Chapter 7

The day of Dr. Anderson's wedding was a bright and cheery Tuesday in late January. The orange blossoms were more fragrant than they had been in days, and Kurt wanted to get lost in the romance of it.

Just for a change of scenery, Kurt went for a walk that morning down King Street toward the train station and saw dozens of crates and trunks being carried into Markland — Mary Smethurst's things, no doubt. He hoped for a glimpse of Blaine, but only saw sweaty workers clad in overalls, rather than his gorgeous young gentleman with the ochre eyes in one of his well-fitted suits.

As he passed the front porch he could see Dr. Anderson sitting in a rocking chair reading the morning paper and sipping a cup of coffee. Kurt hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether he should say hello or not, but he finally decided he should at least try to be cordial to Dr. Anderson. He was Blaine's grandfather after all.

"Good morning," Kurt called.

Dr. Anderson looked up and scowled. "Oh, hello."

"It's a lovely day for your wedding, Dr. Anderson."

"Yes, quite." His words were perfunctory, but not rude. Kurt considered that progress.

"I'm looking forward to the ball this evening," Kurt continued undaunted. "Blaine tells me it's to be the affair of the season."

"I'm sure he did." Dr. Anderson returned his attention to the paper, almost ignoring Kurt's presence altogether.

"Well, I should be going," Kurt said, not wishing to continue this particular torture any longer than was absolutely necessary, and turned to head west again down the street.

"Wait just a moment," Dr. Anderson said, rising from his chair and walking to the edge of the steps.

Kurt turned, but didn't speak. He straightened his back, preparing for what he sensed was coming.

"I suppose you know I'll be gone on my honeymoon for a few weeks," he said.

"Blaine mentioned it, yes."

"I'd prefer it if you kept your distance from my grandson while I'm gone."

Kurt felt his heart plummet into his stomach, but he tried to keep a neutral expression.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He should be spending all his free time with Miss Fabray, and your presence would just be a... distraction."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Kurt said, steeling himself for whatever Dr. Anderson had to say. He couldn't help wondering, though, had they been found out?

Dr. Anderson descended the steps, his lips curled in a cruel smile, and approached Kurt.

"I think you know exactly what I mean, Mr. Hummel," he said, leaning into Kurt's personal space and puffing up his chest to accentuate their difference in size. Kurt might have been slightly taller than Blaine's grandfather, but the old man was considerably broader.

Kurt didn't back down, though, holding his ground and Dr. Anderson's gaze. He refused to be bullied out of his friendship with Blaine, not even by someone as influential as the celebrated Andrew Anderson.

"We have done nothing to be ashamed of," Kurt said. "Blaine is a grown man and can choose his friends. But as you said yourself, he's courting Miss Fabray and will be spending his free time with her. There's nothing for either of us to be concerned with."

Dr. Anderson scowled, his thick, white eyebrows nearly obscuring his squinty eyes but not the glare he leveled at Kurt.

"You're not one of us, you know... and you never will be. You're just a mechanic's son, and my grandson is from a good family. Once he's back in New York, around his own kind, you'll be nothing but a distant memory."

Kurt felt as if a hole had been blown in his chest, creating an empty cavern where his heart should be. Dr. Anderson was right; he couldn't compete with high society, not once they were back in New York and Blaine could return to his life before this – before he had met Kurt. He was going to marry Quinn and live that life, the one that had been predetermined for him since the day he was born. Kurt was to marry Rachel and live his life, whatever it may be. There was no hope for anything beyond that, not ever.

"I think I should be going," Kurt said, his voice sounding choked and weak to his own ears, but that wasn't what concerned him. He just wanted to get as far away from Markland, and Dr. Anderson's judgment, as fast as his feet would carry him. Without waiting for Dr. Anderson to bid him good morning, he turned and set off in the direction he had come, no longer interested in his morning stroll. Besides, he still hadn't written Rachel since his last letter. He should write to Rachel.

As he rounded the corner to head back to the hotel, he heard a voice call out.

"Kurt!"

"Mr. de Crano," Kurt said, trying to hide the tears welling up in his eyes by pretending to shield them from the sun. "Good morning."

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked. The man's arms were laden with several small parcels and he carried a roll of canvas under his left arm.

"Can I help you with those?" Kurt asked.

"Yes, thank you," he said, passing a few of the parcels off to Kurt and adjusting the canvas so he could carry it better. "So what has you looking so distraught this fine morning, my friend?"

"I'm not distraught," Kurt protested.

"Poppycock! You look like someone just took away your favorite toy. Who would do such a thing to such a sweet boy?"

"It's nothing," Kurt said.

"Does 'nothing' wear a suit and have more money than sense?"

"How did you know?" Kurt asked, eyes wide.

De Crano laughed. "Oh, Kurt," he said. "I just described every man within a six-block radius."

"I suppose you did."

"You should laugh more," de Crano said. "It's good for the health."

