Apparently Blaine truly was some advanced species of idiot, because it turned out ‘dating’ Kurt meant pretty much the same thing as being ‘friends’ with Kurt. Only with tongue. A lot more tongue.

            After the incident in the kitchen when Kurt had first paid him a rather furious visit, Blaine fully expected Kurt to be frigid about these things. Granting physical touches like they were a rare gift, slow to start and quick to stop. To conduct every physical touch on his own terms and not Blaine’s.

            But like so many things, Kurt did the exact opposite of what was expected.

            Kurt seemed to take a quiet, easy happiness in looping his arm through Blaine’s. Although he’d never admit it aloud, Blaine quite liked holding his hand. Kurt’s fingers were long and soft as velvet. Kurt seemed to like it too, but more often than not they’d walk with Kurt’s arm tucked into the crook of his elbow, which had its own benefits. It tucked their bodies close together as they walked, and Blaine could feel the warmth of him like a slow burning flame.

            Kurt just seemed to like touch. His hands constantly tucking a stray curl behind Blaine’s ear, rubbing his forearm, tucking his arm over and around Blaine’s shoulders whenever Blaine would tug him close by his waist.

Yet sometimes, there was that little incessant thought niggling at the back of his mind…

            Did Kurt find his ink unattractive?

            Blaine found the idea, strangely enough, hard to believe. Kurt liked to kiss his temple, lips pressing warmly over the little x there. He would trail his fingers up along Blaine’s arm in too specific a way to be coincidental, outlining by touch the tattoos over his arms. He didn’t seem to be altogether turned off by the tattoos, either. The way he crooked his tongue along the shell of Blaine’s ear, clinking the packed rings there. The very tiny tremors and the tightening of his body when Blaine very deliberately pressed his tongue ring against the protruding bone along his collar.

            For all of his bravado, Kurt seemed content with Blaine’s looks. More than content, perhaps. But still…

            Nearly a month after Kurt kissed him outside the cafe, Blaine is hanging around Kurt’s one Sunday morning before he has to head into his shop when the thought strikes him out of nowhere. Blaine had arrived at Kurt’s request with breakfast that morning—a mocha and a grip, almond croissants, and a bear claw to split—in his most unfortunate pair of ratty jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt. Blaine isn’t sure if Kurt knows that these were the clothes he’d woken up in, but from the despairing look Kurt had given him after a kiss good morning, Blaine was fairly sure Kurt had a pretty good guess.

            Blaine is sprawled across his bed while Kurt bounced ideas off of him, shuffling through his burned CDs. “What about Company?” He was auditioning for a slot in a Winter Recital at his university, and ever since uncovering Blaine’s love for Broadway, his boyfriend was playing the reluctant soundboard.

            “Let me guess,” Blaine muttered. “’Being Alive’?”

            Kurt wrinkled his nose. “Hmm. Too overdone?”

            Blaine shot him a look that Kurt didn’t catch. “There was this amazing cover by some high schooler, he did a lovely piano accompaniment, and it was actually—“

            “He cheated, then, he hit the high notes with the benefit of his balls never dropping.”

            “You’re disgusting,” Kurt pointed out lightly, abandoning the stack of jewel cases on the floor and standing. “I know it’s in my iTunes library, where’s my phone?”

            Kurt looked towards his bedside table, but Blaine was most fortunately in the way. He had reclined back against the pillows, hands folded lightly over his stomach and legs crossed at the ankle.

            Kurt’s stare grew a little glassy. It then occurred to Blaine, as most of his hasty ideas do, that Kurt might have invited him over this early for a reason, what with Rachel gone for rehearsal all morning and neither of them with anything to do until noon.

            Blaine locks eyes with him a long moment. He lifts a hand from underneath his hand, holds it out in Kurt’s direction, and commands softly, “C’mere.”

            Kurt stares at it then, looking glad to break eye contact. He licks his lower lip, turning the pink skin shiny, and Blaine shifts pointedly on the bed.

            “I think I left my phone in the living room,” Kurt says abruptly, and hastily makes a retreat.

            Blaine lifts his eyes to the bedside table where Kurt’s phone is very obviously sitting, picks it up and fiddles with it a bit. He has three missed texts. He scowls. They’re from Adam. Blaine wakes the phone from the lock screen just to get rid of the notification.

            When Kurt returns a too-long minute later, Blaine flashes the phone at him. “Found it.”

            Kurt’s mouth quirks upwards at it. “How astute of you to point that out now.”

            Smirking at the taunt in Kurt’s voice, Blaine teases, “You gonna come get it from me?”

            Kurt hesitates pointedly before crossing the distance to the bed, smile slipping from his face. He perches himself awkwardly upon the edge of the bed, staring at his hands and not at Blaine. Doesn’t even look up when Blaine takes one of them in his own, just keeps avoiding his eye. But he does, hesitantly, squeeze Blaine’s hand back.

            “So…?” Blaine finally prompts. “I haven’t heard that song in forever. You have Company on DVD right?” He isn’t sure how he feels about seeing the look of relief on Kurt’s face, but that he’s done something right eases Blaine’s mind for the time being.

--

            It’s with no small amount of irony that Blaine realizes he has no idea how long a couple has to wait before sleeping together. He’d heard the third date rule. He’d heard the one month rule. He’d heard meeting the friends rule. And if any one of them were true, he and Kurt were well past that stage.

            He couldn’t be the only one to find it strange. And as he was soon to learn, he wasn’t.

            It started off, as most disasters did, with Santana.

            Kurt is in the kitchen, dumping the carryout boxes into the kitchen and fetching them some drinks, when Blaine gets the first text.

            Feliz navidad, bitch. Brit and I are xmas shopping. Whats ur boy like, big and sturdy or vibrating? He strikes me as a size queen.

            Scowling, Blaine texts back a simple, don’t u fuckin dare

            I know its so hard to choose between the two. Both? Or is it you im getting this for?

            Seriously, fuck off and don’t bother

            Kurt is coming out of the kitchen now with two beers, and Blaine pockets his phone. He expects Kurt to slide back to his side of the couch, but instead, he playfully straddles Blaine’s lap, smirking crookedly at him. He jiggles the bottle carefully so as to not spill, and asks innocently, “Thirsty?”

