He adores the people.

Half the town is focused on personal transformation, tearing themselves down and putting themselves back together again through Bikram yoga, aura cleansing, sage burning, astrological readings, meditation, rebirthing, labyrinth walking, Chinese medicine and channeling. The rest of the town is steeped in history, married to the desert and the big sky above it, passing down ancient traditions and paying no mind to the hustle of modern society. And all of these people, every single one of them, are damn entertaining to watch.

The Pink Adobe is Blaine's favorite bar in town. The Pink, a local's hangout on the Santa Fe Trail, is an institution long on every traveler's "must do" list. The drinks are always doubles and the rooms are dark and comforting. Adele's crew has been in Santa Fe for a few weeks now, and hosted several impromptu private performances for local friends here in the back room. Adele loves the bar because no one really seems terribly impressed that she's there; she can just do her thing, play with new music and blow off some steam.

Blaine is actively loving Santa Fe, nursing a vodka tonic and listening to Adele sing "So New," the song they recorded this morning, when he notices Kurt. He's standing across the room, next to a tall man in cowboy boots who looks Hispanic and a strikingly beautiful, short blonde woman who does not. Kurt hasn't spotted him yet, so Blaine takes a moment to admire his slender frame, the way his jeans hug his perfect, perfect ass, the way his elegant fingers clutch the tall man's arm when he laughs.

Why didn't I see him come in? Why does he have to look so fucking amazing?

Wait. Who is this guy he's touching?

Blaine walks over to the trio, a bright smile plastered on his face. "You came," he says, locking eyes with Kurt.

"Of course I did. I mean, really. It's Adele," Kurt says. "Have you met Antonio and Sarah?"

"Not yet, no. Blaine Anderson," he offers, extending his hand to Antonio.

"Nice to put a face to the name," Antonio replies, shaking Blaine's hand.

As Blaine leans in to kiss Sarah's cheeks, Kurt says, "They're guests of Mitch. He's on the board at Alex Marin House, and Sarah is the executive director."

"Really? That's awesome. I've been meaning to ask someone–you, I guess–if I could come over and meet some of the kids, maybe bring my guitar and play a little," Blaine says.

"That would be amazing, Blaine. The kids would love it," Sarah says, beaming.

"Adele is really excited about the benefit," Blaine adds. He's trying not to stare at Kurt and Antonio, trying not to size them up, trying not to let his irritation show. Are they involved? Did they just meet? Does Kurt fool around on Paul?

"She's excited? We're beside ourselves!" Sarah says.

"So, how do you know each other?" Blaine asks in his best casual voice.

"Antonio carts me around New Mexico. He's my personal slave," Kurt replies, bumping shoulders with the taller man.

"Keep dreaming," Antonio says.

Blaine brings back the smile and just stares. He sees genuine affection between them, and he doesn't like it, not one bit. This guy is so tall it's embarrassing. He's a darker version of Finn. Broad shoulders. Goofy grin. Handsome.

"We both work for the Alexanders," Antonio explains. "I manage Clint's Southwest properties."

"And I manage his wife," Kurt says, giving Antonio a wink.

"Oh," Blaine says. Exactly when did these two started fucking?

An uncomfortable silence settles in between them before Antonio steps into Sarah's space, places an arm over her shoulder and says, "And this is my wife."

"Oh. Oh!" Blaine says, letting out a sigh of relief before he thinks better of it.

"Blaine, you didn't," Kurt says, looking horrified.

"Didn't what?"

"You didn't honestly think that I would—"

"Do you want drinks? Let me get you drinks," Blaine interrupts.

"Ah, sure. I'll just have a beer," Antonio says.

"Margarita, rocks, no salt," Sarah says.

"Kurt?"

Kurt scowls at Blaine, ignores his question and walks over to the bar. Blaine throws an apologetic smile at Antonio and Sarah and then trails after Kurt.

"God, Blaine. You're such an idiot sometimes."

"I know, I know. Sorry."