"I don't feel much like laughing today," Kurt said.

"Ah, so something is wrong."

"How are you always so observant, Mr. de Crano?"

"I look with an artist's eye," he said simply.

Kurt kicked at the sandy dirt road as they crossed it. A cloud of dust trailed behind them and followed the breeze west. When they reached Felix de Crano's studio, Kurt set down the packages he had carried and made as if to leave.

"You stay," the old man said. "You paint what is bothering you. Get it out."

Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but realized he had nowhere to be, and spending some time creating... something sounded like an appealing idea, a far sight better than going back to his room to write Rachel or sitting in the courtyard with his father for yet another lazy morning.

"Can I sketch instead?" he asked.

"Be my guest," de Crano said, gesturing to a table in the corner where he kept a stack of paper and a jar of pencils and charcoal sticks.

Kurt walked over to it and glanced down at a simple pencil sketch of what looked to be the fort that stood on the bay just across from the city gates.

"That's to be my next painting," he said. "Do you like?"

"Needs color."

The painter laughed. "I agree," he said and began clearing the surface for Kurt. He pulled up a stool and offered it to Kurt but spoke no other words and they both began to work on their art.

Kurt grabbed a sheet of paper from the stack on the edge of the table and a charcoal stick from the jar. He held it in his hand for a moment, simply savoring the scratchy feel of it as it coated his fingers in black and left flecks of itself along the stained wood of the tabletop. He set it down to remove his jacket, and wiped his hands on a stray rag before rolling up his shirtsleeves. When he could again comfortably move his limbs, he picked up the charcoal and tried to think of what to draw.

He considered a landscape, perhaps the skyline of the Ponce itself, or the geometric pattern the orange groves made across the west lawn – if only he could capture the smell. The way the sweet scent of this divine place had entranced him that first night with Blaine.

His hand dropped to the page, a few strokes bringing to life the image of a young gentleman leaning on an orange tree, a cigarette captured between his lips as the smoke curled around his dark hair. The man's eyes shone, even in the simple black of the charcoal lines of the page, or perhaps that was just Kurt's imagination making it appear that way. Kurt drew the charcoal man with a hand in his waistcoat pocket, poised to retrieve his watch as a mischievous smile tried to break free. His tie was slightly askew, which at first glance might appear a bit haphazard, but Kurt knew it was a perfect example of the contradiction that existed in his charcoal man's soul. He was both a gentleman and a radical, a scholar and a cad – the rogue with a heart three times too big for his chest.

"Is this him?"

Kurt startled at the sound of de Crano's voice after so much silence. He glanced up to find the painter wiping his hands on a rag and studying Kurt's drawing intently.

"Um..." Kurt stammered.

"Is this Mr. Problem?"

"He's... that's Blaine," Kurt said finally. "Blaine Anderson. He's my... friend."

Kurt glanced down at his drawing. The word 'friend' seemed like a betrayal and yet it was all he could say. It was all they could ever be.

In that moment Kurt realized that the rest of his life would be a lie. No matter whom he married, no matter what he said, he would be living only half of his truth. The rest would always remain hidden.

Except to Blaine.

"He looks... interesting."

"He is."

"Is he the Anderson getting married today?"

Kurt bristled. "Not today, no. That's his grandfather, Dr. Anderson."

"Ah, yes. That makes more sense. So what is trouble, Kurt?"

"His grandfather thinks we shouldn't be... friends."

"And what does the young Mr. Anderson think?"

"I don't think he cares much for his grandfather's opinion."

"And what do you think?"

"Me?" Kurt asked. "I think he's the most insufferable, arrogant, pompous, bitter old man to ever-" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Pardon me. I shouldn't have said—"

"Oh shush. In my experience, our first reactions are usually the right ones, even if our words come out harsher than we intended."

"I'm just worried that the pressure from his family and society friends will force us apart," Kurt said, the scratch of the charcoal on the page creating a painful symphony while he talked. "They don't like me much."

"What's not to like?"

"My family name isn't worth much," Kurt said.

"You know what Shakespeare said of names, my dear Kurt."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, his literary references escaping him in his moment of preoccupation.

"What's in a name?" he recited. "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"I'm afraid it's more complicated than that," Kurt replied.

"What is complicated?" de Crano said. "You are friends with this man?"

"Yes."

"Then you are friends. You don't need permission."

But what if we're more than friends, Kurt thought. What then?

By the time Kurt and his father arrived in the dining room for the Andersons' wedding reception that night, it had been converted to a lush ballroom, the tables and chairs gone and a full orchestra playing bright music. Several couples were already twirling around the room in time to a playful waltz. Some of the older couples seated along the walls on either side of the room looked disdainful even as they smiled and chatted politely.

"I know I'm old fashioned," Burt said quietly to Kurt, "but I still can't get used to seeing the men touching the women's backs like that."

"It's just a waltz, dad," Kurt said. "It's perfectly natural."

