'... I would teach my feet to fly.'

Blaine shifted, lying back so that his head was nestled in Kurt's lap, his knees crooked and legs dangling over the arm of the short bench in Kurt's yard. For a moment Kurt's hands hovered indecisively, unsure of where to settle. He wanted to put them on Blaine. One in his hair, and the other across his chest. He wanted to feel his radiating warmth, and the rise and fall with each of Blaine's breaths. So he did. Because he could. Blaine smiled up at him, tilting into the fingers twining in his hair, and covering Kurt's other hand with one of his own.

Kurt held Blaine's affectionate gaze. They still weren't entirely relaxed in each other's presence, still figuring out their respective comfort levels. It had only been a few days since their 'first date' after all, and most of their movements around each other were tentative and testing, leaving space for pulling back or moving away if either of them wanted. Neither had ever done so, but the overly polite intimacy remained. Kurt serenely noted that it never felt awkward though, just considerate. He had wondered a couple of times if maybe they were being too considerate, but couldn't bring himself to broach the topic. What if it hadn't been long enough? What if Blaine disagreed? What if he accidentally made it awkward by suggesting it and ruined everything? What if he was just being a complete idiot and he had absolutely nothing to worry about?

Yeah, that was probably it.

Humming happily, Blaine settled himself further into Kurt's thighs, then asked, "Okay, when's your birthday?"

"The twenty-seventh of May."

"Oh." Blaine said, his face falling a little, "Every time I ask someone that I secretly hope it'll be the time I get to say, 'that's my birthday, too!'"

"No luck?" Kurt pursed his lips to keep from grinning.

"No, I'm twelfth of June."

"Well, we're both Gemini's. I think that's supposed to be a good sign."

"You actually believe in that stuff?" Blaine raised an eyebrow.

"Not really. I mean, as far as reading the star signs whenever I get the paper. You don't?"

"Ah, no…"

"I bet you skip the star signs and go straight to the comics." Blaine glanced away for a second, and Kurt let out a bark of laughter, "You do, don't you? I better not be about to get a lecture on why not to believe in astrology from a Garfield reading, pseudo hippie who lives on a boat."

"It sounds like you've been making assumptions about me." Blaine hummed.

Kurt fidgeted uncomfortably, "I hardly believe that you guys use the stars as your compass or anything, but I have been getting a distinct whiff of the new-age."

"Shame on you." Blaine mock pouted, squeezing Kurt's hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Blaine 'Henna and Fire Twirling' Anderson."

"I wish my middle name was that exotic. But, no. I leave that 'pseudo hippie' stuff to Tina and Britt. For all I know Britt wrote the book on spaced out, alternative philosophy. She's possibly a closet savant. Or a reincarnated guru."

Kurt sighed dramatically, his head falling back, "I've made a mistake. I've courted the wrong gypsy."

Blaine snorted, batting at Kurt's arm, "Firstly, I'm pretty sure you were the courted. Secondly, I was under the impression you weren't particularly interested in soft and curvy and female."

Kurt wrinkled his nose, "Not so much."

"Good, because I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I don't quite fill that criteria."

Kurt slowly traced his finger over a prominent vein on Blaine's exposed bicep, "Oh, you'll do." He cleared his throat, taking a deep, calming breath, "Moving swiftly along."

"What was the name of your best friend in high school?"

"Mercedes Jones."

"Was your best friend in fact a car?"

"What?" Kurt laughed, "No, she was a human."

Blaine toyed with Kurt's fingers, lifting them one by one and letting them drop again with small pattering noises, "Okay, what's your favourite colour?"

"Green."

"Just green?"

"Well… lots of greens."

"Mint green?"

"Mhmm."

"Pea green?"

"Yes."

"Emerald green?"

"Yes, Blaine. Lots of greens."

"Forest green?"

"Forest green is lots of greens. It's a forest." Kurt said exasperatedly, "Next question, Spanish Inquisition."

Blaine mouth twisted into a playful smile, "First kiss?"

"I'm sorry?" Kurt coughed.

"Who was your first kiss?" Blaine sang.

"I'm not sure I want to tell you." He murmured.

"Why not?" Blaine wheedled.

Kurt chewed his bottom lip, blushing, "Well… you're the man I'm kissing now."

"Doesn't that require your lips to be on mine?" Blaine smirked.

"Don't get smart. It's far less attractive than you may have been led to believe." He paused, smiling cheekily, " And that situation can be arranged. My lips are just up here."

Blaine's eyes widened for a moment, flickering to the lips in question, "As thoroughly tempting as that is… why don't you want to tell me?"

"I dunno." Kurt shrugged, "It'd feel weird talking about it with you."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"I don't feel weird at all. I mean... around you."

