"It needs a few minutes under the broil—" Blaine stops dead in his tracks at the site before him. Kurt is propped at the head of his bed with Santana's feet in his lap. She's flat on her back, arms stretched across the mattress. Her head is rolled back almost-not-quite hanging off the foot of the bed, eyes closed, mouth slack. She's moaning from the deepest recesses of her body. "Should I—come back?"

"What? No, oh my god." Kurt laughs and digs the pad of his thumb up the arch of Santana's bare foot, completely ignoring the obscene noises she's making, the way her body is arching into the pleasure of it all. "She's always like this."

Blaine blinks and awkwardly takes a seat at Kurt's desk, having trouble taking his eyes off of her. Or putting them on Kurt. He's being so fucking cavalier about it all – like giving someone that much pleasure – moaning, body-arching pleasure – is something you always do in mixed company on a Saturday night.

"Cheese still not brown enough?"

"N—no. Carole is putting a salad together. I told her we didn't need one, but—"

"She's not to be swayed. And her dressing is amazing, so I quit trying to talk her out of it." Kurt cups his fingers over Santana's toes and massages around each one slowly, deliberately, working the web of her toes between his fingers. She sounds wrecked.

Blaine can't fucking breathe.

Santana lolls her head back further, finally opening her eyes and acknowledging Blaine's presence. "You should go next, Maynard. He is uh-maz—fuck! Amazing."

"I think—no. Thank you." He tries for a polite smile up to Kurt, but fears it probably looks more like gas pains. "I think I'll pass."

"Your loss. My gain. You even can get your toes," She hisses and writhes, scooting even closer to Kurt's skilled fingers, "painted at the end. Kiki's full service, aren't you, baby?"

"Full service. Did you bring polish?"

"Yep. Nini couldn't decide what color she wanted to suck on, so we have two."

"Jesus—"

Kurt laughs deep and low in his chest and Blaine can only rub his forehead, wondering how long this night actually will last. So far it's only 45 minutes in and he could quite possibly bust the zipper on his pants by virtue of being in the same room with these—seductive bastards.

"Maynard, seriously – I can do you next. It's very relaxing."

Clearly. Super relaxing.

"Yeah, and I know just the color for you, too."

"I—uh. Yeah, I think—" Blaine stops talking as Kurt slowly bends Santana's foot toward her leg, rubbing his hands up her calf to help stretch the muscles there. Santana groans more loudly than before and Blaine has to shift in the chair. The night will be interminably long. "I think I'll pass."

Kurt pouts. The fucker. "Aw, come on. You'll become an instant addict."

Blaine can only watch as Kurt leans over to his bedside table to squirt a lotion into his hands, rubbing it into his palms first while Santana moans and wriggles even closer in anticipation. "Ooh, my favorite part."

Kurt wiggles his eyebrows, first to her, then to Blaine and cups her calf in his hands, slowly dragging his lotioned fingers along her leg, around her heels, finally stroking her foot like he's stroking—

"Fuck!" Santana hisses and arches, smacking the mattress, her head thrown back with a debauched, drawn out groan. Kurt treats her other leg in the same fashion and she finally silences, running a hand through her hair, mewing softly as Kurt's fingers soften on her skin.

Blaine swallows thickly and wonders how he's going to stand to check on the pizza again. So, he sits for another moment and wills himself to speak. "Oh—okay. I'll give it a try. But, no nail polish."

"Never, Maynard." Kurt's grin is downright wicked.

Blaine nods a little too enthusiastically and stands, wiping his sweaty palms on his shorts. "After food. I—I'll go—I'll go check on the pizza."

He's out in the hall in a flash, stopping to catch his breath. He must have completely lost his mind.

"Hurry up, Maynard! I'm always hungry afterwards!"

