The problem was this: because his teenaged mind conjured up images of blowjobs approximately every three minutes, and because after Kurt transferred to Dalton that November they did just about everything together, and because Kurt was frighteningly hot, Blaine inevitably dropped hunky surfer guy and started imagining getting a blowjob from Kurt. And that was so not okay.

But he imagined it anyway.

Kurt.

Kurt giving him a blowjob.

Kurt giving him a blowjob anywhere and everywhere and anytime he wanted it. In the library, Kurt hiding under the table while Blaine tried to hold it together. On the couch in the common room after curfew; in his bed, both of them trying (and failing) to keep quiet; in the woods past the chapel during lunch, where they could be quick and dirty and loud; in Kurt's car; in Blaine's car; in the men's room at Breadstix; at the movies; in the shower.

Blaine couldn't possibly count the number of times he got off to thoughts of Kurt blowing him. Even in recent years, he'd pulled that old fantasy out a few (dozen) times. And it was good, like a schoolboy's fantasy always is.

But this...

This is better.

This is amazing.

This is the single best blowjob Blaine Anderson has ever had in his entire fucking life.

Just the sight of Kurt on his knees, eyes closed, his swollen lips dragging down Blaine's cock and up again like a pro, is enough to send Blaine over the edge. It doesn't help much to look away, because his mind just floods with images from his old fantasies, and that—combined with the reality of Kurt's masterful head—is too, too much.

Kurt works him over with purpose. He is not messing around.

"Jesus, Kurt. How--?"

He feels Kurt smile around him now, and hum, and dear lord that's good. A slow lick up the vein on the underside of his cock, a few shallow sucks around the head, a twist of the wrist and then back to that dirty, rhythmic suck, suck, suck. Blaine is in awe of Kurt, the way he takes Blaine in deep, his mouth enveloping Blaine's cock, straining his lips. Blaine is stupid now. Dizzy. Lost.

He wants it to last, to feel that swipe of Kurt's tongue right... "There, Kurt. Oh God. Again. Oh God." He wants to hold Kurt's head tight and still and fuck Kurt's mouth, scream his name, watch Kurt jerk himself off as he takes all Blaine can give.

But he knows Kurt wants other things, and he's not sure he can deliver if they keep this up.

"Stop. Kurt. Don't... oh fuck... stop!"

Blaine whines when Kurt pulls off. Kurt strokes him with one hand and says, "Stop or don't stop?"

Blaine struggles; he waits for the oxygen to return to his brain. After a few moments, he tugs on Kurt's hand and motions for him to stand up. Kurt looks confused, but happy. He rests both hands on Blaine's hips while Blaine licks Kurt's bottom lip, dips his tongue into his mouth and lets the kiss shake him out of the need for immediate gratification.

"Who are you?" Blaine says finally.

"Stop it," Kurt replies. He actually has the nerve to look embarrassed, shy even.

"You're like, the Jedi Master of blowjobs," Blaine says, pressing their foreheads together. He wraps his arms around Kurt, taking his splashes. The water is running lukewarm now, unsurprising since they've been in here forever.

"Dork," Kurt says. Then he smiles. "I do like to achieve mastery in all of my endeavors."

"If you want to keep going, I need to stop," Blaine explains.

"Still not making sense, Blaine."

"I don't know if I can come again after this."

"Oh," Kurt says, getting it at last.

Kurt slips out of Blaine's grasp and turns his back to him. He turns off the shower and steps out, reaching a hand out for Blaine. "Come on. I want to fuck you on the bed."

"Yeah. Good."

Blaine wants to apologize for sounding like a caveman, but instead he grasps Kurt with one hand and palms the two remaining condoms with his other hand as they leave the bathroom.

They're on the bed in seconds, soaking wet, dripping water onto the cream-colored duvet. Kurt is on top of Blaine now; he sucks a raspberry-sized mark onto Blaine's shoulder while Blaine moans and slides his fingers down Kurt's back to his ass.

Kurt lifts his head up and says, "Wait, do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, God yes."

"I mean, I just assumed... but maybe you don't--"

"It's been years. Liam doesn't like to top," Blaine says. Kurt raises one eyebrow and Blaine sighs. "Don't. Just... please, please fuck me."

Kurt plants both hands on the bed on either side of Blaine's head and swoops in for a kiss so deep, so forceful, it knocks him senseless.

Kurt breaks the kiss to grab the lube, and Blaine imagines Kurt alone in this room just hours before, fingering himself, trying to get off to the memory of Blaine's hands on him. He remembers the feel of Kurt, hot and tight and waiting, squeezing around his cock and holding him inside like he belongs there. And then Kurt's finger is inside him, and another, and then it's "yes, yes, yes" and "more, more, more," and Blaine whispers Kurt's name with every exhale.

