Chapter 10

Blaine raised his hand to knock on the oversized oak door and paused, his closed fist hovering in midair as he hesitated. Once he knocked on that door, his fate would be sealed; there would be no turning back. Even the size and scope of the door matched the momentous feeling of what he was about to do, and it made Blaine feel very small and helpless. The weight of it pressed down on him as he tried to take an even breath.

Blaine had sought out Mr. Fabray at the bar before dinner the night before to make his intentions known, but it had been a spur-of-the-moment reaction to something Quinn had said, and now they had to iron out the details of the arrangement. Blaine might have been to blame for moving things forward, but he was slowly realizing that his life was spiraling rapidly out of his control.

On this side of the door, he was a bachelor, but once he crossed the threshold, his life would forever change after he became betrothed to Russell Fabray's youngest daughter.

He closed his eyes and tried to recall Quinn's exact words.

"Your friend Mr. Hummel is such a wonderful gentleman," she'd said when he had escorted her back from the cakewalk to hotel lobby that afternoon.

If Quinn could accept Kurt in his life, he'd be an idiot not to marry her.

He clenched and unclenched his fist a couple of times and rolled his head until he heard the bones in his neck pop and felt his shoulders relax. He inhaled deeply and released his breath in a long, slow exhale as his knuckles made contact with the door in three sharp raps.

When the door swung open, Blaine cleared his throat and looked Mr. Fabray square in the eye. "Good afternoon," he said as the gentleman stepped aside to allow him to enter the sitting room of suite 44.

The first-floor suites of the Ponce were the most luxurious, and even the doors themselves were more elaborate than the others, but to see the sharp contrast from the suite Kurt and his father shared was striking. The fireplace was similar but the furnishings were far more lavish, the curtains hung with a heavy fringe and the chairs a thicker padding. Even though the room itself was quite a bit larger than the Hummels' sitting room, it didn't feel that way, and the air, while not as stifling as the fourth floor, was thick with tension.

Blaine cleared his throat again and waited for a cue from Mr. Fabray as to how they should proceed, but the older man appeared to be taking a mental tally of Blaine's shortcomings as he looked Blaine up and down, his blue eyes narrowed and piercing.

"Can I offer you a drink, Blaine?" he asked finally, as he walked over to a small cart with several crystal decanters and a few matching glasses.

"I'll take a whiskey," Blaine said, hoping it wasn't too forward of him to be imbibing while they discussed matters. But the thought of doing this without any form of drink in him seemed absurd, his frayed nerves being what they were already.

Mr. Fabray raised an eyebrow, but did not comment on his choice. He poured their drinks, choosing a brandy for himself, and crossed the room to hand Blaine his glass.

"I was shocked that you asked me for my daughter's hand in such an unorthodox manner," Mr. Fabray said, sitting down in the larger of the two chairs, forcing Blaine to take the smaller lady's chair opposite him. "Not exactly the way a gentleman typically handles such affairs.

"My apologies, sir," Blaine said, unbuttoning his jacket and setting his glass on the table beside him as he took his seat. "I was overcome with affection for Miss Fabray and was perhaps a bit eager."

His words, although forced and trite, seemed to have a calming affect on his host, who chuckled quietly and smiled at Blaine. "I suppose that can be overlooked, considering the circumstances," Mr. Fabray said. "This is a favorable match for both our families."

Blaine was once again reminded that his marriage was largely a business deal, both families hoping to maintain their status by creating a union between their children. The Andersons would benefit from the Fabrays' amassed wealth, and the Fabrays would benefit from the Anderson name and established reputation.

"So you wanted to discuss the details of our arrangement?" Blaine prompted. His voice wavered slightly as he spoke, so Blaine picked up his glass and took a small sip, never taking his eyes from Quinn's father. He couldn't afford to seem weak or insincere now. Mr. Fabray had been keen to control the situation from the moment Blaine made the faux pas of approaching him in the bar, first insisting that they meet in the Fabrays' suite rather than at Markland, and then by rearranging the time twice, just to prove he could.

