He wants to curl into Blaine and drift off, get lost in the lazy Sunday morning they never got to have and wake up an hour or two later to Blaine's soft kisses. He wants to order room service and eat it on the bed, naked, wrapped up in the sheets and Blaine's smile. More than that, he wants to see Blaine's face the moment he wakes and realizes Kurt is with him, that he wants him, that he loves him. So he waits, eyes focused on the relaxed features of Blaine's gorgeous sleeping face.

It's only the fourth day of the twelve he promised Blaine, and already he feels as though they've been together for a lifetime. In a way, they have. He's certainly loved Blaine for most of his life. He's thought about him every day.

Sometimes it's just a passing thought—walking by the ice rink at Bryant Park and wondering if Blaine found a new skating partner in London, smiling into his coffee when he hears one of the Warblers' old songs blasting out of the Mudtruck. And always, it comes when he searches Paul's lovely brown eyes for flecks of gold.

Sometimes his thoughts of Blaine last longer. Sometimes he stands at the Mudtruck, or in the elevator, or in the produce section and listens to the entire song, his mind full of honey eyes, smiling; of summer-tanned arms hanging out of car windows, tapping a rhythm on the the door; of the flirty tenor of Blaine's voice beckoning him no matter how many days and miles and walls he puts between them.

Then there are the days he thinks about Blaine all day long, which usually culminate in a Meg Ryan marathon and a box of cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery. Those days are few and far between— he's had six, maybe seven all told—but they sneak up on him without warning. He'll be fine, really quite fine (thank you very much), happy, even. And then he'll suddenly have an entire day to himself with no commitments, chores or responsibilities, and by midmorning he'll be in full-on Blaine mode, sorting through an old box of theater programs, silly notes and mementos, hugging his knees to his chest as he re-watches old Warbler rehearsal and performance videos.

On those days he considers calling Blaine, or texting, anything to connect and get them riled up, get them back into their thing, to get Blaine thinking about him, but he never follows through. On these all day long days he'll turn off his phone, or, if necessary, march down the hall to 31B and ask Mr. Walker to hang on to it until the morning. He does this because on those days, calling Blaine is dangerous. On those days, he could lose everything.

The last day like that was years ago—two, maybe. As usual, nothing specific brought it on, but by the end of the day he was a complete wreck, thumbing over Blaine's name in the contact list on his phone.

He tests the memory of that last day now, runs it through and around his mind. He expects it to taste like baker's chocolate and go down hard, but he finds none of that. It doesn't feel pathetic anymore, all the pining and fantasizing; their confessions have already begun to ease the pain of old habits and disappointments. What does it matter, anyway? They're here now, aren't they?

Blaine wakes suddenly, eyes big and searching. As if on cue, he says, "You're still here."

"Is there anywhere else?"

Blaine's smile reaches all the way to his eyes and his arms tighten around Kurt, pulling him in, close, still closer, and it's good, it's very good. He can feel Blaine's excitement buzzing beneath his skin, can practically hear his mind bursting with little revelations–Love! Possibilities! Sex without limits!

He presses his face into Blaine's chest and giggles at the thought, his mouth right over Blaine's heart.

"What?" Blaine asks. His voice is light and teasing, but his grip is sure and firm.

"I can hear you thinking."

"You're a mind-reader now?"

"I can hear some version of what you're probably thinking," Kurt says. "There are a lot of exclamation points."

Blaine chuckles and kisses the top of Kurt's head. Kurt feels the affection all the way down to his toes. He allows himself to love this moment, to revel in it, to let it be all wonderful and deserved, not the slightest bit bittersweet.

"What did you dream?" Kurt asks.

"Who needs dreams?"

Blaine's words flip a switch. Kurt lifts his head and crushes Blaine's lips with his own. He licks at Blaine's bottom lip and then Blaine's hands are on the back of his head, pulling him down, taking him in. They suck in each other's gasps and moans, swallow contented sighs and let them slide down their throats and seep into their bones. There is only sweetness and want now, the kind of want that makes a person feel strong, beautiful, worthy, the kind of want that is returned.

It feels like a first kiss.

"Hi," Blaine says. One of his hands is at the back of Kurt's neck, and the other presses into the small of his back. Cheeks flushed, eyes dancing, mouth curved into a soft smile, Blaine is the very definition of beauty.

"How... how do you do that? Take my breath away after all this time?" Kurt asks.

"I don't know, but I'm profoundly grateful for whatever it is," Blaine replies.

Kurt burrows in and pushes close. They are quiet, content to just wallow. To be in Blaine's arms and to know his heart is bliss to Kurt, and he's quite sure he never really understood the meaning of that word until now.

Without thinking, he begins to sing. Softly at first, just a few words, then humming. There are words whispered on Blaine's skin. "Something that simply mystifies me..."

Blaine's breath catches, and Kurt knows he recognizes the song. He sings a bit louder, offers up a phrase or two, and considers seeing it all the way through to the end.

"Tell me, why should it be, you have the power to hypnotize me? Let me, live 'neath your spell, do do that voodoo that you do so well," he sings.

