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It turns out that tonight is not the best night of Blaine's life.

If it had ended the moment he exited Scandals, it might have been. But outside of that refuge, everything goes awry. Love and desire, it turns out, are not enough to get him and Kurt to the place they’ve both said they want to go.

There has to be something else, too. Blaine has a hard time figuring out what that something is because Kurt pulls away from him the way he pulls away from everybody, and he’s yelling and starting to cry, and it shatters Blaine into nothing to see Kurt that way. Even if Blaine weren't drunk – and yes, he knows now for certain that he is – he still wouldn't be able to wrap his mind around anything, not when Kurt is so distressed.

So even though it almost kills him to do so, because all he wants is to be near Kurt, in whatever way Kurt will have him (even if that means relegated to sit alone in the back seat like the irresponsible child he is), he gets out of the car and walks away. Because he needs to understand what he did wrong, and he is never going to understand anything when Kurt is looking at him that way.

He doesn't figure it out that evening, because he's drunk and because all he can hear in his head, over and over again, is Kurt's voice breaking, calling out his name.

* * *

When they leave the bar, Kurt learns that he actually is as strong as his father believes him to be.

He learns that even when he feels like his body will break for wanting, it won't.

He learns that he loves Blaine even more than he thought he did, because to shatter Blaine's heart shatters his, too, dashes it against the asphalt of the parking lot so that it scatters out, tiny pieces rolling under the cars and toward Blaine's feet and past them, little specks of rounded glass to catch the gleam of the stars and the streetlamps and light his way home.

Soon, Kurt knows, he'll be able to show Blaine how much he loves him, in a way that Blaine will understand. But that knowledge doesn't fill the hollowness in his chest.

Over the next two days, Kurt watches Blaine, but they don't talk much. They don't remember how. Rehearsal on Thursday is endless, and afterward Blaine is running through everything again – first with Rachel, then on his own. Kurt sits in the back of the theater where Blaine won't be able to see him and he watches.

There's no reason for Blaine to be running through all this again, and yet he is. Blaine is perfect. Of course he hits the notes, never flat or sharp. Of course he delivers every line with finesse. But it's more than that. He is Tony – lovelorn and lost, found and redeemed and lost again. The way he stands before Maria, tremulous and brave, the way his voice goes soft and proud at her name – Kurt believes it with all his heart.

Kurt pulls his phone out of his bag and sends a text to Blaine: "You're perfect." He knows Blaine won't believe it, but maybe soon, he'll start to. Baby steps.

On Friday, after the performance is over and Burt and Carole have given them both hugs before rushing off to Toledo; after the theater has emptied and the cast members have shed their costumes to become, once again, their pedestrian selves; after Kurt has washed his face and stared at himself in the mirror for eons, wondering if he has the strength to be what he needs to be, for himself and for Blaine; after the back stage has stilled of its frenzy and just about everyone has left for Breadstix, Kurt goes where he knows Blaine will be, without having ever asked.

Blaine is there, on the stage, practicing his dance steps, silently berating himself for being human.

Kurt doesn't believe in gods or angels. He doesn’t want perfection of that kind. Not when there are people like Blaine in the world – flawed and foolish and yet somehow the exact thing that Kurt needs.

So he tries to tell Blaine that, but he's not sure he gets it across. Kurt has years of practice at using words to tear people down; he's a novice at trying to build them up. He wants to tell Blaine how much he loves him, but his tongue doesn't cooperate. It makes stabs about Sebastian, about Blaine making out with Rachel last spring. Everything is coming out wrong.

Baby steps.

He bites his tongue and inhales. He starts over with his own apology (he should probably apologize more often; Blaine does it so much and Kurt does it so little, but they must make the same number of mistakes, Kurt's sure, even if he can't always see his own).


"I don't deserve you," Blaine says in the entryway of the Anderson house. They're holding each other by the waist, catching their breath from a bout of more-nervous-than-usual kissing.

"Don't say that. Please."

"It's true. I've made so many mistakes –"

"I love you exactly the way you are. I don't want you to be anything else." Kurt steps back – not enough to let go of Blaine, just enough so that he can focus clearly on his eyes. "That's why I'm here, tonight. I want you to understand that."

Blaine looks again like he's about to cry – the way he looked on stage tonight when Kurt told him he was proud of him. "Kurt –" Blaine starts, but nothing else comes out.

"Come here." Kurt pulls Blaine against him, leans his face into Blaine's neck and holds him close. Their chests rise and fall against each other with every breath. To Kurt, it's as intimate a sensation as kissing.

Kissing. The thought of kissing leads to kissing; Blaine's skin draws Kurt's lips like a magnet. He presses them against Blaine's earlobe, then around it, pulling gently until Blaine lets out a soft moan that ripples down Kurt's spine.