            “Yes,” Blaine growls, making as if to snatch the bottle. When Kurt predictably pulls it away, Blaine catches the line of his jaw in his mouth and bites lightly. Kurt hums his appreciation, blindly reaching behind him to set the bottles down to free up his hands. He buries them in Blaine’s hair, and damn if Blaine didn’t fucking love that. Although he presumably had more experience with sex than Kurt by far, it was these little things that kept catching him by surprise. Nails scratching his scalp, hands massaging his biceps, his knees, pressing close with no further intention behind the notion than just feeling. Kurt wanted to touch for the simple pleasure of touching Blaine, and somehow the reality of that turned him on more than some guy ripping at his pants to skip ahead to the ending.

            Blaine is working a soft little bruise right under Kurt’s chin when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He ignores it, hands feeling up along Kurt’s arched shoulders. It wasn’t a particularly erogenous zone, but Blaine is fascinated by this entire universe of touching he wasn’t accustomed to, and the way Kurt sunk lower into his lap was more than gratifying. Kurt has one hand down the back of his shirt, and is making the most delicious noises. He fucking squeaks when Blaine’s hand goes lower, rubbing at the waistband of his jeans. When Kurt just arches more into it, Blaine lets his hand down to cup his ass, squeezing it and making Kurt moan, the blush going straight down his neck. Blaine chased down the heat with his tongue, so entirely focused on not stepping over any of Kurt’s carefully drawn lines he isn’t even noticing his phone buzz. But Kurt has his knee pressed into Blaine’s pocket, and he pulls back to whisper, “Someone’s popular.”

            Blaine groans, trying to tempt Kurt back. “It’s just Santana being a bitch, it’s fine.” He lifts his face to meet Kurt in an open-mouthed kiss, his mouth already buzzing with warmth. Kurt was apparently feeling confident today, his tongue licking along Blaine’s, flicking over the piercing and damn that phone. It interrupted Blaine’s groan, and Kurt laughed softly.

            Kurt kisses him once more, but it’s a light peck and Blaine knows the moment is over. He sighs a bit as Kurt retracts from Blaine’s lap to retrieve his beer and sit against the arm of the chair, swinging his legs over Blaine’s lap, silently demanding a foot rub. Blaine does so one-handed, leaving it to Kurt to turn on their movie as he finally checks his phone.

            Dont tell me uve become one of those lame ass vanilla sex couples that think touching each other in ur Secret Place is the height of excitement. Lie to me if u are

            Omg u r

            Omg I told Quinn shes with brit and me she laughed so hard

            Blaine furiously texts back, if u got some more urself u wouldn’t be so hung up on kurt and mine so seriously fuck off

            O boo u got the D and now ur as pussy whipped as mike god how the mighty have fallen

            Last time I checked kurt had a dick. im not the one being dragged by their gf fucking Christmas shopping

            Which u know so well u can give me the size ill get u something nice when ur missing him

            “Everything okay?” Kurt asks, eyeing Blaine’s glare curiously.

            “Fine,” Blaine mutters, and he blames that brief moment of distraction, and how he’s still slightly horny, on what he sends next. Well if u stopped riding my dick for five fucking seconds I could find out what his looks like, seriously piss off and stop being such a cockblock

            Blaine realizes, before the load bar on his screen is spent, before Santana could ever receive it, what a mistake he’s made.

            But she’s too quick for him to somehow take it back. All she says is omg, and before he can text a scathing retort, Quinn texts him, You and Kurt haven’t had sex yet? And Britany, tanny said u haven’t tuched his but yet can I tuch it

            “Who is that?” Kurt asks now. “Are you… growling or cursing? Who is that?” he repeats.

            “Just Santana being a fucking bitch,” Blaine snaps, but immediately massaging Kurt’s foot a little harder in apology.

            Kurt looks sympathetic. “Want me to text her? I’m quite a bit more eloquent with words than you.”

            Like fuck does Blaine want Kurt being within a five-mile radius of Santana after he’d dropped that bombshell, let alone talk to her. “The only thing she needs is a lobotomy, nothing you can do.”

            Kurt laughs a little, and it distracts Blaine momentarily. That was another thing it had taken a while to get used to. Kurt laughing, especially when he didn’t lift a hand to cover his mouth. Kurt looked fucking adorable when he laughed like that, teeth showing and nose all bunched up…

            His phone buzzed in his palm, and Blaine nearly threw it across the room.

            Instead, he checked the conversation one more time. Santana had sent him a quick succession of increasingly insulting texts.

            Omg ur not answering u actually haven’t fucked him yet

            Blaine what the fuck its been like 4 months thats practically a year do u need help? Do u need pamphlets a powerpoint? Viagra?

            Is he really as tight-assed as he looks and he just cant take it or what srsly give me something here

            Kurt’s attention has returned to the movie, but nevertheless Blaine schools his face into as calm an expression as he can as he replies,  talk about him like that again then you can get the fuck out of my shop. Blaine doesn’t regret it as he sends it. It was common knowledge that mixing business with personal vendettas was frowned upon, but fuck that, it was Blaine’s shop and if this could get Santana to shut up…

            Christ use ur blue balls to cool it a bit I didn’t mean that

            It wasn’t strictly an apology, but it was the most Blaine could hope for.

            But srsly how far have u gotten

            Blaine put his phone on mute, set it aside, and lunged across Kurt’s chest between his legs. Kurt laughed again, tucked his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and kissed him through his hair and fuck who had ever done that before….

            By the time the movie is over Blaine is half asleep and can’t recall a single thing about it. Every now and then his phone buzzes but he ignores it, and Kurt doesn’t question that. Just pets Blaine like some kind of cat, through his hair, the back of his neck, over his shoulders. He could lie here for hours and be perfectly find, smelling Kurt’s skin and leeching his heat.

            But the credits roll, Kurt shuts off the TV, and Blaine knows the night’s over. It’s nearly midnight. He doesn’t want Kurt walking alone too late at night, and he knows better than to consider the possibility of Kurt staying the night. But selfishly, he drags it out as long as possible, much to Kurt’s reluctant delight.

            Blaine ends up half straddling him, pinning Kurt with his own weight, a feat made much more difficult with Kurt’s body jolting in laughter beneath him. His mouth alternates between scolding Blaine and catching the skin of his neck between his teeth. Blaine fights to keep form rocking his hips every time Kurt does it, but it’s a difficult battle. He doesn’t want to fuck this up again. Blaine is fairly sure he’s already reached the quota for how many times one person can fuck up before they’re kicked to the proverbial curb indefinitely.

