Blaine was starting to understand how important studying could be. He supposed it probably helped that more and more he and Peter were abandoning their books earlier and earlier in the evening in favour of a jazz album and tea.

And sometimes other things. Conversation, mostly, but sometimes...things that weren't conversation.

He still wasn't sure about it all the time, and they hadn't done everything yet - mostly a lot of necking between slow, tender kisses But he knew it was coming, probably sooner rather thann later. They had been dating for almost three months, and he didn't know of many people who waited that long anymore. He was sure people did - an entire country didn't go from waiting until marriage to going all the way in a coat closet while a party went on two rooms away, but among the boys he knew - and girls who went with boys he knew - he knew three months was probably enough time to try to wait, especially when waiting until marriage really wasn't an option.

It wasn't that he didn't want to, either, because he did. He really did, more than he wanted to want it. Certainly more than he wanted to admit to wanting certain things. The way he felt with Peter's body pressed warm and heavy against him, or as his boyfriend's shirt-clad bicep brushed against his own - it was definitely not a matter of lack of interest.

The problem was much harder to explain than that.

It wasn't wrong - he knew that now. He wasn't sick, and having sex wouldn't be some sign of crossing an illusory line into a new level of severity. He could understand all of that, at least logically, but at the same time...it was hard not to feel sick as he woke up from dreams. Too much conditioning over too many years, he supposed, and something that felt like fear of the unknown

Still, when Peter showed up on a Thursday night with a stack of books that they both knew wouldn't be touched and a larger cache of albums Blaine knew he hadn't heard before, he didn't hesitate to invite the boy in, pausing in the kitchen to put on the kettle.

"How was your day, my boy?" Peter asked, smiling as he toed off his oxfords and sat on the edge of the bed. He set his books beside Blaine's on the desk and leaned back, studying one of the record sleeves.

"It was great," he replied as he pulled two mugs from the closet. He had four now, up from exactly one at the beginning of the year, and three boxes of different teas Peter liked. Who knew there were three kinds of tea, anyway? Blaine had thought the only kind was Liptons.

"How was the performance? I meant to go but lost track of time." From someone else it might have sounded dismissive, but even with Peter's perpetually affected tone that Blaine found really charming and adorable, he sounded sincerely apologetic for missing even such a routine song in an archway.

"It went well," Blaine replied, grinning as he recalled the crowd response. "Baby I Need Your Loving - it gave the guys a chance to flirt with the girls, so they were into it, but mostly it's just a really amazing song with an explosion of harmony."

"Sounds lovely. Did Fitz stop making eyes long enough to sing this time?"

Blaine laughed softly, shaking his head as he poured the boiling water. "He says it's not his fault he gets distracted by redheads."

"All three of them on the whole of campus - thank you, my boy," Peter smiled as Blaine handed him a steaming mug then sat opposite him in the desk chair. They were so close their knees practically touched, which Blaine noticed mostly because it meant he was all the closer to his boyfriend's winning grin. "Did Ted finally slug him to get his attention?"

"Would he really do that?" Blaine asked skeptically. He's always pretty professional." He found himself appreciating Ted more now that he understood where he was coming from and knew the guy didn't hate and resent his leadership.

"He certainly looks like he would enjoy it," Peter replied, sipping his tea. "Perhaps just wishful thinking on his part." He shifted, his leg brushing against Blaine's, and suddenly the space between them seemed even smaller.

This was silly, Blaine chided himself. they were close to each other all the time now. The simple touch of the side of a knee againstone another should not make it seem like the room was shrinking in on them both. Maybe when they were first talking, sure, but they had been together - and kissing regularly - forthree months now. In fact, they touched so often that Peter didn't even look like he noticed, idly drinking from his mug as though nothing had happened. How could he not notice? Did he not feel- or want-

Blaine took a deep breath to try to calm himself down. Nothing had happened, so why should Peter act differently? The chair and bed were in precisely the same places they had been, and Peter's enchanging smile wasn't actually any more prominent, and soon they would both finish their tea and give a flimsy excuse to avoid doing homework in favour of kissing - the same way they did almost every night.

So why did it feel like things were getting more complicated and intense? Why could he not stop dreaming about things thatmade him blush and-

Things would happen when they happened. There was nothing wrong with being cautious, especially since he had no idea what he was doing. Blaine nodded to himself, not realizing he had done so until Peter asked, "Penny for your thoughts?" he smiled, eyes so genuinely curious and concerned that it made Blaine's chest ache, and he couldn't help but smile; it was nervous but genuine.