"I'm engaged," Kurt says.

"I know. Believe me, I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just... nothing."

"What can I get for ya?" a forty-something redhead asks from behind the bar. Kurt stares at her beehive hairdo, and smiles.

"How do your margaritas stand up to Maria's?" Kurt asks.

"Ours are stronger, which means they're better," she replies.

"One margarita please, no salt," he says. "I love your hair."

"Thanks. Most people think it's too much."

"Oh it is, but that's why I love it," Kurt says. "I'm Kurt, by the way. Kurt Hummel."

"June Merryfeather."

"Stop! That is not your name," Kurt says, delighted.

"I might have made it up, but it is my name," she says, turning to Blaine. "And you? What are you having?"

Blaine orders drinks for Antonio and Sarah, then perches on a stool to watch Kurt and the bartender interact while she makes the drinks. Kurt loves people who are "too much"; it's a pleasure to watch him connect with another member of the "fabulous" species. He's not friendly, like Blaine is; he doesn't feel comfortable talking to anyone and everyone. But whenever he runs across someone who, like him, exemplifies the extraordinary, he's quick to make friends.

"So you just stayed here? But what about your apartment? What about your clothes?" Kurt asks, and Blaine realizes he's missed a key part of the conversation.

"Kurt, what fun is reinvention if you have to lug your old life around like a ball and chain?"

"So you've basically been on a seven-year vacation," Kurt says, sipping his drink.

"No. This is my home. I don't plan on going back to Seattle. I knew it the moment I pulled into town," June asserts, popping the cap off of Antonio's beer.

"I don't get it," he says. "I mean, no offense, but New Mexico really isn't my cup of tea."

"Maybe not, but you can't escape it," June says. She looks at Kurt intently and Blaine quashes the urge to step away and let them have a private moment in favor of hearing the conversation play out.

"Escape what, exactly?" Kurt asks.

"You know."

"I… what? I know what?" He looks nervous, like he's afraid she's about to give him really, really bad news.

"You know."

"I really don't. What can't I escape?"

"Who you really are. This place reminds you, one way or another," June says, patting his arm. She takes two steps back, gives them both a big, toothy smile and then walks over to serve a customer at the other end of the bar.

Kurt is silent, staring after her.

"You okay?" Blaine asks.

"Hmm? Of course. Yes. She's something, right?" Kurt says.

"For sure," Blaine agrees. "I love it here."

"You love it everywhere," Kurt says.

"True. Hey, let's get these drinks back to your friends," Blaine says.

"But we didn't pay," Kurt says.

"Mitch is picking up the tab tonight," Blaine explains, slipping a twenty onto the bar. "Her tip."

"Always the gentleman," Kurt says.

"You can take the boy out of Dalton, but you can't take Dalton out of the boy," Blaine says, walking back to Antonio and Sarah.

"Typical. Pure cheese."

"Can't help it."

Half an hour later they're sitting around a large rectangular table, all four of them focused on Adele. She's silly tonight; she's singing loads of covers, playing with new music, avoiding her standards; she'll have to sing enough of them on Saturday for the benefit. After she finishes a bouncy version of "Would I Lie to You?" by the Eurythmics, Adele thanks the room and walks off the stage, making a beeline for Blaine. Kurt, at his right, sits up a bit taller when he sees her.

Antonio stands and pulls out a chair for her. "Thanks, darling!"

She elbows Blaine and then takes a sip of Blaine's drink; he can tell she's looking for an extra bit of fun. Please don't say anything--

"Adele, thank you so much for inviting us," Sarah says. "I was captivated by you."

"Captivated? Haven't heard that one yet," Adele says. She takes Sarah's hands in her own and smiles. "Sarah, right? I'm so happy you came. Mitch adores you, and I'm right behind the work you do, you know?"

"Thanks. That means so much. You remember my husband, Antonio?" Sarah says.

"The tall, handsome local boy, yes."

"Nice to see you again," Antonio says, blushing.

