A/N: Oh look, an update again. I may be able to give you one a day until the weekend again, but no promises. I still need to polish each chapter before posting, and between work, my preschooler being home sick, lack of sleep and writing the LPP sequel, it's a challenge. But I'm excited to share the rest of this story with you, so I'll do my best. Just, please forgive me if I fail to reply to your lovely comments. They always make me grin and flail, and make my days so much brighter, and I love you for taking the time to share your reactions and opinions – I just don't always have enough hours in the day to do it all.

Also, I admit I'm ridiculously happy with how this chapter flows.

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CHAPTER 9: A slippery slope

Kurt hadn't felt so good for such a long period in years. And not just physically, though he had to admit that being sexually active added a new spring to his step and a loose, contented feeling to his body. But it was most noticeable in his mood and demeanor. He started smiling, became more sociable – the girls at work could hardly believe it these last couple of months. Somewhere along the way, he lost most of his bitchy, irritable attitude.

And the fact that he'd been working at the same place for over six months now was unprecedented, too. Of course, it was more of a result of his new, happier attitude than his satisfied libido, but still, Kurt was sure there was a connection.

Amazing what regular, good sex can do.

Even his father, hearing him on the phone one day, asked him if he was in love. Kurt laughed and told him that no, he wasn't, he just felt good. But his secret was tickling his tongue, eager to slip out, so he let himself share just a little.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe who I met during an event recently. Matt, remember him? Well, actually, his name is Blaine. The agent who –"

His dad's gruff voice interrupted him, notes of concern sneaking in. "Of course I remember, kiddo. How is he?"

How is he?

"He's fine." Kurt could basically hear himself pout, which of course meant his dad heard it too.

"Oh shush, I know that you are fine, I can hear it. And that guy saved your life. Give him a break."

Kurt couldn't help but grumble. Right. He may be having sex with Blaine but that didn't change anything about their past. He still believed that Blaine should suffer some consequences of that night too, silly and vengeful as it may seem to others. It was just how Kurt felt.

The funny thing was, he never actually felt that way while at Blaine's. The past didn't exist there, nothing mattered really except for what they let into the bubble of here and now – amazing sex between two single, hot-blooded men who liked each other's company and found they had a surprising amount of things in common, sometimes. In there, everything was simple.

It didn't matter that Kurt still hated Blaine a little when he came home – Blaine the client, Blaine the agent who'd never cared about what happened to Kurt after that night.

It was different. They were two separate people in Kurt's mind. It worked.

He was grumpy for a few hours after the conversation with his dad, but soon it passed as he felt himself pulled toward the magnetic field that was Blaine yet again. So he gave in and went to him. No thinking about their past. No feelings or memories. Just Blaine's body, always so hot and so good at pleasing Kurt in every possible way. Just sex, slower and more languid lately as the initial impatience wore off and they started to take their time to taste and experience.

Kurt had been staying more nights in the last month or so, and they usually put off sleep until the wee hours of the morning, prolonging the pleasure, making it exquisite and elaborate, squeezing out every last drop of bliss until they could barely move. They talked a little bit more, too, their game of questions and answers getting more frequent and more interesting as time went by. They weren't just exchanging little details anymore. Kurt learned about Blaine's first boyfriend and his first time, and told Blaine about his experiences as the only openly gay kid in his high school. They discovered their shared history of singing in Glee clubs. Once, Blaine asked what Kurt was most proud of ("I survived."), and then dodged the same question by distracting Kurt with his impossibly talented lips. This had become their thing – whenever one of them didn't want to answer a question, he just brought them back down into the safe territory of sex again.

Blaine himself had been slowly changing, too. Back when this thing between them had started, it was not unusual to find Blaine waiting for him with a cloudy expression, a frown of barely-hidden disapproval. And it was okay – Kurt knew full well that Blaine didn't think this arrangement of theirs was a good idea, but frankly, he didn't care. He was in it for the sex, not sweet words or warm fuzzy feelings. And once they got to the bedroom, or wherever they were fucking that particular day, Blaine always turned into a gracious, generous lover who spared no effort to make Kurt feel special and cared for. So what if he was back to his cool, jaded self by the time Kurt got dressed, sometimes even sitting back down to his laptop before Kurt left?