"It just looks wrong," Burt said. "In my day, we did the polonaise, or maybe a reel." He paused and waved at a group standing near the punch bowl. "Your mother would have loved it, though," he added.

Kurt smiled. "I'm sure she would."

Burt crossed the room to greet the party he'd waved at and made polite introductions.

"Good evening," Burt said, bowing slightly to the group. "Kurt, you know Clark Howell and John Lowry already. Mrs. Lowry, Mrs. Howell, Mrs. Hudson," Burt said, greeting the ladies in the group by name. "I'd like you to meet my son, Kurt.

"Hello, Kurt," they all said. Kurt nodded his greetings and turned back to his father to find him smiling broadly at the one called Mrs. Hudson. Kurt's eyes darted to her, and sure enough, she was smiling brightly back at his father.

She was dressed in all black — mourning, Kurt noted — and he wondered if she was the woman Mr. Lowry had mentioned in the smoking room a few nights ago.

The waltz ended to light applause as the orchestra started another piece of music.

"Oh, a polonaise," Mrs. Hudson said. "That's more my speed."

"Would you care to?" Burt asked, holding out his arm for the widow as the other couples headed for the dance floor. Kurt, left standing there alone for the moment, made a circuit of the room with his eyes. It seemed all of St. Augustine had turned out for the occasion, many of the hotel guests as well as some of the more well-to-do locals. Kurt smiled at a young woman sitting by the Barrows near the entrance, but his eyes caught the flash of a dark head of hair and his attention turned.

Blaine was standing in the doorway to the dining room, Quinn Fabray on his arm as they greeted several guests. Behind him stood a smug-looking Dr. Anderson and his new bride, a giant smile plastered on her pale face as she received the best wishes of all her guests. Blaine didn't notice him straight away so Kurt took the opportunity to study his lover's demeanor. He couldn't help but notice how happy and at ease he looked with the young Miss Fabray on his arm, no signs of distress on his handsome features. It hurt more than Kurt was prepared for, watching the young couple engage in polite conversation in a way Kurt would never be allowed, at least not with Blaine.

The Andersons were followed by the Fabrays and the Smethursts, who all immediately joined the other couples already lined up for the polonaise.

Just as the couples bowed to begin the dance, Blaine's eyes caught Kurt's across the room and a small flicker of a smile teased the corners of Blaine's mouth. Kurt nodded once and watched with envy as Blaine twirled alongside Quinn in time with the other couples, his only consolation that it wasn't a waltz so their contact was minimal.

The intensity of Blaine's frequent glances in his direction kept him glued to the spot, though, even as he wanted to look away. Each time he faced Kurt, Blaine would lock eyes with him and stare as best he could while maintaining his place in the dance. Kurt's heart raced as he watched, every inch of his body feeling as if it were under the most perfect kind of examination.

The group turned so the men's backs were to the ladies' and they rounded each other, but Blaine's eyes never left Kurt's. The flash of heartache behind his warm smile was evident only if you looked for it, but Kurt could see it plain as day: he regretted not being on the arm of his true partner. Quinn was just for show.

By the time the dance ended, Kurt had convinced himself that he would be able to endure this one night. There was nothing to worry about. Blaine was his, and soon they would be alone in Markland, wrapped in each other's embrace.

When the music ended and the orchestra announced a brief break, Kurt crossed the room to greet Blaine, trying to keep his strides a normal length.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine exclaimed the moment he saw him. "You came."

"Wouldn't miss it," Kurt replied, forcing his lips into a tight smile.

"Quinn, have you met Mr. Hummel?" he asked.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," she said, as Kurt took her hand in polite greeting. "Are you staying at the Ponce as well?"

"Yes," Kurt said. "My father needed a break. He works too hard."

Kurt had never been good at making polite conversation, and it was even more difficult as he play-acted for his lover's intended. It all felt so surreal and quite uncomfortable, but Blaine smiled at them both, his face a perfect mask of neutrality; it gave Kurt a small measure of courage to continue.

"I know what you mean," Quinn added. "I'm forever telling Daddy he needs to allow himself more leisure time. Mother practically had to bribe him with stock certificates to get him here."

She laughed then, but Kurt failed to see what was so funny. Blaine chuckled quietly even as he watched Kurt's expression, his eyes pleading with Kurt to keep up the charade. Kurt conceded, smiling brightly at him and trying to convey his apologies with his eyes.

"Quinn, you look lovely," a feminine voice to Kurt's right said.

A young woman with mousey brown hair had approached them, and was now gushing over the detail on Quinn's dress. Kurt wanted to say he could do better embroidery in his sleep, but he bit his tongue in favor of taking the opportunity to admire Blaine in his suit. It was the same starched white collar he always wore, but the studs were a deep onyx and his jacket looked freshly tailored. It accentuated Blaine's broad shoulders and narrow waist better than the one he usually wore to dinner, and Kurt was struck with the sudden desire to make Blaine a dozen suits in varying colors and patterns.