"Do you ever think about going further?"

Peter paused, seemingly caught off-guard for a moment by the question, but after a second of contemplation he replied, "If Janie can spare the car for a weekend, I would love to go see Los Angeles. It shouldn't be an awful drive from here, and there are meant to be some incredible jazz clubs down there."

"What? Oh- no, Imeant-..." The verb was all the trouble. Of course Peter didn't know what he was talking about; he hadn't said anything. He had never had trouble talking about it before - though, the more he thought about it, the more he was pretty sure he had never actually talked about it. All the girls operated the way he had, with an understanding of what would happen next. In high school he had actively avoided the topic and considered it a personal victory if he didn't literally run away. So now, the idea of spelling out what he meant and what he was had been thinking...where would he even begin?

The same place he had begun with everything else, Blaine supposed:by being honest with himself about what he wanted and letting Peter reassure him on the topic.

"I didn't mean further than San Francisco," he admitted, "but I'm happy to go with you, I've never been. No, I meant...going all the way."

Peter stilled, so deep in thought that didn't move a muscle, eyes unfocused as though he were trying to work out a complex mathematical equation in his head. Blaine shifted as his nervousness increased, waiting for Peter to say something - anything. He shouldn't have brought it up; it was too soon. They hadn't been together long enough, and maybe Peter wasn'teven attracted to him that way. He had thought- but maybe he had been wrong and necking didn't even lead to sex for homosexuals. He knew two men could do that, courtesy of second-hand stories told by his father "out of polite company," but he had no idea if that started with kissing. Maybe it was completely different for men like them.

"Of course I have," Peter finally replied, voice deliberately calm and even as he looked at Blaine; Blaine wanted to protest for a moment that he wasn't a stray animal who might spook, but he guessed he had given enough proof to the contrary. "But the last thing I would ever want to do is push you into something."

"You're not," Blaine replied quickly. "Thank you, I appreciate it, but I'm okay. I was the one who asked."

"True," Peter mused. He set his mostly-empty mug on the nightstand and studied Blaine. "have you ever, before?" He didn't use the verb, either, but from the way he sat back, leaning easily on the bed, and maintained constant eye contact, it certainly seemed like the omission was one of a proper young man and not out of nerves or squeamishness.

"Of course-" Blaine started to reply, because Peter knew he'd had sex before, but the young man cut him off.

"With another boy, my dear."

Blaine ducked his head as he admitted, "Not really."

"Define 'not really.'" Blaine didn't even know what that meant, and when he struggled to answer, Peter clarified, "What we've been doing - is that the furthest you've gone?"

Narrowing the question didn't help Blaine know how to answer. Should he say yes, omit the experiences he didn't want to have to elabore on, and pretend he was even more of a novice than he really was? Admit to oral sex in his dorm room which had gone well enough and would let him sound better than either a novice or the scum of the earth who had literally left the boy he was crazy about half-naked on a couch in the common room?

"No," he admitted honestly. "I haven't done everything, but I've done more."

Peter nodded, seemingly pleased with that answer. "Good. Good - hands, I assume? It's usually the next logical progression even if you don't know anything about what you're doing

Blaine flinched at the memory of touching Kurt - the feel of it in his hand, the look of intense surprise and pleasure as he finished...and the wide-eyed look of confusion and betrayal a few minutes later as Blaine had dashed from the room, holding up his pants with one hand.� He had thrown up after, retching into the toilet at the end of the hall of the main building, then skittered across the back lawn and to his dorm, absolutely certain that someone would know he was now severely ill.� His only consolation had been that his burning regret meant he hadn't been a difficult case - he had wanted nothing more than to stop wanting and to be better.

Except to be better and to not have hurt Kurt.

Things were different now - he was different.� He knew that.� He was still afraid, yes, but for different reasons.� He couldn't have conceived of reasons like this back then.� Still, the look in his former love's eyes haunted him, and he shook his head to try to clear it as he attempted to figure out how precisely to explain what he had done without going into what he had done.

"I take it things didn't go well," Peter supposed, and not for the first time Blaine had to admire the man's gift for understatement.� He nodded, and Peter patted his knee sympathetically.� "It was a long time ago."

"Very," Blaine agreed.� Not long enough to forget, but he wasn't sure any length of time would be sufficient.

"So we'll go slow," Peter assured him.� "If you still want."

"I do," Blaine replied.� Even admitting it made his stomach start to flutter, but Peter's hadn on his leg was warm and reassuring.

