifts the car into drive. "Going, going, going."

This doesn't stop Blaine from teasing him all the way to the restaurant; he keeps his hand on Kurt's thigh the entire drive, not touching anywhere else but maintaining the gentle sweep of his hand; it has Kurt squirming and blushing right up until they arrive.

"You are so going to get it later," Kurt whispers as they walk across the parking lot.

Blaine smiles. "Success?"

Kurt growls playfully, tackling him sideways and biting at his neck. "Okay, compose yourself." He slides his hand down Blaine's arm and tangles their fingers.

Carole, Burt, Finn, his wife Marley, and their daughter Katie are all standing outside of Breadstix waiting for a table. Blaine goes from horny to terrified in about five seconds flat. It hits him all at once that he's meeting, essentially, Kurt's entire family, the people that he cares about the most in the world. And they're holding hands. And—

Oh, shit. Oh shit.

He's kind of glad that this hasn't occurred to him until now, because if it had done so earlier he may've just decided to hide in his dorm and not come out.

Kurt introduces him around and Blaine has his hand pumped and is hugged by pretty much everyone at least twice before they all settle down again. All except for little Katie, who is apparently terrified of new people for the first hour that she spends around them.

"Don't worry, she'll be talking your ear off later," Marley whispers, squeezing his arm. "You'll remember this time fondly, then."

Burt looks better, though he's still pale and it's obvious that he's lost a lot of weight in a short, unhealthy period of time. Blaine isn't sure how or when or if he even should ask about the test results, but if they're positive then he sees no reason not to just be happy for the Hummels.

Burt is also giving them the eye, and it doesn't take long for him to say, "I see you two finally figured things out, huh?"

Kurt glances down at their joined hands and smiles. "Dad. Don't embarrass Blaine." Blaine smirks. "Okay, don't embarrass me. It's—new."

"Bah," Burt says, wrapping an arm around Carole. "Hummel men know what they want, when they want it. It only took five minutes for me to fall in love with Carole."

"Oh, Burt," Carole breathes. "Stop it."

"What? It's true. Besides, my son's a damned catch and everyone knows it."

Blaine blushes. "That I can't disagree with."

He and Kurt share a warm glance out of the corner of their eyes, and they're both grinning.

At dinner, they sit across from each other to keep from getting too distracted. Blaine has a side conversion with Finn during which he gets a sort of protective older brother talk, which comes off more confusing than anything else, but the message is there.

Burt and Carole seem very wrapped up in each other, talking quietly and never releasing each other's hands.

Marley and Finn takes turns keeping Katie quiet with crayons and, just as predicted, as soon as Katie realizes that Blaine isn't a monster of some kind, she starts drawing him pictures and talking to him and—okay, he's not really a kid person, but this little girl is adorable.

It's probably the most comfortable family dinner that Blaine has ever experienced. His parents aren't—terrible, but they come from money and to them dinner parties and family gatherings are something else entirely. It's not really so much coldness as it is formality, a formality that applies to so many aspects of their life that they just don't know any better. Eating stale bread sticks and drinking flat soda with a toddler scribbling stick figure drawings of everyone would not be their definition of a good time.

"So Blaine," Burt says over dessert. "When are you heading off to school?"

Blaine wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I've got early orientation in August and I'm going to check out the dorm situation. My parents—well, I'm lucky enough that they might be able to help me out with an apartment if the dorms don't work out. I had considered doing the summer workshop, too, but—I do need the break, so I declined."

"That works out real well," Burt says. "Congratulations, kid." He motions with his fork. "Kurt will be a real big help, getting you settled."

Blaine puts down his coffee mug. It rattles in the saucer for the moment that it takes to remove his hand. He looks at Kurt, who is pale and frozen, and then looks back at Burt.

Burt stares at them both. "What, am I speaking Chinese or something?"

"I, um, Blaine and I hadn't discussed—"

In the two and a half weeks that they've known each other they have never actually volunteered the details about where Blaine is going to college and which "big city" Kurt works in. Why Blaine can't say, but it probably has something to do with the fact that he had never thought they were going to be so crazy about each other.

