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A week after graduation, Carole joins Burt in D.C., and Finn goes for one last hurrah with Puck on the shore of Lake Michigan.

Kurt shows Dave his room for the first time: the drawer where he keeps the Webelos scarf, the ampersand sculpture that means so much to Kurt for reasons he still can't explain, the spot on his drapes where he hangs the cerulean warbler brooch when he's not wearing it.

He's about to show Dave one of his mother's old perfume bottles on the vanity when he realizes Dave is no longer next to him. He's at the bookshelf, his eyes fixed on the glittering plastic skull behind it – or rather, the crown from last year's prom that Yorick is wearing.


"Kurt." Dave's voice is broken. "Why did you keep it?"

Kurt steps back toward Dave, resting his hand on the inward curve on Dave's spine. "After prom, Blaine and I drove to the river. I was going to throw it in."

"But you didn't."

"The first thing that stopped me was that I didn't want to throw all my anger into the river. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to go back there anymore without feeling it all over again." Kurt smiles ruefully. "Also, Blaine pointed out that the Ottawa River has been abused enough as it is."

Dave looks back toward the shelf, touches the crown hesitantly with his index finger. "And the second thing?"

Kurt shrugs. "I guess it's the same reason I accepted the crown in the first place. They expected me to be ashamed and humiliated." His hand is clinging at the back of Dave's t-shirt, balling it into his fist. "So I did the opposite. I tried to turn it into … their shame. And my victory."

Dave picks up the photograph next to the skull, of Blaine in his tuxedo, Kurt in black kilt and jacket and crown. Their hands are joined and they're looking at each other – only at each other – as they dance. There are people in the background, but they're just a blur. Dave touches each of their faces through the glass. “You look like you’ve won.”

Kurt relaxes his grip on Dave's t-shirt and smooths out the fabric. "I felt like I had, in a way."

Dave puts the picture down and looks at Kurt. "I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d been brave enough to dance with you.”


“I don’t know that it would have changed anything. I still would have been terrified of you. And I probably would have transferred anyway. But maybe – maybe I would have kept my crown.”

Kurt slides his hand from Dave's back and takes his hand. “We can get you a new one, if you want.”

Dave lets out a sheepish smile and blinks slowly – a child blinking sleep from his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. The one they gave you didn’t fit right, anyway. It kept slipping sideways on your head.” He puts his free hand on Dave’s hip and nudges him until they’re standing face-to-face. “Plus, I don’t recall that it had emeralds. We need to get you a crown with emeralds. And maybe some jasper.”

“What does jasper look like?” Dave furrows his brows.

Kurt smiles. “Your eyes.”

Dave’s cheeks turn pink and he looks off to the side like he can’t quite believe that Kurt is talking to him.

“It’s true,” Kurt says. “Sometimes jasper is brown and sometimes it’s green and sometimes it’s black like your pupils. It can be opaque and hard to see into, but it can also sparkle like diamonds and be as clear as glass.”

Dave turns back to look at Kurt’s face. He looks into his eyes at first, but then his pupils move down to focus on Kurt’s lips. “I don’t know what to do when you say things like that,” he says shyly.

“Say ‘thank you, Kurt, I know you’re telling the truth because you’re such a fine observer of the human form’?”

Dave smiles, his eyes still flitting back and forth between Kurt’s eyes and lips. “Thank you, Kurt.”

“You’re welcome, David.” Kurt wraps his arms around Dave’s shoulders and pulls him in for a tender, delectable kiss.


They end up on the bed leaning against the headboard, kissing and whispering, and when Blaine lets himself in the house and steps into the room, he smiles like he just won the lottery. He’s brought with him a vase of yellow irises and lilac blossoms. He sets it on the vanity; the lilac’s heady scent slowly fills the room.

“So what do you guys want to do?” Blaine says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know. We could watch a movie, or play parcheesi, or go for a walk, or maybe, I don’t know –” He blushes and smiles coyly as he pulls his linen tunic off over his head, revealing a sleeveless undershirt beneath. “We could do something else.”

Blaine and Dave don’t need a second hint. Soon Dave is pushing up Kurt’s undershirt and licking tentatively at his nipples, then more surely in response to each of Kurt’s moans, and Blaine is kissing up his leg, lingering at the soft skin just behind his knee.

Dave's fingers are so close and much too far away – a firm, terrible tease over Kurt’s abdomen, over the sharp bones of his hips, over the outer seams of his shorts. Blaine kisses at Kurt's ankle, licks and nips at the tendons there, teases his fingers over the sensitive skin of his calf and inner thigh. Kurt’s pulse is already throbbing in his cock and he shuffles back until he’s in Dave’s lap, pressing his spine against Dave’s chest and his ass against Dave’s hardening cock, and drops his head back onto Dave's shoulder.

"Please." Kurt's not sure if he sounds like he's begging. He's not sure if he cares.

Dave lets out a whimper and Blaine, who has draped himself across the foot of the bed, lets out a moan. Dave’s hands tremble as they unbutton Kurt’s shorts, pull the elastic of his briefs out and down to free his aching cock. The breeze from the ceiling fan brushes over Kurt’s skin, and his dick twitches with the pleasure of it.

And then it’s Dave’s fingertips brushing against him, cautiously tracing the blood vessel on the base of Kurt's shaft, the ridge around the head. Each touch feels like a kiss, gentle and good.

Dave puts his thumb into the movements, angles his wrist in an unfamiliar way that sends shocks of delight into the base of Kurt's spine. He's not so much rubbing Kurt's cock – it's too dry for that, with just a touch of sweat on his hand but no spit or lube – as letting his fingers ripple over it, like he's playing a song.

Blaine shifts from his spot on the bed and leans forward long enough to pull Kurt's briefs and shorts down to his thighs. He stares at Dave's hand around Kurt's still-growing cock, eyes wide and pupils black as the night sky. “Oh my god,” Dave whispers, gazing down at Kurt’s cock swelling in his hand. “You’re so … incredible.”

Kurt kisses Dave's ear and chin and Dave looks away from Kurt's cock long enough to reciprocate, to kiss Kurt and open his mouth with impatient need until Kurt obliges and owns it. Heat pools in Kurt’s hips and heart and face, and he kisses Dave hungrily, eliciting delightful gasps of want from both of their chests. With each curl of their tongues together, Dave’s hand picks up speed.

The mattress sinks and shifts and a drawer opens and closes. Soon, Kurt feels Blaine's breath on his waist, hears the flip of a cap. He looks down and there Blaine is, kneeling on the floor next to the bed, taking the hand that Dave has wrapped around Kurt's cock and opening it, dripping lube into his palm.

Blaine smiles up at them as he closes the cap and sets the lube on the covers, then withdraws to his former position at the foot of the bed.

It's different now. Of course it's different, with the thick wet slide that transforms tentative touches into something desperate and needful, with Blaine's eyes growing blacker and more awed with each passing moment. Kurt jerks his hips toward Dave's hand and back again, thrusting his ass against Dave's solid cock as the pressure builds and builds inside him.

"You want to be inside me, don't you?" Kurt says, grinding down harder.

"Kurt –"

"Don't you?" Another grind.

"Kurt –"

"Tell me."

Dave answers, but not in words. He presses his face into Kurt's shoulder and his whole body seizes with a choked-off shout. Kurt's skull spins and he pushes himself back and forth through the tight ring of Dave's fist, pressing himself rhythmically against the damp spot growing on Dave's shorts.

