Chapter 4: ...Now You're In The World

The next morning finds the Bushwick loft a study in contrast: Kurt, humming to the tune in his head as he stirs cream into his coffee, and Rachel, shuffling into the kitchen with her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the daylight. She has mascara smudged all the way down to her cheekbones, and her hair has bypassed messy on the way to rat's nest.

"Why are you so happy?" she rasps. And then, once she's seen the kitchen clock, "Why is it so early? You couldn't have gotten home more than an hour before I did."

She was passed out when he came home, as a matter of fact. The sky was already starting to lighten with the coming dawn.

"I guess I'm just a better morning person than you. And I can hold my liquor better."

"Don't talk about liquor," she groans. "Please."

"This is why you stick to water after midnight."

She winces.

"I think I'm just going to go back to bed."

"Hydration first." He holds out a tall glass of orange juice, poured just for her, and she takes it with the most grateful look she can manage in her current state. "And use ear plugs so I don't have to tip-toe around the apartment."

She grunts in acknowledgement, and Kurt goes back to humming. He knows he'll probably crash at some point, because two and a half hours of sleep is enough for no human, but right now he's too wired to even think about his bed.

He grins a little, to the images of last night that he's already stored behind protective glass casing in his brain. It was perfect. They talked, they made out, they made plans...

They're meeting for lunch today, actually, at a little place in Greenwich Village that Kurt has been meaning to try and knows is unlikely to be frequented by people they know. While it's a little inconvenient, Kurt is more than willing to go along with the secrecy – he still remembers the easy way that Sebastian threw him against the wall, the night they met, the anger in him like a tightly coiled spring, just waiting to be tripped.

"I know his type," Blaine told him, his fingers fidgeting with Kurt's in the scant space between them. "It won't matter to him that the contract doesn't start until opening night. There's a reason Sue took me off duty tonight, and it isn't because she felt like being nice – he doesn't just want a sex doll he can use and discard, you know? He wants a living, breathing person who'll beg for him. He wants to look into someone's eyes and know that he's the only thing they see, the only thing they'll ever see, because he's ruined them for all other men."

"Sounds to me like he wants to be worshipped."

"Well, yes. The illusion of it, at least. That's what he's buying. That's why he signed the contract. If he knew I wasn't sitting at home every night pining away for him...well, he wouldn't like it."

And that can't happen. Sebastian is nothing more than a spoiled trust fund brat with a nasty jealous streak, but he holds all of them in the palm of his hand. He could crunch them to dust with just one squeeze, and Kurt is sure he wouldn't hesitate to do it.

Kurt will probably have to tell Rachel at some point, or else she'll figure it out and blurt to exactly the wrong people, but he'll wait to cross that bridge until they come to it. It shouldn't be too difficult to fabricate excuses for the lead actor and the playwright to meet after hours, after all. It's not like Sebastian will be there, breathing down their necks.

The morning passes quickly, despite Kurt's impatience to see Blaine. He's feeling inspired, and spends the majority of those long hours trapped in a writing vortex. He's so deep in it, he's almost late. As it is, he has to forget his plans to create the perfect first-official-date outfit and doesn't have time to do more with his coif than run a comb through it and secure the shape of it with hairspray.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't stop Blaine's smile from lighting up the whole world when they set eyes on each other.

They hold hands beneath the table (because Blaine is paranoid) and talk about light, silly things, and their giddiness may be due to the deadly combination of extreme exhaustion and too much coffee, but that doesn't diminish the fluttering Kurt feels whenever their eyes catch. Blaine must be feeling it, too, because he pulls Kurt into the alley, once they've left, and pushes him into the wall for a long, dirty kiss. Kurt slides his arms over Blaine's shoulders and hooks them behind his neck, reeling him in and marveling at the feel of his body so close. He doesn't once think of the dirty brick behind his back, or the likelihood that he'll have to retire this jacket until he can get it cleaned.

"See you tonight?" breathes Blaine, once they've pulled reluctantly back.

Kurt nods, bumping his forehead into Blaine's.

"I'll text you when I'm close."

One last kiss, a quick press of their smiling lips, and one last lingering glance, and they part ways.

Kurt has never been happier.