            Blaine already knows Kurt won’t stay, sees no point in making either of them uncomfortable by asking, and he leaves Kurt to gather his things while he runs to the bathroom. When he’s finished he splashes cold water on his face, brushes damp fringe from his face, and looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are dilated a bit, but the flush in his cheeks has cooled. He takes a few seconds to compose himself before leaving to tell Kurt good bye. And perhaps forestall him at the door a little longer.

            But Kurt isn’t there. Frowning, he heads back into the living room where Kurt still is, sitting where Blaine had left him. He’d switched the cable on, and had it on Extreme Homemaker.

            “I thought you were heading out.”

Kurt looked up at the sounds of Blaine’s voice. “Hmm? Do you want me to?”

“…no,” Blaine said truthfully. It was late, but Blaine wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He settled back down on his end of the couch, and was instantly suspicious when Kurt turned off the TV. The sense only worsened when Kurt hesitantly slid over the couch cushion, chest pressed against Blaine’s arm and a hand on his knee. It would have felt nice if it hadn’t felt just a bit out of context. There was too much thought behind touches that should require no thinking at all.

            Kurt leaned forward, eyes averting his own gaze, and kissed his cheek slowly, face warm where it met his skin. Blaine placed his hands on Kurt’s hips and squeezed. When Kurt didn’t stop, he slid them further back until he was cupping his ass, something that normally would have had Kurt backpedaling quicker than Blaine could process. But now Kurt just moaned, sinking further into Blaine’s lap. The noise sounded more natural, and carefully, Blaine chanced reclining them back. Kurt was still seated stiffly on his lap.

            Sighing a little, Blaine nudged his nose against Kurt’s forehead. When Kurt had lifted his face, Blaine kissed him. He meant to keep it light, really he did, but Kurt was turning it dirty quick and Blaine didn’t have the self-constraint to stop him. Like it had been for the past two hours his phone gave another jittering hum against the coffee table. But Kurt just sucked on his tongue and Blaine couldn’t help it, his hips bucked up and jolted Kurt on his lap.

            Kurt stayed where he was, smoothing his hands over Blaine’s neck, kissing him with quivering lips. Blaine slowly retracted his hands, but then Kurt was reaching behind him to capture his wrists and push them back, and then further down to cup the back of his thighs, and Blaine wasn’t one to complain but…

            When did my phone get on the coffee table?

            His phone buzzed again, and Blaine yanked his hands from Kurt’s slackened grip. It was that Kurt still tried to kiss him that gave it away. But Blaine twisted away, pushed at Kurt until he was stumbling off of him. Blaine stood in a hurry and swiped his phone from the table, fingers feeling oddly cold. “Did you move my phone?”

            Kurt didn’t answer, but couldn’t quite pull off the innocent look.

            “Fuck, did you look at my phone?”

             Kurt was twisting his hands in front of him. “It wouldn’t stop buzzing for the past three hours…”

            “And you didn’t just fucking ask because?”

            “I did and you didn’t answer!” Kurt snapped, shoring up the defenses, his guard snapping up like a fortress behind his eyes.

            But Blaine wasn’t having it, standing up from the couch himself, anger like a pulsing life force in his veins, pounding so hard that it hurt. It did hurt. The utter lack of trust, feeling like he was standing against the huge, unknown force that was Kurt’s constant paranoid assumptions. “So you thought it’d be okay to just look for yourself?”

            “God, stop over reacting!”

            “Over… Kurt, fuck, is that why you were suddenly horny as fuck? Huh?” Blaine licked his lip a little, still tasting Kurt’s tongue. Because if that was why... That’s not what he wanted. That hadn’t ever been what he wanted, and most especially wasn’t what he wanted now.

            “I don’t even know why I’m the one getting yelled at! That’s what you wanted, right?”

            “When the hell did I say that was what you wanted!?  When did I ever give the slightest—“

            Kurt was looking a little unsure now, his posture still tense to the extreme but there was a nervous quiver to his words now. “With Santana, you said—“

            “Jesus fucking Christ, Kurt, I was trying to shut her up but you don’t even fucking care, do you?” Blaine roared, his worst assumptions confirmed. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint just why he felt so angry. He’d felt used before, had himself used plenty of people, but this was the only time it had ever hurt, and that in and of itself was too hard to deal with. “You just went right the fuck ahead and looked for what you wanted to see, you always fucking do that, you make up your mind on what I’m thinking before I can even blink.”

            “That’s not true…”

            “I’m not that guy!” Blaine finally shouted, and he felt he had to scream it so often that he wasn’t even sure of the fact himself anymore and that made it even worse. The indecision and doubt that Kurt was drilling deep into Blaine’s veins due to his own damn anxieties. “I’m not  and I don’t know who the fuck you think I am, but I ain’t him and if that’s all you’re expecting then you’re sure as fuck gonna be disappointed.”

            “I know… Blaine, I know you’re not.” There was a definite shake to his words now, and he held up his hands placating in front of himself, as if trying to calm Blaine through gesture alone. “God, look, I’m sorry, I know you’re not.”

            “Stop fucking bullshitting me and just tell me what the fuck you expect from me! What do I have to do. Or are you just waiting for me to fuck it all up to rub it in my face?”

“I don’t, I don’t, please stop shouting and talk to me.”

“I don’t want to fucking talk when you don’t listen to me anyway! When are you going to start believing I’m not that guy.”

            “I do!”

            “Then fucking show it!”

            “I do,” Kurt repeats empathetically, walking up to him and cupping his face in two quivering hands, but Blaine batted them away.

            “Fuck this,” Blaine snapped. “Just get out.”

            “Blaine.”

            “Kurt,” Blaine sighed, the fight suddenly falling right out of him and all he was left with was the burning desire to be alone. “I’m serious. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

            Trusting Kurt to show himself out, Blaine left him standing there and walked into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and collapsing onto the bed’s edge. He listened carefully. There were footsteps outside his doorstep. A few minutes later, the front door opened and shut. Blaine didn’t realize he was tired until he collapsed onto the mattress. But he didn’t sleep a wink all night. 

-

            In the end, there is far less fanfare than their constant, never-ending tumultuous arguments.

            But before that, something was ascertained to be true. And that was that Sebastian Smyth was an asshole.

