Kurt really does get snowed under with work after that. A week off hasn’t set him back, but suddenly they’re headed for Milan with a fashion show they need to nail and it’s in a matter of weeks. He calls Blaine from the bus on the way to work and in the evenings while he’s eating. More than a dozen times, Kurt falls asleep mid-conversation, and Blaine says he understands and refuses to accept apologies.

Blaine asks him when things will calm down and when Kurt says March, Blaine says he’ll visit him then.

It’s the most wonderful feeling for Kurt to be able to say back: “You don’t have to. I’ll be home in April.”

~~*~~

Blaine goes to London anyway. He has vacation time and nothing to do with it, and he tells Kurt he doesn’t mind if Kurt has to work, that just falling asleep with him will be the perfect vacation.

Kurt meets him just like the last time, at Kings Cross, and once again they catch two buses to get home. It’s a Sunday and they spend it in bed.

Then it is a whole week of disgusting levels of domesticity. On Monday, Kurt wakes up early and kisses Blaine on the cheek. He’s given himself the half hour he needs to be pulled back into the bed by a sleep-tousled boyfriend, who is intent on kissing him with morning breath and clumsy hands. Kurt enjoys every second of it. After twenty minutes though, after Blaine starts arching up and rutting against his hip, Kurt forces himself away.

“I really do need to go,” he says and Blaine pouts and stretches, gloriously naked on top of Kurt’s sheets, while Kurt tries to right his hair and shirt collar. On the bed, spread-eagled and writhing, Blaine moans too-loud as he starts jerking off. Kurt looks at him for only a second, seeing the tease in Blaine’s eyes and growling a little as he forces himself to turn away. He shrugs on his jacket and yells a cheery, “I really hate you,” over his shoulder as he races out the door.�

Ten minutes later, hot and bothered and wedged in beside a woman who smells far too heavily of lavender, Kurt’s phone vibrates and he judges himself a little bit for having to read it right away.

Blaine to Kurt

You missed a very, very good morning.

�

Kurt groans and the woman next to him gives him a very displeased look.

~~*~~

Blaine keeps Kurt informed of his movements the entire day. There are texts coming in every half hour, and even if Kurt hasn’t quite got the time to answer them adequately, he likes reading them as all of his employees mill around him like ants.

He tells Kurt about his walk along the Thames and then through St James’s Park. Blaine gets lost and ended up at Trafalgar Square. It’s raining. Of course it’s raining, it’s London.

Blaine meets up with Patrick for a late lunch and messages Kurt a quick hello from the both of them. Then he coerces Patrick into taking the afternoon off and showing him around the lawyer parts of London in exchange for gossip about his budding romance with Kurt.

~~*~~

Monday night, just like every night—Blaine knows that because of emails and Skype, and he’s seeing Kurt every night—Kurt comes home tightly wound, still immaculately put together, and babbling about work. He kisses Blaine in the kitchen and goes to get changed. Blaine trots after him immediately, intent on helping Kurt out of his clothes. It results in some severely burnt pork and Blaine makes a mental note to factor fooling around time into his future cooking plans.

~~*~~.�

The week progresses in much of the same manner. Kurt works his usual long hours because he has no other option, and Blaine enjoys playing house. It is, he tells Kurt, a thousand times more relaxing than work, and that’s what vacations are for.�

They drink too much wine too often and talk until it’s dark and quiet on Kurt’s street. They have sex at every opportunity and by Wednesday, it has turned into a given that when the dishes are done they turn on each other and seduce and laugh and try to make the other gasp.�

On Thursday, that changes. Kurt calls and wants dinner early and tells Blaine they’re going out. When Kurt gets home, he’s smiling and rocking up onto the balls of his feet while he hovers around Blaine in the kitchen and watches him work.�

“Not changing?” Blaine asks.

“After dinner,” Kurt says.

Blaine hums something, stirring a pot and then letting his eyes slide to Kurt. He looks remarkable like this, almost glowing with what is obviously a secret, along with excitement and energy. Blaine can’t really be blamed for his inability to resist. He has Kurt up against the fridge in two seconds flat and his hands on Kurt’s waist as his kisses him and sets to untucking his shirt.

Giggling and swatting at him, Kurt lets him kiss as much and as hard as he likes, giggling harder when Blaine’s mouth matches his own teasing, fleeting presses, and gives in to Kurt’s hands pulling his away from his crotch. With their fingers intertwined at their sides and their mouths smiling more than they’re kissing, Blaine asks, “What is it we’re doing tonight?”

“Hurry up and make my dinner,” Kurt replies.