The rest of the week passes in a similar fashion. Kurt writes, and he sees Blaine whenever he can, and he feels like he might float away with the blissful lightness of it all. Rachel is so busy doing vocal warm-ups and practicing on the sitar she rented from some music store in the West Village – "It's a quintessential part of her character, Kurt, I'm not taking it back until I've mastered it" – that she doesn't comment on his prolonged absences or the rather drastic change in his mood. He isn't sure how long that can last, but she's always had a tendency to absorb herself in the roles she plays. It's usually kind of annoying, but he's thankful for it now.

His dad, on the other hand, comments almost right away.

"Is something going on there, Kurt?"

"What? What do you mean, what would be going on?"

"I don't know, but you're more hyped up than you were the week that prince got married."

Kurt pauses. That was a good week. He must have re-watched the ceremony about 20 times, and cried every time. He plastered his locker with pictures of the royal couple and the most fashionable of the wedding guests, and spent the rest of the school year planning out a musical homage to Pippa Middleton that never came to fruition.

"It's just, you know, the play."

His dad lets out a skeptical grunt.

"Did you meet someone?"

Kurt pauses again. Avoiding the subject is one thing, but he draws the line at lying to his dad. He chooses his words carefully.

"Okay, yes, fine, you caught me. It's, um, pretty new, though, so I'd rather not talk about it."

"You like him?"

Kurt smiles. It's involuntary, like a reflex.

"Yeah."

"He treat you right?"

He holds back a dreamy sigh, but only barely.

"Definitely."

"Well, then, I'm happy for you, kid. Let me know when things get serious."

The thing is, Kurt is pretty sure they already are. They have been since the moment they met.

"Sure, Dad."

His dad lets him change the subject from there, and doesn't bring it up again.

All too soon, the week is over. Monday comes, and, with it, the first read-through and the end of their time in the bubble they've built for themselves. The real work of hiding starts now, and Kurt is ready with his game face.

Because of the construction being done on the interior of The Moulin Rouge, Sue has rented a rehearsal studio located conveniently in the building next door. Kurt and Rachel arrive early, armed with copies of the latest script revision, this one finished not one hour prior. Blaine is there, too, and they allow themselves a shared, private smile before launching into their roles as colleagues-slash-acquaintances who last interacted over a week ago. There is a circle of chairs in the middle of the room, with Sue standing in the center, yelling at some contractor or another via cell phone.

"You think that's hard?" she snarls. "Try passing a bowling ball through your vagina – that's hard!" She snaps her phone closed with an impressive bang. Kurt is absolutely certain he doesn't want to know the story behind that.

Fortunately, this is the point at which the other performers start to trickle in, so Kurt busies himself handing out scripts and introducing himself. Sam smiles at him broadly, when he comes in, and shoots him a "Thanks, man," before heading over to join Blaine in the circle. Santana takes the script without comment and gives him a smile that Kurt is choosing to believe is only half-sarcastic. She sits next to her friend, the blonde dancer – Brittany? – who told him that she liked his outfit because it was "unicorn," whatever that means. Santana's smile softens startlingly in greeting, and their pinkies link together in the space between their chairs.

Maybe not so much friends, then.

Rachel strides over to try and start up a conversation with them, but must be rebuffed, because she tosses her hair and flounces to the other side of the circle.

There are a few other faces that Kurt recognizes from the table at Absinthe, but his memory of that night, or at least that part of the night, is tenuous at best. He smiles at them politely, and they do the same.

Soon enough, everyone is seated and ready, chattering as they wait for Sue to call them to order.

She pulls out a bullhorn and holds it up to her mouth.

"Welcome," she yells. Everyone falls abruptly silent. Kurt nearly falls out of his chair. She surveys the room with a satisfied smile, lets the bullhorn drop to her side. "You all know why you're here. You came to me with dreams, and I said I would make sure you saw them through. Well this is me, keeping up my end of the bargain." There's a cheer, here, from some of the dancers, but the rest seem to know better. Her smile goes grim. "I'm betting a hell of a lot on all of you, so you had better hope you don't let me down."

Kurt, more than anyone, knows exactly what she's bet. He forces himself not to look at Blaine.

"I expect nothing less than perfection. And I'm not morally against waterboarding."

Rachel nudges him, mouth gaping in shock, but, well, it's Sue. Kurt finds it a little disconcerting that he's already willing to accept that as an excuse, but he keeps his eyes forward and shakes his head.

Sue goes on from there, jovial now that her threat has been registered. She introduces Kurt and Rachel, whose reception is fairly chilly from most and positively glacial from Santana, and runs down the cast list.

"I'm playing a freaking sitar?" interrupts Santana, disgusted.