"I love you, Blaine. You're beautiful and perfect –"

Kurt is suddenly pressed against the wall, Blaine's tongue sliding past Kurt's lips, his chest still rising in time with Kurt's. Everything about Blaine is instantly bold. Kurt is owned and wanted and he's getting really, really turned on really, really fast.

Kurt leans sideways long enough to gasp, "We should go upstairs."

As soon as Blaine manages to get his own sweatshirt off, Kurt runs his hands up and down Blaine's shoulders, fingers rippling over muscle and tendon. He's done this before – of course he has, nervously at first in the early days of summer, more boldly and less shy of his arousal every time since – but the knowledge that he's going to be able to touch more makes the touch somehow even more erotic – and Kurt finds himself pressing not only his chest against Blaine's, but his hips against Blaine's, too, and – oh.


They fall onto the bed, their cocks still touching. Kurt is acutely aware of the extraordinarily high risk he's at of coming in his pants. "Sorry, I'm getting a little, um, carried away." He presses his forehead to Blaine's shoulder and breathes deeply.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt, I didn't mean –"

Kurt shakes his head. "Don't apologize for that. I want –" Kurt feels his face flushing, but he charges on. "I want to do that. With you. A lot. Just – with all of our clothes off."


"Is that not okay with you?"

"It's more than okay. I've wanted to see you forever."

Kurt's pretty sure his face turns even redder. His instinct is to try and hide it from Blaine by kissing him senseless, but he fights it. Baby steps. (An ironic mantra to rely on when you’re about to get naked with your boyfriend, maybe, but it works all the same.) "I've wanted to see you forever, too," Kurt says. "All of you, I mean."

Blaine blushes. "No, you haven't."

"Um, okay, only since the day I met you."


Kurt twists to look into Blaine's eyes. "I have, Blaine. Everything I've seen of you is beautiful, and I know that everything underneath this –" Kurt brushes a hand down the outside seam of Blaine's pants, "– is beautiful, too. I've just been waiting for the right time. Because at first it was too much for me to deal with, and then – I didn't want you to think it was just about –" Kurt bites his lip. "– getting off. I want you to know how important you are to me."

"Kurt." Blaine’s eyes go watery again.

Kurt presses a soft kiss to Blaine's lips. "Will you take my clothes off?"

Blaine's hands begin a fine tremble before he even touches the first button on Kurt's vest. By the time he's fumbled through each one and peeled off Kurt's Henley beneath, they're shaking hard.

Kurt strokes Blaine's forearm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Blaine nods. "Just overwhelmed."

"Do you want to stop?"

Blaine shakes his head. "No. It's just –" He fixes his eyes on Kurt's. "I'm just realizing how much I'm in love with you. It's … a lot."

Time stops. Ormaybe it's not time that stops. Maybe it's only Kurt's breathing.

Whatever stops, it feels monumental and wonderful. And then it starts again and it feels even better – exhilarating, the blood pounding through his body, the hair of Blaine's forearms against the palm of Kurt's hand, of his heartbeat against Kurt's chest through the cotton of their undershirts.

They don't hurry. They talk and kiss and gaze at each other and kiss and hold hands and kiss and roll around a little, over and under each other, giggling like children. And then the kisses move downward, to the hollow of Kurt's neck and to the prominence of Blaine's collarbone, and Blaine's hands start trembling again as they start to slide under Kurt's undershirt.

Kurt whispers, "I love you so much sometimes it scares me."

"I think it's why I wanted to do this drunk." Blaine's voice is almost inaudible, as if he's speaking to himself.

"We'll protect each other." Kurt tangles his fingers in Blaine's.

"I know."

* * *

He does know, in his head – even if it's hard to feel it with his heart.

Blaine's not used to the idea of anyone trying to watch out for him and make him feel safe.

His parents aren't horrible people. But they are sad people. His father, when he's home, spends the evenings nursing glass after glass of scotch while catching up with the Wall Street Journal. He's a quiet drunk, sedate and introverted, with occasional short outbursts of unwarranted affection. "You are the best son a man could have, Blaine!"

"You're forgetting about Cooper.'"

"Cooper, too! You're both the best! You got that from your mother. I hope one day you find a woman as good as her."

"I'm gay, Dad."

"Oh, right. Well, then. A man as good as her."

Logically, Blaine knows that's better than someone who gets pushy and violent and out-of-control – but sometimes he wishes there were more upheavals in his house. Then he would know how everyone really felt.

His mother tries. She remembers his birthday, and made sure his dad wasn't drunk for his middle school graduation, and takes him to Brooks Brothers twice a year. The summer she was in Al-Anon, she'd ask him to help her in the garden and teach him the names of plants, and tell Mr. Anderson to schedule his own time with his son whenever he came out and asked Blaine if he wouldn't rather be working on the Chevy.