"Oh, I'm sure Kurt would love to dance with you," Quinn said, startling Kurt out of his examination of Blaine.

"I beg your pardon?" Kurt said, his brow furrowed in confusion. He hadn't asked anyone to dance.

"Kurt," Quinn said, leaning in close. "You'd love to dance with Violet, wouldn't you?"

He looked between Quinn and Violet before glancing over to Blaine. Deep amber eyes implored him to say yes. He didn't want to dance with this girl, but Blaine's gaze kept him there.

Kurt took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and held out his elbow for the girl to take just as the music began again.

"Do you know how to waltz, Miss Violet?" Kurt asked.

"Of course," she said with an undignified giggle.

The music was only about five bars in, but Kurt already recognized the melody as the song he had sung to Blaine in the parlor a few nights ago. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his uneven breaths as he gripped Violet's right hand in his left and clasped his other hand on her back. He felt her left hand land along his arm, but apart from that he felt nothing.

Blaine bowed to Quinn, and Kurt bowed to his partner, but Kurt refused to look at Blaine. He didn't want to see his lover feigning adoration for another, even if it was Quinn. Worse still, he didn't want to see Blaine trying to catch his eye because of what they had previously shared under the spell of this song. He looked Violet steadfastly in the eye and waltzed her around the dance floor.

The song of heartache and regret, a lover mistakenly scorned at the ball, penetrated his skin and poisoned his veins as he danced. The bright tenor of the melody rang out around him and he sang the words in his head even though there was no one singing with the orchestra.

"Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all—Many the hopes that have vanished after the ball."

As the music faded, Kurt could barely remember dancing. Violet looked breathless and flushed, so he must have completed the steps, but his mind was blank of the memory. She smiled meekly up at him, imploring him to ask for another dance, but Kurt couldn't bear another one.

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Violet," Kurt said, bowing to the girl and making an abrupt exit of the dance floor as another waltz began to play. He slumped against a pillar and tried to catch his breath. He hoped it looked as if he'd simply tired himself out dancing.

"Oh goodness, Molly. Isn't it lovely to see such a handsome young couple so clearly in love?"

"They make such a lovely pair," Molly replied.

"Judith said Lucy will likely be betrothed to Mr. Anderson before long, probably before the season's out."

Kurt followed the ladies' eyeline to the dance floor, and tried to see it through their eyes. Blaine looked like royalty tonight, his posture and carriage during the dance utter perfection as he twirled Quinn between the other dancers, never missing a beat.

"I heard he's been a bit difficult to pin down," Molly said.

"I think his grandfather's taken care of that," the other woman replied. "I heard he's cut off if he's not married by the end of the year."

Quinn threw her head back, laughing at something Blaine must have said. The contrast of the sickening feeling rising up in Kurt's gut was acute; his palms sweated as his heart betrayed him yet again. He balled his hands into fists and flexed them tightly, trying to calm himself, but it was to no avail. He needed air.

Kurt raced from the ballroom, anger and disappointment flooding his veins as he escaped. He had to get away. Every fiber of his being was dying from the heartache of watching everyone coo over Blaine as he twirled Quinn around the dance floor. They made a pretty pair to be sure, but it was more than Kurt could bear, knowing it was all for show. The lie was too much, his heart too fragile to endure it.

He could feel the tears streaming down his face, but he kept running. His feet carried him down the back stairs and into the carriage way and out to the grounds until he found himself back in the orange groves. The scent was overpowering, and the memories associated with it made his stomach turn. He doubled over and tried to calm his breathing, to will the contents of his stomach to stay put, but it was to no avail. He retched and gagged into the soft sand until he had nothing else to cough up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and dug into his pocket for his handkerchief. When he stood up, Blaine was there, looking panicked and more than a little concerned.

"Kurt, what happened?" he said.

"It was too much."

"What was?"

"Everything," Kurt said, sighing as he curled in on himself. "I was so humiliated and angry. I feel so stupid."

"Kurt, it will be all right," Blaine said reassuringly, and made to reach out to Kurt before pulling away abruptly, glancing around as if to make sure they were not being watched.

The action only spurred Kurt's anger further. "It's not, Blaine," he insisted. Don't you understand that? It will never be right. Not like this."

"Like what?"

"She had her hands on you," Kurt shouted. "She was dancing with you, flaunting you about like you were her possession, and I could do nothing but watch."

"This is about Quinn?" Blaine asked, looking thoroughly shocked. "You know I have to pretend to—"

"Of course I know that," Kurt said. "I'm not an idiot!"

"Then what has you so worked up?"

"The damned futility of it all. The charade, the lies. I can't bear it. Not when people look at you with her and think it's real. Not when I want to be the one on your arm, the one you twirl around the ballroom for everyone to see."