            Sebastian was a very specific type of dick, sort of like Blaine. They were either agreeable to you or not, and there wasn’t much middle ground to navigate through. And his appointment had fallen at the worst possible time, because Blaine was still pissed the fuck off.

            It had been a full three days since their fight when Blaine had ordered Kurt out of his apartment. Kurt had texted him the following day, called at night when Blaine hadn’t answered. His phone had been a constant buzz the whole day, and Santana must have heard from Rachel what her stunt had caused because she left Blaine alone about it. Quinn wordlessly cleared his schedule for the day. Blaine kept himself locked in his private room, sketching out rough, angry tattoos in nothing but burning ink, more Black Sabbath than The Rolling Stones, Fiona Apple rather than Frou Frou.

            Kurt called him five times the following day, but Blaine ignored those, and the texts. Every time it was Blaine going to him. And he would eventually, when he could do it less angrily. If he had to be bitter, he wouldn’t be angry too. Because Blaine liked Kurt. It was a simple thing to imagine, but Blaine could count on one hand the number of things he liked without reservations. Tattoos, New York, music, and Kurt. Everything else came with hang-ups and strings and red tape, but Kurt didn’t. He just was, and no matter how extraordinarily difficult he was, how stubborn and untrusting and unpredictable and fragile, Blaine liked him. All the time, in every way.

            Kurt did nothing the third day, and Blaine wondered if he was pouting as he himself sulked through his morning session. His client said nothing, was quiet himself, like he always was. He came once a year. On his left shoulder, directly over where his heart lay, was a simple little love heart, rich in reds and pinks, not bigger than Blaine’s thumb. It was one of the first tattoos Blaine had ever done since moving to New York seven years ago. He’d been an apprentice at Puck’s shop then, only just starting to take on small projects. But the man had seen some of Blaine’s practice works on orange skins littered around the desk, and quietly requested it. His name was Will, and he was the somber sort.

            His wife had died four months prior, and he still wore the ring. A year to the day later, Will found Blaine again, and had him ink a ring around the heart. Yet another year after that, when Blaine opened his own shop, Will tracked him down again and got the second ring.

            Seven years later and Blaine was drawing in the sixth ring around the heart, and it was now more apparent what they were. Drawn with barely quarter of an inch of room between each, the lines ran like age lines in a tree trunk around the small heart. Blaine didn’t know how they’d manage it when Will ran out of shoulder room, but he sincerely hoped the man would be around long enough to figure it out.

            Blaine hadn’t even finished swiping off the blood and excess ink from Will’s shoulder before he decided to call Kurt on his break. He stared at the tattoo before him, how it aged before his eyes, and that lonely little heart. Maybe he’d surprise Kurt after class with a mocha. He’d even remember to make it nonfat.

            But before that, Sebastian was a dick and coming in to get some shading done on massive tattoo Blaine had been working on for six months. He certainly had the money to complete the piece in a much more condensed timeframe. Blaine had a sneaking suspicion as to why he chose not to.

            Blaine was very suspicious this week. What made it worse was the fact that most of his suspicions were coming true.

            Sebastian showed up fifteen minutes late to his twelve ‘o’ clock appointment, by which point Blaine had nearly chewed his snake bites out. Kurt was done his music history lecture at four forty-five, and if Blaine wanted to catch him he didn’t have time to fuck around. Sebastian had the tendency to draw appointments out, and this time was no different. Sebastian made a show of removing his shirt, of unbuttoning his pants only to just sit there, straddling the bench, chatting over outlines and shading like he knew anything about anything, like this whole conversation was some sort of strip tease.

            Sebastian’s tattoo was something of a collage, and normally once they got going and Sebastian shut up Blaine quite enjoyed working on it. It was like a deconstructed version of the stereotypical tattoo—skulls, roses, nonsensical tribal patterns. But the mess was highlighted in bright gold and bold black lines, layered upon over the years with whatever Sebastian felt like. This month, apparently, he was feeling musical. Blaine found himself with the sheet music to Bohemian Rhapsody on his knee as reference.

            “So you’re quiet,” Sebastian said once Blaine had moved off his ribs. He’d unbuttoned his pants so they slung low down his hips, even when Blaine had insisted he wouldn’t be inking that far down. And it wasn’t just for personal reasons. The work looked quite complete and he was apprehensive to add anything more aggressive to it.

            Blaine grunted a nonverbal reply back, squinting at his notes and then back up.

            “What’ve you been up to anything?”

            “Not really,” Blaine replied. He never rushed his work, although he was sorely tempted to today. Usually doing tattoos had some sort of calming effect, but it wasn’t today. The gun buzzed angrily in his grip, and his grip felt sweaty in the gloves. He wiped with the antiseptic perhaps a little too roughly, but Sebastian was too macho to say anything about it. Blaine shamelessly took advantage of that.

            “Popular guy like you?” Sebastian went on smoothly, glancing down at his side, stretching unnecessarily in the seat. “I don’t believe it. Santana said you guys had that thing last month.”

            Blaine was assuming he meant the annual holiday party they had every winter, when their business tended to edge into dead territory. The reputation of both himself and his artists was fairly widespread throughout the inked community, but Quinn had always insisted on hosting a sort of event in his shop once a year. It was more of a way for them to show off their more popular works from the year past, and their schedule always ended up being booked solid for the next season. Spring was a good season. “No, it’s next month.”

            “Maybe I’ll come,” Sebastian offered.

            “Mh.”

            “So, been seeing anyone interesting?” Tired of Blaine’s two-word answers, Sebastian had clearly decided to get right to the point.

            Blaine shrugged however, not wanting to drag anything of Kurt in front of Sebastian. He ejected the tip of the gun onto the tray and injecting a new one before loading it with white, eager to finish the highlights and get Sebastian the fuck out of his chair.

            “Aww. No one? I find that one hard to believe, too.”

            “Watch me just rush to change your opinion.”

            “Well if you’re just so free so often, you should come out with me for drinks some time. What are you doing this weekend?”

            A few months ago, Blaine would have accepted. He wasn’t in the habit of turning people down, and he hadn’t turned Sebastian down more than once. But…

            “Pass,” Blaine said, rapidly swiping delicate little shadows beneath the tips of the notes. He left the music bars as they were, a burnt rusted orange that correlate well with the red and grays of the skull.

            “Busy?” Sebastian prodded.

            Blaine answered firmly, “Not interested.”