"Then..."� Peter scooted over on the bed and patted the space beside him, flashing an almost shy smile.� "Why don't we start with what we've been doing, and we'll keep going until you want to stop.� How's that sound?"

Blaine smiled; he tried not to look as nervous as he felt, but he wasn't sure it came across as well as he had hoped.� "Sounds great."

Peter thought a moment, then stood and grabbed a record from the stack.� "Go ahead and get comfortable, my boy - I'll join you in a moment."� He put on the album and strains of quiet jazz piano filled the room, then padded into the bathroom - leaving Blaine alone with his nerves.

He had no idea what men...did.� He knew a couple things, both of which he had already done with disastrous consequences, and he knew in the most general, polite terms what sodomites were and did, but the mechanics of how precisely two men did something that was- for lack of a better way of putting it, a lot more...intuitive between a man and a woman...eluded him.�

Maybe it wouldn't be so different from what he had done before, he thought as he sat on the bed.� It wasn't as thought he had never had sex before - he'd done it plenty of times.� There hadn't been any complaints by the girls, either, so he was pretty sure he was good at it.� And if that had been enjoyable at the time, he could imagine how incredible it would be now.� The difference in what a kiss had felt like as a sloppy-drunk pre-coupling, compared to what it felt like when Peter kissed him...

It would be great.� And he certainly had enough experience in feigning confidence and ease until he could truly feel it that he was pretty sure of his ability to do that here.� All he had to do was pretend to know what he was doing and use what he knew of girls to get by until-

The bathroom door opened and Peter emerged.� His fedora was gone, hair pushed back roughly into shape.� Blaine's eyes widened as he realized the hat wasn't all Peter had shed; the young man was clad only in his trousers - feet bare on the floor, torso exposed and- oh� He swallowed hard as he took in the vision before him.� He had long-admired his boyfriend's body subtly through the fabric of his henleys, but even that fabric had left something to the imagination.� Blaine's imagination, though active, would not have come up with this.� This chest was broad but not too muscular, more of a natural build than the product of time spent on calisthenics.� There was a fine smattering of light brown hair along the center of his chest, continuing down over his flat stomach and then disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.� His shoulders were more sloped than Blaine had expected without the sharp shoulder of a blazer to square them, but his arms were thick - sturdy, strong, with hints of veins weaving their way from the back of his hand on up.� He stood straight in the middle of the room, making no attempts to hide or cover himself, unashamed- As well he should be, Blaine thought.� The idea that anyone who looked like that had complimented him...� Peter reached up to rake his hair back again, then ventured, "Button-down shirts are difficult to get off once we start."

"I...what?"� Blaine asked.� Had he missed the first part of that?� It seemed to come out of nowhere.

Peter laughed gently, grinning, and clarified, "From experience.� It's hard to fumble with all the buttons while we're...distracted."

Blaine nodded, then looked down at his own shirt.� Should he take it off, too?� Because he could imagine the buttons would get in the way.� They certainly had slowed things down with a girl or two, especially under the influence of Jack or Jim or even just way too much beer, but at the same time, wouldn't it be a little awkward for Peter to stand there and watch him undress?� Although, judging from the way Peter kept looking at him, maybe that was what he was waiting for.

What if he didn't like what he saw?

That was ridiculous.� He looked good - maybe not as good as the young man in front of him, but good enough that Peter wouldn't run screaming or delicately excuse himself as quickly as possible.� And Peter had complimented him before.� Besides, he had never worried about how he looked before, so why start now?

Because Peter would remember it in the morning.� And so would he.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves enough to put on a front of bravado, then reached up to undo his bowtie.� He slipped it off his neck and tossed it gently onto the desk, thumb flicking open his collar button, then looked up - just to be sure he was on the right track.� Peter's gaze burned into him as he unbuttoned his shirt, then slipped it off his shoulders leaving him in just his undershirt and slacks.� He was glad the shirt was clean and freshly bleached, because sometimes he wore an old faded one when no one would see it under his button-down shirt, but no one - not even someone who enjoyed finding beauty in unconventional things and styles of music - would find an old undershirt attractive.

"Oh," Peter murmured, and Blaine's head jerked up to figure out what that meant.� Was it good?� Disappointed?� Regretful?� Peter looked...awed, and Blaine really had no idea why.� Better than the alternative, to be sure, but stunning to say the least.� Peter knelt on the foot of the bed and closed the distance between them quickly.� Blaine gasped softly at the first touch of warm skin against his arm, and Peter's mouth covered his a moment later in an eager kiss.� A quiet moan escaped Blaine's lips, and he could feel Peter beam at the response.