Kurt blinked, his stomach fluttering strangely. He brushed his fingers softly along Blaine's hairline. Blaine reached up, catching his hand, and pulling it down to his lips, kissing it lightly, the warmth of his breath tickling the sparse hairs on his knuckles. He kept Kurt's hand against his closed mouth and Kurt felt like his whole body was about to sink through the bench and trickle into the gravel at his feet.

"I… I don't either." His voice was suddenly husky, and he cleared his throat before continuing, "It's just… on the scale of embarrassing past experiences, I'm pretty sure first kisses sit somewhere between wetting the bed, and having your parents lecture you about the birds and the bees."

Kurt felt Blaine smile against his skin, his voice slightly muffled, "I'll tell you mine. My first kiss, I mean."

"Could I convince you not to?"

"No."

"Okay, go on then." He relented.

"Samantha McLean."

"Sam-antha?" Kurt cried.

"Mm." Blaine nodded, his hair bunching at the back against Kurt's legs, "I was eight. She cornered me in the jungle gym at school and forced herself on me."

"The little harlot." Kurt whispered.

"Yeah, I seem to remember not being very happy about it."

"I should hope not. Just think of all the cooties."

"Ah, cooties." Blaine said wistfully, "Every pre-pubescent kids worst nightmare. Anyway, I screamed bloody murder and ran into the boys bathrooms, where no girl dared follow."

"Thank god for that social convention."

"Thank Miss Styles for giving Samantha a stern talking to and making her write lines for the rest of lunch."

"What did she make her write?" Kurt asked incredulously, "'I will not molest poor, defenceless boys who have little to no interest in the touch of the fairer sex?'"

"It was probably more like, 'I will respect the personal boundaries of my fellow students.' I imagine it was a bit of a handful for an eight year old. And as for the fairer sex, I'm pretty sure I still thought my, um… disinterest in girls was more to do with my preoccupation with Pikachu and The Lord of the Rings than the fact that I'd rather have been kissing boys."

"The Lord of The Rings?" Kurt teased, "Really?"

"Don't poke fun." Blaine attempted to writhe away, but quickly gave up when Kurt's arm remained firmly over his chest, "Actually, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I had a raging crush on Aragorn."

"That's not strange at all." Kurt said sarcastically, grinning.

"Hey, he happened to be an extremely dashing fictional character."

"What is wrong with you?" Kurt giggled, "Were you one of those little boys who spent all his time holed up in the library?"

Blaine shook his head, saying wistfully, "If I was, maybe I'd have been able to avoid young Samantha's boundary flouting lips."

"Wait a minute." Kurt said loudly, "Is that why you're a gypsy? Because of The Lord of the Rings? Have you modelled your whole life on a secret desire to constantly travel and assist short, hairy men in their mission to destroy garish, malevolent jewellery?"

Blaine sat up before Kurt could restrain him again, and twisted to face him, glaring harmlessly.

"I'm beginning to think you don't take me very seriously."

"Of course I do… sometimes." Kurt grinned, only hesitating for a second before taking Blaine's hand again, "Would you rather I did?"

Blaine's eyes remained narrowed for a moment longer, before softening, and crinkling at the edges as his lips quirked upwards.

"Actually, no." He said warmly, "I get the feeling you've spent far too long being serious."

Kurt furrowed his brows, "And I get the feeling you only think that because you've spent far too long being frivolous."

Blaine gave him a searching look, his smile slipping slightly, "No." He said quietly, "I really haven't."

Kurt's frown deepened and he cocked his head, his thumb absently brushing back and forth over the back of Blaine's wrist as he found himself entirely unable to interpret Blaine's expression.

"I do take you seriously." He stated firmly, "You know that, don't you?"

Blaine's smile returned, full force, "Mhm." He murmured, cupping Kurt's cheek lightly, "Even so, I like to think that maybe I've been introducing you to a little extra frivolity."

Kurt gaped indignantly, "Blaine, I have plenty of friv –"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as Blaine leant forward and kissed him, his mouth slightly open as he laughed against Kurt's lips. He pulled away before Kurt had even gathered enough wits to respond, keeping his face close as his thumb smoothed over Kurt's sideburn.

Kurt swallowed, the peppermint tea they'd drunk ten minutes earlier still evident on their shared breath, "Um…" He swallowed again, eyes fixed on Blaine's, "Is this a new definition of frivolity that everyone's been cruelly keeping from me?"

"Uh huh." Blaine purred, adding a lingering kiss to Kurt's suddenly blazing cheek.

"Okay. Frivolity's good." Kurt said breathlessly, "I like frivolity."

"So, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Kurt looked up from the tray of Danishes he was arranging to find Rachel standing over him, hands on hips and eyebrows nearing her hairline.

