Blaine cut his evening short, as best he could. He had taken Friday off, as had most of the office, and squeezed in time downtown, with Susanna, knowledgable and affable one minute, brusk and intimidating the next, at his side.

So familiar with how to make things work, Susanna was a valuable ally. He had spent much of the morning talking himself in and out of things, trying to decide how the latest complications would factor into his actions.

"Do you know what you're going to do?" Susanna asked.

"I know what I want, and I know what I need. They don't always line up perfectly," Blaine said.

****

The pieces were in place, the wheels in motion, Blaine just needed to settle what felt like a thousand tiny details, so he cleaned the house. He picked up the dry cleaning. And then he waited. And fidgeted. And waited some more.

C'mon Kurt. Just 'Saturday'? Couldn't you have been a little more specific? I can't just sit here.

There were only so many nooks to dust, or rooms to vacuum. So he picked up the phone.

"Mr. Hummel?"

"Blaine, what did I say ..."

"Hi Burt ..."

"... better. How can I help you, son? Kurt make it in on time?"

"Well, that's just the problem, sir ..."

"Burt ..."

"Yes, Burt. I don't know when he's coming in. He didn't say."

"That son of mine. At least we got him on the plane, but for some reason, he wanted to surprise you, or at least surprise you as much as he could with you knowing he was flying out today. I thought we'd talked him some sense not him. It's ridiculous. You don't need to tell me."

"By any chance, do you have his itinerary? I could pick him up at the airport."

"Afraid I don't, son, but I think he gets in around 4."

"Thank you, Burt," Blaine said for the first time sounding confident calling Kurt's father by his first name.

"See? That wasn't so bad. And Blaine, some day I'd like it if you started calling me dad."

Blaine didn't expect that. He took a deep breath.

"I'd like that, too, some day. Um, Burt, there's one other thing I wanted to talk to you about ..."

Formalities finally dropped, the conversation went on for another half hour at least. Blaine lost track of time, and Burt appreciated that the young man he had known for so long had finally treated him like a member of the family. Because for as long as Burt could remember, he considered Blaine a part of the Hudson-Hummel household.

If Kurt wasn't landing until late afternoon, Blaine still had time to kill, and energy to burn. He knew he couldn't just wait around the house until Kurt showed up. He'd drive himself crazy if he did. So he threw on shorts, an old T-shirt and running shoes, and drove himself to the front gates of Runyon Canyon. 

****

He killed two hours on that hill, circling its byzantine path, then circling it again. As had become custom, he greeted other hikers, some familiar to him, other strangers. He scratched dogs' heads. He offered his space in line for the water cart to a couple of older women. He kept all his familiar habits in place, calming his nerves as the hike calmed his body. And when he felt just tired enough, he turned around to go home.

There was no street parking to be found anywhere near the hillside cottage -- not at all unfamiliar in the Hollywood Hills -- so Blaine parked nearly a full block away, and quietly made his way back to the house. 

As he approached, he saw Kurt on the front porch, collapsed in an oversized patio chair, luggage at his side. He was focused on his iPhone, distractedly thumbing the phone with one hand while resting his chin on the other. Kurt hadn't noticed his approach, so Blaine took a moment to take in the sight.

As always, Kurt had taken great care in selecting his travel wardrobe: Stylish enough to be, to be Kurt, but casual enough to handle a long flight. Dark pants, not jeans, but not quite as formal as slacks, either, skimming his thighs. Ankle boots with just enough heel to give him an extra long, lean look. A white, narrow-collared shirt neatly tucked underneath a dark but lightweight watchman's jacket, a design so unique, it had to have been a new one of Kurt's.

On his jacket collar, neatly pinned, rested the puzzle-heart brooch.

Blaine crossed his arms, swung out a hip and smiled.

"Hello, handsome. Looking for something? Texting your boyfriend, maybe?"

"Hi."

"Hi, yourself," Blaine said, the two awkwardly staring at each other for a moment before realizing that this is the moment that you fall into each others' arms.

They stood there, tangled in each other, before Kurt pulled off. "Ugh! You're sweaty!"

"Mmm ... don't care."

Blaine shifted his hands and held each side of Kurt's face, drawing him back in for the kiss he should have started with. He snaked a hand to the back of Kurt's head to draw him closer, and closer still.

He had no intention of being discreet, of caring about the neighbors, deciding to make up for lost months with a a deepening kiss that had long since passed delicate and blew past sweet on a quick path to dirty.

"I missed you," Blaine murmured. 

"Mmmph. Hello to you, too," Kurt said, coming up for air. "Maybe we should take this inside?"

Blaine fumbled for his key with one hand, caressed Kurt's cheek with the other, dotting kisses across his face. A turn of a key, a foot aimed at the toe kick, and the door slammed open, Blaine pulling Kurt in along with him.

"Suitcase!"

With a huff, Blaine reached out, grabbed the bag, pulled it along, just inside the threshold, and slammed the door shut.

"Good?" he asked, reaching once again for Kurt. They kissed, and kissed some more, with hands beginning to weave and wander. Kurt shifted a hand to Blaine's chest, pushing at him lightly.