Kurt pushes up and rolls himself on top of Blaine, who steadies him with both arms wrapped securely around his back. When he scoots up a bit to meet Blaine's eyes, he can feel Blaine getting hard, his muscles taut, his body strong and willing.

Kurt looks down at him, eyes sleepy and warm and so, so happy, and finishes the song. "For you do, something to me, that nobody else could do."

Blaine beams. "Tell me again," he says.

"You are so in love with me," Kurt says. "And I am so in love with you."

Blaine trails two fingers down Kurt's cheek, grabs his chin and pulls him in for a kiss. Deep and unrelenting, then hard little nips at his bottom lip and under his chin; this is Blaine staking his claim. And with every push back, Kurt goes willingly, sinking deeper into him. He lets Blaine take all of his weight and hold him tight. They're both hard now, but in no hurry. They'll get to that. They'll get to everything.

Kurt pulls back to catch his breath and says, "I adore you."

Blaine's whole faces lights up. "Thank God."

"I don't want to move."

"So don't."

"Would you hold me all day?" Kurt asks. He feels light-headed, giddy with the knowledge that he can ask for what he wants without fear of rejection, that he can have this.

"Oh, please, yes."

Blaine rolls them, slips his hands out from underneath Kurt and places them on either side of his head. Kurt wiggles, settling down into the rumpled linens. "I like this... looking up at you."

Their kiss is a tease, a promise of things to come, as Blaine dips and pulls back, swoops down to nibble at Kurt's shoulder. When he comes back up they've already started rocking. He can feel Blaine's cock against his stomach, and reaches down to adjust them both for what's next. It's a slow build, a perfect, sweet torture, as if they've practiced this moment in dreams both day and night.

Kurt bucks up, twists his hips and spreads his legs a bit. Just then Blaine stops moving. He runs two fingers through Kurt's hair, brushes the tip of his ear and moves down, the two fingers gently pinching Kurt's earlobe. He looks down at Kurt, his face at once awed and worried. "I want you to know... about Liam, I—"

"Let's not. Not right now, okay? Just keep going."

Blaine hesitates for the briefest of moments and then starts up again, this time with purpose. He's holding Kurt down with his weight, with the motion of his hips. It's fast and delicious and everything Kurt wants.

How does he know me so well, like we're old lovers, when we've only just begun? How does he give me what I want before the thought even occurs to me?

Kurt lifts one knee, shifting the angle just so. They're both panting now, bodies still in rhythm but faster, still faster, the drag made easier by sweat. There's so much to say, so much to ask of each other, but instead they do this. Instead, there is friction, and heat, and the slide of bodies so perfectly matched.

There are no words now; just huffed breath and uh uh uh. Kurt's hands press into Blaine's back. He loves the sounds, the squishes, the skin. He loves the knock of the mattress hitting the wall, Blaine's grunts as he pushes them closer to the edge. He loves all of it.

It's over in minutes, Kurt tipping first and Blaine following seconds after, backs arching, hands gripping, muscles straining until they both give in and give over to it.

When Blaine can move, he pushes himself up and scoots down the bed until he can comfortably rest his head on Kurt's belly. Kurt plays with his sweat-soaked curls and says, "How's your head? All better?"

Blaine laughs into Kurt's skin. "I woke up with a dull ache. But, uh, after that... yeah, it's gone now."

"That's good. I was worried about you, love."

"Love," Blaine echoes, twisting the word in his mouth as if testing the feel of it on his tongue.

"Is that okay?" Kurt asks.

Blaine nods, buries his face in Kurt's skin and rests his palm flat over Kurt's belly button. His fingers play with the soft hair trailing down, and Kurt can hear Blaine take him in, smell him, all the sex and sweat and yesterday's soap.

"I don't remember you getting migraines," Kurt says. "Just headaches from time to time."

"It started a few years ago. A gift from my mother."

"How does she deal with them?"

"Naughty little pills. They don't really work, not for a full-on migraine, but she takes them anyway," Blaine replies. "Liam says—"

Blaine tenses up. Kurt isn't ready for Liam and Paul to enter this dreamy, all-I-ever-wanted Sunday morning bubble they've created, but he asks anyway. "What does Liam say?"

"He says I need to learn to meditate."

"You? Meditate?" Kurt's giggles turn in to full-on guffaws, forcing Blaine to sit up.

"What?"

"I just can't imagine it," Kurt says, pushing up on his elbows.

"I can meditate. I can."

Kurt twists his smile into a smirk and says, "Total silence. Sitting still for longer than ten minutes—"

"I could work up to it... what?"

"Nothing. Let's get you a book, or a video, or a guru or something," Kurt says, pushing his toes into Blaine's thighs.

"A guru?"

"I bet we could find one around here."

"I'm sure you're right. Probably a dozen."

"A whole set. A guru set," Kurt teases. He loves this, the back and forth and the lazy ease of it all. It's intimate in a way they've never been before, but also entirely familiar. "Do you have to work today?"