"What are you talking about?"

Rachel sighed patiently, "The past couple of days you've been walking around the bakery like the cat who got the cream."

Kurt looked away again, "No more than usual."

"You've been working here for three years." Rachel deadpanned, "You don'tusually have a big dumb grin on your face from nine to five."

"I'm sorry?" Kurt said acidly, "Forget the three years, I've never had anything big or dumb on my face in my life." He paused, adding under his breath, "Unless you count the time your boyfriend mistook me for a hugger."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Kurt, you were doing it just a minute ago!"

"I was not!"

"Yes, you were. Your eyes are all glazed over."

"Speaking of glaze," he said evasively, "do you mind if I put a couple of pastries aside to take home tonight?"

"You never eat pastries." She stated, "And stop avoiding the question."

Kurt stood, peering down at Rachel and crossing his arms over his chest, "Rachel, I've always suspected you were slightly deluded, but this is the first time in a while that I've felt the need to point it out."

"Tell me what the cream is!" She blurted loudly, voice shaking a little with repressed enthusiasm.

"What…?" Kurt stared, gaping, "Do you ever actually listen to yourself?"

"No one likes the sound of their own voice as much as I do." She said dismissively, "Now tell me why you're so happy!"

"Fine." Kurt burst out without thinking, "I've been seeing someone."

"You… what?" Rachel's brow sank like a pebble.

"I'm pretty sure you heard me."

"Who?"

"You don't know them." He shrugged.

Rachel studied his face for a moment, hands on hips, "You're lying."

"I beg your pardon?" Kurt straightened to his full height, glaring.

"How can I not know them, Kurt? I've served every single person in this town. Is it like, a secret thing? Are they…" She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "are they in the closet?"

Kurt blinked, "You're so offensive."

"You don't have to give me a name." Rachel said, honey toned.

"Really? Because it doesn't really feel like you're about to let it go."

"Please, Kurt." She begged, making him cringe.

"Look, you don't know them, they're completely out, and they aren't from here." He counted on his gloved hand.

"What, like long distance?" She pushed, "How did you meet… Kurt, did you meet them on the internet, because that's –"

"No! Please stop talking." Kurt cried, "I'll tell you, just stop."

Rachel smirked, letting out a happy yelp and leaning on the counter.

Kurt glowered, "Is this a tactic of yours? Annoy me until I can't stand it anymore and tell you just to shut you up?"

"If you think I'm going to dignify that with an answer – "

"So, yes then…" He mumbled, "Have you been down the river lately?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"And I'll take that as a 'no.'"

"Kurt."

"There's a boat of gypsies down there."

"Gypsies." Rachel frowned.

"Travellers, whatever." He waved a hand dismissively, "They've been there for a couple of weeks. You've probably seen them in town? Two guys and two girls?"

"Does one of them have a Mohawk?"

"Yeah, that's them."

"You're dating a guy with a Mohawk?" She wrinkled her nose, "I really didn't think that would be your type."

"Do we have any duct tape?" Kurt asked lightly.

"What? Probably, why?"

"I'm trying to think of a way to make you actually keep quiet for a second."

"You can't gag your boss!" Rachel shrieked.

"I can dream." Kurt sighed.

"Anyone else would have fired you years ago." She said matter-of-factly.

"Then I'm lucky I have you." He drawled.

"Thank… you…?" She said slowly, "Anyway, I'll be quiet. I'm quiet. My lips are sealed." She mimed turning a key in front of her mouth, tucking the imaginary object into the pocket of her apron.

"Can I have that key?" Kurt asked, opening his palm.

"It isn't real Kurt." She murmured through the corner of her pursed lips.

"I… forget it." He shook his head incredulously, "But, no. I'm not dating 'a guy with a Mohawk.' The other man. Brown curls? Stubble? Hazel eyes?" He paused, frowning thoughtfully, "Well, I guess they're hazel. It doesn't really cover it, though. They're sort of light brown, and he has these really long eyelashes – "

"Kurt!" Rachel said loudly, waving a hand in front of him, "Come back to me."

"What?" He started, "Shut up. I've had to listen to you talk about how nice Finn's arms are for fifteen minutes at a time, I think I'm allowed to get a little carried away."

"I'm sorry." She said warmly, "It's just… it's new."

"What's new?" Kurt snapped.

"You. Like… this." She extended her arms toward him in an expansive gesture.

"This?"

"Smitten." She grinned.

"I am not sm – " He froze, his brain finally catching up with his compulsive need to refute or question almost everything Rachel ever said. His shoulders slumped, and his hands flew up to cover his face, "Oh god, I am. I am smitten."

"It isn't a crime Kurt."