This much was familiar, at least - the way Peter's mouth felt, tasted - like spicy mint and black tea; the way his hand cupped Blaine's jaw, so that his thumb stroked along the cheekbone as he kissed, like he wanted to keep Blaine in place and reassure him all at the same time.� Blaine couldn't say he minded if that were the case.� Certain things though- Blaine assumed they weren't actually new, they just felt that way, like the warmth of Peter's palm along his side - his boyfriend had certainly touched his side before, but through only the thin fabric of his undershirt, it felt a hundred times more intense.� And the bulge against this hip that ground against his hip as Peter shifted with each hard kiss-

Okay, that might be new.

Not new, Blaine corrected himself.� He had felt it before, but it had never been so...consequential.� Usually he felt it for a few minutes several hours into a session of long, slow kisses before Peter pulled back and said they should go back to studying for awhie.� "Awhile" never lasted long, but that wasn't the point; by the time the kisses resumed, it had always been gone - but not this time.

The concept of hardness wasn't foreign to him, of course; he had his own erections, whether he wanted them or not, and he knew logically that if sex between two men was going to be...well, anything really, it would happen.� All of that made sense to him.� Yet somehow the sensation brought their plans for the evening into stark, unavoidable reality:

They were going to have sex tonight.

He knew giving it so much thought wasn't helping his anxiety - he did.� And he wanted, he really did.� But he wasn't sure he had ever thought quite so much about sex - usually he had been too drunk to think much at all, really, and that had been part of the point.� It had been about not thinking, Not dwelling.� Not analyzing.� Not letting himself be reminded of how hard it was to want the things he was meant to want and how impossible it was to get rid of the feelings he wasn't supposed to feel.� Not letting his mind drift to dreams he couldn't get rid of...

Blaine snapped back into the present as he felt Peter pull away slightly.� "Okay, my dear boy?" he asked gently.� Blaine wasn't sure he trusted the words to come out as anything but a rush of incomprehensible worrying, so he offered the best smile he could manage and nodded.� Peter frowned.� "Blaine, I'm serious."

He didn't know what it was about Peter's use of his name, but it made his stomach fill with butterflies.� He drew in a deep breath and replied as evenly as he could, "I'm okay."

"We can stop any time."

"I don't want to stop," Blaine blurted out, and Peter's concerned expression melted into a proud smile.

"Good," he replied, nudging Blaine's hair back into place with his fingertips.� "Let me know if that changes.� But I'm happy to keep going as long as you're enjoying yourself."

Blaine nodded and managed to agree, "Keep going."

Peter grinned and reached down to unbutton his own pants, and Blaine peeled his undershirt up and over his head, letting it drop onto the floor beside the bed.� Peter paused a moment, looking over him, then practically dove in for a hard kiss.� Blaine pressed up into the kiss, feeling a bit more confident and absolutely certain that pretending he knew what he was doing would help.

Besides, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought about it before in great detail – at least whatever detail he could cobble together from horror stories and his very, very active imagination.� And from the feel of things, his body knew what he was doing even if he didn’t.� Peter pressed down against him, groan muffled against Blaine’s mouth, as his hand slipped once more down Blaine’s side and came to rest on his hip.� Blaine gasped softly at the pressure his boyfriend’s weight caused and shifted, moaning as he was reminded of the miracle of friction – how could he have forgotten how good this felt?

Had it felt this good before?� With girls half-drunk – or drunk and then some – wriggling against him almost aimlessly?� Because he liked to think if it had felt this good, he would have remembered it; instead what he remembered was an intense physical and emotional relief when he was done.

But what if the relief had been the good part?� What if the only part he had liked about sex was the emotional part and getting to feel normal?� Because from what little he could piece together from four years of fog masquerading as memories, that was the majority of what he could feel.� What if, without the affirmation of normalcy and wellness, it didn’t feel nearly as good? Especially since first times were notoriously bad, and even though he hadn’t been a virgin in a very long time, he had definitely never done this before.

Unless he got to be the person who did the boy role.� Not that either of them wasn’t a boy, but- it would just be easier to know what he was doing and how everything worked.