"She may have my hand in public, Kurt, but you have my heart," Blaine said, lifting Kurt's arm from where it rested at his side and kissing his balled up fist, using his body to shield his actions from the sparkling windows of the dining room behind them. "I think you win."

Kurt sighed and spoke more softly, feeling dejected and just plain sad.

"What happens when you get married, Blaine? What happens when I get married?"

Blaine released his hand and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"I hadn't really considered it," he said.

"Of course you hadn't."

"Don't be like that, Kurt."

"Like what? A jealous lover? Because that's what I am, Blaine. I have you, but I'll never really have you. Not where they're all concerned."

"Who cares what they think?"

"I care. Your family cares."

"What are you saying, Kurt? You want to end this? Before it's even begun?"

"I don't know what I'm saying. I just want one night where I don't have to share you with the world."

"Then come back to Markland with me," Blaine said, taking his hand again. "Spend the night in my bed. I promise you, there will be no one there but us."

Kurt could feel the corners of his mouth betraying his face into a smile. He wanted to deny Blaine, but he couldn't bring himself to deny his own desires: every inch of him seemed to cry out for the man's love. When had he become such a romantic?

"And what am I to do once I am in your bed, Mr. Anderson? Shall you have your wicked way with me?"

"I was actually hoping you'd have your wicked way with me."

By the time the party was over and the guests had gone home, Kurt was a tightly wound ball of nerves, anxious over spending the night with Blaine and uncertain whether his trepidation came from a lack of knowledge or excitement at the prospect of learning the ways of Greek love.

He had watched Blaine dance with Quinn and charm the Fabrays, courting every one of his grandfather's guests in the process. It was a sight to behold, and not an entirely welcome one, but Kurt was more prepared to handle it after speaking with Blaine. At the very least, he could certainly appreciate the man's ability to turn heads.

As he leaned on the back gate of the Markland estate, waiting for Blaine to appear from seeing the Fabrays back to their room, Kurt could feel his stomach flipping around inside his gut, his frayed nerves getting the better of him in spite of the expensive wine he had drunk at the party coursing through his veins.

He lit another cigarette and began to pace along the fence, the cool night air carrying the breeze across his face. He inhaled deeply, realizing for the first time how much he missed the scent of the orange blossoms. The freeze had killed nearly every plant in St. Augustine, but Kurt couldn't bring himself to care too much. He had his time alone with his lover. Dr. Anderson and his new bride would be staying at the waterfront San Marco Hotel and then leaving for their honeymoon in the morning. It was a perfect night, with or without the orange blossoms.

Kurt tilted his head back to stare up at the stars as he took a long, slow drag on his cigarette.

"You look deep in thought."

Kurt didn't even jump, Blaine's voice sounding like brushed velvet on the night air.

"I was thinking of you," Kurt said wistfully.

"Good thoughts, I hope."

"The best."

Blaine's face burst into a wide grin and his hazel eyes danced with mischief as he said, "Shall we?" He held out an arm for Kurt as he had earlier for Quinn.

Taking it felt as natural to Kurt as breathing.

Blaine led him into the house through the kitchen and up the back stairs without saying a word. Kurt could hear nothing but their footsteps and the steady thump-thump of his own heart in his ears.

When they reached Blaine's room, he took Kurt gently by the hand, leading him inside and over to the bed.

"Are you nervous?" Blaine asked, turning to face him.

Kurt considered the question for a moment before shaking his head. "No," he said. "More curious I think. I'm not sure how... Well, how we..."

"Make love?"

"Yes," Kurt said, casting his eyes downward. He hated that he was so inexperienced, and wondered if Blaine thought him a fool, but that only lasted for a moment before Blaine's hand was gently nudging his chin up. His gaze was met with warm, golden eyes filled with pure adoration.

"Kurt, we don't have to do this if you're not ready." He kissed the tip of Kurt's nose and nudged it up with his lips before sealing his mouth over Kurt's. His tongue swept over Kurt's bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from the unexpected contact. "But if you'll let me," Blaine continued. "I'd love to show you what love between two men can really be."

He captured Kurt's lips in another kiss, but this time Kurt was prepared for when his tongue darted out, parting his lips and inviting Blaine to taste. The sensation was almost more than he could bear, every fleeting brush of Blaine's tongue ignited something within him and soon he was aching with need to feel more.

"Show me," Kurt gasped.

Without hesitation, Blaine's hands came up to cup Kurt's face as he kissed him deeply. His hands dropped to Kurt's chest and then his torso as he began to unbutton Kurt's waistcoat.

Kurt could feel his heart racing, but he barely noticed, for all his attentions were focused on Blaine's hands. His fingers deftly worked over his clothes until Kurt was standing shirtless before him, his chest heaving as he worked to catch his breath.

"Just as beautiful as I remembered," Blaine whispered into his skin as he painted a line of kisses across Kurt's chest.

"Oh," Kurt gasped. "That feels..."

"Good?"