When Blaine went back to Dalton in the fall, she would come out every weekend and take him to coffee or lunch and listen to him talk about his life. Well, the parts of his life that he could share – learning about the Great Chain of Being in his Shakespeare class, getting chosen as the lead soloist for the Warblers, the rigor of fencing. He didn't tell her about going to the boxing club or about the beautiful boy who descended down the spiral staircase as if from the sky to steal his heart. He thought, eventually, when he knew that she was here to stay, he might be able to tell her the more private things.

But the visits dropped to every other week, and then less. She had several new cases at work and just didn't have the time – "You understand that I need to help these people, don't you? They've been through so much."

"Of course," he told her. "Everyone needs someone to look out for them."

She's like Cooper, in a lot of ways – there and then not, an enemy and a friend and then a stranger.

Kurt's love is better than the love Blaine learned from his family. That's what makes it so frightening. It's like he's stolen something as sacred as fire from the gods – and he knows what happened to the guy who did that.

He wonders what Prometheus felt, the first time he stepped close to a fire – if it was the way that Blaine feels around Kurt – his skin flushed and his heart thawing, his eyes reluctant to look away because they don't want to miss a moment as the object of his desire dances and crackles and sparks into ever-changing, ever more beautiful forms.

* * *

Under everything, Blaine is more beautiful than Kurt imagined. And Kurt is a visual person with a vivid imagination, so that's saying a lot.

"Oh my god," he says, even though he doesn't believe in one.  And then, "Blaine." Because he believes in that.

Blaine blushes – the same subtle, warm glow he gets when he's singing. It reminds Kurt of the sky shifting colors at dawn.

"You're too far away," Blaine says, even though they're lying right next to each other, Kurt's fingers brushing his waist and his hips and his thighs, Kurt's mouth pecking small kisses on the lines of his chest and stomach. Blaine shudders, and Kurt shudders in response.

"Kurt, come closer."

Kurt licks a slow circle around Blaine's navel, his chin temptingly close to Blaine's cock. He's thought about Blaine's cock for a while, wanted it and wondered about it, trying to keep imagined images of it vague even though he could guess at its shape from having felt it more than once through the press of their jeans. The only thing Kurt knew for sure was that Blaine had never been circumcised, because it came up once in one of those weird meandering group-conversations-about-everything that the Warblers sometimes had after concerts. It kind of freaked Kurt out at first, but then intrigued him, and then really intrigued him; and Kurt might have looked up tasteful medical illustrations of uncircumcised dicks just to be, you know, prepared; and while looking through them, he might have discovered that medical illustrations can be a lot more fun to look at than one might expect.

Even with all that, Kurt's surprised at how much his mouth watered at the sight of Blaine’s cock, how much he wants it against his fingers and tongue, how curious he is about the foreskin, how much he wants to find out if Blaine tastes different than Kurt does when he comes. (It’s not like Kurt tastes his own jizz at every opportunity; but he has once or twice, because sex is terrifying and you might as well dip your toes into a few of the unknowns if you can ahead of time, so that the plunge itself isn’t quite so shocking.)

"How much closer do you want me?" Kurt tilts his chin up, the lilt of seduction in his voice.

Blaine puts his hands under Kurt's arms and pulls him up until they're face to face, a thin cushion of air separating their chests and cocks. He kisses Kurt fervently, breathtakingly, the way he kissed Kurt that first time in the study room at Dalton, like Kurt is water and Blaine’s been jogging in the desert.

Kurt runs his hand from the small of Blaine's back over his ass, round and gorgeous, circles his hand over it once, twice, three times, all the while resisting the urge to pull Blaine's body against his. He needs to make sure.

Reluctantly, he pulls his lips away from Blaine's. "Blaine –" He's immediately interrupted by Blaine's tongue in his mouth. Kurt only gives into the urge to suck on it for a moment, then nudges Blaine back. "Blaine. Tell me what you want to do."

Blaine's eyes are slowly melting chocolate. "I want –" Blaine lowers his eyelids and lets out a shaky breath.

"It's okay." Kurt runs a finger along Blaine's jaw.

"I know." Blaine kisses Kurt again, electric and sparking, and pulls him in by the waist until their chests, their thighs, their cocks are touching. They moan simultaneously. "That," Blaine says, his lower lip still touching Kurt's. "That's what I want."

* * *

Blaine has read and watched a lot in preparation for this evening, and he's thought a lot about this particular thing when he's alone in his room or in the shower – but none of his imaginings can compare to the feeling of Kurt's smooth skin against his, the solid warmth of cock against cock, of balls thumping lightly against one another. Blaine feels like his body has plugged into a circuit, the energy thrumming through his thighs and chest and neck and jaw and back into Kurt with every kiss.

There's this small voice in Blaine's brain that tells him he's supposed to stop and get some lube, that's what they always do in the videos, but the part that says so good can't stop oh Kurt my god Kurt overrides it. Because Kurt is nudging the head of his own cock against the ridge of Blaine's foreskin, and anything more would certainly make Blaine explode.