"A magical sitar," corrects Kurt. She shoots him a dirty look.

Sue clears her throat.

"Do you have a problem with that, Sandbags?"

Santana slumps back in her chair and doesn't say a word.

Sue has cast herself as the maharani, which is less and less surprising the more Kurt thinks about it, but other than that, Kurt has very little to go on in judging her casting choices. He's just anxious for the reading to get started, already. It's always this weird mix of exciting and terrifying to hear his words come from somebody else's mouth for the first time.

It goes almost shockingly well. Sue's casting turns out to be right on, and everybody seems to warm up to Rachel after they've heard her read. They just need a little time to get used to the idea of strangers encroaching on their territory, Kurt decides. They'll learn to accept her once they've heard her sing, he's sure of it.

More than that, they seem to warm up to the script. They laugh in the right places, and smile, and he even hears a couple of sniffles during the sad parts. It works, and so much better than the old version – maybe because he's been so full of inspiration this week, or because he's started writing with Blaine's voice sounding loud and clear in his head, it doesn't matter, because whatever it is, it's working. He can't wait to hear them sing his songs, this talented cast he stumbled upon.

For once, he really does feel like everything's coming up Kurt.

He meets Blaine at his apartment, after they've been dismissed. He tells Rachel they're meeting to work on a few of his songs, which isn't a lie so much as a simplification of the truth. They spend a lot more time making out on the couch than they do singing together.

One often leads to the other, in fact.

They develop a pattern, as rehearsals continue – they leave together when the excuse is plausible and meet at The Golden Elephant when it isn't. Rachel doesn't seem to notice anything off about Kurt's comings and goings, at least not at first, lost as she still is in her preparations for the role. When she does finally think to ask, he has a stroke of genius and tells her that he's been trying out online dating. She's so delighted at this prospect that he has to start coming up with first-date horror stories to amuse her with when he comes home. Blaine helps him more often than not, drawing on his vast experience with sketchy guys to fill in the details.

They stay in, most nights, happy with the simple pleasures of talking and touching. They cook dinner together, as well, and listen to music, and always, always sing. It isn't long before they discover a mutual love of snarking at trashy reality television, which is exponentially more enjoyable when curled up with Blaine on his couch. Blaine turns out to have a surprisingly acid tongue, and he always laughs at Kurt's jokes. Even, Kurt suspects, when they're not actually funny.

When they feel cooped up, they take turns choosing obscure restaurants in neighborhoods all over the city, never the same twice. Anywhere, really, but Chelsea. They rush for shows they've always meant to see and the ones they could see a million times and never get tired of, holding hands under the cover of dark. They go to Absinthe with Sam and Rachel and whoever else wants to come and make a game of singing to each other without telegraphing it to the others.

Sometimes they even sing together, and that's the best – finally, Kurt has a duet partner. He's not sure he could articulate just how much that means.

The secrecy isn't ideal, but they're making it work for them. They're not letting it stop them from enjoying themselves, or each other. It can actually be kind of...thrilling.

There's really only one thing they don't do, and it's not for fear of getting caught: despite the fact that they've been seeing each other for over a month, they've never spent the night together. They haven't actually been intimate, yet, at all.

Kurt knows he's being ridiculous, because they're adults, and a month is a long time to date somebody before having sex, but he can't help but be a little self-conscious in that area. He could count on one hand the number of partners he's had, twice over, and it wouldn't take much more than that to count each individual encounter. That, contrasted with Blaine's...experience, is enough to make him shy away.

Blaine is being terribly patient about the whole thing. He never pushes – if anything, he's more diligent about respecting Kurt's boundaries than Kurt is himself. Kurt is grateful for that, but it does mean that the burden will be on him to bring it up.

It'll have to be soon, too, because the desire he feels is almost too much to hold inside his body, sometimes. There are times when they're on the couch and Blaine's lips are moving over his throat, and he can feel Blaine's heartbeat through the layers of cloth and skin and bone between them, or when his hands move to Blaine's thighs, and the shift of muscle makes him run lightning hot, or even when Blaine pulls back and just looks at him in that way of his, and Kurt can just barely restrain himself from ripping off Blaine's clothes and, just, getting him closer. That's all he really wants – Blaine's body close to his, close as they can get without wrapping themselves in one skin, hollowing pleasure out of each other's bodies until the only thing left is them.