"Oh," Burt says, clamming up. Carole has put a hand on his arm. "Well, that's your thing."

Finn and Marley share a glance that doesn't go unnoticed by Kurt and Blaine.

Blaine is really glad that this hadn't come up until dessert, because they leave shortly after, everyone hugging and kissing in the parking lot. Katie clings to Blaine's leg and gives him a stick figure drawing of him and Kurt. He thanks her quite seriously. He'd be a lot more in tune with the goodbye if his heart wasn't pounding.

He waits until they're alone and then reaches out for Kurt's hand. Kurt grips his back like a lifeline and they stop beside the car.

"We never—" Kurt begins.

"I don't know why," Blaine interrupts. "I guess I just thought we were going to be friends, and then we were more, and we never actually—"

"I can't believe with everything we talked about—"

They're staring at each other, possibilities exploding like fireworks in the air between them. Kurt's face is a mask of shock and Blaine can feel his eyes go wide and they just—cling to each other's fingers and shake and gawk like idiots.

"Where, um, which school?"

"NYADA."

"Oh, my god, you're serious—"

"Where do you live?"

"The Upper West Side."

"Kurt," Blaine whines, twitching. "Oh my god."

"I—Blaine, you have your—whole college experience ahead of you. I can't ask—"

"Don't you dare," Blaine growls, pressing Kurt back into the car. "Don't you dare. Do you have any idea—do you—you are—" He makes a frustrated noise and grabs Kurt by the jaw, kissing him hard enough to clack their teeth together.

"Okay," Kurt breathes, laughing. "Okay, um, I—I'm—going to drive you home now. We'll talk more about this tomorrow?"

"Yes, good, yes," Blaine babbles. He feels as if he has just narrowly averted a disaster.

They listen to music and hold hands all the way back to Dalton. They don't talk about New York again, but Kurt turns the car off in the Dalton guest parking lot and doesn't let him go.

Everything feels odd, sensitive like newly regrown skin. Blaine can't help but feel that things are still so undefined, despite everything. It scares him. He knows that he's in love with Kurt. He knows that this isn't particularly smart or logical, either. But is it even possible to be smart about this kind of thing?

"This has all happened so fast," he whispers, tracing the back of Kurt's hand with his thumb.

"I know," Kurt replies. "It's scaring me, too. I—Blaine, I've had boyfriends. But I've never—" He swallows, looking away. "I've never felt like this before. I'm kind of freaked out. I don't want to mess up or hurt you."

"Look, we're—we don't need to—" Blaine sighs. "Come up to my room for a while? My roommate will give us some time."

Trent's eyes widen when Blaine sneaks Kurt inside. He makes hand flail motions and gives that little lip purse and eyebrow raise combination that is universal for "damn, he's hot, good job!".

Blaine laughs. "Can you disappear for like, an hour? I will so owe you."

He slips out without a word, and Blaine locks the door behind him.

"How about this?" Blaine begins. "I don't have orientation for a couple of months. Let's just—keep it simple until then. Texts, phone calls, but—not every day. We can see each other in August and if we still feel the same, awesome. When I move to New York in September we can—"

"Be together?" Kurt finishes, breathlessly.

"Be together," Blaine replies, smiling.

"In New York," Kurt sighs, looking giddy and young.

"This is insane. I can't believe I—I really need to thank Trent for telling me about that bathhouse."

Kurt cracks up, but there are tears in his eyes.

 

*

 

"Don't even look at me until I've had a shower," Kurt says from across the lobby of the hotel that Blaine is staying at for orientation. "It is like eight thousand degrees in this city right now."

"Shut up," Blaine shouts, and crosses twenty yards of beautifully tiled floor to throw himself into Kurt's arms.

Kurt actually picks him up and kisses him and swings him in a circle and it's every cheesy romantic comedy that they've ever watched only twenty times better because it's them and it's actually happening.