Like, literally.

Blaine should probably slow things down and breathe deep because they can't have been doing this for more than a minute, but Kurt is making these noises and his eyelashes are fluttering and he's so, so beautiful and he reaches his hand down between them and wraps it loosely around both their cocks, just enough to hold them together and oh god Blaine is totally going to fall apart.

"Kurt, I'm sorry, I think I'm gonna –" He turns his face into the pillow as the tight heat coils low between his ass and his balls, preparing to strike.

"I want you to." Kurt nudges Blaine's jaw with his nose – coaxing, coaxing. "Let me see you."

Blaine rolls his head back just a smidge, letting one eye peak out from the pillow. He opens it hesitantly. The heat is twisting, spiraling into his balls. He wants to lose it – god, he needs to, but he doesn't want Kurt to see. Blaine once videoed himself jerking off just to see what he looked like; it turned out his face during orgasm was a disturbing thing to watch, twisting out of control in a way that the porn stars' never do. He deleted the video before it was even done playing.

Kurt's hand and cock slow, hardly enough to notice – but the heat inside Blaine notices. It pauses, lingering in his balls as Kurt smatters kisses over his cheekbone and temple. "Please. I've wanted to see you for so long –"

Blaine turns his face up toward Kurt's and kisses him hard, lunges his cock forward through the loop of Kurt's hand until suddenly he can't kiss Kurt anymore – his body is spasming and his head is falling back and the heat that's been building in him bursts forward like waves, cresting and crashing. He squeezes his eyes shut as if that could hold it back, but nothing can – the pleasure is too intense, the pleasure of Kurt touching him and wanting him and, yes, seeing him.

"Kurt –" he gasps as his orgasm pours out of him, over the head of his cock and the head of Kurt's cock, and he wants to say more but he can't, so he opens his eyes and watches Kurt watching him, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open in a small "o" of wonder and oh my god is Kurt crying?

"Blaine, Blaine, you're so beautiful, you're so – oh fuck –" and then Kurt is kissing him hard, the salt of his tears running into Blaine's mouth. Kurt drags his cock purposefully against Blaine's damp foreskin – one, two, three times – and then his body seizes and he makes a sound like gasping as he spills himself out over Blaine.

* * *

"You okay?" Blaine says after they regain their breath. They haven't rolled apart. They're tangled in each other, their cocks still kissing, their thighs and bellies damp with each other's come.

Blaine would have expected Kurt to roll away immediately and wipe himself dry, but he's got his arms wrapped tightly around Blaine's waist and lets out soft sighs that sound like pleasure as his shrinking dick slides through the mess on Blaine's hips.

Kurt smiles and kisses Blaine's nose. "Never been better."

Blaine drags the tip of his finger across the tear track on Kurt's cheek.

"Oh, that." Kurt smiles sheepishly and half-rolls his eyes. "It was just really … moving. To see you." He bites his lip. "To watch you, um, come."

Blaine squints. "Really?"

Kurt nods. "You're so beautiful."

Blaine turns his head into his pillow. He's not sure if it's true that ostriches bury their heads in the sand to hide, but if it is, he wonders if he was one in a previous life. A foolish bird who thinks he can disappear by concealing his face. Blaine's not even sure what he's hiding from.

Kurt kisses the rim of his ear. "You're beautiful, Blaine. The beautifulest."

Blaine peeks one eye out. "The 'beautifulest'? That's not even a word."

Kurt smiles. "There are no words sufficient to describe how ravishing you are, Blaine Anderson."

"You're beautifuler." Blaine puts his hands on Kurt's shoulders and rolls him onto his back, swinging a leg out to straddle Kurt's thighs. They're sticky and goopy and it should feel a little gross, but instead it revives the heat in between Blaine's legs. He spreads his legs a little farther and slides up, nestling his crack against Kurt's half-hard cock as he bends down to bite Kurt's shoulder. Kurt giggles, the sound bubbling out of him like early morning birdsong.

Blaine straightens up, resting his ass back on Kurt's thighs, and watches his boyfriend: the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he laughs, the skin over his collarbone flushed pink with happiness, the curl of his smile and the delighted squint of his eyes. Even though they're half-closed, they're still looking straight at Blaine in open adoration, like Blaine just went and hung a new constellation in the sky.

"You really love me, don't you?" Blaine doesn't mean to say it, but the words come out all the same. Kurt does that to him a lot – makes Blaine charge right through the solid barrier he tries to maintain between the thoughts he keeps to himself and the ones he speaks aloud.

Kurt swallows hard and nods. He's still smiling, but there's something weighty about it now. "Always have, Blaine. Always will."