"I'd like my Lucy to have a spring wedding," he said, once again directing the conversation away from Blaine's jurisdiction. "So the wedding will be next year... May, perhaps?"

"If that's what she wants, of course."

Russell Fabray arched an eyebrow at him, making his admonishment clear. If Blaine wanted to marry Quinn, he'd have to play along.

"Of course, if you want a May wedding, I'm sure Miss Fabray will feel the same, and it will give her plenty of time to find a dress."

Blaine wondered if this was a prelude of what his life was to become, acquiescing to the wishes of not only his parents, but now Quinn's as well.

"When should we make the announcement?" Blaine asked, hoping he would get the chance to tell Kurt before word got around.

"As soon as possible, I think; we don't want anyone assuming my little girl has been doing anything inappropriate."

Mr. Fabray laughed then, a stark mockery of the situation, which was anything but comical to Blaine. Even though he knew it was inevitable that he marry, he'd hoped it would mean more freedom, not less. Although, after they were legally wed, he and Quinn would no longer be bound to either family; they would be expected to start their own.

The idea of having children had never occurred to him except on an abstract level. He would have to bed Quinn and impregnate her, not something he was looking forward to for so many reasons.

"I'll wire my grandfather yet today," Blaine said. "I'm sure he'll want to plan something... and my mother as well. She'll want to host a ball or some such nonsense when we return to New York."

"We'll see that it gets in the papers and I'll talk to your father about any necessary financial arrangements."

Blaine nodded as the two men shook hands. It was all very perfunctory and businesslike, and it left a bad taste in Blaine's mouth, a bitter remnant of heartache and dishonesty.

"As soon as I purchase a ring, I'll ask her in person," Blaine said. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer if you didn't tell her. I'd like to surprise her."

Mr. Fabray beamed. "Of course," he said. She'd love that."

For once Blaine had said the right thing, a small grace in a bleak endeavor.

"Then it's all settled," he said, hoping the bitter tone didn't read in his voice.

"To new family," Mr. Fabray said, raising his glass in a toast.

Blaine raised his whiskey in return before swallowing it down and allowing the sting of the alcohol numb his aching heart.

The sunlight streaming in through the solarium's floor-to-ceiling windows warmed Blaine's body to its core, soothing his worry and taking his sullen mood with it. Blaine had wanted to meet Mr. Hummel somewhere open and airy, and it looked like everyone seemed to have a similar idea; there were dozens of people milling about, playing cards, reading, or just engaging in idle chatter. It was a scene that could have been any moment in his life, part of the infinite loop of his days, except for one small difference: Kurt.

The man's presence loomed large even when he was absent, and everything Blaine said and did was only because it would bring him closer to his precious time alone with his lover.

After his conversation with Mr. Fabray, Blaine couldn't wait to get out of St. Augustine for a few days. His time with Kurt since the cakewalk had been limited, to say the least, and he had been thirsting for a moment alone like a man walking through a desert thirsts for water. A trip to Atlanta was the perfect escape for them – time to simply bask in each other's presence and celebrate the fact that Kurt was still alive.

But Blaine wanted Burt's approval before taking Kurt on such a long journey. For some inexplicable reason, that seemed important.

Blaine let his eyes rove the room, searching out an older, more labor-worn version of Kurt. He skipped over several faces before his gaze landed on Burt Hummel, reclining in a high-backed wicker chair, a thick cigar resting comfortably between his fingers as he read the morning paper through a pair of round, wire-rimmed spectacles. It was easy to see where Kurt got his quiet confidence from; his father had a similar effortless air to him, even in repose.

"Good morning, Mr. Hummel," Blaine greeted as he approached, gripping his hands behind his back as he bowed politely.

"Ah, Blaine," he said, looking up over the edge of his glasses and folding his paper. He stood up and extended a hand in greeting. "Good to see you again."