The summer had been long but productive—Blaine had gone on several weekend trips with his Warblers, had tied up a lot of loose ends, and had even bonded a little with his parents. He'd also spent just as much time with Kurt's family and fallen almost as in love with them as he had with Kurt.

As for the pair, they spent a lot of time getting to know each other over the long distance, and months of uninterrupted conversation has added many layers to their already complex relationship. They'd learned that neither of them are perfect, but this acceptance had only made them all the more determined to forgive each other their shortcomings and be there for one another.

There is really no doubt in Blaine's mind that Kurt is going to be his first and his last boyfriend. But for now he'll keep that to himself; it's silly and unrealistic, no matter how sure of it that he is.

Blaine kind of can't stop kissing him, now. He's laughing and panting. "Kurt, put me down, oh my god."

"Upstairs," Kurt whispers, kissing his neck. "Upstairs now."

Kurt crowds him back against the door the minute it's closed and kisses him, tongue first and lips seconds. Blaine has been thinking about this for months, about Kurt's body and Kurt's hands and Kurt's lips, about all the physical things that have gone untouched even as the non-physical had moved along. They'd driven each other crazy over the phone and video chatting, masturbating together while talking about what they were going to do to each other the next time that they saw each other.

Blaine has done a lot of solitary experimentation and he knows exactly what he wants and if Kurt thinks that he's going to take a shower before they both come at least once he's insane.

"Shower," Kurt gasps.

"Bed," Blaine counters, and drags Kurt by the hips onto the bed. "God, you smell amazing. I don't want to taste soap. I want to taste you." He licks a stripe down Kurt's throat while frantically undoing buttons. He shoves Kurt's shirt off, straddling Kurt's legs as they fall to the bed. He shrugs out of his own shirt and laughs as they go for each other's flies at the same time.

"You present a very convincing argument," Kurt gasps, and they wriggle out of their pants and underwear together, legs flying everywhere, elbows bumping limbs.

"I want you inside of me," Blaine growls.

Kurt grabs him around the waist and rolls them over, putting Blaine underneath him. "Right now?"

"Right fucking now," Blaine gasps, slinging a leg around Kurt's waist. He feels ridiculously compact against Kurt's long, slender frame. He wants to take hours to reintroduce himself to every inch of that beautiful body, but right now he just needs to feel Kurt, needs to know that Kurt is there, needs to be Kurt's for just a while, and later they can make love and take their time and switch it up.

Before Kurt can be sneaky and try to slow down, Blaine has a condom between his teeth and a bottle of lubricant at his side. He peels the sweat-sticky underwear off of Kurt's legs and slides his fist around Kurt's cock, inhaling sharply at the feel of that hard flesh after so many months of thinking about it.

"God, you are so fucking perfect," he sighs, jacking Kurt until he's hard enough to take the condom.

"Oh, god, want you," Kurt murmurs, kissing every inch of Blaine that he can reach. "Want you so bad, want to fucking feel you around me, you're—mine, Blaine, you're all fucking mine, you know that? Fucking want it—"

"Finger me," Blaine gasps. "Please, hurry." He had messed around this morning trying to stretch himself but it hadn't been enough.

Kurt practically throws him up the bed towards the pillows (god, he loves that Kurt can just throw him around; it's such a turn-on), and then crawls between his legs and kisses and sucks at his cock for a few minutes before ducking lower and—

"Kurt!"

Kurt's hands push his thighs apart, rock his ass up off the bed, and then he's kissing the space just underneath Blaine's balls. His mouth is fast and dirty there, sucking the skin between his lips with a loud, wet smack and then—his tongue—

"Oh fuck."

Kurt licks his way inside, unforgiving thrusts of tongue backed up by hard kisses, until Blaine is a puddle on the bed with his legs in the air and Kurt buried chin-deep between his ass cheeks.