"I love it when you come, Dave, it makes me so –" but of course there are no adjectives for how it makes Kurt feel, so instead he shows Dave, thrusting himself up once, twice more until the tight pressure in his balls uncoils and he's spilling out over Dave's hand, seeing blue sparks against the white backdrop of his eyelids.

"Mmm, me too," whispers Blaine from the end of the bed.

Kurt can't stop kissing Dave; neither of them can stop kissing except to gasp sweet nothings in the aftershocks. They whisper and murmur and Blaine kisses Kurt's knees and thighs while murmuring, too – everything a sonata of praise until the sensations begin to return to their limbs, knees and thighs cramping, and Kurt reluctantly rolls off of Dave's lap and collapses against the headboard. Dave's collapses against it, too, face red and chest heaving. He's gorgeous.

Dave smiles at Kurt and then smiles down at Blaine, curled like a cat at their knees. "Get up here, Blaine. It looks lonely down there."

Blaine gives him a sly smile. "It's not. Plus, it's a lovely view." He doesn't move.

Dave shrugs and Kurt nuzzles against him, about to wrap his hand in Dave's free one until he notices it's still covered with come.

"Oh, sorry," Kurt says. "I should get you a Kleenex." But before he can move, Blaine's jumping up to grab the box of tissues from the vanity and sits down next to Dave, reaching to take his hand. Dave smiles, and Blaine hums quietly to himself as he gently wipes Dave’s hand clean.

“What would we do without you, Blaine?” Kurt says as Blaine tosses the tissue into the bedside wastebasket.

Blaine looks up. “Stay covered in come most of the time?”

All three of them snicker.


Kurt’s cock feels stickier and stickier by the minute, and the sweat around his balls is stifling. So after nearly dozing off on Dave's shoulder twice, and Blaine dozing off across their laps at least once, Kurt starts to squirm his way free.

Blaine bolts up. "Where are you going?"

"Shower," Kurt says.

"You don't need a shower," Blaine says. "We can lick you clean."

Dave's eyebrows perk up.

Kurt laughs. "As tempting as that suggestion is, I'd rather you lick me when I'm clean."

Blaine does a bounce that jostles the whole mattress. "Does that mean we can –?" He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

Kurt rolls his eyes in his world-weary way, but his blush betrays him. "Maybe."

Blaine turns and whispers something to Dave, whose eyes go wide.

"Oh my god, you two are like a pair of seventh-graders." Kurt picks his tunic up off the bed and drops it in the hamper on his way toward the en suite bathroom. "If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Kurt hasn't been in the shower for more than a minute when there's a knock and the door opens. "You think there's room in there for two more?" It's Blaine's voice.

Kurt turns down the flow of water, puts the handheld showerhead back in its holder and slides the glass door open a notch. "I don't exactly need an audience for washing my junk, Blaine," he whispers forcefully.

Blaine steps toward the shower door. "We wouldn't watch. We'd help." The look in Blaine's eyes is somewhere between flirty and desperate. It's irresistable.

"Fine,” says Kurt, pretending to be irritated. “Go get Dave."

They only take a minute, but it’s enough time for Kurt to steel his nerves. He wants this badly; he’s just not sure how to do it. But if he acts like he knows, it will come more easily.

When the door opens, Kurt turns the water down to a slow trickle and steps out of the shower. His hair sends rivulets of water down the back of his neck, down his shoulder blade and spine, curving over his ass before dripping to the floor.

His cock is half-hard again, and he wants them both to see it.

"Fuck," says Blaine.

"Kurt," says Dave.

"I thought you might want some help getting your clothes off," Kurt says, pushing Dave against the wall and rucking his t-shirt up, diving in to map a trail from Dave's navel to his nipples with his tongue.

Like Blaine's, Dave's chest is covered with hair, but it' sparser and a lighter brown, and soft in a completely different way from Blaine's that Kurt can't explain. It makes Kurt wish for a moment he had two noses so he could nuzzle both of their chests simultaneously. Instead, he gropes behind himself for Blaine and when his hand lands on Blaine's arm, he nudges Blaine toward the wall next to Dave and sticks a hand up the front of Blaine shirt while he continues to work on Dave's nipple.

Blaine has his own clothes off in short order and starts stroking his own cock slowly before stopping himself long enough to look up to Dave and ask, "Oh, I should have asked – is that okay? I'm kind of turned on right –"

"Yes," Dave interrupts, lifting his own shirt the rest of the way over his head while Kurt sucks his nipple into a hard peak and tugs one-handed at Dave's fly. Kurt can feel him under there, growing again for him.

"Dave," Kurt moans against his skin. He feels Dave's heartbeat pounding through his chest, feels Blaine's muscles getting tighter against his hand, knows Blaine's eyes are on him as he opens Dave's shorts and slips his hand inside.

All three let out a simultaneous groan of relief at the touch of Kurt's hand on Dave's cock. It's a little sticky from earlier, but mostly what Kurt notices is how warm and real it is.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Kurt whispers into Dave's skin. "Let me see."

Dave does the last bit of tugging on his shorts and briefs, lets them fall to a pile around his ankles, moves his hips forward, massaging his cock into Kurt's hand until Kurt loosens his grip, leaning his mop of wet hair against Dave's sternum and staring down at the heaviness in his hand.

"You're so beautiful," Kurt says, and Dave's chest shudders beneath him.

Kurt looks up. Dave’s eyes are welling with tears.

“Oh my god,” Kurt mutters, panicking. He lets go of Dave’s cock and cradles his face in his hands. “Is this too much? Do you want to stop? I’m so sorry, I –”

“No.” Dave shakes his head vigorously. “No. It’s just – you called me beautiful.”

“Oh. I’m sorry?”

Dave shakes his head again. “No, it’s good. You can say it as much as you want. I – I like it.”

"Oh. Those kind of tears.”

Dave smiles. “Yeah.”

Kurt’s own eyes start to ache as he kisses at the tears on Dave’s cheeks, as Blaine kisses them both. The goodness of it is overwhelming.



Kurt washes Dave's cock slowly, intimately, while Blaine massages Kurt's back with the natural-bristle brush he gave Kurt for Christmas. Dave lets out soft little moans as Kurt runs his hand down to Dave's balls, gasps when Kurt curves his fingers under them. The sounds make Kurt's heart do a series of tour jetés.

Soon Dave is lathering Kurt's cock with the same gentle attention. Blaine kisses over the back of Kurt's neck and cups his hands over his ass, trails his finger down the cleft. Kurt lets out a whimper that he would have been ashamed of a year ago, but he can't be now where everything is so good. He sucks hard on Dave's clavicle, hard enough that Dave makes a pleasured yelp, and the sound goes right to Kurt's hole.

Soon he's leaning his forehead against the tile wall, his legs spread, and Dave and Blaine are kneeling behind him, lathering him tenderly, massaging his hole with their fingers and the soft spray of the showerhead until he babbles incoherently against the tiles. He hears them both murmuring, but he can't tell if it's praise or evil plotting because he can't shut up long enough to make out the words.

Whoever's been holding the showerhead lets it drop, swinging it with a soft clunk against the tiles. The water sprays against Kurt's calves and ankles, teasing like a hundred tongues.

Dave and Blaine spread Kurt's cheeks  further open. He knows which hand is Blaine's by its position, thumb pressing the flesh away from the hole, fingers finding purchase on the curve where ass meets thigh. Dave holds him differently, the heel of his palm spreading Kurt gently wider, the tips of his fingers curving around Kurt's hipbone. Their warm breath skims over his hole, make it quiver and want, and he pushes his ass back and spread his legs wider until there it is, a tongue, firm and hot and familiar pressing against him. Kurt bites his forearm to muffle his cry.