"Whew. Blaine ... honey ... slow, slow down. A moment, need a moment." Blaine looked at him expectantly. Kurt would have nothing of it, not yet. "We have plenty of time. Please. Show me where I can put my things, and you can go get cleaned up while I unpack."

In his cleaning spree the day before, Blaine had cleared drawer and closet space, and arranged all the new wooden hangars he had purchased in anticipation of Kurt's arrival. He showed them off to Kurt with a certain amount of pride, earning himself a wistful smile.

"I see you were ready for me."

"Always," Blaine said, his eyes bright, his voice dark. 

Kurt grabbed him by the shoulders and turn him around, pointing him toward the bathroom.

"Shower. Then 'always'," he said.

Blaine tore off his sweaty t-shirt and slung it across the room, catching Kurt's eye,  holding the gaze as he peeled off his shoes, socks and shorts in smooth rhythm, then walked toward the bathroom.

He paused and peeked over his shoulder as he reached the door, and with a crooked smile and a hip sway, hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his heather gray boxer briefs. 

He raised his eyebrows in invitation. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Shower."

And with that, Blaine peeled off his last vestige of clothing and sauntered into the bath.

Kurt unpacked meticulously, shaking his head and picking up the pace as he listened to sounds of a flowing shower and a sonorous tenor. Blaine had always sung in the shower, even back at Dalton: Bright lively pop when he was happy. Classics -- Sinatra, Simone -- when his heart was full. Even his low moods were accompanied by the humming of Beethoven.

You are so beautiful, to me

Can't you see? 

You're everything I hoped for

You're everything I need

You are so beautiful, to me

Joe Cocker? That was new.

He looked toward the door, toward the steam, and the song.

Unpacking could wait.

****

Kurt undressed rapidly, folding his pants and setting them over a chair along with his shirt and jacket. He'd normally take the time to hang them. He went to the bathroom, and opened the shower stall to a warm wall of fog.

"I thought maybe you could use a hand," he said, stepping in and gliding his hands up Blaine's chest, leaning in for a kiss.

Kurt licked at Blaine's lip, sucking it gently as he wove his hand up and behind Blaine's ear, pulling him closer, deepening the embrace.

"I thought you wanted to unpack," Blaine whispered.

"I work fast, which is the first and last time I plan on saying that today."

Blaine erupted in a full face grin, then laughter. "Slow and steady?" he asked, caressing Kurt's shoulder blades, dipping in to kiss his collar bone.

Kurt reached up to the shower head, turning it toward the wall, then guided Blaine toward it, pressing his back into the tile.

"Kurt ..."

"Shhh. Do you want my hand? My mouth? Or ..."

"Ugh ... Kurt ... Please, please ... want your mouth."

Kurt alternated --  kiss, lick, kiss -- down Blaine's body, using his chest and shoulders to pin him against the shower wall whenever Blaine threatened to arch, or move at all. He lingered at each nipple, biting and teasing to Blaine's groans. His tongue navigated a winding path down his abs, lingering on Blaine's belly, then lightly kissing down, following the sprinkling of dark hair as it grew dense.

"Kurt ..."

"Ssshhhh ... Let me ..."

Kurt's hands followed his mouth's path south, anchoring Blaine's hips. He nosed at Blaine's erect cock, taking it in: Dark, hard, yet velvet-soft, already seeping. God, he'd missed it. He lapped gently at the slit, tasting the pre-cum. He slowly took him in, as far as the head, and suckled, gently at first, then with a growing intensity that that left Blaine pleading.

"Kurt ... please ... oh ... please."

With that, Kurt wrapped one hand around the base of Blaine's cock, securing him, twisting slightly, taking him deeply into his mouth. He traced the vein forcefully with his tongue to Blaine's incoherent pleas.

Lap. Twist. Suck. Moan. Kurt had a pattern and rhythm, developed years before but not used in months, that he knew would be the end of Blaine. Just as Blaine looked like he wouldn't last, Kurt would pause, kissing Blaine's cock gently, giving him a tease, and a brief break.

"Kurt, I'm not going to last. God. Please."

Kurt licked the length, base to tip, and looked up to see Blaine, splayed against the shower wall, head thrown back, the shower's overspray misting his torso and face. It was the look of his fantasies and summer wet dreams, and it was nearly enough to put him over the top.

"C'mon Blaine. Fuck me," he said, taking Blaine back deeply in his mouth, and grabbing his ass with both hands, encouraging him to move his hips. He opened his throat to the thrusts and moaned. 

Blaine responded in kind, able to keep a rhythm only briefly until he came with a shout down Kurt's throat. Kurt held on, gripping, massaging and separating Blaine's ass cheeks as Blaine's thighs contracted and shook through his climax. As he came down, Kurt shifted his hands to Blaine's lower back, supporting him as he began to slide down the wall.

He raised himself up from his knees and leaned in, angling himself for a deep kiss, letting Blaine taste himself.

Blaine opened his eyes.

"Whoa," he said, dazed. "Kurt, fuck. How'd I last a summer without that? Just, whew, fuck me."

"Plan on it," Kurt whispered, laughing softly. "First, you need to get your legs under you again. C'mon. The water's getting cold and we've got a nice warm bed out there."

All Blaine could do was nod, and turn off the water.