He just – he doesn't know how to ask for that. It's not simple like it was with his previous boyfriends (insert tab A into slot B and voila – orgasm). He just needs to find the words.

In the meantime, another shadow has been encroaching on the idyll of their relationship, and this one is far less pleasant.

They're about a week deep into the rehearsal process when Sebastian Smythe makes his first appearance at the studio.

Sue introduces him at the start of rehearsal as their "benefactor," but it's obvious at a glance that everyone knows what that means. Even Rachel. Sebastian himself makes no effort to hide the way he looks at Blaine, like Blaine is a prize thoroughbred and Sebastian has just made the winning bid. Or like he's imagining his hands running all over Blaine's body. Kurt isn't sure which is worse.

No, the truly sickening part is the way Blaine looks back at him. It isn't real, of course, but Blaine is nothing if not a convincing actor. He looks up at Sebastian through his eyelashes and ducks his head bashfully when he catches him looking back. Flustered, like he's overwhelmed by Sebastian's presence.

Kurt can't watch it or he'll give the game away.

Sebastian sits next to Sue the entire afternoon, eyes tracking Blaine as she yells out changes in blocking and gives performance notes in her blunt, Sue kind of way. He whispers the occasional comment to her, impossible to hear from Kurt's seat on her other side, not that it stops Kurt from trying.

It feels wrong for Sebastian to be here. He's sniffing around in something that's personal to Kurt, something that isn't his. And yet, Kurt knows that's irrational, because it's due to Sebastian's money that they're even able to do this at all, much less do it well. He has a right to check up on his investment. It kills him to do it, but Kurt makes himself smile at Sebastian and talk to him civilly, because he won't be the one to ruin this.

It's after rehearsal has wrapped that Kurt really starts to understand what's going on.

He's the last one left, having dawdled long enough to give Blaine a good head start and make sure no one's around to see which direction Kurt takes when he leaves the building. He shuts off the lights, shuts the door behind him, and pauses.

He can hear lowered voices, echoing down the hall from the stairwell by the entrance. One of them is Blaine's, he can tell right away. The other is harder to make out, but once he does...his blood runs cold.

Blaine can take care of himself, Kurt knows that, but he shouldn't have to. Kurt starts down the hall, slowly, cautiously, and concentrates on listening until he can get close enough to see. He ducks down to hide in the long evening shadows and peeks around the corner, just enough to see without being seen.

Sebastian's got him cornered, backed against the wall, with an arm stretched out and bracing against the wall beside his head. The other hand is tracing slowly over the muscles of Blaine's torso. Blaine is breathing hard and fast, and Kurt's heart clenches, because he can't tell how much of it is an act.

"You know we can't," he's saying, breathy and flirtatious.

"Why not? If you want it, and I do – and you know I do – why not give into it? Why wait, when we can have it now?"

Blaine gasps, and closes his eyes. Sebastian's hand has gone out of sight, and his body closer, and Kurt clenches his fists so hard he's in danger of cutting through the skin. He's ready, the second Blaine gives him a sign that he's in genuine distress.

"I've told you, Sebastian. Payment comes first. Those are the rules."

It comes out teasing, like he's outlining the rules of a game instead of a business deal.

"I never should have signed that damned contract," mutters Sebastian.

"It'll be worth it, I assure you."

Sebastian reaches up to smooth back a strand of Blaine's hair that's curling at his temple.

"I know."

"For now, though, I think we'd better call it a night."

Blaine smiles regretfully, just on the cusp of coy. Sebastian stays where he is for a moment longer, staring at him, drinking him in, looking for all the world like he's about to lean in for a kiss. He pushes off the wall, instead, and puts some space between them.

"Goodnight, Blaine."

Kurt ducks into the drinking fountain alcove next to him, the best hiding spot he can find on short notice, and waits for Sebastian to push through the front door before emerging. Blaine is still where Sebastian left him, leaning against the wall with his head tipped back and his eyes tightly shut.

"Blaine?" he ventures.

Blaine's eyes shoot open, startled. He relaxes when he sees who it is, and sighs in resignation.

"How much of that did you see?"

"Most of it, I think." Kurt moves to stand in front of him, careful to keep a little more distance between them than Sebastian allowed. "Did he hurt you?"

He reaches out a hand and waits for Blaine to meet him. He does, smiling gratefully as he laces their fingers together.

"No. He was just being an asshole."

"I was worried."

"I can handle him."

"I know. I just – he shouldn't be touching you like that."