"Very good," Kurt replied, tilting his head down to meet Blaine's eyes.

"It gets better," Blaine said, looking up at Kurt through his long lashes. "Can I show you?"

Kurt nodded and kept his eyes on Blaine as he kneeled before him and began unfastening his trousers. Kurt tried to speak, but the words died in his throat as Blaine's hand closed around his hardened cock. He gasped, the feeling beyond anything he'd experienced. He'd touched himself before, of course, but to have another man pleasure him in this way was unbelievable.

"Is this what Oscar Wilde is always going on about?" he sighed. "God, I didn't know. How could I?"

He was rambling a bit, but he didn't care. He felt so alive. Everything felt alive.

"Actually, Kurt, I think he might have been referring to this," Blaine said, and before Kurt could inquire as to what he meant, Blaine had sealed his mouth over Kurt's full length and was sucking firmly on it as he pulled back only to repeat it again.

Kurt stumbled, his body alight with arousal and bliss, but Blaine's arm gripped him tightly about the hips as he continued to work his mouth along Kurt's cock.

"How... what... I can't."

His babbling fell on deaf ears, or perhaps Blaine was too preoccupied to speak, because instead of a response, Kurt felt a feather-light brush of Blaine's tongue along the tip of his penis that caused him to suck in a sharp breath, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

"Blaine," he cried.

He heard a gentle hum of amused laughter coming from Blaine's direction, but Kurt neither opened his eyes to see or his mouth to speak. Instead he allowed the feeling to wash over him as the pleasure built and built until he thought he could take it no more.

"Blaine, I can't..."

"Shhh," Blaine said, pulling back. "Just let go. Let me pleasure you."

Kurt glanced down at his lover then. His face was flushed and his cheeks hollowed as he worked his mouth over Kurt's cock.

Kurt ran a hand along Blaine's jaw and caressed him gently, even as he struggled to stay on his feet. Blaine kept his rhythm steady, so it didn't take long for Kurt's pleasure to build again, the peak of it hitting him quite suddenly.

Without warning, Kurt spilled into Blaine's mouth in long, toe-curling pulses. Blaine simply continued sucking at it until Kurt was finished, swallowing as he coaxed every last drop of pleasure from Kurt's body.

When he had finished, Kurt nearly doubled over from the release. He felt utterly relaxed, a little like he might be floating in mid air. He felt a strong arm tighten around him to keep him from toppling over.

"How did you know to do that?"

"It's fantastic, isn't it?" Blaine said, a delighted smirk on his face as he rose to standing. He supported Kurt's body weight until he could guide him back to the bed, shoving him down lightly and finally divesting him of his trousers and shoes.

Kurt hadn't even realized until that moment that Blaine was still fully clothed, his own erection now prominently defined beneath his straining trousers.

Emboldened by his recent experience, Kurt reached up and began to remove Blaine's waistcoat, removing it slowly as Blaine had done to him. He followed that with Blaine's shirt and trousers, and then his underthings, until they were both quite naked and sprawled on the soft cushion of Blaine's bed.

"Tell me how to give you pleasure," Kurt said, lazy finger tracing random patterns along Blaine's chest as he used it as a pillow. "I want to return the favor."

Blaine laughed, the movement of his chest jostling Kurt's head as he peppered Blaine's collarbone with kisses.

"Suddenly so eager, Mr. Hummel. I take it you enjoyed what I did?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"No, I suppose not."

He tilted Kurt's head up and pulled him in for a kiss, soft and gentle, with just a spark of passion flickering underneath. As Kurt savored the languid movements of their lips and tongues, he felt Blaine's erection brush against his hip. It served as a reminder to him that he wanted to pleasure his lover — so they could share this moment. Kurt trailed his hand down Blaine's torso, his fingertips teasing warm skin until he reached the dark thatch of hair at the base of Blaine's cock. He paused there, uncertainty taking over his bravery momentarily, but then Blaine moaned into his mouth and his hesitation was forgotten.

Kurt's hand closed around Blaine's erection, itself slightly thicker than Kurt's but just about the same length, and Blaine arched his back to thrust into Kurt's fist. The notion that he'd drawn that kind of reaction from a man as experienced as Blaine sent him reeling.

He worked his hand over Blaine, but the position felt slightly awkward and Kurt was finding himself growing aroused again from the deep moans and breathy sighs coming from Blaine's mouth as they kissed. He gave up his attentions to Blaine's body in favor of rubbing himself against Blaine's thigh.

"Oh no you don't," Blaine said, causing Kurt to jerk back in alarm.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I– I was feeling, well...I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"Kurt," Blaine said, leveling Kurt with an affectionate gaze. "It's fine, but I wanted to show you a better way."

Kurt smiled at him and barely had time to absorb Blaine's words before he was being flipped over on his back and Blaine was straddling his hips.