But how did picking that role work?� Did one person get it automatically?� Or did he earn it somehow, like by having the most experience or being ready for it first?� It would make sense if that were how things worked out – because the one…he didn’t even know what to call it, but the one who was doing the other role…just had to lie there and enjoy things, so they didn’t have to be as hard or ready, right?� Besides, Peter should thank him for that because then it wouldn’t really be like first-time sex, since he would at least have some relevant experience.� He could be ready first, especially if it meant getting to do the part he was comfortable with and understood.� They were both in just their pants, and Peter seemed to content to keep kissing for awhile longer, which gave him the perfect angle.

Unfortunately his physical angle proved slightly less perfect; he reached down to unfasten his trousers, mouth kept blissfully occupied by Peter, then began to try to remove the last of his clothes. Grasping the waistband just above the front pockets, Blaine shoved down but succeeded only in scooting his trousers halfway down the front of his underwear, which remained firmly in place. He groaned in frustration, which caused Peter to kiss him harder, hips grinding down against his. Blaine's fingers tightened around the fabric as the twill waistband dragged across his erection. He hurried to try to shimmy out of his pants again, but the side-to-side shifting didn't do much to get his pants down; it did, however, vary pressure across the front of his briefs. He let out a moan that expressed more than one type of frustration, and that seemed to get Peter's attention.

"What- oh," Peter chuckled. The laugh sounded breathier and lower than usual, and Blaine could hardly see the celery green irises around enormous dark pupils. "Here - I'll do mine too. We can move, you know,"he teased and slid back, kneeling on the bed and taking the opportunity to start to remove his own pants. His trousers slipped down easily, dark blue boxers tented in front but convering most of the skin between waist and knee. Peter started to sit back to tug his pants all the way off, and Blaine scurried to catch up.

No - he couldn't be first, not if- "Wait," Blaine requested hurriedly. He had to give Peter credit for freezing immediately and managing to keep a non-irritated expression.

"Everything okay?" he asked, voice even as he watched Blaine with obvious concern.

"Of course," Blaine replied, taking advantage of Peter's stillness to try to gain the upper hand again. He sat up and tugged off one pantleg.

"Then why...?" Peter asked slowly, not understanding. What was there to be confused by, Blaine wondered. He had obviously done this before, so wouldn't he know-

...Uh oh. Had he gotten that wrong? Was that not how things worked? "Isn't that how you know who does what?" When Peter stared at him in confusion, eyebrows knitted together, Blaine added, "Whoever's ready first?"

Peter's confused expression was confirmation enough; the riotous laughter was just salt in the wound. "Oh- Oh my dear boy..."

"It wasn't that ridiculous," Blaine protested sullenly.

"Yes, it was," Peter replie, shaking his head as he tried to calm his laughter. "Where on earth did you hear such a thing?"

"Then how do people decide?"

Peter stopped, as though it had never occurred to him that Blaine would ask. "Well...it depends, really."

"Depends on what?"

"On the men involved. On personal preferences."

"Really?" Blaine asked. That seemed far too simple. When Peter nodded, he ventured, "Then I'd like to be the one...doing."

Peter stilled, regarding Blaine from beneath furrowed brows. After a long moment, he replied evenly, "Not this time, my boy."

"Why not?" Blaine demanded. First he had made a fool of himself with a theory that was apparently ridiculous, but now because of that he wasn't allowed to do the only part of this that felt remotely familiar?

"Why do you want to?" Peter asked, the tone of voice that had been reassuringly calm before now bordering on patronizing.

"Didn't you say it was about personal preference?"

"Sometimes," Peter replied evenly. After a pause, he ventured, "You know, for some men it's a point of pride, that they do unto other men but never allow other men to do unto them. But I suspect that's not why."

Blaine shook his head. "I...don't know what I'm doing," he admitted.

Peter nodded in understanding. "I can appreciate that."

"So I can-"

"No," Peter replied. "For two reasons. First, I personally believe every man should be penetrated first so he understands the sensations."

Blaine wasn't so sure about that reason, but he guessed it did make sense from Peter's perspective. He couldn't really do the same thing with a girl, where he couldn't have any way of knowing how things felt except by paying attention to her reaction. With another man, there was a lot a guy could learn from his lover. He smiled a little, nodding that he understood, then asked, "What's the second reason?"

PEter hesitated a moment to formulate his explanation, then replied, "This is new for you."

"Isn't that the first reason?"