But lately – as Kurt realized one morning when he got out of the shower and found a cup of coffee waiting for him on the kitchen table – there had been no grumpy Blaine around at all. Now that he thought back, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like he was taking Blaine away from something more important, or wasting his time. It felt as if Blaine had finally accepted their weird non-relationship, and allowed himself to enjoy it, no longer in a hurry to just push Kurt out the door as soon as they were done coming.

Not that Kurt cared, or anything. But... it felt nice.

***

Blaine was in trouble.

The first time Kurt brought a basket of grapes for them "to enjoy in between orgasms", Blaine thought nothing of it. They ate in bed, juice splashing everywhere when they attempted to turn it into a sex game, eating the fruit off each other, and they ended up giggly and winded in a sticky, sweet mess pressing together impatiently, grabbing and sliding and moaning, which only resulted in an even bigger mess, and then obligatory showers and sheet changing. It was fun.

But after a while it turned into a somewhat regular occurrence. Not every time, but often Kurt would bring things with him – fruit or chocolate, or wine, even a bottle of champagne once, leftover from some event where no one seemed to care how much alcohol had been actually drunk. And there was nothing wrong with that, of course – why would there be? – except Blaine couldn't help thinking that it didn't feel right.

Feeding each other fruit in bed, smearing chocolate all over the other's skin only to lick it off eagerly, kissing the taste of wine off each other's lips – it felt like more than what he'd bargained for. It was supposed to be sex, plain and simple, and this just felt like... a step further. A small step, not enough to worry about – it was easy to convince himself that it was just a part of their expanding sexual experiences – but a step nonetheless.

Finding the balance between what was right and wrong when it came to Kurt was hard, anyway. Blaine had always thought he had a good intuition, and used to go with his gut feeling when it came to connections and relationships, back when he had any to speak of. But this thing they had defied any attempts of categorization and processing. It was all in the grey zone, and Blaine had already ignored his instincts when it came to Kurt so many times that they didn't help at all anymore.

So he only gasped softly, surprised, when Kurt cuddled close to spoon him from behind one night and started kissing his shoulder, gentle, slow presses of his beautiful lips. Kurt's hand wound over Blaine's stomach, fingers tracing the skin there almost tenderly, and Blaine's heart sped up to an anxious staccato.

This wasn't sex. They had exhausted their capabilities for that night and turned off the lights to get some rest – so it wasn't an invitation for more. It didn't feel like one, either.

They did cuddle in their sleep sometimes when Kurt stayed the night – sort of, at least. A head on a shoulder or a belly, legs tangled in sleep, Kurt's face tucked under Blaine's chin and his breath tickling Blaine's collarbone. But that was different, that felt... practical. The bed wasn't particularly big – it was only natural they'd end up tangled together sometimes.

This, however, felt deliberate and heart-clenchingly sweet, and for a moment Blaine couldn't breathe, tears stinging his eyes, because his body remembered other times. Old, precious times when falling asleep like this was as natural and certain as the future he was supposed to have.

But it was back when his life made sense – now, with Kurt, it was anything but normal, such a sharp contrast to their usual behavior that Blaine's first instinct was to pull away immediately. It was too much, they were getting too close. It could only end in disaster.

But his traitorous body wouldn't budge. It was immediately enamored with the tenderness of Kurt's touches, the softness of his lips on the nape of Blaine's neck. The sure support of Kurt's body against his back, the comfort of being held close and tight, feeling safe and cared for. It had been years. He hadn't allowed himself the comfort of letting go, of feeling safe in anyone's embrace for so fucking long that now, with Kurt's movements slowing down to a stop and his breath deepening against Blaine's neck, he was unable to deny himself this bit of comfort. He fell asleep enveloped in Kurt's warmth that penetrated to his very bones, and for that one night, with this basic, long-forgotten comfort, he almost felt happy.

Later, in the light of day, all of Blaine's doubt and hesitation looked silly and unfounded when Kurt stirred against him, already hard and seductive. So the next time spooning happened, Blaine didn't question it for a second. He just took it and enjoyed while it lasted.

It was no big deal, just like the goodbye kisses that started at some point and soon became routine. It was just how it was between Kurt and him. Part of the play, no need to overanalyze.