He has completely lost his mind.

~~~**~~~

"Okay. Before I change my mind. Where do you want me?"

Kurt's eyebrow lifts so high Blaine thinks it might pop off the top of his head. Santana, useless as usual, simply cackles. "I'll pick the movie while you two get your foreplay on."

"Snix, you really—" Blaine sighs and looks at Kurt again who's biting back a laugh and spreading lotion all over his hands.

"Why don't you sit in the desk chair and roll it over here. Prop your feet up and we can all see the TV that way."

"Yes. Good. I'll—" Blaine drops into the chair and rolls next to Kurt on the bed grateful he won't have to be up on it with him because, well. Simply because.

"Maynard, relax. Snix is a bit melodramatic. I can't imagine my foot massages are orgasmic."

"The fuck they aren't – hope you brought extra undies, Maynard."

Blaine had started to kick his feet up onto the bed, but quickly snatches them back. "Maybe we shouldn't—"

"Give me your feet." Kurt wiggles his fingers. "I'm gooped and ready to go."

"Right. It's just feet." He swings his legs up onto the bed, adjusting in the chair to get comfortable and sucks in his breath when Kurt's lotion-slick hands cup under his heel to pull him closer. "Is—is this alright?" With a slow drag from heel to toe, Kurt smiles and Blaine sinks further into the chair. "Oh. Oh."

"There you go. Snix, hit play."

Blaine's eyes are closed when the movie starts and he's barely aware one is even playing. Kurt's hands are magi—talen—this feels really fucking good. "How come you didn't tell me about this hidden talent at band camp? You could make," Kurt hits a particularly fantastic spot on the arch of his foot and he sucks in his breath and moans softly, not even ashamed that Santana is probably watching, snickering and, knowing her, taking notes for insults on the field later in the week, "a fortune charging people for your services."

"My hands are not for sale, Maynard."

Blaine peeks at Kurt out of one eye. Kurt is smirking. He drags his hand up Blaine's calf and around his heel and turns to Santana as if doing this, running his silky hands all over Blaine's calf and feet and—"Oh!"—rolls his toes gently in his fingers is really not a thing to make one blink. He tries to concentrate on the movie instead. It is horrible. "Why are we—Kurt, tell me you do not own this movie."

"I do not own this movie."

"I do. What's wrong with it, Maynard? Does it not appeal to your buttoned-up, bowtie sensibilities?"

"No it—" Blaine tosses her a glare. "No, it's just bad."

"It's Adam Sandler. He's a genius."

Blaine groans and is grateful of the subject matter because the groan has nothing to do with the movie or Santana's horrible taste. It's Kurt. His hands. His fingers. His skill at massaging muscles he didn't even know needed massaging but dear god did they. Do they. Forever, they will always need massaging.

"So, Snix!" Kurt removes Blaine's right leg from his lap and squirts more lotion on his hands. "Left leg, Maynard. We only have nine months until graduation. OSU Lima, Rhodes or UNOH? Or are you leaving Lima like everyone in their right mind should do?"

Santana snaps the movie off and flops forward on the bed, her face at Kurt's feet. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't fucking know. How are we supposed to know what we're going to do with the rest of our lives already?"

"Um..."

"Yeah. I know. Not everyone's as lucky as you, Keeks. You've known since 6th grade. What about you, Maynard?"

"Music Ed. Ohio State, probably. Maybe Capital. Otterbein. University of Cinci. I'm thinking a minor in jazz studies." Blaine shrugs and scoots his chair closer to the bed sinking down further into it trying with all of his might to bite back the moans and groans tickling at the back of his throat. He could seriously let Kurt do this all night.

"You want to teach?" Kurt's hands stop, resting on Blaine's shin, sitting there. Not moving. On Blaine's leg, warm and soft and—"Oh. Sorry." Kurt yanks his hand back and blushes.

"I do. I think? I mean, that's what everyone says to do to be safe." Blaine wiggles his toes hoping Kurt will get the hint to start again because he's itching for it. For his hands. Anywhere.

"Okay, no. Stop that mess right there." Santana sits back up and starts thrusting her finger into the air. "What do you want to do? What do you see? I'm so sick of people trying to throw logic into our dreams."

"Put 'em both up, Maynard. One more pass." Kurt lotions up again and runs his hands down Blaine's calf waiting for him to adjust to having both legs up on the bed.

"I see—unnnggg—Jesus. Um. I see. Right. There. Do that again. God." Blaine tosses his head back and lets out the most sexually satisfied sound he has ever uttered in his life as Kurt's thumbs press into the arch of his foot over and slowly over and so freaking magnificently over again. If she wants him to talk, she's crazy.

"I'll wait – see what I mean? Or-gas-mic."

"Yes. Orgas—" Blaine sucks in a breath and his eyes pop open and he yanks his foot out of Kurt's hold. "Maybe—maybe we should call it a night with—with that."

"Are you okay?" Kurt catches Blaine's eye somehow because he surely couldn't look him directly in the eye on purpose right now and Blaine wants to die. On the spot. He's hard and he's hard and he's so fucking hard and unable to really breathe quite right and Santana is trying not to laugh but it looks like it just might cause her to stroke out and Kurt, poor Kurt simply looks confused. "Did I hurt you?"

"N—No. Not. No. I'm—what'd you ask me, Snix?" Blaine sits up, feet firmly on the ground and catches Kurt's concerned gaze again. "I promise. It was perfect. Too. Perfect. Really." Another gas-pained grin and he pleads for Santana to pick up the conversation again.

"Your future. Besides in a puddle on Kurt's floor. What do you see for your future?"