"Not entirely. I don't want you to get scared and revert back to old...habits. Old fantasies. Because you and I both know they would work, but I refuse to lie there while you pretend I'm a girl you're only pretending to like. We can stop any time - say the word and we'll leave this for another day - but if you're doing this, I need to know that you know exactly what's going on and aren't trying to fake your way through by convincing yourself I'm something that I'm not. I have too much respect for both of us and would hope that you do as well." He paused, then added, "Besides - they don't work the same way, so please don't try."

"Isn't it kind of hard for you to know that?" Blaine asked. Anyone who had made peace with himself so early couldn't have gone very far with a girl, and Blaine liked to think that their honesty was mutual and he would have heard that story at one time or another, if such a tale existed. Peter managed a playful huff, which made Blaine grin. Feeling like he was once more on a bit more solid footing, he added, "And I wasn't half bad at it."

Peter burst out laughing and sat back enough to pat Blaine's knee. "Oh, my dear boy - drunkenly bumping against the nearest wet surface, then flopping around for awhile, isn't my idea of a good time." Blaine wanted to sulk, but Peter's smile was too fond to take the snide comment ot heart. "Come now - lie back," he urged gently.

Blaine wanted to protest, but Peter was...well, he was charming, yes, but he was also probably right. Blaine wasn't sure exactly what differences there were, but maybe it was a good idea to let the person who did know the difference lead. If he didn't know what to do, he doubted Peter would just leave him there, flopping in the wind. So if there wasn't some good reason to insist...he laid back and offered Peter a faint smile. The look his boyfriend gave him in return was immensely reassuring.

He would be fine. Peter would make sure of it.

Peter tugged off the remaining leg of Blaine's pants and shed his own, tugging off his boxers while he was up. Blaine glanced down, stealing a peek guiltily; he had no idea how Peter matched up against men as a whole, but he liked what he saw. He swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry, and shifted a little as fire-hot pinpricks washed over him and settled in his cheeks and the pit of his stomach...and lower, where his briefs were uncomfortably tight, cloth tugging against him with every breath. By the time Peter's fingers touched his waistband, he didn't think he was capable of taking in oxygen at all. "May I?" he asked, meeting Blaine's eyes.

"Okay," Blaine murmured, practically holding his breath as Peter carefully lowered the fabric. When he looked up again, Blaine saw something confusingly familiar in Peter's eyes. He had seen girls look at him like that before, and seen them look at other Mendicants like that, and Fitz stared at the redheaded physics major like that. It looked like how he had felt when he saw Kurt but had been too terrified to let anyone know. Or the feeling that was taking up permanent residence in his gut - downright...lustful.

He had known it felt good to be the center of attention and have the entire room singing and dancing along with his performance. He knew from experience he loved feeling girls stare at him and wanting to kiss him, too. But the sensation of his boyfriend being unable to stop looking at him - unable to stop wanting him - left all other forms of attention in the dust.

Peter knelt on the bed and nudged Blaine's knees up and apart then scooted closer, hand brushing casually up and down the inside of his thigh. Blaine guessed he was probably trying to relax him, but the warmth of Peter's hand skimming close to the junction of thigh and hip was almost an unfair tease - and the longer he paused, the more cruel it felt. "Please, can we- ah. Please?" Blaine requested, hoping he didn't sound half as desperate as he was starting to feel.

Peter's eyes widened in surprise, and his lips curled into a smile that was just the tiniest bit smug. "Further?" he teased, as though there were any ambiguity, and Blaine nodded. He trusted Peter completely, but maybe putting him in charge hadn't been the best idea if it would send him on a power trip like this. Peter nudged his legs a bit further apart, and Blaine shivered at the cool air against an area that wasn't used to such exposure. It was hard not to feel like he was on display for the world to see like this, legs apart, hips tilted, completely nude...

It was just the two of them. They were safe. Hewas safe - and loved, and under the watchful eye of someone who would absolutely not stand for his arrest, which was something he wouldn't need to worry about anyway because who in the world would come into his room and report him? This was okay - vulnerability aside.