Adele looks straight at Kurt. "And you, dearest, you have to tell me everything about this one," Adele says, pointing at Blaine. "He claims to be a total bore, but I have my theories."

"Kurt Hummel," he says, offering his hand. "And I'm happy to dish all night about Blaine if it means I can sit next to you."

"A stunner and a charmer," Adele says, winking at Blaine. "Mess, mess, mess."

"Sorry?" Kurt says.

"It's nothing. Just a bit of an inside joke. That was rude of me. Sorry," she says. "So Kurt, we can't get Blaine to record one of his own songs. Any idea why?"

"Wow. You cut right to it, don't you?" Blaine says, clearly irritated.

"Record a song? Blaine, I thought you weren't singing. Or writing," Kurt says.

"Oh, do you sing too, Blaine?" Sarah asks.

"I used to."

"That's how we met, actually. We were in competing Glee clubs in high school," Kurt explains. "Until I transferred to his school, and joined the Warblers."

"Warblers? Like birds?" Antonio asks.

"An all-boys a cappella group, the rock stars of Dalton Academy," Kurt quips.

"No. Not seriously? Our Blaine?" Adele is half off her seat now, excited to get any tidbit about Blaine's past. "Tell me more. Tell me everything."

Blaine groans and sinks into his chair as Kurt answers Adele's questions, coloring in his past in broad, practiced strokes. His drink almost gone, Kurt's a bit tipsy, and so he's in full-on storyteller mode. He has the whole table laughing, begging for more, and soon Gretchen and a few of the others are hovering around them, too.

When Kurt starts telling them about Hell Weekend, the Warbler party to end all Warbler parties, Blaine grabs Kurt's glass and his own and goes to the bar before he has to hear him tell everyone about his nearly-naked rendition of "Pour Some Sugar On Me." Lovely.

"Hey June. Two more, please," Blaine says, turning to watch his dearest friend holding court. Kurt leans in, says something in a low voice—and the whole table erupts in laughter. They all look over at Blaine, some smirking, some with hands over their mouths, some giving him the thumbs-up. Blaine waves and smiles.

"Here ya be," June says, sliding the drinks across the bar. He knows he should bring Kurt his drink, should rejoin his friends; but his feet feel like they're encased in cement, so he stays.

"Thanks, June," he says. "I'm Blaine, by the way."

"You're his, huh?" she asks, her head nodding in Kurt's direction.

"Who? Kurt? No. He's... I'm not his."

"Are you sure about that?"

"One hundred percent," he says, chugging his drink.

"No. I'm right. There's something there," June presses.

"Are you one of those self-described clairvoyants? Because there's a lot of them running around this town," Blaine says, trying not to sound mean.

"Aren't there, though? No, I'm not one of 'em. I just, you know, size people up. It's kind of a hobby."

"Try knitting," Blaine barks. He's being mean now, on purpose, and he's not mean. Ever. "Sorry, sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm just a little tense. But that's no excuse. So again, I apologize—"

"One apology is enough, Blaine. And it's no problem. I get it. You don't want to want him, but you really, really do want him. I would be tense, too."

Who is this woman? Jesus! Doesn't she know that we don't talk about this? Doesn't she get that I will never talk about it, and he will never talk about it, and we will never, ever, ever do anything about it? Because that's the deal. That's the agreement, forged years ago in heavy silences, in the space between. They can't go back. He can never go back in time, fuck his fears and sense of propriety and go after what he wants.

Blaine turns to look back at the group. Kurt and Adele are deep in their own private conversation now; Blaine wonders what she's telling Kurt, what he's telling her. The last drink creeps up on Blaine as if it's his seventh or eighth. He feels it wrap around his brain and fill him up with fuzzy bravado. He wants to tell June that she's wrong. He and Kurt are friends, friends who don't see each other, friends who don't act much like friends anymore.

He tells her the whole truth instead.

"I do want him. I've always wanted him," Blaine says. "But we're about a decade past that now, and we chose different lives. I love someone else. Someone good. So that's it."