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, especially on such short notice."

The contrast between meeting with Burt Hummel and meeting with Russell Fabray was the difference between conducting an orchestra and dancing like a marionette, and yet Blaine was more nervous when faced with the uncertainty of Burt's quiet symphony than he ever was of the disruptive jerking of Mr. Fabray's puppeteering. having his every move predetermined.

"Think nothing of it," Burt replied. "Have a seat." He gestured to the chair next to him and removed his glasses, his warm smile giving way to a genuine curiosity. "So your note said you wanted to talk about Kurt?"

As Blaine adjusted his waistcoat and took his seat, he pulled his cigarette case from his pocket, using the act of placing the hand-rolled tobacco between his lips to delay the requirement to speak. When he couldn't immediately find his matches, though, his hands began to tremble slightly. This was it; if he failed to win Kurt's father over, their trip was over before it even began.

"Here, use mine," Burt said, holding up a small silver case.

It took Blaine a moment to realize Burt meant the matches, and when he finally reached out to take the matchsafe, he saw it was a more basic design than his own, decorated with a simple filigree pattern and a blatant advertisement for a shop in Brooklyn. Despite its basic hinged closure, Blaine fumbled getting it open, the sound of the matches rattling around mimicking the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. When he finally managed to open it, he said, "I've been concerned about Kurt's recovery."

Blaine took a match from the case and closed it, turning the smooth metal over in his hand to strike the flint against the edge of it. He glanced up to see Burt's reaction to his comment, but there was none. So Blaine lifted the lit match to the tip of his cigarette and inhaled, the thick, cloying scent of the tobacco reaching his nose the same time the sharp flavor flooded his mouth.

When he had his cigarette lit, he passed the matchsafe back to Burt.

"I was hoping he could see a specialist I know in Atlanta," Blaine said.

Burt pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, the expression urging Blaine to keep speaking but also reminding him of how careful he had to be with how he approached this situation.

"You know Kurt better than I do, Mr. Hummel, but I'm afraid he might be exaggerating his recovery because he doesn't want to worry you."

A thick puff of smoke escaped Burt's lips as he leaned forward slightly in response to Blaine's words.

"I have been wondering that myself," he said, tipping the ash from his cigar into a shallow brass bowl on the stand to his right. "Has he said anything to you?"

"Well, Kurt doesn't like to seem weak or helpless..." Blaine said, trailing off.

Burt's smile was a brief flash of fondness, but its warmth was unmistakable. "You seem to know my son better than you think," he said.

Blaine twirled his cigarette between his fingers, tipping it back and studying the brightly burning tip. "I know he's been having dizzy spells, and I'd like to help if I can."

"But this doctor you want him to see," Burt said, looking uncertain. "He's in Atlanta?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you think he can help him?"

"I think it's the best shot he has at a full recovery."

"That has to be expensive."

"Already covered, sir. I had a feeling it might be something you couldn't afford ordinarily, so I'd be willing to fund the entire trip."

Burt's nostrils flared sharply as he squared his shoulders in Blaine's direction.

"That's quite presumptuous of you, young man."

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping," Blaine said. "I just want what's best for Kurt. Certainly we can agree on that."

"I do want what's best for my son. I just don't think it's wise for him to travel all the way to Atlanta by himself when he's only just recovered from the fever."

"Oh, he won't be alone," Blaine said. "I'd planned on going with him."

"Certainly you have better things to do."

"Well, it's not entirely selfless," Blaine said with a chuckle. He leaned in and whispered, "I need to purchase an engagement ring... for Miss Fabray."

"Well, that's excellent news," Burt exclaimed, clenching his cigar in his teeth as he clapped Blaine on the shoulder. "Have you spoken to her father yet?"

If he tried, he could almost imagine having this conversation under different circumstances, where he was asking Burt for Kurt's hand. Blaine smiled at the thought before returning his attentions to the conversation at hand.