And then Dave is kissing the small of Kurt's back, begging against his wet skin: "I love hearing you. Please don't hide it."

So Kurt unclenches his teeth from his arm and bends his head down, looking at Dave's fingertips on his hips, the top of his head skimming around Kurt's waist as he showers it with kisses, and all the while Blaine keeps working him loose and open and Kurt melts into dry, heavy sobs that echo off the tiles and make Kurt's ears pound, but he doesn't cover his mouth, doesn't hide the sounds because Dave wants them.

Blaine slows down, licks up Kurt's cleft to the small of his back, kissing his sacrum and reducing Kurt to near tears from the absence he feels. Kurt can't stop his hips from thrusting back shamelessly, begging for more and please don't stop, please, it's so good, and oh god he gets it then. Dave goes at him like a mineral-starved deer at a saltlick – sloppy and without finesse, swiping his tongue over Kurt's hole again and again, moaning hungrily, and it's – oh god, Kurt thrusts against Dave's face, working onto his tongue, wantonly nuzzling Dave's nose into his crack. Dave inhales greedily, licking fast and then slow, moaning and humming loud enough to vibrate Kurt's balls.

His thighs are trembling with the effort of staying upright, but Dave and Blaine have his weight in their hands, and Dave's tongue is holding him up, too, with sweet fucking motions that set Kurt's nerves on fire, set off a flare of need inside his balls, and god and yes and please please please and Kurt grabs Blaine's hand to wrap it around his cock and make me come make me come make me come.

"Not yet," whispers Blaine. "There are other things we want to do first."

Kurt bites his lip to bring himself back to earth and pushes their hands away, rocks reluctantly away from Dave's mouth. "Then we'd better go do them," he sputters, his voice ragged and shaky.

Somehow, the water stops. Somehow, a towel ends up wrapped around him. Somehow, while spinning back and forth between Dave and Blaine for long, probing kisses, he gets to the bed.

"How many orgasms can you stand today?" Blaine whispers into Kurt's neck.

Kurt's hips quiver from the words, and from the way that Dave is covering them with kisses. He tries to say I don't know, but what comes out instead is, "Please."

He tries again. "As many as you two can give me."

And Dave must take that as his cue because soon his tongue is on Kurt's cock, licking up steadily from balls to head and back again in long strokes, then teasing the tip of his tongue around the slit in wet, indulgent circles.

The moan Dave makes when he sinks his mouth over the head is almost as loud as Kurt’s. Blaine bites softly at the long tendon that connects Kurt's neck and collarbone, and it's a gorgeous shock – mouth on his neck and mouth on his cock – and so different than what happened in the Scandals bathroom because here there’s so much skin – skin of chests and arms and legs and asses, and so many hands naked on him.

Dave wraps his hands around Kurt's thighs, and they're so, so gentle, even though the skin isn't soft like Blaine's. The palms and fingertips are callused, but the glide is made smooth by the sweat of Dave's hands, the sweat of Kurt's skin, already blooming in an afternoon heat that ceiling fans and central air can't shoo away.

Dave slides one hand up the inside of Kurt's thigh and even with Kurt's cock already in Dave's mouth and the memory of Dave's tongue against his ass, the intimacy of the gesture sends a shiver all the way up his spine and into his shoulders. Blaine catches the shiver and draws it out with a tongue on Kurt's earlobe, a thumb on Kurt's nipple, swiping lazily back and forth until it's hard and prominent.

Kurt gasps at the soft flutter of fingertips against his balls, then past them, making shy forays toward his hole, then quick retreats, then bolder, caressing slides. Dave presses one fingertip against it experimentally and Kurt nudges himself against it, clenching and relaxing and clenching again, and he wants to beg except he doesn't want to ask for anything because everything is already so good.

Dave takes more of Kurt's cock into his mouth, sinks deeper, wet and warm and cavernous, then tight, sweet pressure against the head, and it's all god yes yes yes until Kurt realizes why it's like that – because he's fucking up into Dave's mouth, pressing his cock into his throat and – "Oh, god, I'm sorry," he sputters, stilling his hips.

Dave pulls off and looks up at Kurt, his lips rosy and his eyes wide with admiration and perhaps a bit of pride. "It's okay," Dave says. "I've been practicing."

Kurt’s mouth must be hanging open in shock because Blaine gets his attention with a sharp bite to the shoulder.  "I might have showed him an unorthodox use of Japanese eggplants," he says sheepishly.

It's a good thing Kurt's lying down or he'd probably faint right now. Instead he rolls his head back and shudders and when Dave licks his own fingers and says, "I've wanted you to fuck my mouth for the longest time," Kurt does.

He wraps his hand around the curve of Dave's skull and pulls Dave's hungry mouth down over his cock and holds him there while he fucks and he fucks and he fucks. He fucks Dave's sweet lips and his slick tongue and his willing throat and Dave groans more delightedly with each thrust, slipping a spit-slick finger back over Kurt's hole and it's a jolt, a terrible, magnificent jolt, and Kurt fucks down on it like he owns it, because he does. He fucks Dave's finger and he fucks Dave's mouth and he fucks Blaine's mouth, too, fucks it with his tongue until Blaine spurts come across his hip with a primal shout.

Oh fuck I'm gonna lose it – the words race through Kurt's mind, or maybe he's shouting them, he has no idea, he has no awareness of anything but Dave's mouth on his cock and his hand in Dave's hair and his other hand digging bruises into Blaine's arm and the heat throbbing through his ass and fuck Dave yes god more Dave you're so good oh Blaine do you want him to make me come and Blaine whispering yes yes yes and Dave's groan vibrating down to his balls and – oh – he thrusts one last time before his body goes still but for the rush through his cock into Dave's mouth and the clenching of his ass around Dave’s finger.

Dave eases Kurt through it, slowly fucking his finger in and out as Kurt quakes around it, gently lapping up the come that drips down Kurt’s cock. And Blaine is next to him, peppering Kurt's face with kisses.

When it gets to be too much Kurt pulls Dave up beside them. He reaches his hand down to Dave's cock, marveling at its weight and shape, each blood vessel that pulses against Kurt's touch. Dave's face goes slack with pleasure, his eyes wide and bright on Kurt's, until they are fluttering, until he's fighting to keep them open against the rush of feeling flowing through him.

"Make him come, Kurt," says Blaine. "He needs to come."

Dave whispers Kurt's name over and over again as Kurt touches him, until the stream of sounds turns into an eddy and it's a jumble of noise, the consonants out of order and the vowels overlong, until with a final loud cry they tumble out in the right order – "Kurt god Kurt" – and the orgasm tumbles out of Dave's body and onto him, and the sound of Dave crying out his name burns into his brain.


Kurt and Dave fall into that limbo between wake and sleep. The bed sinks and shifts and then there’s the warmth of a washcloth against Kurt’s hand and stomach and thighs.

He wants to protest that the come should be allowed to settle into his pores and stain them like tattoo ink, but he's exhausted and drifting and he can't protest when the hands are so gentle and good, and soon he falls all the way, wrapped up in the two sets of arms he loves the most.

* * *

The way that his friends – or the people he thought were his friends – talked about it, Dave always thought that losing your virginity was a precise moment, a sharp line that divided your life into a well-defined before and after.