Three fingers, and then bliss, pure hot bliss, and then Kurt leaves him empty. He feels Kurt's lips on his belly, the inside of his thighs, sweet and reverent; he hears the sound of a foil wrapper ripping, of slicking-on latex, and then Kurt is hitching one of Blaine's legs up onto his shoulder and pushing his other thigh out, spreading him wide.

Kurt hesitates, and Blaine looks directly into his eyes. He sees it, now: pure adoration. Kurt hasn't looked at him like this since that week they spent at Blaine's grandparents' cabin in Wisconsin, the summer before college, when they spent every day at the lake, pushing buttons and boundaries. Kurt had given up on something after that, or packed it away, or just stopped. But here it is, the look, shining down on him like a gift, the best gift.

Blaine reaches up, palm flat over Kurt's heart. He knows this could be the end of it. This could be the last time he has Kurt like he's always wanted him, and they only just got started. "Hold on as long as you can," Kurt says, reading his mind.

"Don't touch me, then. Just fuck me."

Kurt plants a kiss on Blaine's leg and pushes in carefully. Blaine is grateful, but it's not what he wants. "I'm okay. Really. Please," Blaine pleads. Kurt nods and then bottoms out in one thrust, earning a guttural moan from Blaine. "Fuck, yes."

Kurt lifts Blaine's hips, just barely, enough to get exactly the right angle. Kurt is deliberate, rhythmic; he never misses a beat. He pushes Blaine's thigh out even wider, holding him open. When Blaine lifts his head up a bit to see,—to see Kurt fucking him, Kurt like he imagined him so many times, Kurt claiming him, loving him, filling him—he sees that Kurt is watching, too. Head down, he seems mesmerized by the sight of his own cock pumping in and out of Blaine. Blaine groans, his head falling back on the bed.

His thoughts come quick and messy as he pants and whines.

Let me take a picture, let me hold onto this moment and keep it in my pocket, in the corner of my heart, in my dreams. Let me have it. Wasn't this always mine? Ours? Let me have it. Weren't we always this? Haven't we always been here, in this breath, in this pain, in this heat? Let me have it.

Blaine loses himself with Kurt inside him. He is anything and everything and nothing matters but this, this, this. He is so gone he doesn't notice the familiar tug until he is seconds from coming; and then all he sees is silver and black. Every cell in his body wakes up, as if he had been dead for years, as if he is awake for the first time. Pleasure rips through him like fire and fills him, white and hot, like liquid washing over his bones.

He is useless, so happily wrecked, and so willing to let Kurt pound into him now as he searches for his own release.

"Oh... Blaine... shitshitshit--"

Kurt's babbling now, sweat at his brow, and Blaine realizes that up until now, Kurt hasn't spoken a word this whole time.

Blaine struggles to keep his eyes open, to focus on Kurt's face as he comes. He is certain there is no one more beautiful than this man, this man who used to be a boy, a boy who captured his attention and his heart.

Kurt collapses on Blaine, his body thrumming. He grips Blaine's hips, all shallow breaths and little whimpers. Blaine reaches up and holds Kurt in a tight hug, and he realizes they've been hugging all night, in between everything, during, after. He kisses Kurt's hair, whispering, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

When Kurt rolls off to the side, Blaine sees the tears in Kurt's eyes and his own fill up at the sight. "We're not doing this, right? We're just... we're not stopping to do this," Blaine pleads.

Kurt rubs his face, wipes his eyes and says, "No. No, we're not."

They lie next to each other, staring at the ceiling, hands intertwined and resting between them on the bed. Kurt rubs his thumb absentmindedly across Blaine's knuckles. Blaine rests his foot on Kurt's ankle. "God, I want to go all night, but--"

"It's almost morning," Kurt says.

"I'm spent."

"Hmm. Nice. I like that word," Kurt says. "When it's earned."

Blaine turns on his side, leans on his elbow. He looks down at Kurt and beams. "Best. Night. Ever."

Kurt smiles and pulls Blaine in for a kiss. "Even better than what's-his-name?"

"Who?"

"Adam something or other. You know, the guy," Kurt says, smiling up at Blaine. "In college. You dated him for a week or something. Remember? I came down to visit you and you fucked him on the air mattress in the living room."

"Oh. That guy."

"We all heard you, and when Rachel asked you about it you said it was mind-blowing, the best night ever."

Blaine runs his thumb across Kurt's chin, then up, and lets it slide into Kurt's mouth and out again. "You never visited me again," Blaine says.

"No." Kurt sits up, and then he's gone.