"Yes. Future. I see—well, now I see me teaching music by day. And then doing jazz gigs at night, because the truth is, unless you are Maynard Ferguson, you can't make a living off of jazz gigs."

Kurt's been biting his bottom lip since Blaine abruptly ended the foot rub, a pink blush covering his cheeks and ears. It's adorable and worrisome because the last thing Blaine wants to do is make him uncomfortable. In his own home, no less. "You'd make an amazing teacher, Maynard."

"Thank you? What makes you think so?"

"Just how patient you are with your squad. When we were working with Snix on her breathing. How you check in with her all the time and remind her without making her feel like she's doing something wrong. You're a good encourager and I think that makes for a good teacher."

"Oh." Now Blaine's biting his bottom lip and blushing and he wonders what would happen if he put his feet back up on the bed. So he does. And then he's smiling because Kurt scoops them into his lap again and starts gently massaging them, not as intentional as before. Just a casual, I-like-having-you-here sort of touch. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you."

"See? See!? That's what I mean. It's easy for you guys. You have these clear talents. Clear drive. Clear ideas and I type fast. And I want to live in New York. Oh, and I can do the splits in the air, on the ground, upside down and on a bed. With Brittany under me."

"Okay, I could have lived without that last—"

"Oh, give it up, Maynard. You've been sexually fantasizing all evening. My point is, I'm going to end up some lame-assed secretary or office manager or something gross and—"

"Okay, what do you see? What do you want?"

"New York. With—something. I don't know what. I just see me strutting my shit all over that city. Hell, I'll bartend. They make damned good money and? They can sleep in. I'm a great sleeper."

Blaine leans up and puts his hand on Kurt's stopping the delicious massage. "Thanks." He is starting to get worked up again and really, this conversation feels important. He climbs up onto the bed and grins. Friends. Real ones. He had them – he had plenty in Wapak, but in light of their silence since he moved, he figures his concerns there were real – they were really only there for the perks – the fancy house, the humongous screen TV, the pool – his was the party house. But these two? And Mike? And the others? Friends. Real ones. It feels amazing. "So, spill it. Tell me what is so alluring about New York City."

"What? Are you kidd—" Kurt is sitting up fully now too. His eyes are huge, his hands are winding up for a story. Or a list. And all Blaine can do is grin at him waiting to hear it unspool. "New York City is—it's paradise for the arts. Music and theater and dance and visual arts and fashion – oh my god, fashion!! It's everything Blaine. The food and the culture and the—the—"

"Rats. They have huge rats in New York City."

"Thank you, Snix. You're a huge help." Kurt turns back to Blaine as if Santana isn't even there, flailing away again. "The traffic and bustle and Hollywood of it and I know it's New York, not Hollywood, but how can you not want to go to New York? The jazz scene there, Maynard, oh my god – it's just—it's made for people like us!"

Kurt's eyes are still full and round and shining in the dim light of his room. The sun has fully set and no one's bothered to turn on more than the small bedside lamp. The room is cozy, Kurt is electric and Santana sits with them, vibrating with excitement over the simple, unprocessed dream of it all. It's intoxicating. "They do have a pretty amazing jazz scene there, don't they?"

"And Maynard, you could teach anywhere. Hell, teach jazz and then go play it." Kurt stills finally and looks at Blaine. Really looks at him, if not into him and sighs with what feels like a sadness. "You told me last weekend, but have you really, really never even considered leaving Ohio?"

"No. Not—not until last weekend. And I started—" Blaine looks down into his lap and smiles, grinning even brighter when he looks back up. "I started looking into it a little. I don't know if Dad would pay for out-of-state tuition or not, but—"

"Have you heard yourself play? Scholarships, Maynard. You get good grades, don't you?"

"Yeah. Came here with a 4.2."

Kurt looks at him like all of his questions should now be answered. Like it's a matter of filling out an application and flying to New York and making a life and voilà. There it all is. "Two years in Ohio – march with me. And then—"

"Go to New York. With you."

"Well. I mean." Kurt starts and stops a few times, looking embarrassed at his presumptuous statement. "Not with me, but. You know. It'd be easier if there was someone going along. Alone in New York doesn't sound nearly as exciting."

"Oh for the love of—you two need to just stop patsying around and get on with it. I'm going downstairs to refill glasses."

And before either Kurt or Blaine can respond, she's out of the room, leaving them both there on the bed, somehow scooting closer together so their knees are touching and their thoughts are colliding and Blaine thinks that maybe, just maybe Santana has a point. Surely Kurt has felt the tension between them all evening.

"I'm sorry. She's—she gets tunnel vision sometimes and—"

"It's okay, Kurt. I'm going to talk to Mom about New York as an option – it's not like we have to decide now if we're going to stay here for a few more years, right?"

"Right. I'm not being pushy, am I? I just—you're good and you could do so much more out of here and—"

"No. It's fine. You're opening ideas I'd never allowed myself to consider. I figured I'd stick by Mom, you know? But now that she's rid of Dad, she's good. She'll be okay."

"It'd kill her if she thought you were holding back because of her."

"I know." Blaine stands and grabs night clothes from his bag and points to the bathroom to make sure it's okay he goes in first. "Besides, I'd hate to think this is the only year I'd have to get to know you."