Except that Dave's not even sure of the moment he lost his virginity, or even if he's technically lost it.  He feels like he has, but it's kind of like when you lose your keys. Are they lost at the moment you stick them in the pocket of the jacket you hardly ever wear, or at the moment you stick the jacket in the far back of your closet, or at the moment the next morning when you realize that they're not hanging next to the front door like they usually are? Or is it a half hour later when you've looked every possible place you can think of and you still can't find them? Or are they never really lost at all, because they're still in your house, and one day when you put that jacket on again, you'll find them?

Okay, so maybe it's a bad comparison. Your keys aren't something you want to lose. And there aren't all these weird and overwhelming and awesome emotions associated with losing your keys. Just frustration and maybe a little anger.

But still, it's the closest thing Dave can think of. Because right now, lying in Kurt's bed, with Kurt's leg wrapped around him and Kurt's soft sleeping breaths against his chest, and Blaine's arm draped across both of their waists, he knows his life is different now. But he doesn't feel like he's in some kind of after. He can't now say, definitively, I'm a man.

No. He feels like he's changing, like he's leaving who he was and walking toward who he will be. He didn't suddenly become an adult after Brittany gave him a blowjob. And maybe he did start to grow up the night that he went off into the bathroom with Gavin-Patrick, but it had nothing to do with his dick being touched.

If you define losing your virginity as the first time you have an orgasm directly brought about by another person to whom you're sexually attracted, then the day before Kurt's birthday would be that time.

But the thing is, Dave didn't feel transformed that afternoon. Of course, he felt different, and he couldn't stop thinking about the look on Kurt's face when he came – not even when he was sitting across the table from his dad at the McDonald's on I-76. But he didn't feel all grown up. He had too much left to learn. Not just about Kurt's body – although his mind kept drifting to that during the silences on the car ride to Pittsburgh and back – but also about the difference between giving and getting, and about holding on and letting go.

It's not that Dave doesn't feel like a man. Sometimes he does. He feels like one almost every time that Kurt looks at him. He feels like a man when Blaine hugs him. He feels like a man when he sits down at the piano and tries to play through a song without any assurances that he'll ever get it quite right.

But a lot of the time, Dave still feels like a boy. He feels like a boy around Kurt even though he also feels like a man around him. He feels like he did when he was four years old and would ride in the back of the car during a road trip and stare out the window at the cityscapes and the countryside. Every tall building looked like it reached the sky and every field looked like it went to the end of the earth. If he saw a cow at the side of the road, it was as exciting as seeing Niagara Falls.

Sometimes, when they drove at night, the moon hung low in front of them. The closer they drove to it, the further it moved away, and when he asked his dad to drive faster so that they could catch up with it, his dad answered, "There are some things we're not meant to catch."

For the longest time, Dave thought that happiness was like the moon.

He knows now that he was wrong.

This afternoon is far from the first time Dave’s been naked in front of another person. He used to be all the time in the locker rooms, before he came out. But this afternoon was the first time he’s been naked in front of somebody and they looked at him like it was a privilege. Like he mattered.

Dave wonders if that's the moment you lose your virginity – that moment that you're naked in front of someone and you look at each other and you know you're not just bodies sharing the same space.

Dave doesn't know. All he knows is that he's exactly where he needs to be, lying with Kurt sleeping in his arms and Blaine spooning against Kurt's back, breathing softly through his mouth onto Kurt's shoulder, eyes blinking open and closed in half-sleep.

Blaine's eyes open fully and he focuses on Dave, smiling. "Hey, handsome," he whispers.

Dave chuckles softly; Kurt stirs briefly, nuzzling his cheek against Dave's chest before stilling again. "Hello."

"You're pretty amazing, David Karofsky." Blaine's eyes are much too bright for someone who's been drifting in and out of sleep.

"I hardly touched you," Dave says.

Blaine kisses the back of Kurt's shoulder. "But you touched him. You two are gorgeous together. I told him you'd be an awesome lover."

Dave blushes. "You didn't."

"Yeah, I did. I could tell by the way you look at him." Blaine rolls back, disentangling himself from bodies and sheets as he stands up. "How long have you been awake?"

Dave shrugs and it makes Kurt stir again, but not wake. "I don't know. I should probably get up and pee, but Kurt doesn't seem to like it when I move."

Blaine leans over his satchel, pulling out a pair of clean underwear and unfurling it. Dave watches Blaine's muscles ripple in the sunlight as he steps into his briefs, admires the way the blue fabric hugs the curves of Blaine's ass.

"You've got a nice ass," Dave says, because apparently once you've lost your virginity in front of somebody, you lose your filter around them, too. "I can see why Kurt likes to fuck it."

Blaine twists toward him and beams. "It's eminently fuckable. Hell, I couldn't keep from fucking it myself even before Kurt started fucking it. Still can't, sometimes."

Dave doesn't even blush.

Blaine bends over the bed and kisses Dave on the forehead, then Kurt. "I'll go downstairs and get us something to eat. If you really need to pee, you might just need to roll him off of you. He sleeps like a log after sex."

"I can hold it in a little longer," Dave says. "This is kind of … nice."

Blaine runs his hand through Dave's hair. "Yeah. It is."

* * *

Kurt wakes up to a kiss on the cheek and a "Good morning, sunshine!" the latter of which clues him in that it's Blaine who's talking. He opens his eyes, groggy and disoriented, everything confusing except for the fact that Dave's chest is his pillow and Blaine is his wake-up call. Those two things make perfect sense.

"Dave's been awake for a while, but you haven't been letting him move. I told him if I woke you up with ice cream and the explanation that he needs to pee, you'd be understanding."

Kurt rubs his eyes with the hand that isn't curled under Dave's shoulder. "What time is it?" He looks at Dave, who smiles contentedly at him, then at Blaine, who holds a pint of ice cream next to his face and taps it with a spoon – no. Kurt focuses his eyes. There are three spoons in his hand.

The sun is angling through the curtains, leaving stripes of light across the boys' tangled bodies. Kurt rubs his eyes again. "Wait, it's not really morning, is it? The sun only comes in here in the afternoon."

Blaine kisses Kurt's forehead again. "Sorry. I just meant 'morning' as a figure of speech. It's almost 5." Blaine nods to the carton of Chubby Hubby. "Now go let Dave pee before the ice cream melts. You must be starving."

"If I must," Kurt says, planting a firm kiss to the dusting of hair below Dave's collarbone before sitting up. He gives Dave a stern look. "But you have to promise to come back."

"I do," Dave says, squeezing Kurt's hand. He starts rolling away and Kurt wants to cling to him because he's solid and safe and his hair is so, so soft, but he knows he's being sleepy and childish, so he presses another kiss to Dave's chest and lets go, watches him walk naked and unashamed toward the bathroom, his muscles rippling like the surface of Lake Erie on a still day.

It's breathtaking. The Seven Wonders of the World need to be revised, Kurt decides, but he can only think of two wonders to replace them.

Kurt pulls himself up against the headboard and Blaine slides in next to him, popping off the ice cream lid and handing him a spoon. "We're just going to eat this, right?” Kurt says. “You guys aren't secretly plotting to spoon it into all my crevices so you can lick me clean?"

Blaine smiles toothily and scoots in closer to Kurt, pressing their shoulders together. "Is that a suggestion?"

"No." Kurt digs his spoon into the already-softening ice cream.  "I'm hungry, and if you guys use me as a dining surface, I won't get anything to eat. Plus, I’m pretty sure ice cream is stickier than come."

