“Why?” I ask. My thumb rubs little circles in his palm as I scoot closer to him. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I need to be closer to him. Our arms are now pressed together and the skin to skin contact is scorching hot even though it is cool night.

Kurt sighs and I feel him roll onto his side to face me. “I’ve been wanting to do a series on one person. And I like photographing you. You have excellent bone structure.” I gulp at the air, unsure of what to say. “Only if you want to. I can pay you, of course.”

I swallow, unsure of what to say. “I--you--you don’t have to pay me.”

He nuzzles (is that what it’s called?) my shoulder and yawns. “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. And I’d want to take a bunch of you.”

I turn to face him, our hands still clasped together. “That’d be okay.”

“Yeah?” I feel his face move closer to mine.

“Yeah...” I reply, pressing my forehead to his. I wet my lips, unsure of whether or not I should kiss him. With my free hand, I trace a line down his arms. He is thinner than me, leaner, but his arms are muscled and defined. My fingers creep off his arm to his bare waist and I tentatively press a kiss to his parted lips.

I don’t know why I’m nervous. I know what his lips feel like. They are smooth and supple and... knowledgeable. He knows more than me. All I know is this. The feel of his lips and the taut skin of his arms. It’s not enough. It is everything and it is not enough. And that thought is terrifying.

Suddenly, I’m aware of how tightly he is squeezing my hand. “Kurt,” I whisper against his lips. “You can touch me if you want.”

“Oh, thank God!” he sighs, his hands flying to my neck and rolling me onto my back. He’s not on top me, but his chest is pressed to mine and it is still not enough. How is this not enough? His fingers raked through my hair, his tongue coaxing my mouth to open. My hands fly from his body and ball my fists around the sheets. “Blaine?”

I push him off me and sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry... I just... I don’t know how to do this.”

He scoots behind me, his chin resting on my shoulder. “We don’t have to do anything more than what we’re doing, Blaine. Until you’re used to doing this with a boy and not a girl.”

“It’s not just that, Kurt.”

“What is it?”

I’m so grateful for how dark the room is. I can feel the blood rushing to my face (what is it about this man that makes me blush uncontrollably?). Part of me wants to lie about this but for some reason, I can’t. “I haven’t done this with anyone, boy or girl. I have no idea what I am doing, Kurt.”

Kurt says nothing but he winds his arms around my middle. Something about the gesture spurs me on. “I--I couldn’t--I can’t with girls. I can kiss them but that’s it and it does nothing for me. And I’m too scared to do this with a boy.”

“You’re doing this with me,” he says matter-of-factly, giving me a light squeeze.

“Yes, and I am overwhelmed. I don’t know how to touch you or kiss you the way you so obviously know how to touch and kiss me.” There’s a long moment and I realize how judgmental that sounds. “I mean--”

“It’s okay, Blaine.” His hands slide to my back and he begins to rub it soothingly.

“No, it’s not. How does anybody learn this stuff? Isn’t it supposed to be instinctual? Shouldn’t I just know how to kiss you because I’ve never wanted to kiss anybody as much as I want to kiss you?” I glance over my shoulder and through the darkness I can make out the outline of Kurt’s face. “Shouldn’t this be easy? I’ve never wanted someone like this.”

I can hear Kurt swallow and his voice sounds wet. He tugs me backwards to lean against his chest. “So, I’ll just have to teach you.”

“Kurt--” and his lips are on mine again. I don’t fight it this time. Instead, I relax into him, letting my self enjoy the touch of his hands and his tongue against mine. “But--”

“Shh...” he murmurs. “I’ll teach you, Blaine. And we’ll go slow.”

At some point, he lays me back down but he positions me on my side. “Why aren’t--”

“So if it’s too much, you can pull away,” he explains. We kiss some more but eventually I fall asleep.

I wake up alone. For a moment, I forget where I am then the night before comes back to me. The heavy curtains have been pulled open and the light in the room is even better than in the other room. I sit up and find my pants on the floor, tugging them on, and sitting down on the bed again. If I leave this room, it all becomes real and I have to deal with the consequences. My feet suddenly become very interesting.

There are sounds coming from the kitchenette. A coffeemaker finishing a pot, something sizzling on the stove. And a barely audible hum of Kurt as he cooks. I have to leave the room.

The door opens as I sit there, pondering what will happen next and Kurt is smiling at me, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Oh, shoot. I was looking forward to waking you up.” He grins at me crookedly and my heart stops at the sight of him. He’s wearing light grey shorts and a white shirt with red and blue stripes, his hair is sticking up haphazardly. Somehow, in the morning light, he’s more beautiful than I remembered. “Come on, breakfast is ready.”

I follow him into the other room, picking up my polo from the floor as I go. Kurt’s little table is set with plain white plates, silverware, and a bowl of orange slices in the center. I can see eggs and bacon on the stove.

“Sit,” he commands, bringing the pan of eggs over to the table. I do as he says and grab an orange slice from the bowl. He divides the eggs evenly and scoops half on to my plate and the other half on to his. He does the same with the bacon and we eat in silence for a while. “So, do you want last night to happen again?” he asks bluntly, taking a sip of his coffee.

I almost choke on my bacon. Sputtering, I say, “I--um... I don’t-- yes.”

Kurt smiles at me, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. “Good. Good.”

“Kurt, I want that to be a--regular thing but... I don’t want to be some kind of charity case to you. I--um. I like you. A lot.” Damnit, I’m blushing again.

Kurt’s face softens and he reaches across the table to take my hand. “I’m not running Kurt Hummel’s Introduction to Queerdom School here, Blaine. I like you, too.”

Hummel. His last name is Hummel. Kurt Hummel.

“Introduction to Queerdom?” I tease, giving his hand a squeeze. “Is there such a thing?”

He shrugs, “It’s New York. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

We say nothing, continuing to eat our breakfast, our hands still gripping the others. When my plate is empty, I let his hand go stand up to wash it at the sink.

“I should get out of your hair,” I say, my back to him. I don’t want to leave. I’m scared that if I leave, I’ll never be brave enough to come back.

I feel his hands around my waist, his breath on my ear. For once, I’m fine with being short.

“Stay. It’s Saturday. And there’s beautiful light today. I was serious when I said I want to do a series of you.” His voice is low and seductive and I’m all too aware of his hips pressed against mine. I pull a hand from under the water and grip his.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” His lips are on my cheek and I can feel his smile.

“Wonderful.”