Peter reached over and picked up the tube of hand lotion Blaine kept on his nightstand. He frowned at it, mumbled something about how he supposed it would have to do. After a moment he sniffed at it and seemed relieved that it didn't have a strong scent. "The most important thing to remember," he told Blaine as he squeezed a dollop onto his fingers, "is to relax. That makes everything easier - and more fun." Blaine nodded, even as his stomach was in knots. Peter leaned down to kiss him - just a soft peck, then glanced down toward-

Blaine gasped as he felt a finger trailing between his buttcheeks; the lotion was cold and thick, squishy and everything in him was fighting the urge to demand what Peter thought he was doing or why this was meant to be fun. He cried out as the tip of Peter's finger pressed inside him. What was that? Who did that voluntarily? Why-

"Shh - relax, my boy, remember?" Peter soothed. Shifting his weight, he brought his other hand to Blaine's erection and closed his fingers around it, then pumped twice. Blaine had done the same motion more times than any well-bred young man could admit to with a clear conscience, but he had never felt anything like that. He moaned, head falling back, legs relaxing a bit as his brain was too busy focusing on the unexpected pleasure. "That's it - exactly," Peter smiled as he slipped the finger further in. It didn't feel quite as uncomfortable, though it was still just an odd sensation...but a terrifying thought occurred to hinm.

The discomfort and fullness were coming from something the size of a finger. Peter...wasn't.

"Will it even fit?" he blurted out, and Peter paused, biting his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. Blaine did appreciate his sensitivity, but it wasn't wan answer. "Because that finger seems small but-"

"We can stop anytime," he repeated.

"I know that, I just- how does anyone do that?"

Peter chuckled gently and leaned in to kiss him lightly. "Patience, my boy. And relaxing. I am by no mens an expert, but it's never been an insurmountable problem."

Blaine was skeptical, but he chose to believe the boy. He nodded, groaning quietly as Peter began to move the digit inside him - more a poking motion than a thrust, really, but it felt...interesting. Not bad, anyway. After a few moments, Peter grasped his cock again, and Blaine let out a startled moan as he felt himself stretch and another finger pressed in.

"Too much?" Peter asked.

"How much- um. How much more is there?" Blaine asked, trying to find a polite way to ask whether he should demure now or keep going the rest of the short distance.

"Get used to these, then we'll try," Peter suggested. He sounded confident that would be enough, which Blaine guessed meant that experience had gone well in that regard. He certainly hoped so.

"Okay," he agreed. "Keep going."

Peter nodded and began to move the two fingers, keeping them pressed tightly together as he twisted and poked and di something that created a stretching sensation around the rim - not enough to indicate a third finger but enough to notice and kind of enjoy it. He groaned softly, and Peter repeated the motion then pulled his fingers out. Blaine hadn't expected to feel empty - or for emptiness to feel like such a bad thing, like something he wanted to correct as quickly as possible. He heard the lotion cap twist open, then the squelching sound of rubbing it onto flesh. The warmth of Peter's body slithered up over him, and Blaine sighed softly in contentment as Peter kissed him. It felt right: tender, close, intimate, strong- "Ready?" Peter murmured against his lips. He nodded slightly and resumed kissing for a moment-

The sudden pressure was intense and not in a good wya. He let out a startled yelp, eyes wide with panic as every bit of him wanted this - whatever it purported to be - to stop, to stop before he died or ripped in two or-

"Shh - relax, Blaine, you're almost there," Peter murmured, trying to encourage him, but what use was encouragement when some kind of medieval impalement torture was going on? "Push out a little."

Of all the impractical and probably impossible advice Peter could give... "I can't," he panted.

"Yes you can," Peter replied, breath almost quivering as he tried to stay still partway inside Blaine. Blaine knew he might have appreciated that more if he hadn't been in the midst of being ripped apart. "The hard part's almost over. Push out a little and it'll get better - I promise you, my boy."

He had no idea how he was meant to push out when he was so full, and it sounded like something that could go really wrong and get...disgusting...but he didn't have any better ideas, and Peter had done this before. He drew in a deep breath and tried to do what Peter told him, whimpering as he felt his boyfriend push forward- and then suddenly the pressure was gone. He still felt full, stretched beyond what he knew could be done, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Strange but not unpleasant. "I...wow," he murmured, eyes wide, breathing hard. Peter beamed down at him, panting a little as he tried to hold very still, weight supported on his arms- he looked amazing from this angle.

"Okay?" Peter checked. When Blaine nodded, Peter leaned down to kiss him lightly; after a moment, he shifted to lay forward against him, wrapping his arms around Blaine's shoulders, holding him close. He could feel the rise and fall of his lover's chest against his own, the warmth of Peter's skin covering almost every inch of him...like every bit of him was surrounded and filled by the young man and he swallowed hard, gazing up at him, not sure how to express the feeling swelling in his chest. Everything was so close, so connected, so intense- was it always like this? Was this what sex was meant to be and he'd missed out for sake of cheap immitations all these years? Or was it only because he had spent so long thinking this should feel like a descent into madness that the way Peter's biceps held him securely felt like the most glorious thing in the entire world? He wanted to stay like this forever, this close and safe.