He's shaking so hard that he can't keep his hands still, and he tangles his fingers in Kurt's hair just to be able to put them somewhere stable. "Please, please, please—fingers—"

Kurt pushes one lubricant-slick finger inside of him—and it feels so different, someone else doing it—and crooks it and he loses it, babbling nonsense, begging, and then there are two fingers, smoothly and patiently working him open.

"Fuck me," Blaine gasps, pressing his thighs around Kurt's neck. "Fuck me please, please, waited so long—"

Kurt crawls up his body, kissing his stomach, chest, neck, jaw, and finally his lips. "Like this," he says. "Like this, want to see you, want to see every fucking thing on your face, want to kiss you—" He kisses Blaine, all tongue, strong hands lifting Blaine's thighs and encouraging them around his waist.

Trembling, Blaine clutches Kurt's body. "God, yes."

It takes three shaky minutes for Kurt to bottom out inside of Blaine, and by then they are already a sweaty, tangled mess. Kurt watches his face the entire time, pupils so wide that Blaine can only just make out the stormy sea green color that lurks around them.

He huffs out a breath, then sobs when Kurt swivels his hips in a slow, circular forward thrust. "Oh my god," he gasps, aching, throbbing (those fucking hips). "Oh Kurt, oh god, yes."

"So beautiful," Kurt breathes, slowly, slowly fucking in and out of Blaine's body for the first time. "Want you to come first, honey. Touch yourself for me."

Blaine does, though he has to say that it's an afterthought; he focuses almost entirely on the feeling of being opened, stretched, being full of another man's cock, full of Kurt; he feels sexy and wanted and loved and like a man for the first time in his life.

It goes on for what feels like ages; a slow, steady build up of tension, until Kurt is fucking him deep and fast and he is pulling at himself in time with the thrusts.

Kurt gets there faster than either of them thought he would, it's that intense; his hips stutter and he breathes out frantically against Blaine's cheek and then they're kissing again. Blaine's fingers drag tracks up and down Kurt's back, and he can feel his calves and feet wag softly in the air as Kurt's pelvis drives between his thighs again and again.

"Kurt," he whines. He's so close. He wraps his fingers around Kurt's ass and pulls him in deeper, and deeper.

"I love you," Kurt gasps, scrabbling one hand through Blaine's hair. "I love you so much."

"Oh my god," Blaine moans, and spills over his fist, pleasure and emotion rocking his body.

"Blaine," Kurt moans, and then goes completely silent, breathing through his nose. Sweat drips off of his neck and onto Blaine's skin. "OhBlaine, Blaine—" He thrusts, hard, one last time and comes, sobbing.

They cling to each other until Kurt goes so soft that pulling out is inevitable. He shifts his hips just far enough to do so and Blaine exhales, feeling him reach down to tie off the condom.

The room is beautifully air-conditioned, so they cool off enough to want to crawl under the covers in short time. Blaine tucks himself up under Kurt's chin and lets himself cling, savoring every soft exhale and touch and the sweaty, musky smell of their bodies combining after sex.

He closes his eyes. "I love you, too." He inhales shakily. "Is it too soon, are we crazy?"

"I don't care if it is," Kurt says, smiling. "Do you?"

Blaine imagines living near Kurt in New York; he imagines dinners and shows and going out dancing and introducing Kurt as his boyfriend. He imagines late nights and helping Kurt with work on the weekends and getting a job at a coffee shop and Kurt visiting him on his lunch hour. He imagines his first opening night with Kurt sitting in the front row cheering him on. He imagines flying back to Ohio and having holidays with the Hummels (and maybe even introducing them to the Andersons, maybe changing them for the better). He imagines Kurt making friends with his friends and he imagines them maybe, eventually living together in a cramped little apartment in Brooklyn that is so narrow that they have to turn sideways to pass each other in the hallways. He imagines them discovering each other's flaws and maybe fighting a little and maybe being jealous of their closeness with other people and he imagines them getting over all that and forgiving each other and loving each other, come what may.

"No," he says, finally, leaving all his fear behind. "No, I don't."