Blaine opened his mouth to answer and stopped himself. Before he could try to bullshit another attempt, Kurt's mouth was on his and he had to be honest, there wasn't anything important at 1 in the morning. Except this. This kiss. This man who was making his mind swirl and his gut twist and for the umpteenth time, his dick hard.

Blaine sits up and has to chuckle at the state of Kurt's bedroom. The sheets and duvet are…well, if there were rafters, they'd be hanging from them. Pillows litter the floor and the bed and in the midst of this room that looks, smells and after Blaine smacks his lips together, he realizes even tastes like sex, his suit is properly hung on a wooden hanger from a hook on the door. His shirt is carefully draped across the bottom of the bed, his tie gracefully placed atop it.

He puts his dress shirt on, rolling up his sleeves and leaving it unbuttoned, tossing his tie over the suit hanger, and goes off in search of Kurt.

And that coffee.

And when he gets to the living floor of the loft he stops cold. Peggy Lee is wafting through the room again and Kurt is singing and dancing to her music, a party of one. His eyes are closed, his arms loose and free, occasionally lifting in the air only to drape over his head. His hands drop and slide down his body, grasping at the hem of his very fitted t-shirt, trying to stretch it down over everything that is naked beneath.

And everything. Is naked beneath.

Blaine remembers he hasn't breathed in the length of at least two lines.

If you come to me hungry you know I'm gonna fill you full of grits
If it's lovin' you're likin', I'll kiss you and give you the shiverin' fits
'Cause I'm a woman! W-O-M-A-N, I'll say it again

Blaine creeps up to him, maneuvering himself to try to stay behind Kurt until he's closer and simply grabs at his hand, spinning him into himself, stifling Kurt's gasp and blush with a kiss, soft-lipped but forceful, insured to give shivering fits. "You are ridiculous."

Kurt sings his reply, ignoring Blaine's laughter. "'Cause I'm a woman! W-O-M-A-N, and that's all."

"No." Blaine presses himself closer, skimming his hands down Kurt's back, cupping his bare ass cheeks in his hands. "You most definitely are not."

Kurt hisses as Blaine latches onto his neck, suckling and soothing the pale skin there. An airy request is all Kurt can offer. "Breakfast?"

