His dream, which had been filled with flying cars and places that seemed familiar but weren’t, was suddenly filled with…air raid sirens?

The alarm buzzing next to his ear finally registered as an alarm and not air raid sirens.  Which, Blaine supposed in his half-asleep state as he fumbled to get the blaring to stop, was a good thing. 

Still not awake, Blaine forced himself out of bed and into the kitchen to press start on the coffee pot (prepped the night before, which was best from experience) and stumbled into the shower, eyes bleary from sleep and lack of glasses. 

When fully awake he didn’t know how he hadn’t killed himself in the shower.  The one with Kurt was the exception.  Now, the light wasn’t on to give himself a few extra minutes of half-sleep and he took it.  Each new scent and the beat of the water against his back was a step towards waking up.

Waking...all of him up.

Just because his brain wasn’t able to form a complete thought didn’t mean his dick didn’t remember what had happened the last time he had been in that shower, whose body had been scrubbed last by the loofah. 

The increasingly familiar pooling of heat slunk through his body, the heat of the shower worming its way through his veins.  He hissed at the chill of the tile against as his back, the hiss becoming a drawn out moan.  His hand drifted down his chest, mouth falling open as he imitated the phantom touches of a remembered hand.

Hand soapy, Blaine began stroking, long and slow, wrist twisting over the crown before sliding back down.  Over and over again, his hand and breath picked up speed. 

Blaine’s thoughts conjured images of long pale fingers instead of his own, a taller body pressing him into the wall, teasing himself with the fantasies.  Cupping his balls, he rolled them in his free hand as he fucking into the tight circle of his fist, head lolling against the hard tile.  Breath caught in his throat.  His hips jerked faster and faster, stuttering as he came, white ropes hitting and streaking across his chest.  Eyes rolled back into his head, a long moan that might have sounded like a name falling from his mouth.

On slightly wobbly knees he forced himself off the wall to fiddle with the temperature, rinsing himself back off—the steam of the shower made it difficult to catch his breath. 

Clean and cooled down, Blaine shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, sated from his orgasm and still tired, but awake enough that he could drag on boxers and a shirt and pour himself a cup of coffee. 

Once his pot of coffee had been drunk and the world was back in focus (three cheers for corrective lenses), Blaine forced himself to be an adult and do productive things.  Like check his phone, to see if he needed to do anything for the family. 

Dressed in almost real clothes—he put on sweats.  That totally counted—Blaine unplugged his phone and scrolled through the messages.  No missed calls, thankfully.  Two new messages. 

One from his brother, reminding him to not forget their 5pm conference call to go over what the Five said.

One from Kurt, saying he was glad that Blaine had survived his family and that he couldn’t wait to see him later.  They had texted during Blaine’s break after he finished his report and before dinner. 

Blaine typed out his response to Cooper—“I’ll be free”—even though of course he would be free.  This wasn’t a new thing.  Each week was the same.  Dinner on Friday, call on Saturday.  Meetings and assorted other things the rest of the week.  He was now high enough up that he didn’t have anything more than administrative duties, which suited him fine.   It gave him time to take on more regular gigs (though a surprising number of places weren’t thrilled that he wouldn’t play Friday nights).

He looked at his phone for a second, trying to gather his thoughts for Kurt’s text.

They had gone out once, soon to be twice.

There had to be some kind of boundary, right?  Blurting out “I love that you care if I had my sanity” was a bit too much at this point, but it didn’t feel like too much.

This was absurd.

So he settled on “Thankfully I survived with most of my sanity intact.  I can’t wait to see you tonight either.”

Phone in his pocket he wandered into the bathroom.  If he was going to be functional today, he might as well start now.  The piano wouldn’t practice itself.

Teeth brushed and bladder empty, Blaine grabbed his bag from its place slumped against the wall, bringing it with him into the spare room.  Sheet music placed neatly on the table beside the piano and bag back on the floor, his back cracked as he stretched.  Before he sat Blaine set an alarm on his phone to remind himself to take a break for food.

Reminder set, he settled in for a decent practice session before the call and the gig that night. 

What seemed like one hour was actually three and his phone buzzed loudly next to him.  He had done better than he had hoped he would.  It had been a few days since a really good practice session, what with the Smythe thing and Kurt having taken up the time he would have used the day before. 

His sandwich was fixed and eaten quickly, followed by an apple and three consecutive glasses of water.  A quick check of the time said he had four hours until the conference call, plenty of time to figure out his set for that night and maybe start learning a new song.  That would be fun.

His second alarm rang just as he was tiring.  The dress run through was always more draining than the performance itself.  The perfectionist in his head caught and noted every mistake, every time his fingers weren’t perfectly in sync, every hesitation only he could hear.  He noted each, and played the set from the beginning, correcting every prior mistake.  No one else would notice it tonight, unless there was a prodigy in the room, but he would.  So this was his performance, for himself, the one who would notice and change the missteps.  Later would be for fun and money and people who would be too drunk or ill-informed to care.  Later wouldn’t be riddled with mistakes, but they would be so small no one would take notice.

