"Are you packed?"

Blaine leaned against the bedroom doorframe, silent and unnoticed, while Kurt inspected the contents of the black hard-side suitcase. The finished product was the result of a methodical process, born of years of extended business travel and a reverence for the care of a pricey wardrobe. 

Kurt had a system: socks rolled into shoes; tissue-protected ties strung on the bar of travel coat hangers; dress shirts and blazer individually fitted inside the thin plastic protective cover of dry cleaners hanging bags, saved especially for travel. 

"Nearly done," Kurt responded without looking up. "I just need to set aside some sundries."

Blaine moved from his post  at the door to the bed, closing the suitcase and snapping it shut.

"Save it for your carry on," he said, moving the luggage by the door. Kurt followed, trying to set one last pair of socks in the case.

Blaine took them from Kurts hand and set them aside. Then he turned, reaching out and cradling Kurts hips with his hands, leaning in for a kiss.

"Youre done packing now."

Blaine kissed him again, firmer this time, breaching Kurts lips with an insistent tongue.

"I guess I am," Kurt murmured, rolling his head back as Blaine began placing a trail of kisses along his jaw, down his neck, settling into a familiar, favorite spot near its base.

He savored the skin and the moment, lingering in a kiss that soon became something more — a nip, a suck, a bite, a laving of tongue to neck.

Blaine pushed forward, pinning Kurt firmly against the wall. He took Kurts hands in his, raising them alongside his head, pressing him in, and then pressing some more.

His mouth stayed focused on that spot, that little space above the clavicle he sometimes thought of as his lips second home. He folded the rest of his body into Kurts — a deep compression of chests, a tangle of legs.

Kurt closed his eyes and leaned his head back to rest against the wall, dropping his jaw as he exhaled Blaines name — an exclamation, a question, an increasingly urgent request, slipping the name off his tongue in hushed tones.

"Blaine." 

With a final, lingering kiss to Kurts neck, Blaine pushed back, just enough to release Kurts hands and trace a fingertip path along his face, past his shoulders, to his chest, his waist, to the hem of his sweater. He reached underneath, lifting both it and an undershirt up and over Kurts head in one pass, and dropping them to the floor.

He reached down again, hurriedly unbuckling Kurts belt, unsnapping the button, nimbly dragging the zipper down.

"Blaine?"

"Let me..." Blaine murmured into Kurts ear, starting a fresh path of kisses down the other side of his neck and chest as he lowered himself to his knees. 

"Let me," he said again, his voice hoarse, his face pressed into the dusting of auburn hair below Kurts belly.

"Blaine... Okay, yes."

Blaine hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Kurts slacks and pulled them down around his knees. He buried his face into the front seams of Kurts strained black briefs, that exasperating pair with a great pouch but no fly.

"Fucking 2(X)IST," Blaine mumbled, yanking them down Kurts legs.

He grasped Kurts hips, holding them still, sinking his thumbs solidly into the joints. He breathed Kurt in as he nosed along the flushed cock, repeating the path with his tongue. He traced the prominent vein along the shaft, then circled the head. He tongued and teased, pulling gravelly moans from somewhere deep in Kurts chest.

"Blaine... aaah. Would you please just suck me already?"

With that, Blaine began a forceful, rhythmic suckling of the head, never fully taking Kurt in his mouth.

"Shit, Blaine, please..."

Blaine grinned around Kurts cock, and finally took him fully in, grabbing at Kurts ass to drive him deeper into his throat, then pulling off, and starting anew. He pulled off again, and ran his tongue down the shaft to Kurts balls, sucking one, then the other, into his mouth.

"Keep that up and Im going to lose it," Kurt said, his words breathy.

Blaine kissed along his cock and groaned.

"Not yet."

With a kiss to the tip, he pulled at Kurts hips, then guided him around to face the wall. With a hand on either cheek, he settled in.

Kurt caught his breath as Blaines tongue began to circle his hole, testing, prodding and teasing until he could firmly pulse his tongue beyond the tight ring.

The room was quiet but for the gasps and the hushed sighs of pleasure as Blaine angled his tongue forcefully, reaching just a little deeper with each thrust. He moaned into it, the vibrations sending shivers of tension up Kurts spine.