"That's my decision, isn't it?"

"I just mean...you shouldn't have to let him, Blaine. It's – I hate seeing him treat you like that."

Blaine softens. He brings Kurt's hand up to his mouth and gives it a lingering kiss.

"I know. I promise, I'll try not to see him in private until I have to."

Kurt smiles, and tries not to think about opening night.

"Okay."

But that's only the start of it. By three weeks in, Sebastian has shown up to rehearsal exactly six times. He makes loud comments, sometimes, to the effect that the script is saccharine or overwrought, or that the choreography should be more acrobatic, but usually he just sits and watches and makes sure everyone knows that Blaine is his property.

It's disgusting.

Despite Blaine's best efforts, Sebastian keeps finding ways of pulling him aside. On the way back from the bathroom, out on a coffee run, making a phone call – it's gotten to the point where Kurt kind of wants to accompany Blaine whenever he leaves the room, except that he knows how Blaine would react to even that suggestion.

Kurt doesn't usually witness these encounters, and he's sure that Blaine is minimizing them, but it doesn't sound like Sebastian is hurting him, at least. It's mostly just continued attempts to coerce him into bed, with bonus skeevy touching.

Kurt knows that Blaine has to do what he does, inviting the advances even while turning them down, but that doesn't make him like it any better. There's no rule that says he can't hate sitting by and doing nothing while his boyfriend lets himself be sexually harassed by a guy who thinks it's his right. Blaine is always calm about it, always acts like Kurt is overreacting if he expresses even the smallest amount of dismay, but Kurt can tell that it bothers him, too.

Kurt just wishes he didn't feel so...trapped.

It's not one week later that things start to take a turn.

It's been an entirely Sebastian-free week, the first since he started showing his rodent face, so Kurt is in a particularly good mood that day. He ends up skipping rehearsal in favor of working on song revisions and decides, on a whim, to surprise Blaine with a romantic dinner for two, complete with a half-tongue-in-cheek playlist of his favorite sappy love songs.

He lets himself into the apartment with the key Blaine presented him just last weekend and bustles about until everything, from the salmon to the mood lighting to the centerpiece of red and yellow roses, is up to his standards. He manages to have it all ready and waiting by the time Blaine texts him to say he's left rehearsal.

The look on his face when he walks in the front door makes every last bit of effort completely worth it.

"Kurt, I can't believe you did this," he says, genuinely awed. He sets his satchel carefully aside and pulls Kurt in for a tight, grateful squeeze. "It looks wonderful." If his voice is maybe a little choked up, Kurt doesn't point it out. Maybe because of the lump it brings to his own throat.

"Well, I had to do something with all that free time."

Blaine sighs happily against his neck.

"I'm crazy about you."

Kurt hums his response around a smile that's grown out of his control. He knows Blaine can feel it.

"How was rehearsal?" he asks, once they've pulled themselves together and pulled apart enough to look each other in the eye.

Blaine looks away. Not a good sign.

"Oh, fine. We worked on the Act 1 finale most of the day – Sue keeps changing her mind about the choreography."

"What? I thought she locked it in last week."

"Yeah, well, you know Sue. She decided it was sloppy."

"At least there are no flamethrowers involved, right?"

"Not yet. I mean, we do have almost two months left."

"Oh, God. There'll be live elephants on stage by the end, won't there?"

Blaine laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners, but he sobers quickly. He looks away again. Kurt is itching to ask, but he's learning that, with Blaine, it's sometimes best just to wait. Blaine clears his throat.

"Um. Sebastian stopped by."

"Oh." Kurt has to fight to keep his face and his voice neutral as his stomach sours. "Are you okay?"

"Of course. It was nothing, he just invited me to dinner."

Kurt's eyebrows shoot up. This is new.

"That's..."

"Weird, I know."

"What did you say?"

"No, obviously. I'm here, aren't I?"

"He wasn't...angry?"

"Of course not. It's all part of the game. He knows he can't have me – he knows I have to say no. As long as he thinks I want to say yes, that's enough."

Despite his careful nonchalance, Kurt can tell it's making him uncomfortable to talk about this. He swallows down his concerns – will it always be enough? – and makes an attempt at a soothing smile. He rubs lightly at Blaine's shoulders, which are so full of tension he winces at the contact.

"Why don't you go take a nice, hot shower? I'll keep dinner warm for us while you get clean."

Blaine smiles at him gratefully.

"Okay."