            “Ouch. You’ve been plenty interested before.”

            “And I’m not now, and you’re done,” Blaine snapped, slamming the tattoo gun loudly on the tray and reached for a fresh cloth, drenching it with ointment and rubbing roughly at the tattoo.

            But Sebastian was looking at something over his shoulder. “Can I help you?”

            Blaine looked over in that direction and the shock of seeing Kurt there didn’t register for a moment. But there he was, looking especially out of place today in some trim little blazer and bow tie, skinny jeans and boots strapped up his shins, hair carefully swept back in spikes today. Tall, a little rough, slim, delectable.

            Blaine swallowed. “Hey.” It was then he saw Kurt was carrying two cups of takeaway coffee. It reminded him of the last time he’d seen Kurt in his shop, when he’d been carrying much of the same. “Um, I’m almost finished up here if you wanted to…”

            Kurt nodded, glancing at Sebastian once before giving Blaine a tight smile. “I’ll be up there with Quinn.”

            Blaine watched him walk away, and his frustrations with Sebastian suddenly seemed so trivial.

            Until the asshole opened his mouth again. “Who’s the twink?”

            Blaine glared at him. “That was my boyfriend,” he snapped, and the effect it had was two-fold. The look of surprise on Sebastian’s face was most gratifying. But just saying the words, hearing the resolve in his own voice, served to empty out any residual bitterness stewing in Blaine’s stomach.

            “Oh,” Sebastian said, tones dripping in obvious disapproval. “Really?”

            “You’re done,” Blaine repeated coldly, yanking off his gloves and throwing them into the small trash can he kept under his table. “You know the drill. Quinn will handle the payments. And for fuck’s sake stop getting shit done to that,” Blaine added as he stuck on another pair of gloves and unrolled a pad of fresh gauze.

            “Want a picture?”

            “Not really,” Blaine said honestly, taping the gauze in place with quick efficiency. “But I’m not kidding, if you’re in here again you’re getting something somewhere else, maybe something on your fat head, but anything else on that and it’ll end up a clusterfuck.”

            Sebastian appeared nonplussed, standing before shrugging on his shirt. “Clusterfuck,” he muttered, glancing over Blaine’s shoulder to where he knew Kurt was. “Right. Well if you ever get bored,” he said pointedly.

            “Get out. Now,” Blaine groaned, jerking his gloves off and capping the ink bottles back up.

            Sebastian rolled his eyes and began to pick around his pocket for his wallet as he walked up. Blaine yanked an antiseptic wipe from its pack and quickly patted down the chair, keeping an eye on the front. Kurt must have listened to the dismissal because he was making his way back. He swept by Sebastian as he left towards the front desk. Kurt gave him an unreadable look as he passed. It was impossible to tell what look Sebastian returned it with from this angle.

            “Old boyfriend?”

            “I’ve never really done boyfriends,” Blaine reminded him, dumping the used ink caps into the trash can as well. He liked things neat; he had a routine. “Before you, I mean. I just… you know.” Blaine trailed off awkwardly, abandoning his work station to sit back into his chair again. He could hear Sebastian at the front desk, but all his focus was on the man in front of him.

            Kurt glanced away, because he didn’t know. Blaine didn’t feel guilty. He had nothing to be guilty over. But it made him feel a little small inside, watching Kurt be so very unsure of himself.

            When Kurt reached him, and handed him his coffee, Blaine shifted in the parlor stool a little bit to get comfortable, expecting Kurt to sit and lecture like he was overly prone on doing. But Kurt surprised him again, setting down his own coffee to brace his hand on Blaine’s shoulders as he leaned in to kiss him. His lips were cool and a little chapped, not what Blaine was used to at all, but as Kurt pulled back Blaine muttered, “Just come here.”

            Kurt sighed a little, as if in relief, and perched himself onto Blaine’s knee, tilting his head to fit into the crook of Blaine’s neck, breathing against his ink. Blaine gripped him tightly around the waist, pressing his nose into Kurt’s hair.

            “I called,” Kurt offered after a long few minutes of silence, not lifting his head from Blaine’s shoulder.

            “I know,” Blaine answered.

            “We fight a lot.”

            “Yeah.”

            Quietly, “I’m sick of it.”

            Blaine didn’t reply, just smoothed his shoulders. He didn’t know why he didn’t feel nervous at that, but he felt sure of something he could quite define yet. Only that little touches like these were still a new sort of strange

            “Sometimes, I don’t really know if what I have… is what you want. And I can.” Kurt breathed. “I project a lot, I know. I’d understand if you weren’t really interested in ‘boyfriends’. I’m just a silly romantic and… not what you’re used to.” Blaine wanted to interrupt, but Kurt was finally talking and he couldn’t. “You probably like what you had with… other men, before. Like Sebastian. Without any of the drama and bitching and complications and—“

            Blaine had to stop him then, leaning back to look down at him. “Hey. Look at me.”

            When Kurt wouldn’t, Blaine hooked his fingers under Kurt’s chin and tilted his face up. He wondered if Kurt could feel the callouses there, the little nubs of skin roughened beneath the gun, his life’s work scarring his hands in ways invisible to all but touch.

            He held him a little too tightly, maybe. But Kurt was tolerant towards the strangest of things.

            “Sebastian means shit to me,” Blaine said slowly, watching each word drop into Kurt’s eyes, and the physical evidence of the trust shining back meant something. Perhaps Blaine didn’t quite know yet what that something was, but he was working at it. Because Kurt was tolerant, and more patient than Blaine deserved. “And so does anyone who ever would have come before you. Understand?”

            Kurt gave him a slightly sardonic look then, and Blaine expected him to shift out of his lap. Instead, he lifted his hands to grip Blaine’s wrist gently. Instantly he loosed his hands, fingers gently skimming Kurt’s high, sharp cheekbones. The skin was dizzyingly soft.

            “I know,” Kurt said. “Who would prefer that over me? He smelled like the clearance section on Amazon.”

            Blaine snorted, suddenly grinning. Kurt matched it with a small smile of his own, although it wasn’t as full as it could be. “He really does.”