Blaine glances over to the windows, frowning at the soft pink light peeking through the heavy drapes. He remembers that morning, after his one and only time with Adam, when Kurt smiled too brightly and couldn't really look Blaine in the eyes. He remembers waiting for the bus from Chinatown the following month, holding a tray with two coffees and a chamomile tea, so excited to see his best friend. And he remembers Rachel stepping off the bus alone, shaking her head at the question in his eyes. He felt the tether go slack, then, and his shoulders sank with his heart. But still, he didn't fix it. He was too young, too clueless; he didn't know how.

Kurt returns a moment later, cleans them up and then drops the damp washcloth on the floor. "Come on, under the covers."

"I don't want to sleep," Blaine says.

"I know. But I'm cold," Kurt says, turning down the bed. Blaine stands and somehow they both slide into the bed and into each other’s arms without a question of sides or position. Kurt snuggles in, rests his head on Blaine's shoulder and immediately starts rubbing lazy circles around Blaine's chest, playing with his hair. "I love this," he whispers.

Blaine, one arm around Kurt, kisses the top of his head. They're quiet for a long time, just listening to each other breathe, offering gentle touches, exploring, comforting.

"Feel better?" Blaine asks, and he's asking about all of it, the last fourteen years of not feeling right, and Kurt knows.

"Almost," Kurt replies.

"Yeah. Almost."

After a few moments more, Kurt slips out from under Blaine's arm and crawls out of bed. He crosses to the window and pulls the drapes open, letting in the first blush of morning.

"We're missing the sunrise," Kurt says. He climbs back into bed and turns to face the window, pulling Blaine over to hold him from behind. Blaine throws an arm around Kurt's waist, and Kurt covers it with his own, silently imploring him to hold him even tighter.

The sunrise, bright orange and soft pink waking up over the mountains, is the stuff of epic poems and happy endings and Blaine hates it. He burrows his head into Kurt's neck and whimpers. Kurt just squeezes his hand tighter, tighter until he lets out a shaky breath and disentangles himself from Blaine completely.

"You should go," Kurt says.

"Okay."

Kurt watches as Blaine dresses. They don't speak; they don't even look at each other. Blaine wonders if Kurt thinks it's the guilt that keeps him from looking at Kurt; that would be another misunderstanding, another missed opportunity. He doesn't feel guilty, not at all. How could he? This is honoring an old, unspoken promise. It has nothing to do with the men they have promised to love now. Still, the way Blaine slouches and moves slowly, head down, eyes on everything but Kurt, he probably looks like he's letting shame seep in.

If he thinks that, he's wrong. I'm just too sad, too close to fucking everything up. If he asks, I won't be able to say no.

Blaine crosses to the bed, leans down and kisses Kurt. For a moment he thinks he'll be pulled back in, under the covers, to roll around with Kurt in this bed forever. Kurt has his hand on the back of Blaine's neck, he's up on his knees now, pressing naked skin to Blaine's clothed body, and Blaine has his hand on Kurt's ass, and it's so hot and perfect and them.

Kurt pulls his lips off of Blaine, presses their foreheads together and says, "Go."

Blaine kisses Kurt one last time and steps away. He doesn't look back, not even when his hand turns the doorknob, not even as the door shuts behind him. He just walks. Down the hall, to the elevator, through the lobby, out the door, down the street. He walks and walks, and with every step he feels more and more... angry. He can still feel Kurt on him, inside him, around him. The loss is too much, and he loathes this place they've let themselves get to. He is so angry with himself, and with Kurt, for being brave about so many things but never about this. Never about them.

He walks with balled up fists now, eyes dark and desperate.

Without thinking, he goes into the Starbucks. It's just opening up for the day. He walks up to the counter. "One grande medium drip and one grande non-fat mocha, please." And then he's walking again, coffees in hand, back down San Francisco Street, up the steps, through the lobby, down the hallway.

He stands in front of Kurt’s door. Room 415. Was it just a few hours ago that he faced this door, knowing that what he was about to do was crazy, that it was wrong, and that he had to do it anyway?

He knocks, and Kurt opens the door. He is red-faced, puffy-eyed, with a towel wrapped around his hips.

"It's still nighttime in Hawaii," Blaine says, handing Kurt his coffee.

Kurt ignores it and throws himself at Blaine, throwing his arms around his neck. He kisses him again and again, little pecks on his cheeks, his lips, his forehead.

"What are we doing?" Kurt asks.

Blaine steps forward, pushing them back into the room. He says it before he thinks about it, before he realizes what it means, or what he's asking of Kurt and himself, before he changes his mind, because he really doesn't know what he's saying. "You're here for ten more days--"

"Twelve."

"So give me all of them."