"Yes, but I'm waiting until I have the ring to ask her properly. I know it's ridiculous, but I feel like I should have something to offer in exchange for her agreeing to spend her life with me."

"I can't see any woman turning that down," Burt said with a laugh.

Blaine shrugged and looked down at the remnants of his cigarette in his hand. "It's a smart match for our families, but I do hope to make it as romantic for her as possible."

"I'm sure she'll love it."

Blaine nodded and paused before glancing up at Burt, trying to gauge his mood. "So you'll allow me to take Kurt to Atlanta?" he urged. When Burt looked uncertain, he added, "To see Dr. Abbott, that is."

"I need a couple days to think about it," Burt said. "Kurt's not strong enough for travel right now anyway."

"Of course," Blaine said, stubbing out his cigarette. He blew a thick plume of smoke away from them both and rose. Burt stood up as well, and held out his right hand.

"Thank you for the offer," he said. "It's most generous of you."

Blaine clasped the man's hand firmly and smiled. "I meant every word," he said. "I just want what's best for Kurt."

Burt nodded once and released Blaine's hand. It wasn't perfect, but he had a feeling Mr. Hummel would take him up on the offer.

Blaine returned to Markland to find a letter from his mother waiting.

Dearest Blaine,

Mrs. Fabray has written me regarding your intentions with Miss Lucy, and I have to say I am so happy to hear you've found her to be worthy of your attentions and look forward to meeting her properly when you return home. Your father sends his regards and says he will discuss the particulars with Mr. Fabray as soon as possible.

If you plan on purchasing her a ring as an engagement present, please consider a woman's perspective and that you'll want to buy her something that will be in fashion twenty years from now. I trust you have the funds you need for such a purchase or can work that out with your grandfather.

I cannot tell you how absolutely delighted we are to have a wedding to plan for you... finally. Count me amongst the happiest mothers in all of New York.

You must keep in mind, however, that there is still a proper way to do this. One cannot forget to be a gentleman in such instances, and I trust you will be chaperoned any time you are in Miss Fabray's company, even after you finalize your engagement. Remember, you are an Anderson. Make me proud, my son.

Your loving Mother

Blaine sighed at the almost perfunctory way his mother was addressing his predicament. She cared not for his feelings on the matter, merely that he followed etiquette and did the "proper" thing. For his part, Blaine no longer cared whether he made his family proud, but he could keep up appearances to protect their reputations, and if that made them proud in the process, so much the better.

Looking back down at the table, he noticed he also had a reply to the wire he had sent his grandfather announcing his pending engagement and subsequent trip to Atlanta. The response was predictable and direct.

Glad you came to your senses. I expect you back in St. Augustine for our return reception.

At least he hadn't forbade him to go.

When Burt conceded the next day, Blaine booked their train tickets immediately, and made plans to call on Quinn right away. Her mother suggested they take a picnic to the bayfront and enjoy the nice weather while they still could.

He would be glad when their chaperoned outings would come to an end, no longer having the patience for the collective dictates of high society. He tried not to think about the fact that he would never escape such obligations. For now the light at the end of the dark tunnel was Atlanta and Kurt.

"Do you suppose this weather will last?" Quinn asked.

She was sitting next to Blaine on a simple blanket, back straight as a pin, her legs neatly folded to the side as she held her lace parasol over her head in a tiny gloved hand. Quinn made the picture of ladylike perfection; even her own mother couldn't compare in all her finery.

"The almanac says the rainy season is coming soon," Blaine offered.

The conversation was mechanical at best, the young couple unable to speak of anything of any real substance while they were still courting. Mrs. Fabray was serving as chaperone, protecting her daughter's honor from any untoward advances from Blaine.

It was laughable.