“We should so an experiment later,” Blaine says, picking through the swirls of fudge for peanut-butter-chocolate pretzel.

Kurt elbows him lightly. "Don't take all the best for yourself."

Blaine looks up from the ice cream with bright eyes. "I've already gotten all the best for myself with you two."

Kurt scoops out another spoonful of ice cream, dragging it across his tongue in a slow swath, letting the cold shock it into speaking. "I don't think that's how most people would summarize the events of this afternoon. They might say that I got the best of everything."

"Mmmm," Blaine murmurs, popping his own spoon out of his mouth and nuzzling Kurt's earlobe with cold lips. "No. I got to watch you come twice. I got to watch you fuck Dave's mouth and his tongue and finger and see the way you make him fall apart. Those are definitely the best things. And I got to come on you."

Kurt's cock grows turgid again. "If you insist." He tries to sound playful, a little mocking, but it comes out shocked and breathy.

"I do." Blaine kisses Kurt's shoulder. "Not to be too dirty, but I've been thinking –"

"Always dangerous words."

"Not always. I don't think you would have ended up with Dave's tongue in your ass if it weren't for me saying what I was thinking."

"True." Kurt pulls another spoonful, heavy with fudge and peanut butter, into his mouth. The sound of the shower turning on churns through the wall.

"So in some ancient religions," Blaine says, setting his spoon on the discarded pint lid, "one of the ways to get closer to the sacred was to have sex with a priest or priestess. There was a whole ritual involved and the sex act was supposed to show you how you're connected to all things."

Kurt looks at him quizzically. "I don't think we're at the point in our relationship with Dave where I'd be comfortable with temple prostitution role play."

"No," Blaine says. "That's not what I mean. I just mean, sometimes sex with you is like that. Today is like that. I feel like I'm learning some truth about the universe that I can't really put into words yet."

Kurt was going to go for another spoonful, but instead he freezes and stares at Blaine.

Blaine lowers his eyes, looks back up at Kurt through a soft fan of eyelashes. "Sorry. Was that weird?"

"Um … kind of. Except," Kurt taps the handle of his spoon against his leg, "I know what you mean. I wouldn't have put it in those words, but – yeah. I feel like something inside me is cracking open. In a good way. It –" He stops.

Blaine takes the neglected pint from Kurt's hand and places it on the shelf next to the bed. "It what?" he says after a few seconds, when it's clear that Kurt isn't going to finish his sentence without prompting.

Kurt lets out a long sigh. "I'm not sure how to say this without it sounding dirty, even though it doesn't feel dirty to me. It feels … romantic."

"Try me."

Kurt feels the blush creeping across his cheeks before he even starts to speak. "It makes me want to have as much sex with you both as we possibly can."

Blaine bites Kurt's ear softly. "That's what I want, too."

* * *

When Dave gets back to the bedroom from his shower, Blaine is lavishing Kurt’s neck with slow, open kisses. Kurt’s eyes are closed and his face is turned upward, and he's making this soft moaning sounds that gets Dave's cock to stand at attention all over again.

He's never seen Kurt and Blaine quite so intimate with each other before – not when he wasn't already tangled up in them – and it's … Dave wishes he could think of a better word than awesome or stunning, but he's not great with words. He's good with music, though, and when the slow tango strains of Milonga del Angel by Astor Piazzolla start playing through his head, it seems fitting.

He sinks on the bed and Kurt turns to him, opening his eyes and wrapping his fingers around Dave's hand. Blaine looks up for a second and smiles at Dave before returning to Kurt's irresistible skin.

"Glad you're back," Kurt says, his voice rough like he's the one who was just fucked in the throat, although Dave's pretty sure that Kurt and Blaine haven't had time for that – or if they have, that he would have heard the resulting cries even over the stream of the shower.

Kurt looks at Dave's lips and back at his eyes and back at his lips again and that's all that Dave needs to lean forward and kiss him, let the gasps and moans elicited by Blaine's tongue pour into his mouth. Dave runs one hand down Kurt's arm, the other over Blaine's back. All three of them sigh.

Dave looks into Kurt's eyes when he pulls away. They’re open and relaxed, the thin bands of his irises blue like a spring sky. "You're so beautiful, Kurt," he says, and he feels his own eyes getting bright. "I –"

Dave stops himself. I love you is what he wants to say, except he also doesn't want to. Even if Dave's never been in love before, he's watched his extended family long enough to know that a lot of the time people say I love you it's not a gift, but a kind of theft. It's meant to obligate them to you. It doesn't mean I love you as much as I need someone to love me or I need someone to want me or I need someone to promise me or I need someone to make me okay.

So he doesn't say it, because he doesn't want to demand anything from Kurt. Instead, he leans forward and presses his lips to Kurt's scalp while Blaine works down from Kurt's neck to his collarbone.

* * *

They polish off the Ben & Jerry's and then Blaine is bouncing out of the bed again because Kurt has made a forlorn comment about having "ice-cream mouth." Blaine still isn't sure what that is after a year-and-a-half of being close to Kurt, but he knows the cure for it is water. So he bounds down to the kitchen to fill a pitcher with ice and water and bring it back up to the room with a single glass.

If he were being genteel, he would put it on a tray with three glasses and a vase of delphiniums from the garden. Except that it wouldn't be polite to go out into the garden with just his briefs on – even if the fence is high enough in most places that it's unlikely the neighbors would see – and he can't get out of his head that it's a little sweeter to have one glass for them all to share than three separate ones, even if it means they can't all drink at once.

Even though he's not setting up a tray, he takes his time. He and Kurt get hours alone together – hours that, over the course of a year and a half, have added up to days and weeks when the whole world drops away and it's just them and their whispers and skin and dreams. He can give Kurt and Dave a little of that, too.

It's hard, though, to stay away from them for too long. When he watches them kiss – hears the soft sounds of need and desperation, watches their bodies move together – the tension that Blaine carries with him so much of the time uncoils and evaporates. He's lost in them, lost in Kurt's stuttering breaths, the flush of his skin and the way he swears and cries out when he's close.

He sees things he's never noticed when he's wrapped up in Kurt himself. There's the way that the vein on the side of Kurt's neck quivers, the way the muscles in his arms ripple and tighten when he clings, the way he slows his own breathing when he's trying not to come.

When Blaine goes back up to the room, he stops far enough from the open doorway that he can't see, but can listen. He hears the bed shifting, hears Kurt's sweet moans and god, he loves Dave for being able to make Kurt sound like that, loves him for making Kurt feel just how wonderful his body is.

He walks forward and stands in the doorway, hoping they don’t hear him or that, if they do, they'll pretend that they don't. Because the sheets are tossed aside and they're both still naked, Kurt lying with his stomach on the bed, his face turned to the side, his eyes blissfully closed. Dave is whispering kisses over his shoulder blades and spine, and Kurt presses into them with each inhalation.


When Dave sees Blaine, he stops and waves him into the room, rolling Kurt up on his side to spoon him. Blaine sets the pitcher down by the bed and hands Kurt the glass of water. Even though part of him just wants to watch, there's another part that can't help touching as Kurt props himself on one elbow to gulp the water down. He runs his hands over Kurt's alabaster arms, his tight belly, his proud cock.

When the glass is half empty, he passes it back to Dave to sip, then turns back to Blaine with a wink. "Just can't keep your hand off of my dick, can you?"

"I could if Dave was sucking it."

Dave almost chokes on his water.

"Sorry, was that too forward?" Blaine says, still tracing the veins on Kurt's cock lightly.