"Well it should be." He grumbled.

"Um… why?"

"Because then maybe I'd be able to stop thinking about him for five minutes, and I wouldn't be wandering around like some kind of… some kind of heart sick zombie, and then I wouldn't be standing here having this ridiculous conversation with you and using terms like 'heart sick!'"

Rachel stared at him for a few long seconds, before bursting out laughing.

"It's not funny!"

"No, not at all." Rachel gasped, holding onto the cash register as she composed herself, "Um, no. So, what's his name?"

"Blaine." Kurt sighed, immediately cringing at his disobediently wistful tone.

It had been a week since Kurt had first kissed Blaine. A week of seeing Blaine when he could. A week of tea, and dangling their bare feet off the side of the jetty, and walking with new, nervous, sweaty hands clasped together as they escorted each other the few hundred metres between Kurt's cottage and the boat; the boat and Kurt's cottage. A week of light kisses, and hard kisses, and pecks, and open mouthed, oh god I need more, will this ever be enough kisses that stretched for minutes and hours and years. A week of Kurt's hands in Blaine's hair and Blaine's hands in Kurt's hair, and once, just once, Kurt's hand under Blaine's shirt, and all over Blaine's skin in the way that Blaine was so completely under his, like an itch, like a burn, like a balm.

And that week, all that week, had been so abruptly perfect that Blaine had successfully ensconced himself in every corner of Kurt's consciousness, and even (on the mornings when he awoke with twisted sheets and sweat soaked skin and a delicious, hard ache between his thighs) his subconsciousness.

"You know, I think Finn may have mentioned him at some point." Rachel said, "He told me there was a short guy in a hat trying to sell him a necklace for about five minutes the other day. He eventually gave in and bought it."

"Oh…" Kurt blushed, "Yeah, that's Blaine."

"From a capitalists point of view, I'd congratulate you on snagging yourself a good salesman, but I have a feeling Finn panicked, and only bought it to make him leave him alone."

"That sounds like Blaine too…" He murmured, "And Finn, for that matter."

"So, when can I meet him?" Rachel asked, "Wait, why haven't I met him? Why haven't you introduced me?"

Kurt groaned, "Rachel, are you about to make this about your own myriad ridiculous insecurities?"

"No…" She said quietly, scratching her arm, eyes averted.

"Thought so." Kurt said, his voice softening, "You will meet him, just… give me a bit of time. I only just met him."

"But… I'm your best friend." She offered, eyes preposterously wide.

"Yes, you are." Kurt squeezed her shoulder, "And you're loud, and you're pushy, and you're overzealous. It's why I love you, but it takes a bit of getting used to."

"I can tone it down, you know." She paused, "I think."

Kurt smiled, "I don't want you to."

"You… don't?"

Kurt took a deep breath, brushing at the little bit of flour he'd left on Rachel's shirt. This was actually something he'd been thinking about a lot. He'd tried to avoid doing so, but the matter kept nudging at him and shaking him by the shoulders.

Blaine had swiftly become a part of his life. A big, colourful, overwhelming part, in the same way that Rachel was an impatient, raucous, part and Finn was an innocuous, calm, calming part. Over the space of a week he'd realised that each of those parts felt oddly separate. Finn and Rachel were intrinsically connected to Kurt's life in Ainslie, whereas Blaine felt somehow detached from Ainslie. Whenever Kurt was with him, he got a sense of being taken out of the town. Lifted up and away and into a realm of contradictory nonchalance and vitality. He assumed it stemmed from the very idea of Blaine and his friends' lifestyle, and he liked it. It was exciting. Inexplicable and new.

And he'd ignored it. Turned a blind eye to that rift between Blaine and Ainslie, because he had no idea how long Blaine in Ainslie was going to last, and to think about that… that was just too much for Kurt to even begin to know how to handle.

He knew that if he skirted asking Blaine about his departure for long enough, Blaine would most likely be the one to bring it up, giving Kurt an answer he possibly didn't want to hear, but for once in his life he felt compelled to experience the fabled bliss that came with ignorance.

Staring at Rachel's excited, expectant face, he supposed he should at least attempt to reconcile the life he shared with his friends with the life he'd begun sharing with the man he was seeing.

"Rachel." He sighed, "I'm not going to ask you to behave any differently when you meet him. I want him to meet you. Okay? I want you to be unintentionally rude to him, and bore the hell out of him, and I want you to annoy him so much that he realises it's one of his favourite things about you and starts coming up with his own ways to annoy you back."

"Oh." Rachel smiled a little, "That's… oh. Really?"

"Yes." Kurt said briskly, not surprised that she'd latched onto the veiled compliment, and turning back to the tray of Danishes, "Just give me a chance to warn him first, okay?"