The irony of it all, of course, was that Blaine could more easily spend time alone with Kurt; even though there were suspicions, it was still more proper for him to be alone with a man than a woman. All the pretense and posturing he was doing to win Quinn's favor was just that, and he couldn't wait for the opportunity to just bask in the simplicity of Kurt's presence. In Atlanta they would be free to go on outings together and spend their evenings alone. It was exquisite torture picnicking with Quinn and Mrs. Fabray knowing that in just under 24 hours, he would be alone with Kurt for five whole days.

"Why don't you read aloud from the book of poetry Lucy brought along?" Mrs. Fabray prompted.

"Oh, Mother, Blaine doesn't want to read a silly book of poems when–"

"Nonsense," Mrs. Fabray interjected. "He's a writer." She turned to Blaine, her parasol casting a sinister shadow across her pale face. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course not," Blaine said with a forced smile. "What book did you bring, Miss Fabray?"

Quinn reached inside the picnic basket she and her mother had packed for their outing and pulled out a small volume: Poems: Second Series by Emily Dickinson.

"I know it's just poetry by a woman..." Quinn began.

"Nonsense," Blaine interjected, taking the book from her hands. "It's perfectly fine."

Quinn beamed at him, even as she tried to tug her lips back to a more demure smile. When their hands brushed over the spine of the book, Quinn's mother scowled at her from behind a fan, silently scolding her daughter for her unladylike behavior. Quinn's eyes darkened, and as Blaine watched, she dipped her head to hide her embarrassment. Clearing his throat to pull the attention back to himself, Blaine opened to the first page and began to read aloud.

The first poem was innocuous, a brief ode to loneliness and simplicity, a lighthearted twist on a melancholy idea, but when he got to the second poem and spoke its words, his heart began to flutter wildly in his chest. Or perhaps it had stopped altogether, because his body no longer felt as if it were his own.

As he read the words, he could feel Quinn's eyes on him, her gaze giving off the warmth of a low-burning candle, but he read on, his voice high and breaking, his mind an infinite sea of blue and green and wonder as he chased the warmth of something deeper.

I bring an unaccustomed wine
To lips long parching, next to mine,
And summon them to drink.

Crackling with fever, they essay;
I turn my brimming eyes away,
And come next hour to look.

The hands still hug the tardy glass;
The lips I would have cooled, alas!
Are so superfluous cold,

I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould.

Some other thirsty there may be
To whom this would have pointed me
Had it remained to speak.

And so I always bear the cup
If, haply, mine may be the drop
Some pilgrim thirst to slake —

If, haply, any say to me,
"Unto the little, unto me,"
When I at last awake.

When Blaine finished the final stanza, he looked up, his eyes brimming with silent tears. Mrs. Fabray's knowing smile was just visible in his peripheral vision, and in that moment he knew every emotion in his heart was written plainly for them both to see, and he couldn't bear the intrusion on such a private moment.

As if on instinct, he reached up to adjust his collar, unable to avoid the feeling that it was gripping him in a chokehold. Clearing his throat, he blinked his eyes several times to keep the tears from spilling, hoping the ladies assumed his sudden display of sentiment was because of Quinn's presence and not thanks to him being some sort of emotional wreck.

When his eyes settled on Quinn, he could see that her face was frozen in disbelief, her green eyes speaking volumes about how the recitation had made her feel, and he wondered if he shouldn't just go ahead and propose marriage to the girl on the spot, end the suspense for her and, if he was being truly honest, deflect the attention from the widening chasm in his chest that only Kurt could fill.

Blaine opened his mouth to speak, but both propriety and his own careful plans stopped him from asking for her hand. Instead he changed course and asked, "Would you like me to read another poem?"

Quinn nodded, her lips turning up into a delighted smile.

"You have a knack for reciting poetry," she said softly, her eyelashes fluttering as she cast her gaze downward. Her gloved hands trembled slightly where they rested in her lap and Blaine suddenly felt a pang of guilt at keeping this poor girl on tenterhooks.