Dave hands the glass back to Blaine. "No. It's just that I was hoping to put my mouth somewhere else. I need more practice."

Kurt gasps, and Blaine smiles.

* * *

Today is a day of too much.

Ecstatically too much, gorgeously too much, perfectly too much.

Dave has Kurt spread wide on his back and is tonguing at his hole again, but this time it's different. He sucks a little more, and flickers his tongue lightly, and tries out what feels like a million different things because, apparently, he's been fantasizing about this for longer than he's been alive and that's given him the time to come up with infinite speeds and degrees of suction that he wants to experiment with.

Kurt's legs tremble and his voice quivers and his eyes dart crazy patterns on the inside of his lids. He's unbearably loose and pliant, wants and wants and wants, the heat quaking low in his belly.

It doesn't help – or it helps a lot, depending on the way you look at it – that Blaine is bent sideways over him, mouthing his cock in cruelly pleasurable ways.

It all makes Kurt momentarily believe in heaven.

He doesn't know whose name to cry out, so he cries them both. He pulls on their hair and he pushes them closer into his body, wants to meld with them, to disappear into them, and oh god yes Blaine’s taking him into his throat and yes Dave's tongue is opening him, prodding gently inside and yes please god yes fuck fuck me yes and they do, they fuck him so well with throat and tongue until he's coming harder than he has all day, hardly anything now flowing out of his cock, just the spasm of muscle and that strange melting feeling inside his pelvis that leaves him feeling wrecked, or should leave him feeling wrecked, except that instead of scooting away from their mouths and muttering, "Oh god that was amazing," like any sane person would, he pulls his legs open wider and says, "Fuck me."

Blaine abandons Kurt's cock with a loud slurping pop and rolls away off the bed, settling next to it on his knees, his eyes wide at the scene before him. Dave is still planting kisses over Kurt's sweet swollen hole and god how can Kurt still need more, but he does.

"Dave, fuck me," he says with a loud rasp.

Dave looks up, his eyebrows seagull-wings of surprise. "You want … me … to fuck you?" His lips are slick and rich mauve like the peonies blooming at the back door.

Kurt reaches his hands down to Dave's jaw, thumbs lightly at the hint of stubble that's starting to bloom there. He guides Dave up to his face and looks into his eyes, bright with lust and confusion and something else, something deeper, a word that Kurt's afraid to say right now.

"I've wanted to feel you inside me since that first night at the river."

Dave's arms are trembling. His lips, too. So Kurt kisses them, tries to still them, tries to reassure Dave with his body that this is what he wants.

Or maybe Dave already understands it, trusts it, and that's what's so terrifying.

Kurt turns them so that they're lying side by side on the bed, chests and foreheads touching. "I need you, Dave." He reaches one hand back blindly toward Blaine and suddenly Blaine's fingers are wrapped around it – an anchor, a tether, a thing to keep him safe in the spot where he belongs.

Dave lets out a shaky sigh. "I don't – I don't know what I'm doing."

"Um, actually," Kurt smiles, "you really do." He untangles his hand from Blaine's and strokes it through Dave's hair. "You're apparently a natural."

Dave blushes. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." Kurt kisses Dave's chin. "I've been fucked before."

"Yeah, but I – most of what I know is what I've seen in porn and from what I hear that's not very realistic and what if I –"

Kurt silences him with a kiss. "If you don't want to, it's okay. Just tell me."

"No. I want to. I've wanted to. I just never really thought, I didn't believe –"

So Kurt tries to make him believe. He kisses him again, long and hard, owns Dave's mouth the way Dave likes him to, licking his own taste off of Dave's tongue until all that's left is the pure taste of Dave himself. He kisses until Dave is kissing back with equal ownership, tongue gliding fiercely into Kurt's mouth, curling into his hard palate and around his tongue. It's delicious and shocking and it's exactly what Kurt needs.

Kurt loses himself in it, just lets himself feel without worrying about what it will lead to or not lead to, gets lost in the texture of Dave's lips and the smell of his skin, slowly coming back into its own after the shower but also mixed with the scent of Kurt himself. It's intoxicating.

He feels Blaine peppering kisses across the small of his back, feels Dave mapping out his mouth like he's going to colonize it and, yes, Kurt wants that, he wants to feel Dave in his body and blood the way he feels Blaine with every heartbeat.

"Love me." He breathes the words into Dave's mouth more than speaking them. "Please, love me," he breathes again.

And that – those terrifying, heartbreaking words – are apparently the key to Dave believing.

* * *

Even with his eyes closed, Dave can see Blaine over the horizon of Kurt's body. He sees Blaine's eyes, bright and approving, and he knows that whatever happens, Blaine will be there for them both, make sure that it all turns out right.

So Dave does what Kurt wants, even though it's terrifying. He does it because he can't not, because his whole body and heart are crying for this. He does it because life itself is terrifying, but facing it is better than running away.

He kisses down Kurt's body, down the center of his chest and belly, kisses along the fine hard muscles hidden beneath Kurt's skin. Kurt is so amazingly strong, and something inside Dave has always known that, but it's more apparent than ever with Kurt naked under him, giving himself over, trusting Dave to take care of him, to do what he needs.

He kisses lightly over Kurt's cock, catches the taste of Blaine's mouth and Kurt's come, and Kurt rocks against the touch, thighs quivering, lips singing, "So good, so much, please."

By the time Dave is back again at the spot he's discovered he loves most of all, kissing over Kurt's hole with Kurt's thighs draped over his shoulders, Blaine is next to him, unfolding Dave's fingers and massaging them until they're drenched with lube.

It's shocking how easily his first finger slips into Kurt. It's not like earlier, when Dave's finger was slick with only his own spit and Dave had to wait patiently for Kurt to adjust and accept. Kurt takes in Dave's finger all at once, and lets out a soft groan of pleasure, a sweet mumbling yesyesyes before moving himself up and down over it.

Dave watches his finger disappear into Kurt again and again, feels the slick heat of Kurt's muscle slide over it, sometimes loose and fluttering, sometimes so tight that Dave can feel Kurt's blood vessels pulsing against his skin. Blaine is there too, muttering, "So beautiful, so beautiful," between kisses against the back of Dave's neck. Dave can't say anything, his tongue frozen by the newness of it all. He trusts that Kurt knows Blaine is speaking for them both.

Dave's heart and cock swell as Kurt mutters his name again and again, mutters yes and please and so good and more, more, more. Dave gives him more, slipping a second finger inside almost as easily as the first, the puckers of muscle stretching so that his hole no longer looks like an asterisk, but like an ellipse.

Kurt is amazing, and warm, and silk-and-honey smooth. It makes Dave feel close to crying. But he holds back, letting the emotion come out of his lips as he kisses along the insides of Kurt's thighs, around his gorgeous, pliant hole.

Dave curves his fingers slightly and drags down, searching for that spot that Blaine has hinted drives Kurt wild. "He'll feel it, Dave," Blaine whispers into Dave's ear. "He'll feel how you love him."

And there it is, against the pads of Dave's fingers, and Kurt lets out a long, ear-shattering cry, starts to work himself furiously over Dave's fingertips, rolling the spot over them again and again.

"I need you. I need you, Dave. Please." The words make the blood pound in Dave's ears and it's so hard to resist giving himself over now. But he can't rush this, has to make it right. So he pulls his fingers down until they're almost out, and he stretches the muscle minutely until he can slip a third finger in.