"Later."

~~~**~~~

Blaine quietly leads Kurt back upstairs, Peggy Lee fading into the background, an occasional crescendo chasing them. But, Blaine closes the bedroom door behind them and Kurt cocks an eyebrow, privacy hardly a concern.

"No accompaniment?"

"No." Blaine kisses him again and again, Kurt's face cupped in his hands as he walks him back to the bed. "A capella." Kurt's legs bump against the foot of the bed and they stop. "Just us." With a gentle push, Kurt falls back onto the bed, scooting to the head as Blaine follows him, hovering over him, dipping down to steal a kiss, to nudge his nose into the soft skin of Kurt's neck. "Let me play you, Kurt."

"Oh my god."

And for the first time since they met, Kurt is completely passive, waiting for Blaine to move, to lead and explore. And there is a wait because right now, Blaine is surveying. His mind flashes to the Steinway in the theater, perfectly crafted, every string taut at its proper tension, only able to fulfill its purpose at the hands of a master, specific in its craftsmanship, original in its response.

And here is this gorgeous man beneath him, perfectly sculpted, muscled yet lithe, his pale skin flawless and silken with a hint of childhood freckling his shoulders and when close enough – as he is now brushing his lips across the soft skin at the front of each ear – the bridge of his nose. He dots soft dry kisses around the frame of Kurt's face watching as his eyes flutter closed, his lips part and he disappears into Blaine's testing touch.

He takes his time, exploring, discovering the feel and response of each kiss, of each press of his fingers, each shift of his weight. What brings out a sigh, a groan, that deep guttural gust of air that he found quite by accident the previous night as they made love in the dark, twisting sheets and Blaine's entire foundation.

He whispers questions, Is that right? and Harder now? and Can I please? and finds that Kurt practically purrs when Blaine dots tongue-led kisses along the rarely-touched skin on the underside of his arm. And when he stops at the pulse points of his wrists with a gentle suckle, Kurt arches his entire body to find more connection, his fingers flexing to grab and hold.

Kurt expresses with motion, with sound, grasping at Blaine's hair, calling softly into the room, rolling Blaine's name in his mouth, slow and drawn, quick and clipped, a constant response to every nudge of inquiry. All the while Blaine catalogues, keeping track so when his lips ghost that spot again – he remembers that ghosting is the key here. And there, his left hip where the musculature begins to form that always sexy V to every man's center, the firm press of his thumb is necessary to make Kurt roll down into the mattress and back, a wave of want and need covered with hisses and pleas for more.

Inch by inch, Blaine plays, his mouth, his fingers, his tongue and breath working over Kurt, slow and fast, soft and hard. And finally, Kurt can only sigh, "You're driving me crazy," laced with a sleepy smile.

"Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare."

And when Blaine dots kisses up Kurt's calf and shin as it drapes over his shoulder, the light brown hair covering Kurt's skin tickling at his nose, he pauses. "Feet?"

"Yes, Blaine. That is my foot." And but for a moment the spell is broken, but with the twinkle in Kurt's eye, the pause is only momentary.

"I mean…do you mind? Some people are weird abo--…"

"Please. My feet. My…god, yes. All of me." And Blaine cradles his foot as a vintage microphone, softly sucking at toes, pressing his thumb along the arch, as Kurt lifts off of the bed, completely vulnerable, totally lost in each new touch, Blaine drawing him out, stringing him across the bed with every suckle and tug and pull.

"You're so fucking beautiful…" And he's next to him now, his hands skirting up Kurt's thighs, rucking his tight t-shirt up over his abdomen then reconsidering, loving how the lines of Kurt's hard cock shadows underneath the thin fabric, hinting and teasing, taunting him to touch and taste. So he pulls it back down, touching through the fabric, pushing Kurt's hands away as they try to lift it back up.

He wants this extra mystery for a moment more, even though he languished here the previous night. Even though he'd tasted here and already ran his teeth along the tendon of his thigh and that yes, that, that spot on his inner thigh is where, if Blaine bites and sucks just so makes Kurt offer that deep, guttural gust of air that latches onto Blaine's heart and shatters it into a million pieces of pleasure.

Kurt's grabbing, grabbing, scrabbling at his shoulders, his biceps, trying to get his attention that is entirely too much away from himself and into this amazingly sexy, confident, vibrant man. But then he finds purchase on Blaine's dress shirt, and drags him up, Blaine chuckling at the please, please, please streaming from Kurt's mouth as he slings his legs over Kurt's writhing body.

"Please what, baby?"

"Kiss me. Put your mouth on me. Anything. Anywhere." And Blaine smiles – he has been kissing him everywhere, anywhere already, but he unseats himself from Kurt's hips and grabs hold of his leaking cock, scooping up the droplet with his tongue and swallowing it before sinking his mouth down, wet and hot over the thick weight of Kurt.

Their combined pleasure rings through the high ceiling of the room, deep and masculine, desperate to fulfill and be fulfilled. Blaine finds his rhythm, finds his song, every swirl of his tongue, every stroke of his hand and mouth, con brio, con fuoco – with fire, with confidence – until Kurt's gasping and digging his nails into Blaine's shoulder closer and closer until Blaine pulls off with a filthy pop and eyes the bottle of lube on the bedside table.

It's in his hand within a blink and Blaine detours to Kurt's mouth as he warms the liquid in his fingers, tracing Kurt's lips with his tongue, speaking beautiful and the sounds you make and feel so good in my hands through his kisses. Kisses Kurt is already too spent to return, just taking, taking, waiting, waiting, his thighs falling open. He reaches out looking for Blaine's hands to soothe him again as he gasps out one final plea.

"Inside. Be inside me, please."

And Blaine coos and soothes, cupping and pressing and rolling, Blaine's mouth arpeggiating kisses and suckles up and down his abdomen as he sinks a finger into Kurt, soothing the hiss with more kisses, laves of his tongue over Kurt's taut nipples and then another finger and finally Kurt can't wait another moment, "Now. My god, please now."

Now is now after all so Blaine appeases, settling between Kurt's milky white thighs, shoving a pillow under his hips and lines himself up, pressing in slow and deliberate, letting Kurt lead only in taking a hand in his, lacing their fingers together as their bodies join again. They're still for moments, breath heavy between them, a long-held rest until quietly in the still room, Kurt pleas, "Play me, Blaine."

And they fall into their synchronized song again as the night before, give and take, more Kurt, more Blaine, their bodies twisting and writhing with the bliss of it, with the ecstasy, with the ebb and flow of it all. Blaine gathers Kurt's legs up and folds over him nuzzling into his neck, tasting the salty sweat as Kurt's body pulses and pushes beneath him, around him. The sounds, the cries, the soft creaking of the mattress fill in and echo around them, a concerto of sex and lust, heat and desire.

Blaine releases Kurt's legs a little and pulls back, wanting to take in his face, taste his mouth again. Their eyes meet, blue and amber, both gold flecked and shining in the morning light and it's Kurt who's reaching out for a tender touch, tracing Blaine's jaw with one long finger.

"I see you in there, you know."

Blaine's measured thrusts stutter as he blinks at Kurt's words. "I…I know." He lowers his head, resting his forehead on Kurt's chin, gathering breath and strength, watching Kurt's cock move between their bodies…bodies and sweat. Sound and touch.

"No, no, no." Kurt brings his hand to Blaine's face, wiping the sweat from his brow, lifting his chin to look back to him. "Don't leave me now."

And Blaine sees honesty there, in Kurt's eyes with the blue shimmer and gold flecks, bright and searching, reaching deep into his soul again and again even now when he's supposed to be the musician. This was to have been Blaine's song to perform. "I'm trying." He languidly pulls out and sinks in again with a deep groan coming from the very heart of him. "I was afraid I'd forgotten."

"But you haven't." Kurt tenderly kisses the tip of Blaine's nose and smiles up at him, raking his fingers through his damp curls. "I see you. You're amazing."

And whether Blaine believes him fully or not, the honesty in Kurt's eyes pushes him over the edge. He sits back on his haunches and hikes Kurt closer, spreading his thighs wide, opening him up to thrust in and in and in, nothing held back, giving everything he has, everything he's lost and finding again as Kurt cries out, taking hold of himself, their eyes locking as their orgasms wash over them, first Blaine, then Kurt still moving and curling into each other, Blaine not pulling out for long moments, in and in and in until he simply can't any longer.

They're a pile of spent limbs, heaving breath, sweaty and sticky and open and vulnerable and oh, so completely satisfied that really, all either of them can do is chuckle at the audacity of it all. The audacity of giving themselves so fully to a virtual stranger, the audacity of not feeling like they're strangers at all – wondering if they really ever were. The audacity to feel this good, this whole, this connected and complete.

Kurt flops a long, exhausted leg over Blaine, pulling him in close to kiss and nuzzle, to trace his fingers across the lips that just played so expertly across his body, a musician making love to his instrument.

"Is the intermission short?"