"Tomorrow. But there's this thing tonight, at the Encantado. I should make an appearance," Blaine says. "Come with me?"

"Yes."

"No hesitation, huh?"

"No."

"I like that."

"Me too."

Blaine syncs his body up to Kurt, hip to hip. He picks up Kurt's hand and plays with it as he talks, threading their fingers together and then pulling them apart.

"It's an industry party, music execs mostly. Nothing official. Most of the guests are old friends of Mitchell," Blaine explains.

"Can we invite Deidre?"

"Sure, but—they've been up in Taos all weekend, some sort of spiritual retreat, so I have no idea what the mood will be."

"In other words, get Deidre to be less 'Deidre'?"

"Is that even possible?" Blaine asks.

"Depends. If she has sufficient motivation, maybe."

"We don't have to be there until late, which means we have about..." Blaine looks over at the bedside digital clock, "... nine hours to kill."

"Or use wisely," Kurt says, swinging their clasped hands back and forth between them.

"Or use wisely."

Kurt squeezes Blaine's hand and holds their clasped hands to his chest. "Are you going to sex me all day long, Blaine Anderson?"

"I'd sure like to," Blaine replies. "But first—I do think we should talk about this."

"You mean you want to talk about them."

"This is huge, Kurt. It's everything," Blaine starts. "But it's also a big mess, and we have to do this right—"

"Could we wait until later, just a few hours?" Kurt says. He lets go of Blaine's hand and props himself up on one elbow, his right hand tracing circles on Blaine's arms. "I only just got you."

Blaine stills Kurt's hand, raises Kurt's fingers to his lips and kisses the tips. "You've always had me."

"That's not what—"

"Shh. Of course. We'll talk later."

"Thank you."

Kurt knows he's avoiding the inevitable, but it's too much to think about—leaving Paul, possibly leaving New York, possibly not leaving New York; becoming more of everything that matters. He can't think about all of that and process this remarkable, precious gift that is Blaine Anderson, loving him.

From somewhere across the room he hears the telltale chirp of an incoming text message, probably from Paul. It could mean anything: Paul misses him, Paul needs Kurt to help him rally, Paul has news about the deal. He hasn't been reading The New York Times, or listening to NPR or reading the blogs, so he has no idea if they've made any progress in Washington. The bill is so vital, so much a part of his relationship with Paul, it seems strange to be so disconnected from it now.

Kurt slides out of bed to retrieve his phone, and is both relieved and slightly disappointed to find the text isn't from Paul. Why did he ever think their situation was okay, with Paul gone more often than not and Kurt working all hours? He scrolls through the message, and Blaine motions for him to come back to bed. Kurt takes his phone with him and hands it to Blaine.

"Deidre. Apparently she's going for contrite today," Kurt says.

Blaine reads her message. "Ten Thousand Waves?"

"It's a Japanese spa just up the mountain. She stays up there whenever she's in town. I've never been."

"She must feel really guilty."

"We don't have to go. We could just stay in bed all day—"

Blaine wiggles his eyebrows and says, "Or we could indulge in a little hot tub sex—"

"Hmm... wait. No. You can't be the first person to get that idea, which means other people have done it."

"Let's not think too hard about it or we'll never get in the water," Blaine says, handing Kurt his phone. "If you're into it, text her back and tell her we'll go. We're due for a celebration, right?"

Kurt looks up from his phone, takes in Blaine's gorgeous, carefree smile, and for the very first time lets his heartbeat pick up speed without concern; he lets the goosebumps rise on his skin, lets the butterflies fly free in his belly. He's allowed. It's supposed to feel this way, this crazy, inevitable, life-altering love. No more hiding, or pretending his feelings aren't real, or worthy, or true. This is that feeling: Blaine under his skin and in his veins. He'll show him all of it now.

He leans in for a kiss, his lips just a breath away from Blaine's, and says, "You wreck me, in the best possible way."

Blaine kisses him quickly on the lips. "Soooo... yes, then?"

"Yes."

--

Passing through the carved wooden doors, Kurt is pleasantly surprised by the sophisticated, natural beauty of Ten Thousand Waves. He marvels at the wooden pagodas, the winding paths lined with wildflowers, the bright orange and golden koi swimming in clean, clear ponds.

"Wow," Blaine says, looking at the photos of tubs near the reception desk.

"What is wrong with me? This place is amazing. I should have stayed here instead of the Eldorado," Kurt says.

"But then we would have missed each other," Blaine says, tugging on Kurt's hand.

"Maybe," Kurt replies with a soft smile. Before Blaine can respond, a fresh-faced girl wearing no make-up and a Ten Thousand Waves t-shirt, greets them.

"Welcome to the Waves. Please sign in. Are you here for tubs or treatments?" she asks.

"Both. Our friend booked it for us. Deidre Alexander?"

Her face scrunches up before she can stop herself, and then she quickly looks down to hide it. Kurt rests his arms on the counter and whispers, "We're not terrible. I promise."

The girl looks up from the appointment calendar, her cheeks pink, and says, "I'm sorry. I just... I've never met anyone like her before."