There's more resistance this time, the tightness close to crushing each set of knuckles as Kurt works himself down on them, brings Dave farther in. Vaguely, Dave feels Blaine shift away and then back, hears the ripping of foil and then Blaine is lifting gently at Dave's hips, reaching between his legs to stroke his cock. Frankly, Dave had forgotten all about his cock, but in Blaine's hand, it announces itself alive and heavy with want.

Blaine rolls the condom on deftly, slicks Dave's shaft with lube. When Kurt tugs at Dave's shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss, gropes at Dave's hips and pulls them toward him, Dave is as ready as he can be.

Kurt's eyes are wide on him, brimming with desire and something deeper and indefinable. Dave holds himself above Kurt with one hand on the bed, curling the fingers of his other hand so that they stroke once more against Kurt's sweet spot on their way out of his body. Kurt's eyes roll back involuntarily, his lids heavy and fluttering, and it's the most beautiful thing Dave's ever seen.

Kurt is always the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Kurt folds his thighs all the way to his chest, pressing himself against Dave's sheathed cock, teasing himself with it, his mouth dropping into a silent oh of pleasure. He opens his eyes and looks at Dave – that penetrating gaze that used to terrify Dave so much, because whenever Kurt looks at him that way he feels transparent and seen, like there is nothing he can ever hide from Kurt about himself no matter how he tries.

It's still terrifying, a little. Except that now, Dave doesn't want to hide anything. He wants Kurt to know.

Kurt drops a hand from Dave's hip and skims it across Dave's pelvis until he's holding firm onto the base of Dave's cock, pressing the head against his opening, and Dave feels it give, just a little, around him, start to accept and take him in.

It's …

As many hours of his life as Dave has devoted to fantasizing about sex, he never really thought about this particular part of it, the beginning of it. His imaginings always started somewhere in the middle, when his cock was already swallowed up inside his lover and he'd begin to pull slowly out, feeling the grip slide from the base of his cock to the head, then back down as he pushed inside again.

He hasn't thought about the exquisite slowness of this, of his arms shaking from anticipation, of looking into his lover's eyes and feeling the weight of the moment between them.

It's almost unbearable, but not quite – because Kurt is there with him, eyes bright and on him, seeing into and through him, and suddenly the terror melts away and being known is the safest feeling in the world.

Kurt smiles and cranes his head up, pressing his lips against Dave's patiently, opening them slowly the way his body is opening, slipping his tongue a little farther into Dave's mouth the farther that Dave's cock moves into him.

Dave feels Blaine's breath on his thigh, slow kisses against his hip that break and move onto Kurt's hip, then back to Dave's, whispers of yes, so beautiful, thank you god thank you against their skin.

Kurt thrusts suddenly – his tongue into Dave's mouth, his ass sinking over Dave's cock – and Dave is being swallowed – not just his cock, but his whole self, swallowed by Kurt. Dave feels Blaine shudder, hears him groan as they enter each other fully, an ellipse linked by tongue and flesh.

Sweat breaks out over Dave's brow and neck, along the fine hairs of his chest and thighs, the coarse hairs under his arms and around his balls. Kurt pulls away from Dave's lips to lick smooth stripes along his jaw as he circles and shifts his ass slowly, moaning softly, "Oh you feel so good, you make me feel so good. You make me feel perfect."

"You are, you are, you are," Dave murmurs against Kurt's ear. "Always."

Blaine licks along Dave's spine, whispering, "Show him, show him," and Kurt rocks his hips and moans, and even now, when Dave is covered by his lover the way he's pictured a million times, it's nothing like he's ever imagined. It's exquisitely warmer and tighter, smooth and resilient like magnolia petals.

Kurt sinks his head back against the pillows, exposing the white column of his neck, the tendons that tie it to his collarbone. It’s is all so irresistible, every muscle and inch of Kurt. Dave kisses his neck, gentle sips and licks, until Kurt runs his hand through the short hairs at the back of Dave's neck and whispers, "More."

Dave begins sucking in earnest, trying not to think of the marks he might leave on Kurt's smooth expanse of skin, and Kurt rocks his head further back to expose more flesh, and rocks his hips, and again whispers, "More," his voice breaking.

Dave begins to move, rocking his own hips slightly, wishing suddenly he'd danced more often, made his hips loose and pliable the way Kurt's are. But he does his best with what he has, circling and swiveling them in tiny beats, dragging back and forth, and Kurt is clinging to his shoulders now, digging his fingers in, muttering a cavalcade of oh and Dave and yes.

Kurt is branches of lightning that spark from cloud to cloud across the summer sky, making the air shimmer indigo with heat and electricity. He's Euler's equation, an answer to questions Dave didn’t even know how to ask. He's Ravel's Gaspard de la Nuit, complex and haunting and transcendent.

Dave moves in and out of Kurt, twisting and angling to make Kurt quiver and cry out again and again, and tears press against Dave's eyes because he's needed this for so long. Dave needs Kurt to feel him as grace, needs him to know Dave as his body's joy.

* * *

Love me. Love me. Love me.

The words are a mantra in Kurt's head, and maybe they're pouring from his lips, too, onto Dave's skin with every perfect thrust. Kurt's nerves spark, short-circuit, send shocks of current through his body.

Love me.

Dave's body is so different from Blaine's – the way it's shaped, the way it moves, the way the muscles ripple and the hair tickles and the skin skims, the way it shifts over Kurt's thighs. His cock feels different inside Kurt, too – its shape and weight, but also the way it moves.

Everything is different and yet it still feels amazing. It feels amazing to be touched and fucked and loved like this by two people who are so different but still care for him so profoundly, who care for each other profoundly.

Kurt feels amazed.

Love me.

Amazed and … vulnerable. He always feels a little vulnerable like this, vulnerable because it makes him so greedy, because it makes him need and need and need, because the sensations are overwhelming and confusingly, bizarrely wonderful, sparking up from the muscle and skin of his hole up through his hips and cock and chest, down into his legs and the backs of his knees, weakening him with pleasure.

Love me.

He feels vulnerable and he feels safe. Safe because it's Dave and because Dave is looking down at him with bright jasper eyes softened by devotion. Because Dave looks as unraveled as Kurt feels, as scared and bewildered and in love. Because Blaine is whispering beautiful, beautiful, beautiful over and over again and for one rare moment Kurt knows it with every cell of his body.

Love me.

Kurt doesn't know what to do with his hands. There's so much he wants to cling to and touch – Dave's hips, his hair, his back and face and arms and ass. He wants to pull Dave closer, closer, draw him in deeper, not just into his ass but into his mouth and skin and heart, and he wants to touch Blaine, too, take his hand and draw him into this place of ecstasy.

Kurt wraps one hand around Dave’s hip and one around Blaine’s thigh. They’re a circuit now, the pleasure flowing through them, one body to another, over and again without ceasing. When Kurt cranes toward Dave’s face and sucks hungrily at his earlobe, Blaine drags his hands down Dave's sides and kisses his sacrum. When Kurt grips Dave's hip tighter, painting bruises with his fingertips as Dave thrusts deep inside him, Blaine strokes Dave's calf and runs feathery touches up and down his thigh. When Kurt bites into Dave's shoulder and tugs at his hair, Blaine presses his lips softly against Dave's hip and his finger against Dave's hole, makes Dave gasp and shudder and buck into Kurt hard and fast, fill him deep and slip away and fill him deep again, grind into him and make him feel like he's going to melt into nothingness, into everythingness, leave him weak and shuddering and hungry for more.