Peter gazed down at him, nose only a fraction of an inch away from Blaine's, and offered a shy, adoring smile that looked as though he was so intensely, achingly proud- he wanted Peter to be, so badly... He swallowed hard, feeling his eyes start to well up, and Peter stroked the ends of his hair lightly. He didn't know how Peter was staying still for so long, and he whispered, "You can move. I'm okay."

He was a thousand times better than okay and felt like he might fall apart at any moment, but he didn't have a succinct way of explaining that or telling Peter what it meant for sex.

Peter leaned in to kiss him lightly, then began to thrust into him. Blaine gasped as he felt the motion inside him for the first time, arms coming up to grasp the back of Peter's shoulders. He could feel the muscles moving beneath his fingers as Peter leaned forward, kissing his neck as he found a slow, comfortable pace. The groans from his boyfriend's mouth rumbled against his skin, and Blaine held him closer; he kept forgetting to breathe, meaning to inhale but gasping instead, and every inch of his skin felt like it was vibrating with each thrust. Peter's torso was firm against his, hips raising up and pressing down against his with every thrust, grinding against Blaine's erection, and he groaned at the friction, instinctively trying to rock up in return to keep the sensation. Peter gasped and moaned loudly against Blaine's ear, rocking down harder.

It lasted forever but not nearly long enough. Peter finished first, filling him and clutching him close, and the intense pleasure Blaine saw on his face...how could anything that looked like that be bad? How could anything so beautiful as his lover's eyes closed and jaw slack in pleasure be sick? How in the world could this be anything but wonderful?

Peter gazed down at him, panting - eyes hazy, smile lopsided and tired; all dapper pretense was gone, leaving just a blissful, adoring boy. After a moment to get his thoughts in order, he shifted his weight to one side, and Blaine whimpered inadvertently at the loss of bodily contact. Peter chuckled softly, low in his throat, reaching down between them to wrap his hand around Blaine's erection. He gasped softly, pressing up into his hand, and after a few seconds felt like his body might come apart at any moment. He had had sex plenty of times and satisfied himself beyond that, but this- His orgasm hit him hard and he arched off the bed, moaning loudly as he spilled over Peter's hand and both pairs of hips.

He felt empty suddenly and let out a whine, reaching for contact. Peter grinned and laid on his side, pulling Blaine against him, holding him close. He could feel the darkness of sleep already tugging at him, but he didn't want to lose the moment - he didn't want to miss any of this, to wake up and have to return to a world outside his room that, while good, couldn't compare to this. As he tried to jolt himself awake, he felt Peter's warm breath against his ear.

"Get some rest, my dear, dear boy," he murmured, pride dripping from his voice. "You were perfect."

Beaming, Blaine tucked himself back against Peter as close as he could, then drifted almost immediately into a deep, exhausted sleep.

* * * * *

Blaine blinked against the morning light streaming through the window opposite his bed. He yawned and stretched, brushing against warm,smooth flesh-

His eyes widened. He hadn't felt that when he woke up in so long- He turned over, beaming as he saw Peter lying on the other half of his bed. He was on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, hair sticking out at all angles, almost entirely uncovered by the blanket. Blaine smiled softly as he got up, tucking his boyfriend in, then tugged on his underwear and padded into the kitchen to put on tea for Peter and coffee for himself.

It had actually happened, and he felt...okay. Better than okay, really. He had- he almost giggled just thinking about it, halfway giddy at the memories of the night before. He didn't think he had ever felt this way the morning after sex, and he wasn't sure but he was pretty certain it wasn't just because for the first time he could remember he didn't feel like he might throw up at any moment. Usually the morning after, the closest to emotion he was able to unearth from the grips of his hangover was something akin to gratitude that he was normal, but gazing from the kitchen wall over to where his boyfriend slept...

This was better than normal. This was magical.

Peter sat up, eyes bleary with sleep and looking completely adorable. He blinked twice, rubbed his eyes like a child, then smiled softly as he saw Blaine. "You didn't run," he murmured, sounding more surprised than Blaine would have liked...but it was probably reasonable under the circumstances, all things considered.

The first thing that occurred to him to say wasn't that it was his apartment so running away would be hard; instead, the explanation was more poetic and made less sense to anyone but them. "It was the most beautiful jazz...ever," he stated. He could tell by the way Peter beamed that he understood exactly how he felt.