Kurt began to reach for his cock, to stroke himself through it, but Blaine slapped his hand away and pulled out, biting at Kurts ass.

"Bed," Blaine said.

"Shoes, Blaine. My pants."

Kurt awkwardly turned and stood before him, flushed and naked but for the pants now pooled around his shoes.

"Help."

It was a pathetic and oddly hot sight, Blaine thought to himself. In a moment of inspiration, he rose to his feet and pulled Kurt close, reaching around his thighs and hoisting him up, pants and all, stumbling to the bed.

It wasnt graceful, but it was effective.

"Mmm. Like Im being carried across the threshold," Kurt said, just as he landed with a thud on the mattress.

"No thresholds," Blaine said, setting himself to the task of removing Kurts shoes, socks and slacks. "Better?" he asked, unbuttoning his shirt and kicking off his loafers.

"Mmm. Much," Kurt said, almost in a hum, as he began backing himself up the mattress.

Blaine caught his eye, locking in, and shook his head No. 

"All fours, right here," he said, patting the foot of the bed and stepping to the nightstand, where he fumbled until he found a near-empty bottle of lube.

"Bossy," Kurt said, arching his brow. He turned over and rose to his hands and knees. "Fine, then."

His shirt open and his jeans unbuttoned enough to ease the tension on his hard cock, Blaine stepped back and reached around Kurts waist, drawing him closer to the mattress edge. He poured some of the lube on to his fingers, rolling them together for a moment, then ran one finger down Kurts crack, circling his hole.

"More?" he asked, pushing his index finger inside.

Kurt groaned. One finger was not nearly enough. 

"Yes."

Blaine added another, and as Kurt began to push back, another still. He leaned over Kurts back to whisper gruffly in his ear. "Ready?"

"Yes."

Blaine pushed at his jeans and briefs with his free hand, then kicked them to the wall. He pulled his hand from Kurt and reached for the lube one last time, squeezing a dollop on his hand before stroking himself roughly.

Since their marriage, theyd fallen out of the habit of regularly using condoms, and Blaine was in no mood to bother with one at the moment. He took little time and less caution to line up and slide in in a single, slow thrust. He paused there only briefly, shutting his eyes and breathing deeply as if to collect himself. He pulled back, nearly out, then slammed back into Kurt.

After that, Blaine drove fierce and fast, tightening his grip on Kurts hips with each thrust.

Kurt gasped at each pass, his breathing matching Blaines torrid rhythm. Blaine didnt slow. He kept a sprinters pace with a marathoners stamina, never pausing or shifting gears or giving the slightest indication that it may be nearing its conclusion.

Panting roughly, Kurt struggled to find his voice. He balled his fists tight against the mattress and finally cried out, arching his spine and throwing his head back, a guttural "aaawwrrrgh" that spoke volumes.

"Shit!" Blaine spat out.

"Blaine?"

"Ugh..."

"Blaine, Im here, too," Kurt said quietly. "Please, slow down. Please."

Blaine stopped dead, fully sheathed in Kurt, panting and silent, lowering his chin to Kurts spine.

"I just need a moment," Kurt said. 

Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurts chest, burying his face in Kurts shoulder.

"Oh god, Kurt. Im sorry..."

"Dont stop. I dont want you to stop. Just... just maybe a little slower."

Blaine bit back a tremulous breath, and began to pull out.

"No, Blaine, really. Dont stop."

"Can you turn over?"

Kurt nodded.

"Yeah, yes."

Kurt turned on to his back, caressing Blaines chest, pushing at his shirt until Blaine stripped it off in a single, fluid motion. He kneeled in front of Kurt, motionless and silent, willing him to take the lead, a signal acknowledged with a slow blink, a half-nod and hips raised in invitation. 

Blaine repositioned himself, making room for Kurt to wrap his right leg around Blaines waist, then raise his left foot to rest on Blaines shoulder.

"Pillow?" Blaine asked, his voice sounding shaky and uncertain. He reached for a bolster and placed it beneath Kurts hips. "Better?"