The first actual warning bell, loud and clear, came a few weeks later, on a cloudy September morning when Kurt rushed out of the bathroom, steamed-pink and gorgeously naked, and started to pull on fresh clothes in a hurry, almost late for work. Blaine was still lounging in bed, half-awake and warm, watching the scene in front of him with sated satisfaction.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you," Kurt said, jumping a little to pull up the skinny jeans over still-damp skin. "I left a toothbrush in the bathroom, and my shampoo. There's no use bringing them over every time when I'm here so often. I hope you don't mind." A t-shirt, light jacket, one last glance in the mirror and Kurt was grabbing his bag, ready to run out the door. "Okay, gotta go, I'll call you, bye!"

With a quick kiss and a wave, he was gone, and Blaine was left staring into the empty space where Kurt had just been, his mouth open and words frozen on his lips.

This was definitely too much – no confusion about them crossing a line here. It was clearly no longer a simple, purely sexual thing when you started leaving things at your lover's place. Even if they were insubstantial, everyday things like a toothbrush. Maybe especially then.

For a moment, Blaine considered calling Kurt and telling him – but it was no use, he probably wouldn't answer now anyway, and even if he did, it wasn't a thing to discuss in a rushed phone conversation, with one of them in a public place.

And besides, what would he say? I'm not okay with your things in my bathroom, please take them away? That sounded wrong even in his own head. Bitchy and uptight, and kind of mean, like he begrudged Kurt this tiny bit of space. It wasn't as if Kurt had brought half of his wardrobe here, after all, or even anything personal. It was just a spare toothbrush. You could have those at a friend's house. It wasn't that big a deal.

It felt like a big deal – and Blaine recognized that – because leaving items at each other's houses spoke of intimacy to him. This was the level where his last relationship had been before it ended – possessions strewn between two apartments, just before he'd had a chance to ask his boyfriend to move in. He still remembered the sense of belonging when he woke up in Ethan's apartment and could just open the drawer and pick up some fresh clothes that he'd always had there, or drink coffee from his favorite mug.

But now, here – it was just a toothbrush and some shampoo. He was overreacting, most people would say. Yes, he had an issue with Kurt leaving his things here, and yes, he would tell him about it if he ever wanted to leave anything more personal than hygiene products. But for now, he would just let it be.

Still, the bright blue toothbrush in a cup next to his green one made something twist in him a little every time he went to the bathroom in the next few days.

But then he got used to it.

"Can I ask a question?" Kurt was lying on his stomach between Blaine's parted legs, his fingers tracing maddening little circles over the sensitive skin of his inner things and around his balls.

"Since when do you ask for permission?" Blaine groaned and tried to arch his hips closer to Kurt's glorious mouth, but Kurt only licked a single slow stripe up the length of his cock and pulled away again. When Blaine looked down at him, not above pleading anymore, he saw a flicker of uncertainty in Kurt's eyes – enough to get him back to earth quickly. "Okay, ask."

Kurt kept his eyes focused on his still moving fingers. "Do you ever bottom?"

Whoa.

There was no way Kurt could miss the sudden interested jerk of Blaine's cock just inches from his face. Or his sharp inhale. But verbal answer would probably be good too, just as soon as Blaine remembered how his throat worked.

"Um. Not in years."

Blush spreading over his cheekbones and his eyes still averted, Kurt nodded with finality and reached for a condom, clearly ready to stop teasing and blow Blaine at last – but was stopped by a steady hand on his chin. Blaine made sure their eyes met before he spoke again.

"I haven't done it in years because it's much too intimate and intense for me to do with casual one-night partners. I used to bottom quite often though. When I was in a long-term relationship. Why do you ask?"

Kurt just shook his head, his discomfort palpable.

"Kurt. Just... ask me." Blaine waited, the trembling inside him an equal measure of thrill and nerves. His voice was breaking softly when he whispered, a heartbeat later. "I want you to ask me."

A pause, a shuddering breath, a look so vulnerable it hurt. "Would you let me top you?"

"Yes."

The fingers in him were long and slender, moving with inexpert, careful precision, but already it felt better than Blaine's own hand ever could. He loved this, and missed it more than he let himself remember, and now every slide and twitch of Kurt's fingers was bringing back forgotten sensations.