~~~**~~~

Rachel [08-28-11 3:09 am]: I'm giving up boys.

"Whose phone is that?" Santana rolls back and smushes Kurt who groans and rolls away smushing Blaine. The Kurt burrito was great as the shell, Blaine reasoned, but at the moment, it was a little—suffocating.

"Mine. Dammit." Kurt rolls over and Blaine's face is right. There. "Hi. Um. Sorry." He hikes up on an elbow and reaches across Blaine and Blaine takes a deep breath. Kurt smells of sleep and fabric softener with just a hint of cologne – just like his pillow at band camp – only better. When Kurt offers an awkward smile when he falls back onto the bed, Blaine remembers to let out his breath. "Oh shit, guys. It's Rachel. We've been waiting for a drunk text."

Everyone flops over onto their stomachs and focuses in on Kurt's phone.

Kurt [08-28-11 3:12 am]: Oooh – that means more for me!

"Nice. You've been drooling over your step-brother?"

Santana cracks up and Kurt smacks her arm. "Maynard, you don't even want to know that story. But, I'll tell you if you suck on Kiki's ear lobe while you're lying there breathing into it."

"N—No. That's. I'm fine, thank you." Blaine side-eyes Kurt and Kurt ignores him, swiping his phone when Rachel replies.

Rachel [08-28-11 3:14am]: I don't thunk my boys wll work 4 u.

Kurt [08-28-11 3:14am]: Okay, I'll bite. Why are you giving up boys?

"Is she really drunk?"

"Guaranteed. Didn't Puck have some gathering going on tonight, too?"