            Kurt took a breath, and muttered, “I understand. I knew, before, I just… get that way, sometimes. You’ve been putting up with it, but I’m trying to get like that. I just get that way sometimes. I know it’s stupid and childish—“

            “It’s not stupid,” Blaine interrupted. Truthfully, something warm flooded him to think of Kurt jealous, but he knew jealousy wasn’t it. It was trust, and Kurt wasn’t the one Blaine would have expected to have problems in that area in this relationship, but here they were and he couldn’t figure out how to fix it. Had, in fact, given up on trying. Some day Kurt would. It could be tomorrow, it could be a year from now. For now, he could kiss him, and that was plenty. His resilient, stubborn presence was enough.

            Blaine did kiss him though, sliding his hands back into Kurt’s hair to tilt his face into it. Kurt went gladly, kissing back almost greedily, looking for something. Blaine didn’t know what that was, but he’d give it. In a heartbeat, through any means, Blaine would give it freely.

            Kurt broke it off too soon, but he was grinning that dorky little smile Blaine loved, the one that showed the tips of his teeth, so it was okay. “You take my breath away,” he panted against Blaine’s mouth, and Blaine felt dizzy for how hopelessly gone he was.

            But Kurt wasn’t done. “You do, every day. The way you understand people. Your passion. Your art.” Kurt glances around him with a look on his face Blaine hadn’t seen Kurt regard his shop with before. “The way you… are with me. You’re always so patient when I know you’ve hardly exercised much of it before. Thank you.”

            Kurt was staring into Blaine’s eyes in a way he hadn’t before. Clearly and without reservations, like he was finally looking at Blaine instead of a projection of what he thought he’d see. Blaine felt stunted. Not pressured, but like there was a certain expectation of him that he’d filled and hadn’t known about.

            “So, um, Santana’s getting everyone together at Gizzeppi’s tonight for drinks in an hour,” Blaine finally muttered, scratching at the back of his head. “It’s pretty dead in here. Would you wanna go with me? They’re probably doing karaoke afterwards.” Blaine liked karaoke. He liked singing, liked singing directly and pointedly at Kurt, making him laugh and squirm under the attention.

            “No.”

            Blaine tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. He thought it was best accomplished by looking away, picking up a notebook from the table just to give his hands something to do.

            Suddenly there was a hand grabbing his with a sort of purpose. “No,” Kurt repeated. “I’d rather go to your place.”

            Blaine swallowed when he looked back at Kurt, fully expecting to see that frightened, resigned look on his face. But Kurt met his eye with confidence, solidity, and no small smart of heat. Blaine had to swallow again to wet his mouth enough to reply. “Okay.” In the end, there was no fanfare, no dramatic proclamations, no true build up to speak of.

            But it was enough. And that was that.

--

            Getting back to Blaine’s place was a blur in that he was hyper-aware of Kurt’s presence through two subway rides, but the next day wouldn’t remember a moment from between when Kurt had cornered him with that look in this shop, to when he had Kurt half naked in the hallway of his apartment.

            Blaine wasn’t known for his finesse. Kurt was very much the romantic type, but he didn’t seem to be complaining.

            Blaine still had Kurt’s undone bowtie in one hand as the other ripped the buttons of his shirt open. He kissed and sucked his collarbone to make Kurt shake in his arms, he wanted that, wanted the cling of Kurt’s arms dragging him down and under.

            It took little time and not much bush beating to get them to this point, all things considered, but then Kurt had his shirt in his hand and how was Blaine the more naked one? Kurt was taller, had to bend a little to lick Blaine’s inked bowtie with his hot little tongue.

            “Kurt,” Blaine growled, yanking his shirt from his pants and felt with sure hands how tension tight Kurt’s stomach was. Blaine’s knees hit the floor before the bowtie. Kurt yelped when he felt Blaine’s tongue drag along his navel before he pinched the skin between his teeth and bit down hard enough to bruise.

            And Kurt, calm poised romantic Kurt, cursed loudly as Blaine sucked at the skin like he was trying to pull it off the bone.

            Blaine had the button to his jeans open and the zipper halfway down before Kurt was pulling him to his feet, and they were locked momentarily in a flurry of lips and tongue, and the occasional unfortunate clip of teeth. Blaine pushed him backwards, they tripped and almost fell twice, their bodies tugging along the wall like a dirty promise.

            Kurt tugged off his own shirt, and took the liberty of backing himself into the bed and onto it. Blaine followed, pushing the sheets off the mattress and Kurt’s hands off his pants in favor of divesting Kurt of his.

            “Impatient,” Kurt claimed ironically, but let himself be undressed, eyes slipping shut as Blaine feasted himself.

            Kurt had his legs pressed together, so Blaine was forced to straddle him as he mapped his chest with his tongue. He tested with teasing suction the sensitivity of Kurt’s nipples, and garnered very favorable results. Hands everywhere, and he was being impatient, he knew he was, but they had all the time to drag this out. Blaine didn’t realize until now just how bad he had it until he had Kurt.

           Blaine did take a moment then to pull back and look, feeling like he needed just a second to compose himself. Kurt took the chance to try and undo Blaine’s pants for him, but it was easy for Blaine to pin his wrists to the side. Kurt wriggled a moments, playfully and with a little heated look let Blaine have his fill.

            Kurt looked even taller without clothes. The shallow curvature of his hips, the way his muscles rose in gorgeous, seamless ridges below his pale skin. Kurt wasn’t muscular, but he was lean and solid, a graceful sort of masculinity and vitality that made Blaine’s mouth water. And further down, pressed into the raised crotch of his own jeans, Kurt’s erection was curved softly up, slanted a bit to the left, and Blaine released one of Kurt’s wrists just to touch.

            Kurt tensed a bit when a hand wrapped around him, but relaxed so quickly afterwards Blaine hardly took notice. He stroked a slow, tortuous rhythm, breathing deeply. Everything had escalated so quickly that he felt dizzy.

            Kurt, too, seemed to be cooling. Desire and want filled his gaze with a nearly palpable heat, but now he used his free hand to run up Blaine’s arm slowly, humming and thrusting into Blaine’s fist.

            “How is it?” Blaine asked raggedly, needing some sort of confirmation, for Kurt to start talking, to give up whatever secrets he held, the key to unwinding him..

            Blinking up at him as if misunderstanding the question, Kurt tugged Blaine’s head down to kiss him again. The angle forced Blaine to release his grip, so instead he ground his hips slowly down, purpose clear. Kurt’s mouth froze against his for a second too long before he was kissing with twice the fervor. But it was enough to distract Blaine a bit, to make him rethink things through a moment. They didn’t have to see it through. They had all the time in the world to try everything, it didn’t have to be blown tonight. There was no need to indulge in that fantasy Blaine had refused to succumb to, the one that tugged at his mind when there was nothing left to distract it…

            Kurt was undoing his pants though, and Blaine was gone.