He was twenty-five the last time it felt this good – with a boyfriend he loved, a job that challenged and fulfilled him, and a bright future ahead. It hadn't been long before the assignment that would change his life forever, and the sad thing was, Blaine didn't even remember any details about that last time. It must have been good, because it always was with Ethan, but there was nothing different or special enough that would stick in Blaine's mind. It was just a normal part of their everyday lives. Except it was special because, though neither of them knew, it was the last time.

He did try bottoming again later, twice – in anonymous hotel rooms, with guys that were as eager as they were meaningless. But it was too much, he felt way too vulnerable for such a casual setting, and the discomfort soon stopped him from chasing that particular pleasure ever again. He could live without being penetrated.

But now Blaine was here, and so was Kurt – awed, focused, with that almost shocked look on his face as his fingers sank into Blaine's body over and over again. Kurt looked so young like this, so earnestly concerned every time Blaine's body twitched or a gasp escaped his mouth. Blaine bit his lip against the flood of sensations, because he wasn't usually loud, not in anything but this, and he didn't want to freak Kurt out. It was a lost battle, he knew, but he tried anyway, as long as he could.

"More." He rasped a while later, the word chased by a shameless moan, and Kurt whimpered, wide-eyed and flushed as he spread and twisted his fingers again. "Fuck, Kurt. Need you."

When Kurt finally sank into him, it was slow – infinite care and more self-control than Blaine would ever expect from a first-timer – and being quiet was no longer an option. Blaine's body was shocked by the feeling of being filled so perfectly after such a long time, nerves firing impulses so bright and electric he could feel it in his fingertips, his scalp. Everything was more – more real, more intense – Kurt over him with his eyes wild and his mouth sweetly open in pleasure, his own frantic heart, the fragments of thoughts rattling in his head. It was more, and too much, and entirely not enough after all those years, not yet, no–

But no amount of twisting his hands in the sheets or biting his knuckles or desperate holding back to feel like this just a little longer could help when Kurt leaned close over him, pressing him into the bed with perfect friction between their bellies and a hard kiss. A snap of hips, a broken off cry, a sharp bite into Blaine's shoulder and Kurt was coming – beautiful, innocent, undone, and that was it, Blaine was gone.

The realization was slow and steady as a tide, coming silently over the hushed night hours until it filled him, so surely and completely there was no room for anything but acceptance. No doubt, no fear, no struggle. It was what it was and nothing could change it.

He liked Kurt.

Not in the "I'm not sure it's love yet, but hey, I like you" way. Not as a crush or infatuation or anything like that. He simply and very inconveniently liked the boy. Okay, man, but in his head Kurt was still very much a boy. And Blaine liked him, and admired him, and found him fucking adorable and sexy and smart and holy fuck that was not a good thing.

He never wanted to like Kurt. He didn't want to feel anything towards him, to be honest. It was supposed to be almost a business transaction, sex for sex, good time together and nothing more. He'd done that a hundred times before, and it worked. No feelings were necessary, no deeper involvement – and in Kurt's case, it would really be best if it stayed that way.

Not a chance now.

Of course, he should have known that even if they managed to push away their shared past, the months of getting together at every chance would bring them too close. If he was being honest, he must have known for some time, some deep and muted part of him. He wasn't an idiot, after all. But it took that night – a moment too intense to hold onto any of his walls and defenses and lies – for the knowledge to spill, crest in a wave and overflow him. It was no longer just sex. There were feelings at play here, too.

It didn't change much about their arrangement, though it probably should. It only caused the guilt lacing every cell in Blaine's body to flare and grow just a fraction more.

It had never been easy, the weight of conscience, the awareness of what he'd done to another human being, how utterly he must have hurt him. It had been killing him slowly, every single day. But at least when he hadn't known–

When he hadn't known the sound of Kurt's laugh and the melody of his voice as he sang in the shower. When he hadn't yet heard the longing in his voice as he spoke of his old dreams; hadn't seen the way light faded in his eyes, enthusiasm killed by reality. When he hadn't realized just how smart and witty Kurt was, how talented – how bright a soul Blaine had derailed and shot out of its course that night five years ago... it had been easier then.