Kurt closed his eyes and exhaled. "Much."

Blaine cupped Kurts jaw in his hand, bringing them nose-to-nose. "Im sorry," he whispered.

He pained himself to be gentle after that, pushing in slowly, carefully, asking Kurt for permission with words and looks and lingering touches. He let Kurt control the tempo working a slow grind, methodical approximations of figure eights as he lost himself to the aching tug pulling at his abdomen.

He huffed in frustration. "I wanted you to come first," he said, shaking his head. He reached between them, grabbing for Kurts cock, when Kurt laced their hands together and smiled.

"Let me," he said.

****

They hit the road to San Francisco shortly after dawn the next morning, Blaine behind the wheel of Kurts car, hoping to beat the early morning commute traffic.

Kurt sat passively in the passenger seat, scarcely awake, clutching a travel mug of coffee to his chest.

"Should we talk about last night?" he asked, looking up from his cup.

"Hmm?"

"Last night, Blaine. Im not complaining, but what was that? That wasnt like you."

Blaine kept his eyes fixed on the highway.

"Im covered in bruises. Did you see the hickey on my neck? Its a good thing I brought scarves."

"Something to remember me by while youre away?" Blaine said, feebly attempting humor.

"Were not in high school, Blaine. And I have meetings back there. Look, I even have one on my jaw," he said, pointing to a soft, mottled purple spot near the base of his ear. 

"Im sorry," Blaine mumbled.

"This is not going to be a comfortable flight."

"You could have stopped me."

"I did, when I needed to. And believe me, I am not complaining that I married a man with a healthy libido. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed most of it. I would have enjoyed it even more if I didnt have to have my butt firmly planted to an airline seat for six hours the following day."

"Im sorry," Blaine repeated.

"Its not that it happened, okay? Its that it was so unexpected, so out of the blue. I know somethings wrong, Blaine. Youve been moody, and worried about things you shouldnt be worried about, and then this on the heels of it was just... confusing."

Kurt reached over the center console.

"Give me your hand."

Blaine turned his eyes to look at him, just briefly, then shifted his focus back to the road.

"Im driving."

"You can spare a hand for a moment. Come on."

Blaine removed his right hand from the steering wheel, and set it on top of Kurts. Kurt threaded Blaines fingers through his own, then pulled them to his lips, kissing each individually.

"You know you can talk to me," he said.

"I know."

"Im not your adversary."

"I know." Blaine took a breath, a moment. When he spoke again, his voice shook. "Im so sorry, really. I dont know what... "

"Ssshhh, its alright. I like it when you get a little bossy in the bedroom from time-to-time. Just give me a heads-up, okay?"

Blaine bit his lip, and nodded.

"Okay."

"Are you going to be alright while Im gone?"

"MmHmm. Yeah."

****

Kurt broke from the crowd of disembarking passengers as soon as he cleared the jetway in the Virgin America terminal at JFK. His back felt like a rubber band pulled taut; his legs, like cement. He rolled his neck, then his shoulders, then collected his satchel and headed for baggage claim.

His head was bowed to scan his phone for messages — voicemails, emails, texts that had collected over the past several hours — some travel details from Quinn, a query from a winery asking him to lead a pricey tasting event, a check-in from Blaine, an ad for penile enlargement that snuck through a spam filter. 

Kurt chuckled, and stretched again, hoping to dislodge the pain in his lower back.

He cleared the escalator that led to the baggage carousels and the waiting taxi queues and shuttle buses into Manhattan, but he knew to look for his name. Quinn always booked drivers.

His phone chirped with an incoming text just as he saw the sign held by black leather gloves, "K Hummel."

6:28p Quinn: Dinner at 8. ABC Kitchen. 18th and Broadway

Kurt paused for a moment. Proving that Manhattan can pull off farm-to-table, Quinn?

6:30p Kurt: Next time, tell the driver its Hummel-Anderson

6:32p Quinn: Just saving sign space, honey. See you at 8.

Kurt smirked, a crooked grin, and pointed out his suitcase to the driver. His text alert signaled one last time.

6:33p Quinn: Welcome home.

****