June looks across the room at Kurt and says, "Maybe."

She pats him on the shoulder and does that walking-backwards-smile thing again before she turns and exits through a door marked "PINK STAFF ONLY." He shakes his head and tries to shrug off his exchange with June, and thinks instead about how Kurt would get a kick out of that sign, how he'd likely want to hang it on his office door or something.

When he turns back to the table again, Adele is gone, and so are many of his nosy friends. He turns toward the stage and sees they're getting ready for another set, so he picks up Kurt's drink and what's left of his own and walks back to the table.

"I didn't tell them anything truly horrifying," Kurt says with a smirk.

"Of course you didn't, because that would involve telling stories about you, too," Blaine teases.

"Just what exactly are you getting at, Blaine Anderson?" Kurt says, teasing right back.

"I know things. I know lots of things," Blaine says. He looks right at Kurt, smile fading. His eyes wander to Kurt's neck and linger there, old fantasies kicking in. He's staring just a bit too long, and he knows it. But he can't help it.

Kurt shifts a bit in his seat, and then forces himself to look away. "You're not playing tonight?" he asks.

"Nope. Wanted to spend time with you."

Adele starts in on "Forever Man," the new torch song they haven't quite perfected yet. Antonio takes that as his cue and silently offers his hand to his wife. Sarah beams up at him, and they make their way to the dance floor, now dotted with couples moving to the soulful rasp of Adele's voice.

Blaine is too drunk to smooth over the tension with his trademark moves, so it hangs in the air as they watch the scene before them. It feels like it takes Kurt hours to finally ask, "Did you have a bad day? You seem so... surly."

"No, I'm fine," Blaine replies.

"But you're upset about something," Kurt presses.

"I'm not."

"Do you miss Liam? Is that it?" Kurt asks.

"Of course I miss him. He's my boyfriend."

"You haven't said much about him. I just wondered--"

"I didn't think it was appropriate," Blaine interrupts.

"To talk to me about Liam? Why not? I'm your friend--"

"It's private," Blaine insists, staring at the dance floor, the wall, his glass, anything but Kurt.

"Okay," Kurt says. "Just... could you just tell me if you're all right? Is he treating you well?"

"Of course."

"Good. That's good," Kurt says. "So if it's not Liam, why are you so edgy tonight?"

Blaine looks up at Kurt, exhales, lets the ache wander around to his chest, fill up his lungs, take hold of his teeth, his jaw, his tongue.

"I might... I might not be able to keep this up," Blaine says.

"Keep what up?"

Blaine stares at him, emotions bare and real and maybe too much. He can't hear it over the music, but he can see Kurt gasp. He's at the precipice, and he's losing his will to stay put.

"Blaine, what--?"

PRESS PLAY

Blaine hears the opening bars of "Someone Like You" and before he can change his mind, he takes Kurt's hand and pulls him up out of his chair. "Remember this? You used to play this in your car nonstop."

"You have me confused with Rachel."

"Don't rewrite history," Blaine says, giving Kurt his first real smile of the night.

Kurt smiles back, squeezing Blaine's hand. "I wouldn't dream of it."

They exchange a look that lasts a few seconds too long, but before Kurt can pull away, Blaine tugs on his hand. "Dance with me?"

"Seriously? This song is so sad--"

"This is one of those moments you'll regret saying no to," Blaine interrupts. "Can't we…? Let's just dance to this song we loved when we were kids, okay?"

Kurt nods. "Okay."

Blaine takes him by the hand, winding between tables, leading him to the dance floor. He looks up at Adele sitting on her stool. She looks right at them; she doesn't smile, doesn't break concentration, but he knows she's singing for him—for them.

Blaine stops at the darkest spot on the dance floor and turns to face Kurt. He lets go of his hand, then, and places both of his hands on Kurt's slim waist, pulling him close. Kurt looks at him, a question in his eyes, then exhales and leans into Blaine, resting his head on Blaine's shoulder. They're barely dancing, just swaying and leaning and pressing into each other like two teenagers learning how to do... everything.