            Suddenly nothing seemed enough, and all Blaine wanted was to crash and burn. To take all at once, to sate the inferno enough to let it kindle and burn. His hands were too rough as they gripped Kurt’s hips, he knew, but his partner seemed to be in just as much of a rush. With his shins he shuffled Blaine’s pants down just low enough for him to kick them off. Raw skin made it worse. Fingers were tucking themselves into heated flesh too quickly, but Blaine couldn’t care because even this felt different, every touch felt new and unexplored, like his fingertips had never brushed another man.

            Kurt continued to rock in unpredictable patterns from languid smooth angles to tense rigidity. But in either state he was hot and gripping, fingers in Blaine’s hair and mouth to his throat, sucking and biting at the first slick push inside. Blaine was sure that in his rush he’d left the cap off of the lube, it would probably spill onto the sheets, but then Kurt’s legs spilled onto the sheets and he moaned loud into Blaine’s breastbone as he found with blind touch the spot that cracked him like spun glass.

            “Blaine,” Kurt grunted. “A little more….”

            “Mh,” Blaine breathed, slowing his fingers a little, holding them steady inside for Kurt to feel and clench around. There were condoms in the drawer that Blaine needed to find. Kurt licked his shoulder, then up his neck, over his chin, curling around his ear. Blaine kissed his cheek, something he’d never done in bed, but it felt more intimate than anywhere he’d ever kissed someone. He stroked him steadily with both hands, good and smooth and firm, until Kurt unclenched a little to ease the resistance.

            Kissing was so very absurdly good like this, and Kurt was so generous with it. Warm, wet, wanting. Wanting Blaine. He felt like solid gold between Kurt’s legs, like something priceless, like someone.

            Eventually he withdrew his hand from between Kurt’s quivering legs and felt around for the bottle, shifting himself onto his elbows to touch gazes with Kurt. He never asked before, had always decided, but it felt proper to ask. Fuck Kurt had broken him. “How do you want it?” Blaine murmured into the hollow of his throat, gusting hot breath over dampened lips and watching the swallow of Kurt’s throat.

            “…how?” Kurt panted in surprise, hands scrabbling at the sheets and gritting his teeth because Blaine’s other hand had never stopped pulling. The fingers of his right hand traced quickly up before pressing at him there, where he was so stretched and wet; every muscle in Kurt’s body froze again.

            “Yeah,” Blaine murmured, pushing a little harder and massaging in light circles at his flushed entrance. “How do you like it?” Blaine didn’t want to fuck this up, he wanted it perfect for him. More than he wanted Kurt, more than he wanted to unwind the way all of his muscles seemed to have knotted themselves, he wanted it good for Kurt. He wanted it so good Kurt would crack beneath him, show Blaine that hidden vulnerability he always kept so carefully hidden away.

            Blaine could see him swallow again, but was unable to resist this time. He chased the movement with his tongue and fingers abandoning their position to fondle his sac instead. Kurt relaxed just slightly under him, the fluidity returning to his hips as he rocked upwards into Blaine.

             “I don’t know,” Kurt finally answered, hands trembling as they pushed through sweaty curls and scratched at his scalp. “On… mh, on my back?”

            “Was that a question?” Blaine leaned back a bit to meet Kurt’s eyes. Eclipsed in the dark, they looked completely gray. “Just… how do you usually do it? I want to do what you like. I’m being a gentleman.” He said the last word with an exaggerated grimace, aiming for a laugh. But Kurt’s eyes darted to the side, and he bit at his lip hard. His hands clenched nervously at Blaine’s shoulders. “Kurt?”

            He wouldn’t return his gaze to Blaine’s. “However is, it’s fine, it’s—just on my, not on my, erm, knees. I want to see you.”

            Blaine frowned. “Alright, but… Kurt, you sound sort of… I don’t want to be pushy, seriously, we can stop if you want, just say the word, but. I want to do it right, when you usually… are you on top, or something? What is it you like? I mean, I know you’ve done this before, right?”

            Blaine smiled again, to show he was half-joking. He was wrong-footed again, though, when no answer was forthcoming. Realization slapped him harder than the man beneath him had upon his very first visit to this apartment. His hand frozen, and suddenly Kurt was panicking. Completely naked, it was even more behooving.

            “Is this a turn-off for you?” Kurt stammered, clearly trying and failing to play it off as nothing. “Not to play to any stereotypes, but I thought that the opposite was true, actually…”

            Kurt looked so unsure and miserable and Blaine was an absolute dick. “No, no but fuck. Kurt, hell, I don’t want to... to fuck this up for you. For your first time, Jesus Christ…”

            “Virginity is just an outdated construct enforced by society in order to incriminate open sexuality and make commodities of the human body.”

            Too many big words when Blaine still had an erection. “What?”

            Kurt kissed him, open mouthed and hot, tongue wet in Blaine’s mouth and he had to swallow the noise down as Kurt finally wrapped legs tight around his hips, arms about his shoulders, and so much skin that he could finally touch.

            But for the first time since meeting him it didn’t feel enough. Blaine felt shaky wherever they touched suddenly, and within the clasp of Kurt’s long body Blaine suddenly felt very much on the spot. He was aware he’d been the first for a few people, he must have been, but this was Kurt and he had so many questions at once. Why, and how, and most importantly why Blaine.

            “Blaine,” Kurt sighed, hips bucking and legs collapsing wide around him. Blaine settled more firmly, suddenly unsure of what to do. His hand still felt damp, Kurt’s body loose and pliant and rolling beneath him like the careening waves of the ocean. The smells and the tastes were familiar but different, and he wasn’t sure how to go about any sort of routine. There was no routine with Kurt. He shattered every single one of them. It wrecked Blaine from the inside out.

            “I can’t ruin this,” Blaine whispered, harsh breathed and wild. He suddenly dearly wished he’d taken his piercings out. Kurt’s first time shouldn’t be with someone with triple the numbers of holes in their body than they’d been born with.

            “I trust you,” Kurt muttered. “Idiot. It’s fine, I want it.”

            But Blaine shook his head. “I can’t ruin this,” he repeated, and this time Kurt seemed to get it.