Blaine laughs, slides the sign-in book over to Kurt and says, "Me either. Maybe we need to start a club: People Who Met Deidre Alexander and Lived to Tell About It."

The girl relaxes and says, "I'm Lou, by the way. I take it this is your first time at the Waves?"

"Yes, because we're idiots," Kurt says.

Lou giggles and launches into the rundown of their day, then asks for their driver's licenses. She hands each of them a cream-colored cotton kimono, rolled up neatly with its belt wrapped around it. A small locker key with a numbered tile is pinned to each belt.

"Your first tub starts in twenty minutes, so you have plenty of time. Just walk out that door, make a left, and you'll find the men's room. Come back and let me know you're ready and I'll give you the key to Shoji."

"Thank you. Will you come look for us if we get lost?" Blaine asks, putting on the charm.

"Oh, I... you won't get lost—"

Kurt smiles at Lou and says, "Ignore him. You've been so helpful. Thanks!"

Blaine winks at Lou and takes Kurt's hand, guiding him through the next set of doors.

"You're always so flirty when you're happy," Kurt teases.

"I only use my powers for good," Blaine replies. "She's totally going to look the other way when we return the key with crazy happy sex smiles on our faces."

Kurt's breath hitches. "Blaine, these tubs are outdoor—"

"So we'll be quiet. Or at least try to be."

"And 'crazy happy sex smiles?' Is that a thing?"

"Not yet. I just made it up. It's when you feel super relaxed and goofy at the same time. Like you didn't just have amazing sex, you had amazing sex with someone you love. Imagine the Buddha's face after he got high and then got laid."

Kurt looks around at the Japanese-inspired architecture and design. There are Buddha statues everywhere: tiny Buddhas hidden among succulent plants, personal shrine-sized Buddhas being used as doorstops, a large Buddha holding court in the resting area.

"First to find that expression on one of the Buddha statues pays for drinks tonight," Kurt says.

"I would have bought anyway."

"Or tried to," Kurt says. He turns to face Blaine, leans up against the wall next to the Men's Changing Room sign and puts on his best coy smile. "And have you seen this crazy happy sex smile on me?"

Blaine nods, comes in close and says, "Once."

"When?"

"The first night. In the hallway... after."

"Right. So it's the same smile you had, then?"

"The very one."

They make quick work of showering and changing into their kimonos and rubber sandals. Kurt loves the smell of the yuzu shampoo, the sound of rippling water, the feeling of soft organic cotton against his skin.

After Lou explains how everything works, hands Blaine the key to Shoji and gives him directions, Blaine asks, "Lou–is it short for Louise?"

"Lou Ann."

"Lou Ann. Pretty name. Thank you so much, Lou."

Again, he takes Kurt by the hand and leads him away.

"You're just awful. You're encouraging her to crush on a gay man just so you can get in my pants without repercussions," Kurt says.

"You're not wearing pants," Blaine says, guiding him on the charming, stone-covered path. "Besides, every girl needs a gay crush. We're often cute, always fun, and we're not thinking about their boobs while we pretend to listen to their life stories. We're awesome."

"True."

It's all so light and relaxed between them; so much so that Kurt is shocked when, mere moments after entering the Shoji suite, Blaine is on him, full-force: Blaine's hands cupping Kurt's ass, tugging at the belt of his robe, sliding up his chest like he's art, like he a fucking wonder. It's as if he left charming Blaine on the other side of the wooden door because this is first-time Blaine, desperate Blaine; this is too-hot-to-resist-even-though-it-will-surely-ruin-my-life Blaine.

They're naked before Kurt can really register what's happening, or take in their surroundings. Blaine has him in a tight hold, one hand at the back of his neck as he kisses him like he's his only good thing. When he pulls back, he takes Kurt's cock in hand and lines it up with his own, and Kurt can't believe he still has the strength to stand.

Blaine says, "I'm going to get us off, and then I want to fuck you deep and slow, for as long as we can take it."

Kurt is so on board with hot, desperate, first-time Blaine, he doesn't think twice about sliding three of his fingers into his mouth. He sucks. He slides his tongue between Blaine's fingers and pulls them out of his mouth, wet.

Blaine wraps his hand around them, pulling Kurt in for a hard kiss. Then it's mouth on mouth, and Kurt mutters, "Shit, shit," against Blaine's lips.

The first orgasm is quick and dirty, Blaine's hand moving fast and sure. When Kurt comes, his knees buckle. Blaine, still hard, helps him to the wooden bench and then, legs on either side of Kurt's knees, brings himself off right in front of him. Blaine, still standing, bends over as he comes and lets Kurt take his weight.

He's had this type of sex before, this heady, too-fast, just-right sex that is all about getting off and nothing about connecting to the other person. With others he'd take a beat, straighten himself out and, after the appropriate niceties, leave to enjoy the benefits of stress relief and knots untied in the privacy of his own apartment. Now, despite the fact that this is all instinct and sweat, he feels closer to Blaine than ever before.