~~~**~~~

"Now, I really have to go." They have showered. And made out. Made breakfast. And made out some more. Fed each other breakfast, which was really strangely intimate and giggly and divine.

And made out some more.

And now Blaine stands in Kurt's kitchen in his freshly pressed dress pants and dress shirt, buttoning up his sleeves as Kurt sips the last of his coffee. He is still bare-assed and topped with that damned tight t-shirt he wore first thing this morning.

And on his thigh, Kurt's sporting a small circle of matted hair – dried come from the post-shower/pre-breakfast frotting session that ended desperately and quickly, like it would for two virginal boys in rural Ohio. Which they were at one time.

But not anymore.

Which is good because Blaine's thoughts are no longer appropriate for a virginal teenaged boy in rural Ohio.

But now, Kurt is moving in for yet another kiss, "I know. I'm sorry you have to," loose-lipped and tongue-heavy and Blaine groans and pulls back only to nuzzle Kurt's neck, his lips dragging across Kurt's morning scruff as he speaks.

"I have a special fondness for your tongue."

"It has a special fondness for you," which Kurt shows by drawing it up Blaine's neck to his ear, pulling the soft lobe into his mouth for a gentle suckle. "Will you come to the show tonight?"

His breath is warm in Blaine's ear and he shivers with it, and with what has to be his answer. "I don’t think so." And Kurt sits back, dropping his hands from their grasp on Blaine's head and curls his knees to his chest. And then he pouts. Actually, completely, pathetically pouts. "Maybe."

"You don't get to say no twice to the same question." Kurt gets up and rinses out his coffee cup, the round bottom of his ass cheeks peeking out from under the t-shirt. And he's clearly ticked off.

Blaine blinks the vision away. "What…I don't…Kurt. I don't know what you want from me."

"I'm not sure I want anything from you." He turns and leans against the counter, his expression unreadable. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that his shirt isn't completely covering him up in the front either.

"Then what, Kurt? For me? Because really, one night and an amazing connection later, you can't just fix this. Me. I'm…I'm not some kind of school project."

And the look that Blaine saw last night – the one he knew he'd never want to see again – is back. Kurt moves out of the kitchen toward the stairs that lead down to the door. Blaine takes the hint and follows him. It's time to go.

"Did you get everything?"

"I believe so." Blaine pats his jacket slung over his arm and then himself, digging his phone out of his pocket, quickly skimming through the left messages. And with each newly lit screen, the freedom, the vulnerability, the lightening of his spirit that had so glorious begun to take hold begins to slip away. With a sigh, he looks up to Kurt and takes one more risk. "I know you're angry with me, but…can I see you again?"

Kurt studies and stares at Blaine's phone and finally says, "Wait here."

He disappears behind the humanvaginaflower wall and Blaine waits, soon hearing a printer and then Kurt's back, shoving a flyer into his hands.