They sleep together naked that night – though sleep might not be the right word for it. It's more a cycle of clean up and cuddle and drift off for a few hazy minutes before remembering that you're in bed with the most beautiful boy in the world: skin-to-skin, legs tangled, cock resting against ass or thigh or hip – and soon they stir: first their fingers, brushing against previously forbidden skin; then their lips, touching succulent mouth or peaked nipple or soft inner thigh; then their cocks, continually reawakening throughout the night.

They get out the lube and try their hands on each other. It's shocking and good, and though Blaine is tempted to turn his head into the pillow again, he doesn't. He lets Kurt watch him through the whole thing. He watches Kurt back, and feels the impulse to write liturgies in honor of Kurt's face when he comes.

They clean up and fall asleep and wake again hours before dawn, their cocks hard and aching. Kurt whispers about how badly he wants to taste Blaine, feel with his mouth what he felt with his hand, swallow everything that Blaine has to give. Kurt says it with the sweet, smitten voice of someone reading one of Shakespeare's love sonnets, and even though Blaine always thought he'd be the first one of them to give a blow job – kneeling on the floor between Kurt's open thighs, peeking up through his eyelashes to see Kurt look down at him with an open smile of pleasured approval, tonguing him from half-hard to full as Kurt made the same soft gasps he makes when Blaine sucks on his collarbone – even though Blaine has wanted that and practiced for it longer than he will ever tell a living soul, he can do nothing in this moment but give himself over, let himself feel the unearned pleasure of Kurt's mouth on him, of Kurt's lips pushing back his foreskin and pulling it forward again, sending waves of desire from the head of Blaine's cock down into his balls and up into his sternum.

He's imagined this a hundred times – imagined it and fucked his fist senseless with the image of it seared into his brain. He's tried to memorize the feel of Kurt's tongue against his, translate the sensation to his cock. Everything he's imagined has been pure bliss and yet this – this is even better. The heat is building, spreading, licking down to his fingertips and toes, setting the follicles in his scalp alight.

Kurt, Kurt, fuck me, oh god, fuck me fuck me god – They're the words he thinks over and over to himself when he's alone with himself and his cock and his thoughts, and he's saying them now, can't stop saying them, and Kurt lets out such a deep-chested moan that it vibrates down into the core of Blaine's cock, into his balls, up his ass and spine until his back is arching, writhing snakelike over the bed. Kurt sinks his mouth over Blaine, sucking wet and tight, his tongue constantly moving, roaming, drawing indecipherable patterns over Blaine's shaft and oh god beneath his sheath.

Kurt Kurt Kurt fuck oh fuck oh god you have me god fuck and Kurt's fingers dig into the pliable flesh just behind Blaine's hips to hold him still, sharp points of flame. Everything is flame: Kurt's tongue and his love and this feeling inside Blaine's chest, and without any warning the fire bursts forth out of him, hot and uncontrollable, while Kurt moans and swallows and massages the round flesh of Blaine's ass.

* * *

It's Blaine's turn to be teary-eyed now.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Kurt is next to Blaine, rolled onto his side and propped up on one elbow so he can look down at Blaine's face. Blaine is sprawled back-flat and noodle-limbed on the bed. He hasn't tried to move.

Blaine blinks, his thick lashes fanning against his cheeks like a pair of smiles. "Yeah. That was … intense. Everything's been intense, but … you, um – you swallowed me, Kurt."

Kurt hums with satisfaction. "I told you I wanted to. I've been thinking about it."

"Well, I hope I didn't disappoint."

Kurt furrows his brows. "Don't be a buzzkill. You're delicious."

Blaine's mouth drops open into a stunned half-smile. "I've tasted myself before. It's nothing to write home about."

"I didn't say I'm going to write home about it, Blaine. I really don't think my dad wants to know."

Blaine grimaces.

"Blaine, Blaine, Blaine," Kurt chides, kissing down the front of his boyfriend's chest as his laughter subsides. "When are you going to learn that I love everything about you? Your smile and your eyes and your heart and your spunk." He leans up and pecks Blaine on the lips. "Both your kinds of spunk."

"That's oddly romantic." Blaine kisses Kurt again, pressing his tongue lightly into Kurt's mouth. He can taste the remnants of himself there, and even though he doesn't particularly like his own taste, there's something indescribably hot about it when it's mixed with the fleshy heat of Kurt's mouth. It kind of makes Blaine want to slide to the floor and suck Kurt off now. Or, rather, as soon as he can move again.

Kurt settles against Blaine's side, rests his shoulder in the space between Blaine's arm and ribs before laying his head on Blaine's chest. "Hmmm," Kurt hums. "Sex with you is very romantic, I'm discovering."

"I hope I didn't … talk too much, though."

Kurt drags a lazy finger through the vertical line of hairs that run down center of Blaine's abdomen. Against his chest, Blaine can feel the muscles of Kurt's cheek shift into a smile. "No. I like it when you tell me how you feel. A lot."

"I didn't mean to swear, though."