Up until this moment, sex with Blaine has been an expression of all they'd left unsaid. Burrowing his head into Blaine's belly, Kurt is thrilled to know that sex with his love can be this too, when they need it. Even their hot fuck against his hotel room wall was full of emotion and unspoken desires, so to get this base release and know that Blaine is so very good at it is a relief.

Moments later, Blaine, kneeling on a folded-up towel on the cedar plank deck, pulls Kurt down into his lap, and after mouthing the back of his neck for a few minutes, gently pushes him forward until Kurt's head is resting on another towel, his ass in the air and on display.

Blaine grabs and squeezes, presses his thumbs in and pulls Kurt's cheeks apart. He can feel Blaine staring, and giggles when Blaine mutters, "Thank you, thank you."

"You're welcome."

Blaine laughs and says, "I wasn't talking to you."

He can feel Blaine lean back and fumble around for something, and then suddenly Kurt has a lubed up finger in his ass as Blaine whispers unintelligible nothings into his back. Dirty? Sweet? He doesn't know and it doesn't matter.

It's not long before Kurt is pushing back on Blaine's fingers, trying to get back into his lap. Blaine pulls out, taps him on the waist and says, "Turn, baby. We're going to do this face to face."

Kurt stands up and turns just in time to see Blaine tearing open a condom wrapper with his teeth. He lowers himself onto Blaine's lap, and reaches down to pull, and tease, and strokes him ready. More lube and Kurt is raising up, and sinking down, waiting out the pain until he can ride Blaine in earnest.

"Lie back," Blaine says. He gently pushes on Kurt's chest, urging him down.

"What? I thought—"

"Just lie back slowly, until you're on the floor, with me still inside of you."

"Okay... I've never done it this way before."

"Good. I was hoping you would say that," Blaine says, suddenly bashful. "I haven't either. I wanted us to have a first, together. This is something I imagined doing... with you."

"And you never tried it with anyone else?" Kurt asks.

"I couldn't. I... Kurt... Kurt—"

Kurt steadies him with a kiss. He understands. It hurts too much to think about all of the lovers they've had, all of the sex they've genuinely enjoyed, all of the firsts they'll never share. But it never occurred to him that Blaine would save something for him, knowing full well it might well be a fantasy he would never see fulfilled.

Kurt leans back, grateful for his flexibility as his thighs stretch and his back arches. It's not that different from missionary, but with his ass high in Blaine's lap and his shoulders on the floor, it's different enough that he can feel the possibilities.

As if reading his mind, Blaine says, "This position is supposed to make it easier to last. And I want this to last as long as possible."

For what has to be at least an hour but feels like days they get close, and pull back, and get close and pull back, Blaine still inside Kurt, Kurt hanging on by a thread. When Blaine tires, Kurt pushes up with his hips, riding Blaine from the floor, the angle strange and perfect and new. When Kurt tires, Blaine holds onto his hips and fucks him slow and deep.

Kurt mutters, "I can't, I just can't," too many times to count, and cries out just as often.

He loses himself at least twice, head turned to the side, body limp like a ragdoll, until Blaine squeezes his thighs and says, "Baby, come back, come back to me."

Blaine struggles, too, holding himself back from thrusting in hard and fast and ending it all too quickly. His moans sound like they're coming from a man past the point of no return, but he stays with it, holds them to it, sees it through. And Kurt is so grateful sex with his love can also be this: a slow, sweet burn that takes him right out of his head and into bright, sweat-soaked pleasure that aches in all the best ways.

When Blaine finally reaches down and pulls him back into his lap, Kurt is so far gone he'll do anything to come. "Can we please?" he asks.

Blaine just grunts and leans back, pulling Kurt on top of him. He winces, probably from staying on his knees for so long, and struggles to get his legs out from under him. Kurt lifts up, allowing Blaine to move freely.

Blaine stretches his legs, and then pulls Kurt back down. "Come on, come on," he begs. They are both desperate with want.

When he reaches behind for Blaine's cock he notices the condom is loose and slipping off. "Blaine, tell me you brought another condom."

"What? Yeah. In my robe. Jesus."

Kurt is off Blaine in a second, rummaging through the kimonos. He finds two condoms and over his shoulder says, "Optimistic!"

"Now that I have reason to be, fuck yeah I'm optimistic."

He's back on Blaine's cock in under a minute, but Blaine is already too far-gone. He's a begging, almost incoherent mess, cursing and whining Kurt's name. So Kurt rides him hard, pushing him over the edge quickly and then jerking himself off in rapid strokes, Blaine spent and useless, splayed out under him.

Sore in all the right places, Kurt slides off Blaine and rolls into his side. Blaine wraps one arm around him loosely and kisses the top of his head. In the quiet, they orient themselves to the space, to the air around them, to the sound of water and far away laughter. Kurt hears the muffled sounds of other guests in the adjacent tub and realizes what they've done.

"Lou is going to kill us," he says.

"I might already be dead."

Kurt laughs, and then Blaine laughs, and then Kurt smiles big because this is them. "We laugh," he says. This earns him a half-hearted "huh?" from Blaine. "We laugh. That's our thing. Our sex thing. We laugh in bed, almost every time," Kurt explains.