Kurt snakes his hands around Blaine's waist and up over his shoulder blades, pressing in. It feels like no hug Kurt's ever given him before. He shivers and burrows his head into Blaine's neck, like he had the night before. Within moments their nerves give way to that unspoken thing, and they let it take over. They'll leave it here on the dance floor anyway, never speak of it again, but for the few measures of this song, for this brief moment in time, they'll give in.

Blaine tightens his hold on Kurt's waist. They're so close now it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Kurt brings one of his hands around to the front, placing it on Blaine's chest. He slowly moves it higher, higher, pressing softly into Blaine's shirt. He stops at the collar, fingers close but not touching Blaine's skin.

Blaine knows what Kurt wants. He can feel the yearning buzzing around them, through them, in them. His hand is over Kurt's now, moving it, placing Kurt's fingers on his own neck. He can feel him smile into his neck as he thumbs Blaine's collar bone.

They're lost in it now, so Blaine allows his hands to move down low on Kurt's back, resting just above the curve of his ass. He can feel the strength in Kurt's thighs, his back, his hands.

He wills the song to go on forever.

Blaine tilts his head, his mouth close to Kurt's ear, and sings softly. "You know how the time flies. Only yesterday was the time of our lives."

Kurt melts into him, listening with his whole body. He wraps his hand around the back of Blaine's neck and somehow manages to pull him even closer. Blaine moves his hands back to Kurt's hips, digging in this time. He wants to leave marks, marks he'll never see because this is all they'll ever have; marks Kurt will see in the mirror tonight, tomorrow morning, the next day.

"I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited, but I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it. I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded that for me, it isn't over," Blaine sings, his voice catching on the last note.

Kurt lifts his head and suddenly they're staring into each other's eyes. Adele's voice washes over them and wraps them up in the moment, protecting them from consequences and regret. Kurt licks his lips and Blaine parts his own in response, moving in closer. They're breathing heavily now, barely moving, faces just inches apart.

"Courage, Blaine," Kurt whispers.

Suddenly Kurt's mouth is on his and they're kissing. Oh God. This is everything. Blaine's whole body gives over to the kiss: lips warm, tongue skating across teeth, hands wrapped up in the hair at the base of Kurt's neck.

Kurt wraps both of his hands around Blaine's neck, winds his fingers up into his curls and tugs. Blaine hisses, loving the pain; Kurt does it again. And again. His lips are strong and insistent and Blaine knew it, he knew Kurt would kiss him just exactly like this. Blaine nips at Kurt's bottom lip and then Kurt's hands are on his hips and his mouth is at his neck and Blaine can't help but moan into Kurt's ear.

The song is like a spell, and Blaine feels it coming to an end, so he pulls Kurt off of his neck. Kurt looks confused, almost hurt, but then Blaine takes Kurt's face in his hands and gives him a soft, chaste kiss, the kind he should have given him that day on the stairs after they confronted Karofsky.

He wants to give him all of the missed kisses now, the sweet, innocent, hopeful kisses he should have given him in the hallways at Dalton, in empty classrooms, under stairs. Blaine kisses Kurt's forehead, his cheeks. He nuzzles his nose and then runs his tongue over Kurt's bottom lip like he should have done that day in Kurt's bedroom when Kurt told him he was accepted to Pratt and promised to visit him every month in Boston. He kisses him deeply now, a bit desperately, like he should have done in the backseat of Kurt's car every damn Saturday night for years.

He knows he should kiss Kurt like this is another missed kiss, like this is goodbye, but instead he gives him everything, as he should have done all along; as he should have done every time this perfect man graced him with his presence.

"Blaine... Blaine--"

Kurt whispers into his mouth, and then Blaine realizes he's crying, salty tears falling down his cheeks and into their mouths. Kurt kisses Blaine's tears, returns to his lips, desperate.