~~*~~

Kurt has a suit for him. It’s a Three-piece in a subdued, dark grey. The cut is traditional, if incredibly fitted, but for the narrow collar embroidered with fine silver thread and the purple pinstripes. It fits Blaine almost perfectly and it takes Kurt less than ten minutes to hem the cuffs. The shirt beneath is silk and the socks are the softest Blaine’s ever encountered. Kurt leads him into the bathroom and styles his hair for him, scrunching the curls in his hands, tugging on them to make sure they’ll hold their shape.

“You should wear your glasses,” Kurt tells him, hooking his chin over Blaine’s shoulder and meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Is it weird that your clothes turn me on?” Blaine whispers back. “As well as making me immensely proud and in awe and a little jealous, obviously,” he adds.

Kurt laughs and moves away into the bedroom to pull his own suit from its bag and start undressing. “I never said it was one of mine,” he says.

Staring at him for too long, watching the pull of pale skin over muscles and bones he’s entirely familiar with by now, Blaine eventually says, “You sent me the sketches for it last year.”

~~*~~

It’s a gallery opening, Kurt reveals in the cab. It’s not anything special, but he thinks there will be some important people there and, more than that, he thinks Blaine will enjoy it.

“Why are you so excited?” Blaine asks as the lights of London flash past them. “I mean, I am too, but why is this—“

Kurt cuts him off. “Because when we’re back in New York I’m going to want to take you out to these things all the time, but for now this is kind of the first time we’ve ever…”

“Oh.” It’s strange to think, but he’s right. This is a work event and Blaine is going as Kurt’s date.

When they arrive, there is a door-list and paparazzi and the usual crowd of onlookers pulled in by anything bright and shining. Kurt slips through the door with Blaine on his arm, mostly unnoticed, and then fetches them both champagne.

“Whose work are we looking at exactly?” Blaine mumbles, close to Kurt’s ear as they wander the wide-open white space with the splashes of art set against the walls.

Kurt shrugs and tells him that it doesn’t matter, and then Blaine is being led across the floor to meet the people Kurt works with.� After that, Britain’s latest starlet, stunning with big red hair and sparkling blue eyes, ends up between them, arms linked with both, gossiping and telling Kurt she loves everything he does and then being dragged away by someone else.

So the night goes, with Kurt meeting people he knows and people he doesn’t, hearing people gush about his work and being given quite the cold appraisal a couple of times. He wears Blaine on his arm the whole night, keeping him close and always with a drink in his hand. More than once, he drags him off to look at one of the paintings in the corner just so he can whisper in his ear about nothing important at all, and laugh.

Blaine giggles into his neck during the cab ride home. He makes jokes about retiring to be Kurt’s happy househusband and a fine specimen of arm candy and Kurt giggles with him. Until they’re alone, and then Kurt finds strawberries in the fridge and spends an hour and a half telling Blaine how amazing he is and feeding him. Kurt tells him how proud he is of Blaine and all the things he does at the DA’s office. Blaine nods along and they fall asleep on the couch.

~~*~~

On Friday they argue. It’s completely trivial, and when they think about it later, it simply boils down to it being a Friday for Kurt. It’s the end of the week, where he would usually have been getting five or six hours sleep a night, but with Blaine there, he has been lucky to get four. For Blaine, it’s Friday and he goes home on Monday and he really, really doesn’t want to.�

Blaine cooks, as usual. He searches London all morning for the closest thing to New York cheesecake he can find and fresh raspberries. He meets Patrick again and lets himself get excited about cooking duck for dinner and surprising Kurt one more time. They go to Chinatown together on Patrick’s lunch hour and shop, and then it’s a quick kiss on the cheek and Patrick is outrageous enough to slap Blaine on the ass and say, “Go get ‘em tiger,” as Blaine runs to catch his bus.

He checks twice with Kurt to make sure he’ll be home by 7:30 before he starts cooking. He waits until 7:45 before he sends a text and pulls the duck from the oven. He waits until 8 before he starts to worry, staring at his phone and slicing the duck up for the fridge so it can be reheated… whenever.

He gets a text from Kurt at 8.30.

Kurt to Blaine

Stuck on a dress. Home soon.

�

It makes Blaine bristle, and all of the worry shifts easily to anger as he shoves the duck in the fridge, knowing full well it’ll make the cheesecake smell, and then sits and waits.

Kurt breezes in just before nine. More bags than he usually carries clutched in both hands and then dumped on the floor just inside the door. He calls to Blaine and Blaine doesn’t answer.

When Kurt calls to Blaine again, and this time his voice comes from the bedroom, Blaine grits his teeth and propels himself off the sofa. He finds Kurt beside the bed, hanging his vest up and humming. When he catches Blaine’s furrowed brow and the scowl across his mouth, Kurt’s expression shifts to confused.�

Before he has even had a chance to ask, Blaine is saying, “You should have called.”