"We have a sex thing. I love that," Blaine says.

They hear a beep, and then Lou's voice over the intercom, located near the door. "Shoji, this is your ten-minute warning."

"Thank you!" Blaine says loudly.

"I don't think she can hear you."

"God, let's hope not."

Kurt says, "I can't believe we didn't use the tub at all," and they're laughing again, back to easy, back to friends; friends in love.

Somehow, they manage to rouse themselves, clean up, slip on their robes and make it back to the front desk in ten minutes. Kurt averts his eyes, pretending to look at cucumber-scented candles while Blaine turns in the key and learns where they are to go next. Just as Blaine predicted, Kurt can't keep the giant, goofy smile off of his face—so he holds the candle up to his nose to hide his mouth.

"In twenty minutes you have a ninety-minute couple's massage with Paula and Rain, followed by Nightingale facials in separate rooms. Your last tub is One Wave, and you'll have to come back to the front desk to get the key."

"Thank you, Lou. You're wonderful," Blaine says, flashing her the smile.

"Umm... you have time, if you need to, you know, shower," Lou says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Again, thank you," he says, tugging at Kurt's hand. Blaine's been leading him around by the hand all day, but Kurt is not complaining. The feel of Blaine's hand wrapped around his own is familiar, and today, today he is happy to follow this man anywhere.

Blaine is still guiding Kurt by the hand when—twenty minutes later, after separate showers in neighboring stalls—Paula and Rain lead them to the small pagoda where they will likely pass out from sex-induced exhaustion. How the hell are they supposed to stay awake in the most serene place on earth... during a massage... after that?

The room is soft jade and cedar, eucalyptus and sandalwood, soft music and the Buddha, always the Buddha. They are left alone to disrobe and get on the padded massage tables. Blaine, ever the gentleman, covers Kurt with the thin, soft sheet before he slides in under his own.

The tables are about three feet apart, close enough. Blaine reaches his arm out toward Kurt, and they touch fingers, just a brush, a reminder of how it all started.

Paula and Rain, both tiny yet surprisingly strong, start in on the shoulders first.

"You are super relaxed," Paula says to Blaine.

"I have Mr. Jello over here," Rain echoes, working her way up to Kurt's neck.

Thankfully, neither of the women follows the conversation to its natural conclusion. Instead, they ask safe questions: "What are your trouble spots?" "Are you just visiting?" and, "Where are you from?"

They both have the same answer to the last question: "Ohio."

Kurt is too relaxed to wonder why he didn't say New York, or why Blaine didn't say, I live in London.

The ladies share their opinion of the state, making small talk, but mostly they're quiet, clearly intent on massaging Kurt and Blaine into a coma.

They've turned onto their stomachs and are both receiving a most awesome thigh rub when Kurt opens his eyes to find Blaine staring at him. This time, it's Kurt who reaches out his hand, and Blaine who takes it willingly. It's a brief moment, but long enough for Paula to mutter, "Aww," which sparks Rain's next question.

"So how long have you two been together?"

They both answer at the same time.

Kurt says, "Seventeen hours."

Blaine says, "Three days."

It's the first time they've acknowledged their relationship publicly. Kurt feels Rain's hands still, momentarily, and then pick back up again as she moves down to his feet. He can practically see her next question in the air, like a thought bubble above her head, the words "What's the story?" in Comic Sans.

Kurt says, "Fourteen years, three days and seventeen hours, give or take a few months."

"There's a story there," Paula says, beating Rain to the punch.

Rain bounces on her heels and says, "I bet it's epic."

Blaine smiles at Kurt and says, "It is."

--

Kurt falls asleep during his facial, leaving the warm cocoon of the treatment room in a daze. He wants to get Blaine, go back to the hotel and sleep for days. He finds him in the resting area, sound asleep. The teak chaise is built for two, so Kurt climbs in next to him and dozes off to the sound of people chatting, wind chimes in varied tones, and water bubbling in a nearby fountain.

He wakes to the sound of Lou's soft voice, trying to wake them. Kurt looks at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Do you want to just skip your last tub?" she asks.

"No. I'd like to actually get in a tub while we're here," Kurt says without thinking. "I mean... yes, we'll take our slot."

Lou blushes and hands him the key to One Wave. "It's just around the corner, much closer to the waiting area than Shoji," she says, her cheeks a bright shade of pink. "And you only have forty-five minutes this time."

"I understand. Thank you, Lou."

She smiles warmly at him, and Kurt kisses Blaine awake.

"How long was I out?"

"Don't know. Our tub is ready."

They walk silently, side by side, to One Wave: a sunken wooden tub, also teak, with a deck and benches. It's not as elaborate as Shoji, but the view of the mountains is spectacular.

Once in the water, Kurt pulls Blaine to him, wraps his arms around his waist and holds him loosely, back to chest.

Kurt is waking up. From the moment he ran into Blaine, he's been peeling off layers of sleep, wiping the film off of an old picture that tells the story of his life. Here, in this healing place, in this "Land of Enchantment," Kurt feels as though up until this very moment his life has been a very long dream, a dream in which he kept forgetting to show up.

