It had been too long. Four days, thirteen hours, and six minutes, to be exact. A knock on the front door sent chills down his spine. He leapt from the couch, where he had been waiting impatiently, legs crossed and foot tapping against the coffee table. Before he knew it he was at the door, whipping it open. When he saw who was on the other side, he sighed in relief.

"Blaine."

Blaine smiled, his curly hair ungelled for once. Kurt's hand flew out and snatched Blaine's waist, pulling him in for hard, passionate kiss. The two stepped inside, lips still locked, slamming the door behind them. Kurt was silently praising his parents' and brother's absences from the home.

Blaine pulled away, laughing and gasping for air. "Well, hello to you, too!"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "What else did you expect? I've only waited four days, thirteen hours, and..."—he pretended to consult a watch, though he wore none—"eight minutes for that."

Blaine raised a single triangular eyebrow. "Well then. Why don't we continue this conversation in a more suitable setting?"

Without hesitation, Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand and lead him upstairs, half-walking, half-running. When they reached Kurt's bedroom, Blaine kicked the door so it swung shut with a click. And then they began devouring each other, lips and teeth and tongues seemingly trying to reach every inch of skin showing. The two collapsed on the bed, panting and chuckling softly. They moved against each other, discarding shoes and socks quickly. From beneath Blaine's body, Kurt began unbuttoning the other boy's shirt. Simultaneously, Blaine allowed his teeth to graze down Kurt's earlobe, his mouth tracing the outline of his neck, down to the patch of skin where his shoulder began, pushing his sweater aside as he continued along his collarbone. Soon, Blaine's shirt lay forgotten on the floor, alongside their shoes, socks, and Kurt's sweater. Blaine's chaotic hair tickled Kurt's face as Blaine reached a hand up Kurt's undershirt, tracing every muscle and curve with the tips of his fingers.

Through their heavy breathing, loud motions, and thumping hearts, both boys failed to hear a car door slam out front. They neglected to notice the front door opening and shutting, or heavy footsteps on the stairs. They didn't even hear a hand turning the doorknob.

"Hey, is that Blaine's car out fr—OH MY GOD!"

Kurt screamed, and Blaine fell on the floor, still shirtless. Both stared in shock at Finn, who whipped around to face the hall again, eyes screwed shut.

"FINN HUDSON!"

"KURT! BLAINE!"

"Well hey!"

All three boys shouted at the same time. And then it was quiet. The awkward silence lasted for about a minute. Blaine and Kurt gaped at each other, unsure of what to do, and Finn remained motionless, trying desperately to mentally scour his memory.

Blaine moved first, lifting his shirt from the ground and donning it. He then sat beside Kurt on the bed, helping the other boy straighten himself up. Then he spoke. "Um...Finn...you can turn around now."

"No, I'm good." Finn mumbled, his face now buried in his hands.

"Don't you know how to knock?" Kurt snapped, finally regaining the ability to talk.

"Well excuse me if I didn't think I'd ever walk in on my brother and his boyfriend going at it!"

"And why would you ever assume that?"

The awkward silence descended again. This time, Finn broke it. "Okay, I'm going to go into my room to play Call of Duty. I honestly don't care what you two do, just as long as I don't hear it." He began to walk away, but then stopped. "Oh, and Anderson? I will be personally billing you for all of the therapy I'm going to be needing to recover from this one." With that he rushed into his bedroom, whipping the door shut behind him.

Blaine stood and closed the Kurt's door softly. When he turned back around, the two boys stared at each other for a moment, silently communicating with their eyes. Then they burst out laughing.

Kurt reached up and snagged Blaine hand, yanking him back onto the bed. "Well...that's going to take some smoothing over."

Blaine held onto his hand and laid down beside him. "He'll be alright. Just make sure he doesn't try to wash his eyes with bleach or anything."

The pair turned their heads toward each other, and spent a long moment gazing into each other's eyes—not communicating, just marveling.

Then Kurt lifted his eyebrow. "Well...where were we?"

Without another word, the lovers were kissing again, allowing their hands and lips to wander freely, loving the summer, and loving each other.