Kurt pulls his mouth away and replaces it with his thumb, rubbing along Blaine's top lip, then the bottom. He can tell Kurt wants to say something, maybe even the truth, but holds it in. He feels the room now, all eyes on them as Adele winds the song down, and he knows he'll never get another chance to just tell him what he should have told him all along. Even though they can never be, even though it might ruin their friendship, Kurt deserves the truth.

"Kurt... I've always wanted... you."

Kurt's tears flow freely now, too. He kisses Blaine one last time and then turns and walks away.

Blaine watches Kurt slip into the men's room and he stands there, alone on the dance floor, frozen until the piano offers up the last notes of the song. And then he's moving fast through the crowd to the men's room, pushing open the door.

He finds Kurt leaning up against the wall, sobbing. He doesn't think. He doesn't ask. He can't. He crosses to Kurt and wraps him up in his arms, pulls him in for another kiss. Kurt gives in with him and they claw at each other, lining up their hips, gasping as they feel each other for the first time, hard and hot and wonderful.

Blaine nips at Kurt's jaw, holding Kurt's hips steady as he thrusts up. Kurt tugs at the waistband of Blaine's jeans and Blaine is gone. He'll do anything Kurt asks. Anything. Kurt slips his fingers under Blaine's shirt, pressing his fingers into his stomach muscles, skating down, down, down and then... nothing. Kurt freezes.

"I can't. We can't do this," Kurt says, chest heaving.

Blaine groans into Kurt's neck, trying to keep still. They stay like that for what feels like forever and then Kurt gently pushes Blaine off of him.

"I have to go now or I'll never leave," Kurt says, turning the handle on the door. He doesn't look at Blaine before he goes. There are no final stolen kisses, no tender caresses of his cheek. He's just gone.

Blaine waits a few minutes, enough time for Kurt to say his goodbyes and get out the door, and goes back into the room. Adele is singing again, but when she spots him she looks worried. He smiles at her reassuringly. She'll feel badly about this tomorrow, as if she caused it with her pushing and her singing of words that ring true over miles and decades apart. But he'll always be grateful.

He wants to run after Kurt. He wants to lift him up and take him down and lose himself in Kurt, Kurt, Kurt.

But Kurt said no, and Blaine is a gentleman.

Fuck manners.

****

It's too much. Too much. The walk back to the Eldorado did nothing to calm him, and Kurt will do anything to stop the deafening roar of want in his brain. He rummages through his toiletry bag, finds the travel-sized bottle of lube, and within seconds he's on the bed, jeans and briefs in a pile next to him on the floor. He's so desperate to get off he doesn't even bother to take off his shirt.

I've always wanted... you.

Blaine's confession echoes so loudly he can feel the words in his body, coursing through his veins, whispering in his ear, pulsing in his heart. He was moments—mere seconds—away from wrecking everything, and he knows there's a good chance he wouldn't even care if he had.

We were caught up in the song, that's all. It was a long time coming and now it's over. I'll just stay far away from Blaine, finish this damn house and get on with my life.

His hands feel punishing on his cock, too rough and too fast, but he deserves it. He deserves pain with pleasure, his boyfriend—fianc�—far away, ever-faithful, fighting for their rights, for their marriage. He just needs to get off as quickly as possible and be done with it. No dragging it out. No fantasizing about Blaine's hot mouth on his skin, Blaine's hands intertwined with his as he fucks Kurt—

"Oh God—"

Kurt scoots his ass down for easier access, lubes up two fingers and then works one, then the other inside, welcoming the burn. He tries to imagine Paul's long, elegant, practiced fingers working him open, but his mind keeps going back to Blaine. Blaine. Blaine.

Blaine.

"It's just a... a... fuck... a fantasy. It doesn't count. It doesn't count."

Kurt gives in, bucking up as he imagines Blaine's callused fingers pressing, pressing, pressing in to him. He fucks down on his own fingers, adding a third, and groans loudly, thankful for the hotel's soundproof walls. He's used this fantasy to get off before, many times. But he's never gone right to it just minutes after seeing Blaine. And he's never done it just minutes after Blaine confessed he wanted him. Because Blaine had always made him wonder, left that "thing" hanging between them like he wanted the banter and the tension to go on forever.