"I'm beginning to understand why people come to Santa Fe and never leave," Kurt says. "It feels like I could be anything here. This place doesn't even feel real."

When Blaine chuckles, Kurt looks down at Blaine, eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"You don't like it here," Blaine says.

"I never said that."

"You were counting the days until you could leave," Blaine argues.

"I was counting the days because that's all we had," Kurt corrects. He fights the worry creeping in, pushes aside the small reminder that they are more than this moment, that they both have ties, and promises and hearts to break. He wants this, without everything else. He wants this day, this moment, this life, to be all there is, and all there ever was.

"Not anymore," Blaine says, pulling Kurt's arms to fit tightly around him.

"No. Not anymore."

They stay that way for some time, silent, until Blaine turns in Kurt's arms and kisses him. It's a tender kiss, a kiss that says, I have everything I want, and everything I want is you. Kurt feels himself getting hard again, and reaches down between Blaine's legs. He needs more than water to work him open, but he lost track of the lube in Shoji.

"Hang on," Blaine says, raising up and leaning over Kurt to reach for his kimono. Kurt sucks on one nipple while he strokes Blaine's cock, and this time when Blaine comes back in for a kiss it's sloppy and wet.

"Are we really doing this again?" Kurt asks.

"Fourth time's the charm," Blaine says, lifting to give Kurt easy access to his ass. He holds Kurt's head to his chest while Kurt fingers him open.

"Turn around," Kurt says, his voice just barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the jets.

Blaine holds his gaze for a moment and turns to face the cedar wall, kneeling on the tub's interior bench. He bends over, resting his belly on the edge of the tub. When Blaine's hot skin touches the hard deck he flinches and says, "Cold, fuck." The sun is low and the desert air cool.

Kurt leans in and covers him, skin to skin, chest to back, and rubs his hands down Blaine's arms, back and forth, for friction. Blaine relaxes, presses himself flat, and after a moment, Kurt whispers in his ear, "Better, love?"

"Yes," Blaine exhales.

"Lift your right leg, like this," Kurt says, slipping his hand under the water and down the back of Blaine's thigh, pushing gently when he reaches the tender spot behind his knee. Blaine lifts his leg without resistance, rests his foot on the bench and looks over his shoulder at Kurt.

"How long do we have?" Blaine asks.

"I have no idea. I've completely lost track of time," Kurt replies, pressing soft, wet kisses to Blaine's back.

"She'll give us a warning," Blaine reminds him, pushing back on him a bit. "Just do it."

Kurt slips a condom on and eases into Blaine, but he has no intention of going slow. Within minutes Blaine is back to cursing, and Kurt is fucking him hard and fast. The fact that he knows just what to do to make Blaine whimper and beg, to get him off quickly and well, almost stops him cold.

I know him like a lover knows. I know what he likes. I know the sounds he makes, the way his eyes roll back and then close tightly when he comes. I know how he takes it, how he needs it, how he loves it. I know his body, and now I'm sure of his heart.

They're halfway out of the tub, building up to it, trying to be quiet, when they hear the intercom beep, followed by Lou's voice. "One Wave, this is your ten-minute warning.... but, umm... if you need an extra five, that's cool."

Kurt picks up the pace, chasing it with everything he has. Blaine pushes back on him, and lifts up a bit to fist his own cock.

"Kurt... fuck! See... ahh, oh God... see what a little charm... gets you?"

He can feel a giggle snaking up his chest along with his orgasm, and he can't do both, he can't.

"Stop, just... let me... shit, Blaine. Blaine."

He buries himself in Blaine in one, long thrust. "Yeah, that's it, baby," Blaine says, and Kurt comes hard, still fucking into Blaine, still giving him what he knows he needs.

His head resting on Blaine's back, Kurt keeps up as best he can, and whispers, "I am so in love with you."

With that, Blaine comes on the deck, his back arching, lifting Kurt up even further out of the water.

"Damn, you're strong," Kurt says, the words pressed into Blaine's skin.

Blaine chuckles and says, "I love you, too."

--

The Encantado is luxe and gorgeous, and the outdoor patio Mitchell's friends reserved is pure heaven. They're all crowded around the massive round fire pit, some on the creamy, crescent-shaped "couch," some milling about, feet too close to the fire. Most are from L.A. or New York; all are "searchers" looking for meaning in wild sunsets, in the art and traditions of Native people, in this sacred desert. They're hoping to see a meteor shower, a sure sign that they're on the right track, that their lives are on purpose, that they matter.

Kurt sits next to Mitchell, one ear on his conversation with Adele and one eye on Blaine. He watches as Blaine shakes hands with a short, young, dark-haired man in brand-new cowboy boots he'll probably forget he owns after this trip.

"Who's that?" he asks Mitchell, leaning into his space.

"Shep Vasovic. He's the kid behind Scout."

"He doesn't look like a kid."

"He does to me."