“What?”

“When you knew you were going to be late,” Blaine says, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe and watching Kurt undress. “You should have called me. Or sent a text.”

“Oh, you know I never have any idea when I’m going to get off work,” Kurt says, waving it away and stripped down to his underwear and socks.

“I cooked,” Blaine grits out.

Kurt knows something is wrong but how is he to know what? “You’ve cooked every night,” he says. Which is true, and what he means is Blaine has never minded Kurt’s schedule before.

“You said 7:30 and then you don’t answer my calls—“

“Blaine, I’m sorry,” Kurt has stopped what he’s doing and is watching Blaine carefully. “I didn’t realize…” Except he isn’t sure what.

Blaine shrugs, still mad, and mutters, “Whatever.” Then he disappears and Kurt sighs, trying to figure out exactly what has happened as he pulls on a pair of jeans.

The front door to his apartment closing makes him freeze. “Blaine?” he calls, but everything sounds quiet.�

By the time he’s pulled on a shirt and is down on the street, there’s no sign of Blaine. Kurt is barefoot and it’s cold so he goes back upstairs, typing quickly into his phone.

Kurt to Blaine

Come home. I’m sorry.

�

He doesn’t really understand the argument until a few minutes later, when he wanders into the kitchen, hand tangled in his hair as he fights off a tight throat and fast breaths. He can smell the duck then and sees the dozens of fresh ingredients left across the counter. When he opens the fridge, the full aroma hits him, and he remembers that smell astoundingly well from that first night almost a year ago.

He finds the cheesecake and thinks to put it in an airtight bag.

Perhaps he does understand.

~~*~~

Blaine walks for a half an hour even though after five minutes he feels a bit stupid. He responds to Kurt’s text, asking for a little while, and then walks and walks until he’s back outside Kurt’s building.

He knows the code to get in and has the key to Kurt’s door, so it’s easy to slip in unannounced. Kurt’s sitting at the kitchen counter with a slice of cheesecake in front of him and a bowl of raspberries. He hasn’t touched the cheesecake, but his lips are stained red.

He starts when he sees Blaine, begins to move and then stops.

“Are you angry at me?” Blaine asks.

That makes Kurt pause. “No, I thought you were angry at me.”

Blaine laughs. “Yeah.” He’s blushing and raking a hand through his hair. “Then I remembered I’ve only got you for another two days and I figured being angry at you was pretty dumb.”

Kurt’s face softens immediately and he slides off his stool and across to Blaine. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he says, hands laying flat across Blaine’s cheeks. “I’m so used to living on my own, it just didn’t occur to me.”

Blaine nods, face nuzzling into Kurt’s palm and kissing there. “I’m sorry I stormed out.”

“We’re even then,” Kurt offers and Blaine nods.

They kiss, standing there, in the middle of Kurt’s apartment. Mouths pressing and sliding, wet, warm pressure as their hands trace slow up and down each other’s bodies, tugging at hair and pulling at hips. Kurt steps back only to duck back forward and kiss again and again, teasing with his mouth and his breath, his fingers tickling at the nape of Blaine’s neck.

He waits until Blaine’s smiling, and then brushes his fingertips feather-light up Blaine’s sides and makes him laugh outright.

“I hear duck is pretty good in the microwave,” Kurt says. “And then you can try to teach me how to make raspberry sauce.”

Blaine’s eyes are deep and soulful, but after a few blinks he smiles and accepts the fight for what it was. “Yeah,” he mumbles, and ten minutes later it’s forgotten.

~~*~~

The next day is Saturday and Kurt has resolutely decided it is a no-work weekend. They make it out of bed before noon and the sun is out with just enough early-Spring warmth to make it pleasant. Holding hands, Blaine takes Kurt on his favourite walks from earlier in the week, wandering the banks of the Thames once more and showing him his favourite seats in the park. They meet Patrick for drinks and then two of the young designers Kurt works with for coffee.�

In the evening, they see a show that proves too forgettable, but they enjoy holding hands and knocking knees throughout the performance, anyway.�

On Sunday, they do all of it again. They sleep in, go for a long jog together, and then take a shower together. They have lunch somewhere expensive and catch a matinee, and then go out for dinner even though they’re not that hungry.� They get home as early as they dare and eat left over cheesecake. Blaine laments the state of his belly even though Kurt assures him it is as trim and tight as ever.

They fall into bed before ten and try to pace themselves, taking it slow, begging each other to wait and hold on and be patient. They kiss to cool off and rut against each other when they forget that’s just as bad as anything.

Kurt rolls off Blaine to the side and laughs giddily at the ceiling before taking a deep breath and covering him again. They kiss and kiss and kiss until they’re drowning in it, and Blaine’s laughing and saying, “It’s only six weeks,” and making Kurt laugh.