"The boys all used to do this in school to relieve stress," Blaine said. "Even the ones who didn't particularly like boys." His eyes danced with a teasing light as he raised his hips and thrust forward so that the head of his cock pressed into Kurt's before he dipped his hips down and pulled back again.

The feeling of all-over bliss was hard to escape as the sensation ricocheted through his body. Every time Blaine's erection pushed under the head of Kurt's cock, he gasped, the sheer pleasure of the feeling almost too much to bear. It wasn't quite as intense as when Blaine used his mouth, but it was equally pleasurable in its own way. And this way Kurt could watch the wonderful expressions that played across Blaine's face as they shared their ecstasy.

The drag of their skin was a little rough, and it took them a while to develop a rhythm, but soon Kurt was writhing beneath Blaine and begging for release. As he spilled for the second time that night, Blaine's pace became frenetic; he was chasing his own release as if it might escape him at any moment. Kurt knew the feeling. It was too much and not enough all at once. Never would this ever be enough, he thought.

Just then Blaine's entire body tensed and he shouted out a clipped "Kurt" as he came across Kurt's torso and collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily.

"Well, that was certainly a better way," Kurt said breathlessly. "I think I've found myself a good teacher."

"You learn quickly," Blaine agreed, chuckling lightly.

It took them both a few moments to catch their breath, and at some point Blaine lifted a corner of the sheet to clean them up. Then he reclined against the pillows and pulled Kurt down on top of him, cradling him against his chest. Kurt listened to his heartbeat and felt their breathing sync up. He wondered idly, could there ever be a moment more perfect than this?

Blaine dozed a little, suspended in that precarious place between asleep and awake. Kurt's body felt warm and pliant against him, a perfect mirror of his own present state. It was the most relaxed he could remember since his childhood.

Kurt lifted his head and smiled at him.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked, his fingers playing across Blaine's bare chest as his gentle words beckoned Blaine fully awake.

"I thought I was," Blaine replied softly. "Once."

"What happened?"

"The usual," Blaine said. "It wasn't meant to be."

"Tell me about him."

Blaine raised up on his elbows, forcing Kurt to sit up himself. He furrowed his brow at his lover and said, "Why would you want to know about all that?"

"It's part of you, and I want to know. You know you're my first lover. I just want to know about you when you were my age."

Blaine sighed and lowered himself back against the pillows again, folding his arm up underneath his head to support it so he could look down at Kurt as he talked, his other hand absently making patterns on Kurt's smooth, bare back.

"His name was Oliver," Blaine began. "We were schoolmates in England, and he was the only other American in my class, so we struck up a fast friendship and later came home to attend Harvard together. He was the athletic sort." He paused then, unsure how much he wanted to reveal about his initial attraction to Ollie because in many ways Kurt was so different. Where Kurt was lithe and elegant, Oliver had been toned and athletic, with well-defined muscles and a boyish affinity for all things sporting.

But then Kurt tilted his face up, eyes imploring Blaine to continue. Kurt's blue-green depths were so full of affection, Blaine was reminded of how Oliver had once looked at him in the same way, and he knew Kurt might be more like his previous lover than he cared to admit.

"He was a lot like you, though," Blaine said. "He liked to laugh and tease me about my height."

"How did you know about him?" Kurt asked after a pause, his fingers raking through the dark hair decorating Blaine's chest and torso. Kurt's hands felt soft and caring against the coarse texture of it. Blaine closed his eyes and continued.

"It was field day, 1889. He had just won a tug-of-war with his fraternity brothers and they were all posing for a team photograph. All the other boys were looking at the camera, but when I looked up, Ollie was staring at me the way one looks at a lover. I thought I had imagined it, but when the image was printed, there it was, plain as day. I confronted him about it that night. He confessed his feelings for me and cried, apologizing for his depravity. He was so afraid I would reject him."

"Oh, that's awful," Kurt said.

"But then I kissed him," Blaine said, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. "Shut him right up."

Kurt giggled softly. "I bet it did."

"That's how I knew that what I felt for him was more than friendship," Blaine said, "and it's how I knew it would help you decide as well."

"Such a wise man," Kurt said, pressing a soft kiss to Blaine's sternum. After a few quiet moments, he continued, "So what happened with Oliver?"

"We were found out," Blaine said simply, choosing to leave out the details, for they mattered little.

Kurt lifted his head, eyes wide in horror. "Were you arrested?"

Blaine shook his head and ran a hand through Kurt's hair to soothe his worries. "No, my love, but Oliver was sent away. His family thought me a bad influence."

"But it was both of you," Kurt said. "That's not fair."

"Perhaps not, but rarely is life fair."

"Doesn't that make you angry?"

"Of course," Blaine said softly, "but sometimes you have to play the hand you're dealt. And at the time, I thought he'd come back to me when things died down."

Kurt began tracing random patterns over Blaine's belly as they talked. "But he never did?" he asked.

"No," Blaine said solemnly, "he never did."

"That's so sad."