That night changed them in small, subtle ways that neither of them ever verbalized, ways that came so smoothly that it was easy to block out most of them unless they wanted to see.

Their talk breaks had been getting longer lately, and not because of any problems with stamina. The conversations that had started as simple, superficial questions and answers months ago had somehow grown in depth and complexity. It didn't mean they were getting together to talk now – not at all, but there was enough of that between them that when Kurt, melancholy and sulky one morning, admitted that he missed his family, Blaine didn't distract him with a kiss or, better yet, a cock in his mouth. Instead, he settled comfortably against the pillows, pulled Kurt closer so his head rested on Blaine's shoulder and asked, simply, "Tell me about them."

Later, he wasn't sure if he was more surprised by his own reaction or the fact that Kurt did – he talked for a long time, a monologue filled with longing and memories of smiles and tears and love so very clear that Blaine's heart ached with envy. He didn't really know that kind of familial love.

They didn't have moments like this one often, even after this first time, but the gate had been opened and it changed things, the knowledge that they could talk, if they wanted. If they needed.

Do you like blackbirds?

The text came well after midnight, the first time Kurt texted him with anything other than a proposition to meet, and Blaine laughed, surprised, and shook his head, and answered.

Why?

No reason. Kurt wrote, and then fifteen minutes later, like an afterthought. I'm drunk and listening to The Beatles.

"You were only waiting for this moment to arrive..." Blaine sang – and typed – on reflex. There was no response.

They didn't talk about it the next time they met, but a few nights later, during a coffee (and singing, to keep himself awake) break, Blaine picked up his phone on a whim and sent out a text.

"Iiif you want my body aaand you think I'm sexy, come on sugar let me knooow"

Kurt's response came a minute later.

Really, Blaine? Really?

Blaine huffed out a laugh. He could almost see Kurt's exasperated eye-roll.

And just like that, it was yet another of their things. They texted each other every now and then, always at night – song lyrics and quotes, and, sometimes, snippy little observations about something one of them saw or heard. Nothing important, just silly little things, and it didn't mean anything, it was just a bit of harmless fun that they never ever talked about.

"Ow. Give me a second, I need to move."

"What you need to do is get up from that couch and come blow me. I have to run at the break of dawn again, and I'd like to catch a few hours of sleep after my orgasms, thank you very much."

Kurt was leaning against the wall separating Blaine's living room and bedroom, a look of mock severity on his face, and Blaine rolled over and got up slowly, swallowing a hiss.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The faux frown was gone, substituted by concern as Kurt left his post and came over to look at him.

"No, it's nothing. Just my back, I wrote all night again and I guess it's time to get rid of this old piece of junk and buy something more comfortable." Blaine kicked his rickety desk chair as he passed it on his way to the bedroom. It creaked.

He only managed to get his t-shirt off before Kurt was there, making quick work of the rest of Blaine's clothes and then his own.

"Okay, do you have any lotion? Or baby oil?" Kurt asked matter-of-factly as he pushed Blaine down to sit on the bed.

"What? Kurt, we have lube, and neither lotion nor oil work with condoms anyway."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "For a massage, Blaine. I'm feeling generous and I have some basic training from one of my past jobs, and I'm just awesome like that. So, lotion? And lie down on your stomach."

Kurt's fingers were magical, his patience and skills a blessing, and somehow straddling Blaine's hips, even with both of them naked, didn't turn into grinding or teasing or anything this time, just a long, slow session of... okay, torture at first. But the relief as his muscles unknotted and relaxed was like a miracle, the deep pleasure of Kurt's ministrations making Blaine groan, and then hum and sigh happily as his eyes drooped closed. Afterwards, Kurt slipped off to lie down next to him without a word, covered them both with a comforter and just spooned Blaine to sleep.

When he woke up, loose and well-rested, Kurt was gone, off to an early morning job, without a single orgasm.

It was sweet and smooth and scary as hell, this inevitable slide towards each other. It felt good – too good, binding them with invisible ties that felt like caresses; it came on like a whisper, like seduction, muddling Blaine's brain and scattering his thoughts. There were dark clouds somewhere far away, on the horizon – he knew that, remembered that he should be careful for some reason – but here, now, everything was soft and warm, and there was no need to worry; no need at all.