"Yep. It's where Nini is."

"I'm honored you chose us, Snix." Kurt kisses her cheek and she groans, pushing him away.

"I was avoiding Berry. And now I see why."

Kurt taps his phone waiting for Rachel's reply. Blaine is falling asleep again – his head droops onto Kurt's shoulder. She doesn't respond for quite some time and in his half-awake – half-asleep state, Blaine thinks that's just fine.

Rachel [08-28-11 3:22am]: Had to throw up. Tequila comgni back up is worse than gogin dwon.

Kurt [08-28-11 3:23am]: You're a class act, Rachel. Why are you giving up boys? Because clearly you're of sound mind.

Rachel [08-28-11 3:25am]: One word. Lucy. Quinn. Fabray.

Kurt [08-28-11 3:25am]: That's three words.

"Kiki, don't poke the drunk girl."

"But, it's fun. And what is it with her and Quinn, but only when she's drunk?"

"Seriously, Quinn's delicious when sober."

Kurt and Blaine both snapped a look at that, Kurt's eyes bugging out. "What? Have you—how could you not tell me!?"

"Just once. Twice. One night. Shut up. I think you woke the dead." She glances back at Blaine and cackles. He knows he's comical looking. His hair is probably all over the place, he can feel his eyelids drooping and he's sure he has a dopey, lovesick look on his face. Because Kurt smells and feels delicious – speaking of delicious – and he's right here in the same bed with him, under his lazily tossed leg.

"I am not dead. Just comfortable." Blaine snuggles into Kurt's shoulder more and mumbles, "Quinn's pretty."

Rachel [08-28-11 3:27am]: Yes. 3 wrods. 1 prblem. 2 probems. She hates me.

Kurt [08-28-11 3:28am]: She doesn't hate you. She probably just doesn't – what is it you want with her exactly?

Rachel [08-28-11 3:31am]: OMG, I just burped so loud I thnk I woke Puck's dog. I want her bbies. To haver them.

Kurt [08-28-11 3:32am]: Tell me you're not there alone with Puck. I will come pick you up.

Rachel [08-28-11 3:35am]: I am not alone with Puck. There r five-ish – I can't see to count – ppl in the den with me.

Kurt [08-28-11 3:36am]: Including Quinn.

Rachel [08-28-11 3:37am]: Inculnig Quinn.

"Tell her not to give up boys. Just to find a new one."

"Maynard, I cannot tell a drunk Rachel that. She will be on our doorstep and no one will know how she got here and? She won't leave. Sobbing. She'll be sobbing. No."

"Okay. Your shoulder is nice."

"Go back to sleep, Maynard."

"Can't. Need to spoon you."

"Hurry it up, Kiki – he's right. Need to spoon and you're our middle man. Get on with it."

Kurt [08-28-11 3:40am]: Rachel, go to sleep. You'll see things clearly in the morning. Like the fact that biologically, you cannot have Quinn's babies. And that you both prefer boys.

Rachel [08-28-11 3:41am]: I think I need to thorw up again. Bye!?

"I do not get paid enough to be her friend." Kurt tosses his phone onto the night stand and curls back up to Santana, and Blaine waits until he's all settled before he locks himself in place behind Kurt.

"You can be our friend for free, Kiki."

And in the morning, when Blaine gets up with his friends, all stiff and sore from sleeping in the same position all night long, he languishes in the heavenly breakfast Carole cooked for them. He reluctantly says his goodbyes when his mom starts bombing his phone with lists of things they had to accomplish on the one day we have together a week, Blaine. Get home.

He steps outside, flinging his bag over his shoulder, his sandals slung over a finger as he digs for his car keys. Coming up victorious, he grins as he gets a sweeping glance at his toenails.

Charged Up Cherry.

In that moment, with the summer sun beating down on him and the memories of Kurt's hands on his feet and legs, Kurt's body under his arm and their legs tangled together as they slept, the memory of Santana's belly laugh when Blaine fussed and then grinned at his bright pink toe nails, he knows beyond all doubt that this is what happiness feels like.