Kurt props himself back up and kisses Blaine's jaw. "I say that word all the time, Blaine. And here – well, I'd say it was kind of contextually appropriate." Kurt's looking down at him, his smiling eyes more green than blue in this moment, shining like jade. "It was hot. I'd be kind of sad not to hear it again."

Blaine's heart swoops. "Okay."

Kurt turns his head to watch where his hand is tracing slow circles around Blaine's navel right. "Can I ask you something, though?"

Blaine looks down at Kurt's cock, still half-hard against Blaine's hip from sucking him off, and moves his hand toward it. "You want me to –?"

Kurt shakes his head. "Not that." He bites his lip. "Well, maybe in a bit. That's not what I was going to ask, though."

Blaine puts his hand down on Kurt's waist, instead. "What, then?"

"I was just wondering, when you said, um, 'fuck me,'" – Kurt lowers his voice on the last two syllables as if someone might overhear – "if you mean, well – I guess I think lots of things are fucking, but some people only use it for –" Kurt stops and blushes.

"Oh," Blaine says. "I think I just meant I really liked what you were doing to me."

"Oh, okay." Kurt nods, his face frustratingly neutral.

Blaine decides to plod on, anyway. "But that … I think I'd like that, too, if you wanted to do it. To me."

Kurt doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at him with that inscrutable expression.

"I've thought about it, I mean," Blaine says. "When I – I've experimented with it."

"Did you like it?"

Blaine thinks he might be blushing now. He nods. "Um, a lot." He doesn't say, I stick my fingers up my ass almost every time I think about you.

"Good." Kurt smiles. "I want to do things with you that you like. But maybe we should start with just, um, fingers at first? The book Carol got me said –"

"Yeah. That's fine. I mean, better than fine." All the relaxation that his body felt a few minutes ago is gone. He wraps a hand in the hairs at the nape of Kurt's neck and pulls him in, pours everything he has into the kiss, feels Kurt swell harder against his thigh with every lick and moan. "Now can I?" Blaine whispers into Kurt's mouth, smoothing the back of his fingers over Kurt's cock. “Can I – suck you?”

"Yeah," Kurt whispers back.

Blaine slides off the bed, pulls Kurt toward his face and licks his cock with unashamed urgency. Kurt enters him like a fever, his warmth burning into Blaine's heart, and Blaine loves this burn, wants more of it – wants it in his blood and his bones and his throat. Blaine tugs and squeezes on Kurt's hips, hums when Kurt gets the idea and moves – slowly at first, timidly, but losing more control with each stroke, hips stuttering forward with increasing urgency, moans sounding closer and closer to wails the deeper he sinks into Blaine's mouth; and Blaine takes him, breathes through his nose and relaxes and takes the way he’s been practicing, his mouth flooding with each incremental movement of Kurt toward his throat. Blaine grabs Kurt's ass and pulls him in deeper, feels his throat start to spasm as Kurt’s cock brushes against it, and maybe that's a gag but it feels more like pleasure to Blaine, akin to the way his hole spasms when he's fingering himself and moaning Kurt's name.

“Shit – are you okay, Blaine? Did I –” Kurt’s cock makes a wet popping noise as it slides out of Blaine’s mouth.

“Oh my god, Kurt. That was the best part.” It comes out more petulantly than Blaine intends it to, but he just had Kurt’s cock in his mouth and now he doesn’t and how else is he supposed to react?

“Oh, sweetheart.” Kurt strokes his thumb against Blaine’s cheek and smiles down at him with a crinkly-eyed smile that’s so bright it could light up the whole neighborhood. And then he moves his thumb to the hinge of Blaine’s jaw – not pressing, but it’s enough to tell Blaine he can open his mouth again – and inches his cock back through Blaine’s lips.

Kurt. Kurt. Kurt. Blaine can't say it, but he sings it with his body, feels the syllable tattooing against his throat and in his blood and into his scalp, where Kurt's fingers grasp hesitantly. Blaine covers Kurt's hand and presses it into his hair, hoping that Kurt will get the idea and he does, kind of, breaking his fingers past the shell of gel and clutching, tilting Blaine's head back just a notch and oh god, suddenly Kurt is deeper, and deeper; Blaine bobs his head more urgently and sucks in his cheeks until they ache and it’s almost deep enough but still not quite there, so he grabs Kurt’s ass and pulls him in with one quick thrust, and finally – there – Blaine can’t remember how to breathe but he doesn’t care because Kurt’s inside him, he’s so far inside him and will always be inside him and oh fuck Blaine's entire body shudders like he's coming , except it's not like coming, it is coming – Blaine hole clenches around nothing and his cock spurts out what little is left in his balls and his throat tightens and slackens around Kurt's smooth head, burning with the pleasure of being fucked.