            Kurt held Blaine’s face close to his, sharing breath. Kurt liked to do this, it seemed. To frame his face, as if committing every moment like a photograph. “It’s okay,” Kurt whispered. “It’s okay.”

            It didn’t feel okay, but maybe like they were getting there.

            Kurt tensed again when Blaine pushed with new purpose, encouraging with his hands for Kurt to tilt his hips just like that. And to be sure, he slipped and felt with fingertips the inside of him, just one more time, with a new perspective. Flesh that had never been touched. And virginity had never been a thing for him, quite the opposite really.

            But feeling Kurt shudder loose around him, unfurling beneath new sensations, gave the whole experience a brand new feel for it. Like it wasn’t just Kurt who was facing something new and terrifying. Kurt gripped him tightly around his shoulders, keened when Blaine slid his fingers free and fell so very quiet when they shifted positions. Blaine kissed him, kissed him the whole time, afraid that if he stopped he’d lose his nerve and his momentum and fuck everything up over again…

            “Oh,” Kurt whispered into his mouth, shivering against him and then around him.

            Oh, Blaine thought, holding Kurt in and down as he pressed and moved and oh.

            They weren’t kissing anymore, just breathing with their mouths together, Kurt so tense with trying not to be. Indecision in his eyes, like he was thinking very hard about something. Blaine couldn’t tell if it was him who groaned or Kurt as he pulled and pushed slowly, building it up to break them both apart, welding their bodies tightly together. Kurt’s body suddenly became pliant and smooth, arching wider as in his gaze Blaine saw Kurt make some sort of realization.

            “Blaine,” Kurt whispered again, panting and arching, the spot where they joined flared with heat and some residual ache. “Move for me,” Kurt commanded quietly, firmly, and Blaine was but a slave to obey.

--

            The shifting of the mattress jarred Blaine awake, and this at least he was familiar with. He was so attuned to the customs that Blaine didn’t even try and make Kurt stay as he slid from the bed, obviously trying to keep very quiet about it. His brain was too muzzy with sleep to contemplate how anything could ever be anything different.

            Kurt was leaving, now. That was okay. Blaine understood. He’d do the same, obviously. Leaving was their thing.

            Blaine heard the soft padding of feet, the click of a door, and rolled over to face the wall. He shut his eyes and willed himself back to sleep, feeling quite cold indeed.

--

            There was no one in the bed with him when Blaine woke that morning.

            He lay there for a long moments, staring blankly at the clock. The curtains were drawn, but vague shadows of sunlight still shown through. It was just after nine, and normally he’d roll right back over to sleep. That’s what he did on Saturdays, he slept and slept the night before off. But there was nothing to sleep off this time, and he awoke as suddenly as if someone had slapped him.

            There was no one there in the apartment but him. It was as quiet as the city ever allowed. Just another day, containing 24 hours to fill before the next started up. No different than the day before, not the day a fortnight ago. Blaine could believe that normalcy, that he felt no different now than any other day. He believed, inexplicably, that this was how he wanted to wake up. Without an obligation hogging the shower, a too-warm body hoarding the sheets, someone borrowing the shirt he’d really been wanting to wear that day. On the rare occasion that someone had stayed at Blaine’s, and he could only recall three instances, they were up and out before he went to the kitchen to put the coffee on brew.

            This was what Blaine wanted. And if it took him just these extra few minutes to believe that, then that was fine too.

            That was when he smelled the coffee.

            Frowning, Blaine sat up in bed. Sniffing cautiously at the air, he also caught a whiff of cooking food, but still no noise.

            He looked over the edge of the bed. Kurt’s clothes were gone.

            They were instead folded neatly on the dresser.

            He lurched from the bed, hands scrambling between the sheets but found something. Grumbling, he shuffled to the dresser and pulled out a drawer, grabbed a pair of sweats, and pulled them on.

            The living room wasn’t any livelier than the noise level indicated. Kurt was there, curled up on the couch in his boxer briefs and one of Blaine’s old university t-shirts. Blaine hadn’t been planning on wearing it that day. He was cradling a chipped mug in two pale, long-fingered hands, and there was an empty plate on the coffee table in front of him.

           Kurt made no indication that he noticed Blaine’s arrival, so he paid Kurt in kind and went in search of coffee. He found half a pot’s worth on the burner, and in a seldom used skillet several triangular pieces of French toast. He poured himself a cup of coffee, grabbed a few slices, and made his way to the couch with the corner of a slice between his teeth.

            Kurt finally looked up when Blaine sat beside him. He blinked sleepily, and Blaine nearly choked. His hair was a wreck, the skin under his eyes a little puffy. Long, long bare legs with pink-toed feet. He looked fluffy, Blaine felt he could just die in that moment and be perfectly content to go.

            “You’re not going to put anything on that?”

            “Don’t have anything.”

            “You have honey in the cupboard.”

            “I do?”

            Kurt gave a long-suffering sigh. “Barbarian.”

            Blaine polished off his breakfast quickly, and in the meanwhile Kurt got up to freshen his cup of coffee. By the time he was back, Blaine had finished and was quietly sipping at his mug. When Kurt hesitated, he looked up. Kurt seemed to be eyeing the couch, or perhaps more specifically the middle cushion that had just been separating them.

            Rolling his eyes, Blaine grumbled, “I don’t bite, get down here.” He thought he heard Kurt mutter, “You do, too,” but then he was curling up along the center of the couch, his long, warm lean side pressing into Blaine’s. There were bruises on his neck that didn’t make Blaine horny so much as content, assuaged. And maybe a little horny.

            Blaine shifted his arm to settle around his shoulders, and Kurt’s head rested on his chest. He wondered if Kurt could hear his heart, thundering so loud he might get sick. Blaine reached for the remote, clicked the TV on, and kissed Kurt through his sleep mused hair. It was just so fluffy, there was so much of it, no wonder it always looked styled to within an inch of its life.

            Kurt was letting him see it like this.

            Blaine flipped to Lifetime, and imagined he could feel Kurt smile. He felt it in the way Kurt relaxed into him. His heart beat settled a warm and safe rhythm in his chest.

            There was a Project Runway marathon on, which Blaine enjoyed for the drama. Kurt enjoyed it for… well, for the drama also, if he were to be honest.

            They hate-watched it through the morning. Neither of them got up for another cup of coffee.