He leans in to press a quick kiss to Kurt's mouth before heading back to the bathroom.

When he comes out, he's changed into a t-shirt and loose jeans, probably the most casual that Kurt's ever seen him outside of dance rehearsal. His hair is still damp, and Kurt can tell that he's foregone product by the wild way that it curls. It makes him look...young, and open.

Dinner is entirely lovely, just as Kurt imagined. Music plays softly in the background, and the candlelight does wonderful, warm things to Blaine's expressive eyes. Their conversation is as easy as it always is, punctuated by the play of their fingers over the tabletop. The air between them grows slowly thicker and heavier, so much so that Kurt is almost struggling to take it in, by the end. Or maybe it's just the pounding of his heart that's making it hard to breathe.

Either way, Kurt knows. This is it. Tonight is the night, and he couldn't be more ready.

They end up on the couch as soon as the dishes are drying in the rack, wine forgotten on the kitchen counter in their urgency. Etta James is playing over the stereo, romantic and easy, but it's the beat of their own blood that drives them. Blaine has slid to his back, clutching at Kurt and arching up into him as their mouths move together. There's nothing skillful about it, just lips and tongues trying to get as close as they can as their bodies find ways to fit together.

Blaine's shirt is rucked up in the front, exposing his abdomen to Kurt's roving hand, and his own has come un-tucked at the insistent tug of Blaine's fingers at his back. It's the closest they've ever come to undressing each other.

Blaine gasps against his mouth at a particularly sweet-hot drag of their bodies together, and Kurt feels the need in him go frantic. He pulls away, just enough to talk, and he tries to catch his breath. Blaine's lips are parted and plumped, and his pupils are blown wide. Kurt's body is whining for him, all over.

This isn't how he envisioned starting this conversation, but maybe it will be better. Less talking, more doing. That sounds pretty awesome right about now.

"I want to," he breathes. "I'm ready. Tonight."

He feels pulled taut as a wire, waiting for Blaine to respond. It's like resisting a magnetic pull, to stay hovering above him when all he wants is to connect.

But Blaine's breath is shaky, and his eyes brighter than they should be, and he's blinking rapidly against emotions that Kurt can practically see at war within his body.

He doesn't look like someone who's been waiting for five weeks to get the green light for sex.

Kurt brings a hand up to Blaine's face, strokes his cheek. His skin is hot to the touch.

"Blaine. Sweetie, what is it?" Blaine breathes in deep, as if to speak, but nothing comes out. He shakes his head, eyes still so wide. "Come on, Blaine, talk to me. You're starting to scare me."

Blaine closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, roughly. "I don't know what's – I'm just a little...overwhelmed."

"It's okay. Just breathe. I'm here, Blaine, you can just breathe."

The room is quiet, for a moment, but for the slow drag of air in and out of their lungs and the soft starting notes of "In Your Eyes" over the speakers.

"I love this song," murmurs Blaine, eyes still closed and a hint of a smile touching his lips.

"Me too," whispers Kurt. He traces his thumb over the delicate skin of Blaine's left eyelid. Blaine's smile grows, and he opens his eyes.

All my instincts, they return
And the grand façade so soon will burn
Without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside...

"I want to, Kurt. I want you. It's just...I've never done this before. Without getting paid for it, I mean. I – I don't know what I'm doing."

Oh, God.

Kurt's heart lurches, because he didn't even consider...and Blaine is so precious to him, and he's so scared of baring the hurts he keeps tucked away, safe from his own vulnerable heart – and he's looking at Kurt, now, with every ounce of trust he has, exposed in his big, brave eyes.

It touches something bruise-tender within.

I want to touch the light,

The heat I see in your eyes...

"We'll figure it out together," he whispers.

Blaine breathes in, and he nods, and Kurt gives in to his body.

They cling to each other with every fiber, once they're down to skin, until they're woven so tightly that the space between them has ceased to exist. Kurt's world narrows in to the give and take of Blaine's mouth, the friction of his hard-soft warmth, and the startled sounds of his pleasure. He stops trying to contain the wildfire rushing beneath his skin, lets it scorch out through his pores until they're both raging with it.

"I love you," he gasps into the skin of Blaine's throat, when he can't hold it back any longer. Blaine lets out a keening noise and clutches into Kurt's shoulder blades hard enough to leave a mark. Kurt can feel his pulse thump through his palm.

"I love you, too," whispers Blaine.

Oh, I want to be that complete...