But surely she knew of his intentions, and Blaine wanted to do it right. Besides, if he proposed without the ring, he'd have no excuse to journey to Atlanta, and his week with Kurt would be lost. No, he would stick to his plan and wait to ask Quinn properly once he had a bauble to represent his commitment, however false it might be.

He gripped the book tighter in his hands and began to read the next poem, but it was as if he were caught in a dream, his nightmare on an infinite loop as the words cut through him like a freshly sharpened blade severs flesh from bone.

The nearest dream recedes, unrealized.
The heaven we chase
Like the June bee
Before the school-by
Invites the race;
Stoops to an easy clover ––
Dips –– evades –– teases –– deploys;
Then to the royal clouds
Lifts his light pinnace
Heedless of the boy
Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky
Homesick for steadfast honey,
Ah! the bees fly not
That brews that rare variety.

His breath caught in his throat, words no longer able to form on his dried lips and parched tongue. His face felt flushed and droplets of sweat were racing a trail down his spine.

"Mr. Anderson, are you feeling all right?" Mrs. Fabray enquired, her fan's pace accelerating as if in sympathy.

Squinting against the sun, Blaine wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. "I think I'm just a tad light headed perhaps."

"You've gotten too much sun," Mrs. Fabray said, nodding as if to agree with her own words.

"That must be it," Blaine lied. To drive the point home took off his hat and fanned himself with it. Then again, maybe it was sheer exhaustion from always pretending to be something he wasn't. The weight of it suddenly felt too heavy a load to carry and he was desperate to escape.

"Do you suppose we could finish this another time?" he asked, his eyes fixed on Quinn's pained expression.

"Of course, dear boy," Mrs. Fabray answered for them both.

"Miss Fabray, please forgive me," Blaine implored.

"It's just that you're going away tomorrow–"

"Lucy dear, now don't make Mr. Anderson feel guilty. He has important business matters to attend to."

Blaine could sense Quinn was fighting back a retort, and he found himself empathizing with her. "Oh, think nothing of it," he said, risking the chance to reassure her by placing his hand over hers.

Mrs. Fabray's sharp intake of breath almost had him pulling back, but Quinn's pale green eyes held him firm. He tried to convey his intent in his eyes — to allay her fears somehow — but he was uncertain if he was successful.

"I hope you have a pleasant trip, Mr. Anderson," she said, withdrawing her own hand and fussing with a piece of lace on her dress. "And I hope you feel better."

A twinge of remorse shuddered through him as he smiled at her, but he said nothing more as he rose to standing and bowed to the ladies.

It wasn't until later that afternoon, when he was back at Markland and instructing Jenkins on the last few items to pack for his trip, that he realized he still had the volume of poetry gripped tightly in his hand.

Atlanta was colder than St. Augustine, but much more buoyant and lively. From the moment they stepped off the train, Blaine felt a keen anticipation for the days to come with Kurt.

He was elated; there was no other way to describe it. Blaine would have the opportunity to spend untold amounts of time with his lover and without the prying eyes of the small town. It was perfect — or at least as close to perfect as they could get under the circumstances.

Blaine found a hotel in a quiet area and booked a suite of rooms for the duration of their trip, letting the hotel staff know his brother Kurt would be staying with him while he convalesced. Kurt still got weak quite easily and needed help with getting around sometimes, so what he told the desk clerk wasn't a total lie, but it was also an exquisite excuse to have Kurt lean on him as they climbed the stairs to their suite.

"Blaine, I'm perfectly capable of walking up a flight of stairs," Kurt said as Blaine put an arm around him.

"Three."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's three flights. Our room is on the third floor."

"Wouldn't that be two flights?" Kurt asked.

"Details," Blaine said, waving a dismissive hand. He leaned in close to Kurt's ear and whispered, "Besides, it's an excuse to have you on my arm like you've always wanted."

Kurt smiled, and swatted him away, but the pink of his cheeks belied his true feelings.