I've always wanted... you.

Do you need something?

Sweat at his temples, Kurt whines in frustration. It's too much and it's not enough. It's the honesty without the follow-through; agony. His orgasm builds and he's so close, so close, but he just can't get there. He needs to come. He'll do anything to come. But he can't. He works himself over like it's the last time, little beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face. He's tries every surefire move, but it's not enough.

Kurt pulls his fingers out in defeat and slides to the floor. He holds his head in his hands and, for the second time tonight, he cries. Ass throbbing, cock softening, fingers cramping, he pulls his knees up to his chest and sobs. He's never cried from sexual frustration before.

"It's so much more--" Kurt mumbles, in between sobs. He can still feel Blaine's hands on his biceps, gripping him, his eyes black with longing. Longing.

Kurt knows it's about more than sex. It's everything. No one, no one had ever kissed him like that. He felt it in his bones. Blaine's kisses were reverent, passionate, demanding, sweet.

It can't be about more than sex, though, or he'll run after him. He'll do something foolish like call things off with Paul and fly to London and tell Blaine he'll wait for him, wait for him to be done with Liam and come to his senses.

I gave up on waiting for Blaine years ago.

It can never be about more than sex. He can say no to sex. He can't say no to... all the rest.

He can fantasize about Blaine. He can jerk off to thoughts of Blaine touching him, sucking him, fucking him. But he can't let it be more. He can never let it be more.

His sobs calm to an occasional sniffle. Kurt wipes his eyes, stands up and takes off his shirt, lets it drop to the floor; he doesn't care about anything right now. He takes one look in the mirror, shakes his head at his puffy, still-desperate eyes and walks to the shower, where he'll wash away the want, cry some more, and let every dirty thought, every desire and every last wish wash down the drain.

As he passes the door he hears a soft knock, so soft it sounds like it might be someone knocking on a different door. Curious, he looks out the peephole and... there he is. Blaine. Although his image is distorted by the tiny round lens, Kurt can clearly see him standing with his back to Kurt's door, his hand running roughly through his curls.

As if he can feel Kurt's eyes on him, Blaine turns and knocks again, louder this time. Kurt holds his breath. He can't answer. He shouldn't answer. He won't.

"Kurt. Open the door."

Kurt exhales and steps back as if he's been burned. He will not open the door...

"Kurt. Please."

The urgency in Blaine's voice is palpable; Kurt recognizes it as his own. Suddenly he's not thinking anymore. Suddenly he's moving toward the door, hand unlocking the chain. Suddenly his fingers are on the handle—

"Shit!"

Kurt realizes he's about to answer the door completely naked and runs back to his pile of clothes. Just as he slips on his jeans, Blaine bangs on the door loudly; so Kurt forgoes his shirt, runs back to the door and yanks it open.

"Stop! You'll wake up the other—"

Before Kurt can finish admonishing him, Blaine's mouth is on his. He backs Kurt into the room, kicking the door shut behind them. In no time he has Kurt pushed up against a wall, his hands digging into Kurt's hips, holding him in place. Blaine devours Kurt with his mouth, kissing him so hard it hurts, nipping at his bottom lip, his chin, his throat. It's fast and desperate and Kurt can't catch up, can't do much of anything but hold on.

"Blaine—"

"Please, Kurt. Don't say no. I need you," Blaine pleads.

Somehow, Kurt finds it in him to reach a hand in between them. He pushes on Blaine's chest, willing him to stop but hoping he won't. Blaine tenses and pulls back to look at Kurt. He's letting Kurt see all of it now; he's begging with his eyes, his hips, his hands.

Kurt bites his lip and watches Blaine's eyes as he stares at his mouth. His body is humming with anticipation; it's as if his cock knows Blaine will get him off in the most spectacular way. It was never like this with Paul, with anybody. But they can't. They shouldn't. They will regret this forever.