"Scout. That's a record label, right?" Kurt asks.

"No. That's the record label."

"So he wants Blaine to produce?"

"Nope," Mitchell says. He takes a drink of his beer, and looks at Kurt like he's noticing him for the first time. "Maybe you can convince him."

"Convince him of what?"

"To take the deal. Shep's been trying to get Blaine to sign on for the past year, but he refuses."

Kurt looks over at Blaine. He's talking with his hands in big sweeping gestures. Shep grins, pats Blaine on the back and they go their separate ways. Kurt's eyes track Blaine as he tends to Deidre, caught up in a pointless flirtation at the edge of the party. Blaine leans in to ask her something, his hand on her arm, and she laughs, really laughs, and there's that feeling again.

Blaine, so charismatic, so genuine, so magnetic, mesmerizes Kurt. He watches him order drinks at the bar, slipping a large tip into the giant tumbler on the rail. He watches him smile, take notice, compliment, listen.

Kurt lets himself stare, lets his body feel loved and important, lets the day be what it is: the beginning of the rest.

He's so wrapped up in the gorgeous everything, so completely sated with life that when Blaine returns, drinks in hand, he doesn't think twice about leaning over and kissing him on the neck, just below his ear. Blaine returns the kiss, this time on the mouth, and Kurt scoots back against the seat and closer to Blaine, his right leg almost in Blaine's lap.

"Hi," Blaine says.

"Hi."

"You're half asleep," Blaine says. "Let me take you back."

"No, I'm fine. Just relaxed. Very, very relaxed."

Letting his eyes wander, Kurt notices a man—tall, mid-forties, definitely gay—watching them from a group of newcomers who are standing off to the side. When he realizes Kurt has caught him, he takes it as an invitation and walks over to them, squeezing between Kurt and Mitchell.

"You probably don't remember me, but we met last year, at the HRC Gala," the man says, reaching out his hand. "Jakob Winters."

Kurt sits up a bit, shakes his hand and instinctively slides his leg away from Blaine. "I'm sorry, I don't recall meeting you. But don't take it personally. I met a lot of people that night," Kurt says. "This is my friend, Blaine Anderson."

"Nice to meet you, Jakob," Blaine says.

His eyes still on Kurt, Jakob shakes Blaine's hand and says, "Likewise. I'm sorry if this is inappropriate, but I have a copy of New York Magazine in my house with an article about Paul James, and I could swear you're in it. There's a picture of you and Paul in the kitchen you renovated, the one with the punched tin backsplash?"

Kurt freezes. He can feel Blaine tense up beside him. He takes a sip from his drink, then another, and finally says, "Yes, that was me. You have a good memory."

"Oh, I just covet that kitchen, is all," Jakob says, looking uncomfortable.

"I love that kitchen," Kurt says.

"It is a great kitchen," Blaine adds.

"You've never—did you read the article?" Kurt asks Blaine.

Blaine turns to look at Kurt and says, "I might own a copy."

"Look, I just wanted to say I'm in awe of the work you and Paul are doing for the community, and I'm grateful. I really am," Jakob says.

"Thank you. Paul's the crusader, but I do my part."

The tension is thick and awful, but Jakob doesn't seem to be motivated to move. Kurt is just about to stand up and make excuses for leaving the party early when Jakob says, "You're lucky, you know? To have someone like Paul. I think you should know that other people... we look up to Paul, and you... other people want what you have."

His words run like ice-cold water down Kurt's spine. Suddenly overcome with anxiety, he focuses on keeping his gaze steady, his hand still on the glass, his voice even. "I do know that... I don't need a reminder."

Jakob looks pointedly at Blaine and says, "I think you do."

Kurt is speechless, squirming, ready to leap off the couch and run all the way back to the hotel when Blaine puts his hand on Kurt's knee and squeezes. He turns to Jakob and says, "Haven't you ever loved someone so deeply it defied reason?"

Jakob is stunned; that is clearly not what he expected to come out of Blaine's mouth.

"Jakob, it's amazing that you care so much about Paul and Kurt, but trust me when I say, as clich� as it sounds, this is not what it looks like," Blaine says.

Jakob stammers, "I have eyes. I'm not stupid—"

"I'm not insinuating that you are. I'm just stating a fact. This. Is not. What it looks like. This is something rare, and perfect, and inevitable. This is something we've wanted for nearly half of our lives. You think you're looking at a train wreck. But what you're really seeing is an answered prayer."

Kurt is torn between the urge to smack Blaine to get him to stop talking and a desire to climb right into his lap. Jakob looks down at his hands, mutters something Kurt can't make out and stands to leave.

"I'm sorry I'm not who you thought I was," Kurt chokes out.

"So am I."

Kurt doesn't watch him leave. Instead he gets up and walks over to the darkest edge of the patio, away from prying eyes. He can feel Blaine's approach. He knows what he'll say before he says it. Blaine takes Kurt's hand, turns it over and with his thumb, presses into Kurt's wrist with his thumb, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"Baby, it's time."

Kurt sucks in a breath, lets it out slowly and says, "I know."