"Blaine, I'm gonna – where do you want me to – " Kurt lets go of Blaine's hair, dropping his hands into the sheets, but Blaine takes them back, guiding Kurt to cup them around the back of his skull. "Blaine." And with one last thrust, Kurt spills into Blaine's throat, languid bursts that Blaine can hardly taste because they're so far back in his mouth. Blaine pulls back just enough to catch the last of it on the center of his tongue, licks Kurt clean and practically purrs as Kurt's body quakes with the aftershocks.

* * *

They eventually fall asleep for a few solid hours, woken by the bright light of a cloudless November day. Kurt is the first to open his eyes; he gazes at Blaine with the same awed wonder he did the last time he woke up next to him in a shared bed, the morning after Rachel's party eight months ago. This time, though, it's without any dread clawing at his stomach; Kurt's body is lax and loose, drunk with serenity.

Blaine's mouth is slightly open, his breaths coming in low whistles over his tongue. His jaw is darker than it was last night, and Kurt wants to run his fingers over it, see if its texture is more cat's tongue or burlap, but he resists. He's discovered quite quickly that he loves watching Blaine asleep, wrapped in himself and unworried about the world outside. He's not going to bring it to an end before its time.

Blaine rolls over, his back to Kurt, and mumbles incoherently. Kurt inches toward him, draping an arm around his waist and softly kissing the back of his neck. He's surprised how tame Blaine's hair has stayed in the night, especially after – oh. Tactile memory flashes through Kurt's cells: Blaine's hair wrapped around his fingers, Blaine's throat wrapped around the head of his cock, Blaine's moans buzzing up through his body. He curls his body more tightly against Blaine's, but Blaine's hair is, miraculously, hardly curling at all, even with the way that Kurt yanked at it last night. There are a few tendrils escaping wild against his nape, and a cowlick sticking up at his crown, but overall the gel has done its job better than any hairstyling product could be expected to. Kurt's not sure whether to post a ringing product endorsement on the manufacturer's Facebook page or file a complaint. He has, when he's imagined sex with Blaine, assumed that his curls would spring loose like the coveted corkscrews of Medusa before her hair was turned into snakes.

Of course, Kurt imagined lots of things. Ultimately, none of them were as good as the intimate reality of it, or could have prepared him for how he feels right now, lying with Blaine. It's like a breaking, and a birth. Like they spun themselves into a chrysalis and emerged from it as something altogether new.

Blaine eventually awakes, smiling that glorious, bashful smile that means love. But when Kurt tries to kiss him, he flinches back and giggles. "You seriously do not want to know what my mouth tastes like first thing in the morning, Kurt. I wish I didn't know."

They're too giddy to feel the weight of their exhaustion as they start their day, parting ways for a few terrible minutes to shower and do their hair in separate bathrooms. Kurt makes crepes and Blaine makes espresso and they stare at each other love-addled through all of breakfast, so that by the time they're done they barely have the patience to rinse the jam off their hands before they run back upstairs and peel each other's clothes off much faster than they did the night before. "Where'd you put the lube?" Kurt whispers as he slides his fingers under the waistband of Blaine's burgundy briefs and into the cleft of Blaine's ass. "I want you to show me how to make you feel good back there."

“Already?” Blaine says.

“Yeah. I’m kind of – I don’t know. My dad said that once I started, I wouldn’t want to stop. I guess he was right.”

Blaine squirms away from Kurt’s hand. “Oh my god. Please do not mention your dad ever again when we’re naked.”

Kurt snickers. “As long as you don’t ever mention sex to my dad again. You’re the one who put him up to that talk, remember?”

“Okay. Deal.”

They cuddle and kiss and talk for a while to recover from the unfortunate mention of Burt Hummel, and soon enough they both forget it and Kurt’s hand is creeping back down under the elastic of Blaine’s briefs.

"Like this," Blaine says, smiling meekly as he rolls onto his back and spreads his legs wide. "I want to be like this when you touch me."

Kurt smirks and snaps Blaine’s waistband. "I think it would be easier with your underwear off."

Blaine smiles coyly. "We could leave them on for a bit. Until – until I can't stand it."

"They might end up a little sticky."

"That's okay. We have a washing machine."

Blaine crawls out from under Kurt long enough to dig the lube from where he dropped it last night between the nightstand and the side of the bed. His ass is prominent in the air as he bends over the edge of the bed, round and succulent, and Kurt can't stop himself from pulling down Blaine's waistband and biting it. The firm resistance against his teeth is delightful – another one of those sensations that Kurt wasn't quite capable of imagining. His cock stands at attention upon the discovery.

"God, Kurt, I can barely stand it already." Blaine shuffles backward onto the bed, still on all fours, and before he has a chance to turn over onto his back, Kurt stops him with a touch to his shoulder.

"Um," he says. "Could you stay like this for a minute? Just – so I can look at you? I don't want you to do it if it makes you uncomfortable, though."

Blaine blushes. "No, that would be nice. I just – when you're inside me, I want to be on my back, okay? So I can see your face?"