Bodies pressed together, chests heaving, their eyes lock and Kurt makes a decision.

"One night," he says, his hand still between them.

Blaine grabs both of Kurt's hands, places them over his head, against the wall, and holds them there. "I want so much... everything... Kurt, I can't--"

"I know."

"One night," Blaine agrees. "I have to... please can we just... I have to fuck you. Now."

And that is it. Kurt is gone. He wriggles his hands free from Blaine's grasp and reaches around the bathroom doorframe to find his toiletry bag on the counter. Blaine attacks his neck and yet somehow Kurt manages to find a condom in the bag.

"Here," Kurt says, holding the condom up triumphantly.

"But you're not ready," Blaine says.

"I um... I am, actually. I was trying to get off before you got here, and I'm... I'm good to go," Kurt says, blushing.

There is a moment, just a second or two, when they could back out. But then it's gone, and Blaine's pulling his shirt over his head and Kurt's peeling off his jeans, both in a kind of frenzy. Kurt yanks on Blaine's zipper and pulls down his jeans and underwear in one pass. They are barely completely off before Blaine is back on Kurt's mouth, hands everywhere.

"You deserve--" Blaine starts, but Kurt cuts him off.

"Just do it. We'll go again. We'll go until morning. Please just do it."

Kurt tears at the condom and rolls it onto Blaine's erect cock in seconds flat. Blaine groans and kisses Kurt's bruised lips, hoisting him up a bit and supporting him with his weight. Kurt wraps his legs around Blaine's waist, saying, "Hurry, hurry, please, please," like he might die if Blaine doesn't fuck him right now.

"Is there enough lube?" Blaine asks.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. Just do it. Please."

Blaine spits on his own hand, rubs the wetness on Kurt's hole and then Blaine is pushing in, and Kurt is pressing down and willing himself to relax and it's not enough lube after all but it's good, it's so good, and then Blaine is all the way in and Kurt is filled with an overwhelming sense of... joy.

Blaine stills for a moment and then says, "This is happening."

"This is so happening."

And then Blaine is fucking him, and it feels like a miracle, like everything he's ever wanted. He fucks him hard and fast and it's perfect and he's completely at Blaine's mercy. Kurt cries out, his head banging against the wall, but he doesn't care. Blaine is relentless, pounding years of frustration into him, again and again.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop," Kurt screams.

"Kurt, fuck," Blaine says between grunts. Kurt digs blunt nails into Blaine's back and mouths at his ear. Blaine holds him up; Kurt takes his own leaking cock in hand and starts pumping, the sight of which tips Blaine over the edge. His thrusts uneven, Blaine looks pained, like he's trying to hold back.

"Don't wait. I want to see," Kurt says, and with that Blaine is coming, his head burrowed in Kurt's neck.

"Jesus," Blaine mouths at Kurt's chest, lost in the taste of Kurt's sweat.

"Can you just... don't pull out. Just a little more," Kurt says. Blaine shakes off the haze and he's fucking him again. "Yeah, that's it. That's it. Shit!"

When Kurt's long-awaited orgasm finally hits it is so intense he makes no sound. His neck snaps back and he's surprised to find Blaine's hand there, preventing him from banging his head against the wall again. He feels like he's falling but he doesn't care; he knows Blaine will hold him up. The release is like fire and so, so sweet as he comes down, his head falling against Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine's breathing evens out first. He shifts his weight, holding Kurt in place.

"Holy shit, Kurt."

"Mm hmm," Kurt mumbles.

"I'm sorry, I know that was... fast. I wanted to touch you and taste you and build up to—"

"What, you're worried we didn't have enough foreplay?" Kurt asks, coming back to himself. He kisses Blaine's neck, his jaw, his swollen lips.

"Yes." Blaine rests his forehead on Kurt's shoulder.

"Blaine, what do you think we've been doing for the past fourteen years?"