“How close are you?” Kurt asks.

“Not at all,” Blaine mumbles, the lie so obvious when Kurt wraps his fingers around Blaine’s cock and strokes. Blaine cries out and begs Kurt to stop.

“Wanna switch?” Kurt asks, eyes bright as he raises himself up, straddles Blaine’s stomach, and pinches at one of his nipples.

Blaine has to swallow twice to answer. “Like the first time?”

Kurt nods.

“I… I don’t know if I’ll last that long,” Blaine tells him.

“I’ll make you,” Kurt promises and then slips down his body. “Just tell me when you’re close.”

Kurt licks him most of the way open and that alone is dangerous, fingers and his tongue and Blaine pulling his own legs wide and babbling, arching into the sheets as he tells Kurt it’s too much. Kurt rises up on his knees over Blaine and fingers himself open then, making Blaine watch, rocking out of reach every time Blaine begs to be allowed to help.

“Won’t last,” Kurt mutters, eyelids fluttering.

When Kurt sinks down over Blaine’s cock, taking him in agonizing inch by agonizing inch, it all feels so familiar. Kurt closes his eyes and rocks and Blaine’s hips snap up immediately.

“You shouldn’t have teased me,” Blaine tells him, meaning how close he is now. Then he gathers Kurt up in his arms and rolls them, sliding deeper into Kurt’s ass and then raising up to fuck into him properly.

The breathy whimpers and the angle of Kurt’s neck are enough to make Blaine’s balls tighten and his stomach twist hotly. His whole body is sweating and shivering, fucking into tight and hot and his, lips working marks on Kurt’s chest as he mumbles and moans. “God you’re perfect. Thank you for being mine. I’m gonna come. Fuck Kurt, please, Kurt, fuck.” He spills deep, calling Kurt’s name, over and over and fucking into him hard before he’s too over-sensitive to be able to.

“Fuck, I love you,” he says against the sweaty skin of Kurt’s chest, and then Kurt clenches around him and spills between them with a moan.

Blaine laughs at him once they can breathe and move again. “I thought we were gonna switch?” he teases.

Kurt’s exhausted though, spent and happily humming. He makes a half-thought out remark about waking Blaine up early, and then he snuggles into the gross sticky mess they’re in and almost immediately falls asleep. Blaine watches him for a few short minutes and then joins him.

~~*~~

Contrary to Kurt’s promise, Blaine wakes Kurt up. He has his arms wrapped around Kurt’s waist from behind and his mouth at Kurt’s ear.

“I can’t wait to wake up like this every day,” he says, loudly enough to draw Kurt up from sleep and make him mumble happily. He arches against Blaine a second later as Blaine’s hand strokes rough up Kurt’s cock, already hard and so turned on.

Kurt murmurs, “Jesus,” and then arches again.

“You promised you’d fuck me as a goodbye,” Blaine tells him.

“Never goodbye,” Kurt says back, twisting in Blaine’s arms and kissing him hard.

Blaine’s already stretched open and wet with lube. It takes Kurt scant seconds to find the coordination to slick his own cock and twist to spoon Blaine from behind.

He slips inside easily and they both groan. They take it as slow as they can, little movements, tiny sparks of friction as Kurt kisses the muscles of Blaine’s back and neck and then Blaine’s mouth when he looks back and asks for it.

Eventually Blaine mumbles, “Please,” and that’s all it takes for Kurt to fuck into him properly, a half dozen strokes, his hand on Blaine’s cock matching the movement, and both of them coming within seconds of each other.

They lay on the messed up sheets and Kurt’s phone starts to ring.

It’s a normal workday for him and Blaine is meant to be in the office by just after lunch. Thank goodness for the transatlantic time difference. Blaine showers first, quickly cleaning himself up and then getting dressed while Kurt does the same.

Blaine hovers in the doorway to Kurt’s apartment, not sure what to say when there are still so many things and yet, none of them seem important.

It’s Kurt who finally speaks. “I’ll be home soon.”

Blaine swallows and doesn’t feel like crying because Kurt will be home and it will be soon. “I love you. I guess I’ve… I will always love you.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, unable to stop himself from letting his fingers trace a few of the lines on Blaine’s face. Then he smiles. “I guess in the scheme of forever, eleven years isn’t really that long of a wait.”

Blaine laughs and kisses the pad of Kurt’s thumb before his hand falls away. “And six more weeks really just seems like nothing,” Blaine admits.

“Less,” Kurt says. They stare at each other for a long moment. “I’ll be home soon and then we can make a start.” Kurt kisses him one last time and then Blaine is closing the door, knowing he won’t see Kurt again until they’re both home, together, in New York.