"It was, but then something wonderful happened."

"What's that?" Kurt asked, lifting his head to look at Blaine, while his fingers still traced patterns loosely across Blaine's skin.

"I found you."

Kurt's hand stilled and he leaned up to kiss Blaine, a small, quiet moment in a life of secrets and shame. It would never be enough, to only steal moments with Kurt, but he couldn't give it up, even if he knew he would marry Quinn and Kurt would marry Rachel. They would have to find a way. He couldn't lose Kurt the way he had lost Oliver.

"I love you, you know."

"I know," Kurt replied, resting his head back on Blaine's chest. "I love you too."

Blaine stroked Kurt's back for a while, until Kurt spoke again.

"I won't leave you," he said. "Even if we get caught, we'll figure something out."

Blaine squeezed Kurt tighter, wishing he could fuse their skin together so they'd never have to be apart. He was reminded of Siamese twins he'd once seen at a traveling circus — two identical looking men, joined at the waist since birth. He wondered if he could spend his life never apart from someone else; he decided maybe he could if it was Kurt and it was the only way to be together. That was how he knew Kurt meant what he said, that he would be willing to go through anything to keep them together, even though he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"I'd rather not get caught, though," Blaine said.

"Me too."

"Let's get some sleep. Jenkins will be here early and you need to be gone before he calls me to breakfast."

"Okay," Kurt said around a yawn.

Blaine kissed him on the forehead, and Kurt pillowed his head against Blaine, quickly falling asleep. Blaine stayed awake for hours, wondering if he'd be able to keep up this charade once they were back in New York. He wracked his brain for answers, and when none came, he quietly drifted off to sleep.

Blaine awoke shivering as the haze of dawn threatened to steal the night from them. The fire had died sometime in the night, but the room seemed even cooler than normal. Blaine crossed the floor to the fireplace and put a few new logs on, lighting it again and rubbing his arms to keep warm.

Kurt snored softly from the bed, the blankets wrapped around his body like a chrysalis around a butterfly.

The clock on the mantle read just after five-thirty, so they had some time before Kurt had to retreat to the guest room or head back to the hotel. But when Blaine glanced out the window, he noticed the grass and trees were all sparkling with the glossy shine of a thin layer of frost. He could feel a draft seeping in at the base of the window, and the icy bite of the outside air nipped at his bare limbs.

If the city were immobilized thanks to the weather, Kurt wouldn't need to vacate his bed. Blaine smiled to himself as he curled himself up beside Kurt's body, warmth radiating from his fair skin as he slept. Blaine breathed him in, the scent of tobacco still in his hair from the night before, his own musky scent imprinted on Kurt's skin.

He drifted back to sleep, Kurt's imprint on his soul.

When Blaine awoke hours later, the house was still silent. He listened quietly for any sign that Jenkins had come in, but when he heard none, he pressed his lips to Kurt's shoulder and kissed him awake.

Kurt slowly opened his eyes and blinked at Blaine. As the room came into focus around him, his eyes widened, the color draining from his face.

"What time is it?" he said.

"Not sure."

"Blaine, we were supposed to awaken before the sun came up. Jenkins will be here. We're found out."

"Relax," Blaine said, stroking his hand along Kurt's bare arm. "The city is covered in ice. No one is going anywhere for a good many hours."

He felt Kurt's body relax under his touch and a dreamy smile lit up his face.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really and truly," Blaine replied. "We have nothing to do today but stay warm and eat whatever food is left in the pantry. We can read in the library in our dressing gowns or drink our coffee in bed. Or we can simply stay here and share the warmth of our skin until we're so tired we have to sleep again."

He ran his lips along Kurt's shoulder, dropping kisses as he made his way down a strong, pale arm, pausing in the crook of his elbow and then lifting his arm toward his face, leaving a delicate kiss on the tips of his fingers.

"That last item on the list sounded compelling," Kurt breathed.

"Oh, it did?" Blaine smirked and sucked on one of Kurt's fingers before repeating his pattern in reverse. When he reached Kurt's shoulder, he bit down lightly and savored the moan Kurt released.

"How do you know just what to do to make my body ache for you?"

"My heart knows you," Blaine replied. "Our bodies were made to work together in pleasure. Don't you know that?"

"You mock me."

"Never, my darling. I worship you." With that, Blaine began trailing kisses down Kurt's chest and torso.

"Where do you come up with these things?" Kurt said, laughing and batting lightly at Blaine's face, but there was no real intent to stop Blaine's attentions.

"Well, I am a writer."

"A sentimental one, who needs to learn when to bite his tongue."

At Kurt's words, Blaine nipped at his side, forcing his body off the bed in a smooth arc as he moaned out his pleasure.

"I said bite your tongue," Kurt chastised.

"Silly me," Blaine teased, biting down again on the same spot, and Kurt nearly knocked Blaine off the bed as he writhed amid the tangled sheets.