Kurt nods. "Okay."

Blaine turns and folds his arms onto the pillow, resting his cheek against them, his ass high in the air. "How's that view?"

Kurt swallows drily. "Awesome." He almost chokes on the word.

Kurt pulls the waistband back up over Blaine's cheeks and rubs his hands gently over the fabric. "I have no idea what I'm doing other than being wildly turned on. So if I need to do anything different, just tell me."

"Mmmm, that's nice for now," Blaine says. "I like when you … explore."

Kurt bites Blaine's flesh through the fabric, eliciting a pleasured gasp. "I like exploring you."

Kurt lets his hands roam – over the fabric and under, fingers teasing into the leg openings, brushing against Blaine's balls and the bewilderingly smooth skin between his balls and ass. Blaine hums and arches more into each touch the closer it gets to his hole.

"So," Blaine says, his voice drugged with pleasure, "have you ever done this to yourself?"

"Not much." Kurt's petted his own hole before, but he's never pressed a finger inside – by the time he gets to the point of reaching back there, he's usually so close to coming that there's no time.

Blaine lets out a sudden groan when Kurt wins his battle with the leg opening of Blaine's brief, reaching his finger in far enough to skirt it along his crack. "You really like it, don't you?"

Blaine doesn't say anything, just nods vigorously and presses his ass against Kurt's hand.

"I think I better take these off," Kurt says, wrapping his fingers around the waistband, but keeping them still as he waits for Blaine's consent.

"I think you'd better, too," Blaine says shakily.

So Kurt does. He pulls them off and oh Blaine's ass is breathtaking, round and perfect, dusted with the lightest covering of downy hair. Kurt wraps his hands over each mound, squeezes and kneads lightly, working slowly inward, his thumbs dipping closer and closer to the shadowy slit down the center.

Blaine has started cursing into the pillow, begging Kurt for more and please, and Kurt's hungry for it, too. He massages his thumbs in small circles toward the bottom of Blaine's crack, pulling the cheeks a little further apart, slowly revealing the dusky pink star at the center.

It's gorgeous. Kurt's seen pictures of assholes in the black-and-white line drawings of some of his brochures, but they just looked like dull little asterisks, as if to say, "Go to the footnote, which will explain that cocks and balls are way hotter."

But Blaine's hole is … Kurt presses a finger against it. The skin is smooth – smoother than Blaine's lips or the skin of his cock or rose petals or marble or … anything, really, that Kurt has ever touched before. He strokes the tip of his finger against it, over and over again, absolutely mesmerized.

"Lube." Blaine's voice breaks Kurt out of his reverie. "Need you. Please."

Kurt leans forward and kisses the small of Blaine's back. "Of course. Lie down." 

Blaine does, spreading his legs wide, and there is something about that – about seeing Blaine open like that – that is both unbearably hot and terrifyingly moving.

The teasing, slow buildup, stroking in slow circles around Blaine's puckered hole and pressing the center periodically to see if it's started to relax, is entirely new to Kurt. He's entranced – by the way it quivers, contracting and expanding like a sea anemone; by the way Blaine's hips rock with each touch; by the soft breaths from Blaine's mouth that sound half like gasps and half like Kurt.

Kurt thinks he could do this forever, never want more than this, be satisfied with just this – until Blaine's breaths morph into please please please Kurt, need you Kurt, need you inside, and suddenly Kurt needs more, too. He presses a finger at the center of the anemone and watches his first knuckle get slowly swallowed, feels himself sink into Blaine's perfect, slick-velvet heat.

Blaine tightens around Kurt's finger, then loosens. "All the way in and then pull just a little way out – oh, yes, like that – oh, Kurt."

Kurt watches his finger slide in and out, watches Blaine's balls tighten and his cock grow harder. His mouth waters and he gives in, licking a line from Blaine's balls to his foreskin, does that thing with his lips that made Blaine babble last night.

It makes Blaine babble again now, babble fuck me fuck me yes harder oh god you feel so good why do you feel so good it's so – and Kurt presses his own pelvis into the mattress, rutting against the sheets to the rhythm of Blaine's moans.

Blaine starts to rock faster, with more abandon, his words becoming less and less coherent, just half-uttered syllables falling onto the pillows. Kurt's only seen Blaine come a few times now, but he thinks he's learned the warning signs already. He pulls his mouth away from Blaine's cock and replaces it with his hand, rests his chin on Blaine's thigh so he can see it all when Blaine comes – his hole and his cock and his face, all overwhelmed by pleasure.

Blaine doesn't warn him this time, not with words. He just comes, his ass squeezing around Kurt's finger, his cock pulsing, his face wide open and stunned. Kurt watches Blaine and rocks into the sheets and feels his own mouth fall open, his own cock pulse, and yet somehow the thing he is most aware of through his orgasm is Blaine's heat, clenching around Kurt's finger like a heartbeat.

* * *