"We're going to be sharing a room for six days," he whispered. "I think you can control yourself until we're behind closed doors."

"You say that as if I can ever control myself when I'm in your company," Blaine said. Kurt looked positively dumbstruck, but Blaine continued pulling them along the hallway until they found the correct door. "Ah, here we are."

He unlocked the door to their suite — it was similar in size and layout to Kurt's suite at the Ponce, but far less opulent, and yet it was the most wonderful sight Blaine had ever laid his eyes on, because it was theirs.

Blaine glanced over at Kurt and could see the excitement on his features as well. Blaine realized what a fool he'd been, taking all of his privilege for granted when Kurt was aching for it. He was determined to share his status with Kurt in any way that he could; he wanted to show this young man all the wonderful decadence the world had to offer. He wondered briefly if Kurt might be equally interested in the things he so desperately desired, things he didn't dare vocalize and yet couldn't help but want.

And when Kurt turned to face him, Blaine leaned forward to kiss his full, pink lips –– long and slow and deep –– hoping to shove all their worries aside for just one moment so they could enjoy the simple fact of each other's company.

When they pulled apart, Kurt's eyes were dark and wanting as he whispered, "Let's go to the bedroom."

Spreading Kurt out beneath him on the bed, Blaine practically pawed at his clothing.

"You're going to tear my waistcoat," Kurt said just as one of the buttons came loose of its threads, falling to the floor with a clatter that seemed to echo through the room.

"I'll buy you a new one."

Blaine tugged at the thick tweed without regard for its care, desperate to get to Kurt's skin as quickly as possible.

"You can't just buy your way into my heart, Mr. Anderson," Kurt teased, his irises nearly obscured by his widened pupils.

"I hadn't planned on it," Blaine said, unbuttoning Kurt's shirt and caressing his bare skin. "I have other ways of seducing you."

Kurt gasped as Blaine's mouth made contact with his sternum, the sound a delicious reward for his efforts. He worked quickly to divest both of them of their remaining clothing, taking care not to damage any more of Kurt's wardrobe in the process. After he'd neatly laid their their garments across a chair in the corner of the room, Blaine turned back to the bed to find Kurt propped against the headboard, his long, pale legs sprawled out in front of him, looking the very picture of seduction.

His sly smirk caused Blaine's skin to prickle in anticipation as he settled on his hands and knees and crawled up the bed to hover above him for a moment before settling his body over Kurt's, letting the warmth of their combined bare skin radiate through him.

Kurt arched his back and inclined his head, inviting Blaine in for a kiss that he was all too ready to give. Blaine darted his tongue out to part Kurt's lips, feeling them both grow hard as they explored each other's mouths. Blaine felt a hand in his hair and he moaned when Kurt tugged at it, forcing his head to tilt back and exposing his neck. Kurt wasted no time, attacking his neck with a passionate ferocity that Blaine himself could understand. It felt like an eternity since they were last in each other's arms like this.

"I want to try something," Blaine breathed. "Will you trust me?"

Kurt bit his lip, his chest heaving and flushed. "Yes," he said finally.

Blaine flipped Kurt over onto his side, pressing his body up against Kurt's back from shoulder to knee. His hardening cock brushed against Kurt's inner thigh, drawing a gasp from him as he began to tremble slightly.

"I promise I won't penetrate you," Blaine said, running a hand along Kurt's perfectly rounded backside as he wound his other arm underneath him and wrapped it around Kurt's chest, hugging him in close. As always, Kurt's presence seemed to anchor him to reality, keeping him from floating away on the soaring feeling that was rising up inside of him.

"I trust you," Kurt said.

"Lift your leg for me," Blaine requested, placing his hand between Kurt's legs and nudging his right one up ever so slightly.

Kurt complied, allowing Blaine the space he needed to settle his cock between Kurt's thighs. The warmth of Kurt's skin engulfed him, increasing his arousal as he felt himself grow even harder.