Love me. Love me. Love me.

Kurt may be saying it or not saying it. He doesn't know.

You love me.

All he knows is that they both do.

* * *

Dave's going to come undone. He's going to come undone and he can't come undone, not yet, not when Kurt is unfolding beneath him, chanting those beautiful words.

"You love me." Kurt thrusts his head back, curls his fingers into Dave's sides, squeezes his eyes shut and then startles them wide open as Dave thrusts deeper, harder, unwinding them both, unwinding all three. Dave feels Blaine's mouth against his shoulder blade, groaning into the muscle and bone as his finger slips away from Dave's crease and replaces it with the underside of his cock, warm and hard against Dave's skin.

"You love me." Kurt watches Dave, watches his lips and eyes, watches the beads of perspiration collecting on Dave's forehead. Kurt watches him with the stunned awe of someone who sees a miracle unfolding.

"You love me." Kurt bites his lip before grasping at the curve of Dave's neck, pulling him down and folding their lips together, their tongues, licking away the sweat from Dave's upper lip with a satisfied sigh.

"God, Kurt, I do." It takes all Dave's strength to slow down, but he has to slow down, because he's not ready for this to end. He's not sure he'll ever be ready for it to end.

"As long as you need me to," Dave says, because once he starts telling the truth he can't seem to stop.

Blaine moans again, biting the back of Dave's neck as he rubs his cock against the cleft of Dave's ass. "He needs you to," Blaine whispers. "He needs you."

Dave keeps his hips perfectly still but his cock throbs from the heat of Kurt around him, the heat of Blaine's words against his skin.

"Please don't stop." Kurt churns his hips, twisting his ring of muscle around the base of Dave's cock before clenching down. Dave feels sparks shoot behind his eyes, closes them and breathes deep, then deeper, wills himself not to come. "I need you, Dave. I need to feel you."

"But I –" It's so difficult to refuse Kurt. Impossible, almost. "Just a second. I – I don't want to come to soon."

"But you feel so good." Kurt snaps his hips away until his ring of muscle is almost at the head of Dave's cock, then snaps back down so that it spasms around the base. "I want you to fuck me and I want to watch you come."

The sparks are transforming into outright fountains of light. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck," Dave mutters, but then he feels Blaine reaching his fingers between his legs and tugging gently down on his balls. The pressure building in them slows and dissipates. Dave breathes again – once, twice, three times – as Blaine continues to tug.

Blaine moves away from Dave, drapes himself alongside Kurt, gazing but not touching except for gentle fingers combing through Kurt's hair.

Dave begins to move again, slow and steady at first, turning his attention away from the pleasure in his own cock to Kurt – the way his body arches with each thrust, the way his chest expands with each gasp, the way the fire of the early evening sun turns his hair mahogany and his eyes a greener shade of blue.

"Harder, Dave," Kurt demands. "Don't stop, don't ever stop, please don't ever stop," Kurt never takes his eyes off Dave's except to look at Blaine, except in the moments when the pleasure becomes so unbearable that he can't help but blink. Blaine kisses Kurt’s ear and jaw softly and reverently as he strokes his own cock, and he holds his other hand out for Kurt to cling to, and Kurt interlaces his fingers with it. It's hot and beautiful to Dave, so perfect to be inside Kurt and love him and share his love.

"I'd do anything for you." Dave is finding his rhythm, finding the angle that unwinds Kurt the best, and he begins to thrust a little harder, a little faster, trying to ignore the exquisite squeeze of Kurt's opening as he drags his cock back and forth through it.

"Harder, then, harder." Kurt's voice is louder, more commanding, and the world feels perfect, so perfect when Kurt tells him what to do.

So Dave does. He rocks and rocks, thrusting his cock over that ripe plum spot again and again as Kurt unravels. Dave rocks hard enough to make the bed shake and the headboard slap against the wall, and still Kurt cries for harder, more until, "Oh god I feel you, Dave, I feel you so much, please, please."

Dave bends forward to kiss him again, still thrusting, wrapping his hand around Kurt's cock and squeezing gently, and Kurt moans into Dave's mouth and Blaine moans against their cheekbones and Dave moans as he finally allows himself to fully feel the sublime drag and squeeze and smoothness of Kurt enveloping his cock, consuming it, owning it and claiming it and making it rumble with the pleasure of finally being where it belongs.

Kurt's mouth drops open and a low guttural moan resonates from his chest, the fingers of his one hand squeezing Blaine’s, the fingers of the other scratching over Dave's shoulder blades as his ass clamps down in undulating waves. Dave continues to slide in and out, can't stop, not with Kurt so tight and so loud and so good, coming all around Dave's cock, pulsing and spilling over Dave's hand – and with Blaine moaning, too, moaning and mumbling, "Oh, fuck, you're so beautiful, so so beautiful," and slapping his hand desperately around his cock until – with a gorgeous choking sound and a hard, desperate thrust between their hips – he spills onto both of them, wetting their ribs with his orgasm.


The spark returns behind Dave's eyes, and he doesn’t try to blink it back this time. He watches it burst into clean white flame that ignites his heart, fans out through his body and balls. It rushes through his cock and pours into Kurt, and Kurt clenches around it with a sweet, loving yes.


Blaine grabs the base of Dave's cock to hold the condom in place as he pulls out. Dave collapses at Kurt's side, draping his arm low across Kurt's hip and circling his finger through the come that Blaine left there. Tears of relief and exhaustion pour down Dave’s cheeks.

Kurt kisses at Dave's tears and Blaine kisses Dave's hair. "Thank you," Blaine whispers into Dave's scalp.

"I still feel you inside me," Kurt whispers into his skin.

It's every kind of love that Dave needs.

* * *

Blaine cleans them up and watches them sleep and falls a little deeper in love.

He orders pizza and waits downstairs for the delivery in a tank top and gym shorts because he doesn't want the bell to interrupt their sleep. He wants their hunger to wake them once the smell of garlic and oil wafts into Kurt’s room. Because hunger is a beautiful thing.

It does, almost as soon as he sets the boxes down on Kurt's vanity next to the cans of cold soda he brought up earlier.

"Oh my god – garlic. I'm so hungry." Kurt lifts his head, bleary-eyed, his cheek pink where it was pressed against Dave's chest.

There's a pink mark on Dave's chest, too, where Kurt's cheek rested.

Blaine smiles at the matching impressions.

They sit on the bed and eat, and Kurt shrugs it off when Blaine drips tomato sauce on the sheets because "they obviously need to be washed, anyway." Kurt tilts his head then, in that way that means Kurt's thinking and that inexplicably reminds Blaine of a robin. "Although I'm kind of inclined never to wash them. They must smell like both of you."

They eat and eat and watch Jersey Shore on Kurt's computer, and Blaine changes the sheets while Kurt and Dave are in the shower because even if Kurt is serious about never washing these ones, Blaine knows him well enough to be sure he’ll want to sleep the night on a clean set.

Blaine takes off his shirt and shorts and lies on top of the cool sheets. They'll be a while in the shower, he's certain, and so he lets himself drift off.

He wakes to the bed shifting, to two warm bodies settling on either side of him, wrapping him in their arms, and falls right back asleep.

* * *

They make love again in the morning before breakfast because once you start it's hard to stop. Kurt licks and sucks and worships Dave's cock while Blaine licks and sucks and worships Kurt's, and even though Kurt's no longer that worried about obliterating the memory of Brittany's tongue from Dave's mind, he's pretty sure he's managed to do just that, anyway.