Blaine reached around Kurt's torso, dragging his palm from hip to abdomen, and coming to rest just below Kurt's navel. "This might be a little rough," he said. "It works a bit better with Vaseline, but I've done it before without. Just tell me if it's too much."

Kurt nodded sharply, as if he were hovering on the edge of the same keen anticipation Blaine was feeling. Blaine kissed the back of Kurt's neck, hoping to soothe him a little. He felt Kurt's body shiver at the contact and saw his lips part in a silent gasp.

"That feels good," Kurt said. His voice was breathy and thin. It was positively delicious.

"Oh, I can do better than that," Blaine replied. It wasn't even a challenge, not really, but something in Blaine began burning red hot, and he was struck with the urge to give Kurt every pleasure he could manage in the five days that they had together.

Lowering his hand, Blaine easily found that Kurt was quite aroused as well, his cock now fully hard and curving upward toward his body. As Blaine's hand closed around Kurt's length, he felt them both exhale at the same time. Knowing they were synchronized in such a way gave him renewed purpose, his body curving to meet Kurt's over every inch of them.

"How is it that every time you touch me it feels better than the last?" Kurt's words stuttered out of him between clipped breaths, a staccato refrain of exquisite music that seemed to echo between them.

Blaine tightened his grip on Kurt's cock, and started stroking him in time with the movement of his hips. He went slowly at first, the drag along his own length a familiar sensation, even though this was something they'd never done together before, but the more vocal Kurt became, the less Blaine could restrain himself, and he began thrusting between Kurt's thighs with abandon. Something carnal had taken hold of him and was pressing him onward; he grunted and moaned, Kurt's breaths coming faster as Blaine rocked them together.

"Are you close?" he breathed out. He could just make out Kurt's profile and Blaine saw him lick his lips and attempt to answer, but all he could seem to manage was a high-pitched gasp.

Blaine didn't know if he could hold out much longer; apparently being without Kurt's body to sate him for nearly a week had been too much. He was chasing his release with a passion he didn't know he possessed.

"Kurt, I–"

Whatever he had intended to say, the words died on his tongue as every cell in his body seemed suddenly aflame with need. He pulled Kurt closer to him, kissing every spot on his bare back that Blaine could reach without altering their position. He was so close, but he needed Kurt with him, wanted it like nothing he'd ever known. The only sounds in the room were their elevated breathing and a faint creaking of the bedsprings as Blaine focused on holding out for Kurt's sake. He could feel sweat at his temples and over every inch of his body where it was pressed tightly against Kurt's.

The moments seemed to drag on into eternity, and yet Blaine couldn't help feeling it would be over all too soon. His only consolation was that they had five days to do this as often as they wanted.

When Kurt finally broke the silence with a startled, "Oh," the sound of his voice sent a shiver down Blaine's spine that forced him to fight even harder to keep his climax at bay. As another wave of pleasure crested over him, he bit down on Kurt's shoulder to keep from shouting, but the resulting moan that escaped Kurt's lips was exquisitely erotic, and it pushed Blaine over the edge just as he felt Kurt pulsing in his hand, his body going rigid against him.

Neither of them moved or spoke for a few blissful moments and Blaine realized he'd rarely had an opportunity like this, to simply revel in closeness after sex and savor the feeling of his lover's heartbeat against his own chest, the feel of the cool sheets around his ankles, or even the sweet sound of rapid breathing as it began to slow toward sleep.

Just knowing they had the indulgence of time for once allowed Blaine to relax fully as he nuzzled Kurt's neck and hummed a melody into his skin.

"You know, I'd forgotten that not every luxury is a material one," Blaine said when he felt himself hovering just on the edge of sleep. "Thank you for reminding me."

"I've been trying to tell you there's more to me than just my dashing good looks," Kurt teased with a yawn.

Blaine pulled Kurt closer to him, not even caring about the mess between them, and whispered, "So much more, my love. So much more."