Five minutes before the call, Blaine gathered up his music (which he wouldn’t use, but just in case) and slid it back into his bag, thinking about that night.

Would it be presumptuous to make up and bring a little bag?  If you considered the end of their last date, it probably wouldn’t be too much to presume he would be…spending the night.  And having at least a toothbrush and clean boxers would probably be good.

But presumptuous was something Blaine would never be caught as. 

With four minutes to go, he switched to a slightly bigger bag with hidden pockets.  A pair of boxers went in one and his toothbrush would go in the other later. 

Two minutes to go, Blaine refilled his water, sipping as he pulled out his headset and settled on the couch.

One minute to go and his phone sang as a text from Kurt came through. 

“I may be incorrectly assuming how the night will go, but you may want to bring things for tomorrow, unless you want to wear the same outfit again.  Which you might.  I don’t know.  Okay.  I’m going to shut up now.  See you soon. :)”

His response—that he had a similar hope for their night—sent as his phone rang with Cooper’s call.

The conference call with his father and brother went like every other.  Father reprised the important parts of the meeting and waited to hear what his sons’ responses were.  The Five had decided to warn Smythe and his Spadarys to not seek out a buyer until the suits cleared.  There had been confirmed reports of them asking questions they shouldn’t know to ask.  Will had gone underground in case Smythe caught word that he had talked to Blaine and Jesse, so that source was inaccessible.  Which was really only bad news.  Without Will—someone who they knew would talk to them—Smythe would have to find a new fence.  Which could give the suits the opening they needed. 

If Smythe would hold off on moving anything for a few months, let everything die down, the suits would be gone and if he insisted on being stupid enough to move a painting declared destroyed it could happen quietly.

If.

In the pit of his stomach, Blaine didn’t think Smythe would be so reasonable.  Smythe was too ambitious and set in his idea of how things should be.

The option then became contain the problem—isolate the Spadarys—which would be difficult, take them out completely—which no one wanted to do—but that would be bloody and they had lost too many already, or leave it alone and let Smythe clean up his own mess.

Hopefully, Smythe would see reason.

---

Blaine’s thoughts were still swirling, trying to come up with plans and contingencies and possibilities for Smythe when he hung up his phone and began packing up his bag for that night (removing the boxers from his bag and switching back to his normal one).

He forced the thoughts of Smythe to the back of his mind as he got ready.  It wouldn’t do to be thinking about work while…working.  Or while he was with Kurt.  He didn’t do these things often, but he was pretty sure thinking of one man while your mouth was occupied with getting another off was bad form.

Pesky thoughts of work vanished as soon as he walked into the bar and saw Kurt at his normal spot.  Matching smiles lit both their faces as Blaine walked to Kurt, dropping a light kiss to his cheek.

“Good to see you again.”

Kurt caught Blaine’s jaw and kissed him hard, lips closed but no less passionately.  “Good to see you too.”

“I should go put my stuff in the back and then tell the owner I’m here.”

“You should.”

The first half of the set passed smoothly.  His excitement about that night did not influence his playing that much.  His break was spent talking to Kurt about brands of Vodka and the merits of top-40 music.  The second half raced by, a blur of notes and words.  Each song brought him closer to an evening with Kurt.

His inner teenager needed to chill the fuck out.  He was an adult.  He should behave as such, and not bounce about like a fifteen year old with a crush.

Alas, his inner teenager didn’t listen to him.  His hands nearly shook as he grabbed his bags from behind the bar.  They stilled as Kurt wrapped him in his arms, kissing him soundly and relieved him of one of the bags before pulling back and leading them out into the cold.

Kurt’s apartment was modern and clean and completely him.  It was small, but what apartment wasn’t?  Paintings hung on the walls and leaned against the floor.  One was on an easel, possibly still wet.  Did Kurt paint?  So he asked.

“I dabble, sometimes.  I’m not as good as I used to be.  But it’s a way to release stress when I can’t deal with designing anymore.”

“Ever tried music?”  Blaine followed Kurt as he led them into the kitchen, jackets removed and bags dropped by the couch.

“How did you know?”

“A guess.”

“Glee Club in high school.  If you can imagine it, I had plans of starring on Broadway.”

“I can imagine it.  Kurt Hummel starring in Kurt Hummel: the Musical.”

Kurt’s eyebrow rose as he leaned against the counter.  “You’re mocking me.”

Blaine stepped closer, pressing him back and meeting his eyes with a look that he knew would melt most hearts.  “Of course not.  Seeing you onstage wouldn’t surprise me at all.” 

Something in his eyes must have convinced Kurt that he wasn’t lying.  He ducked, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Blaine’s mouth before pushing lightly at his chest.  “I have to cook for us.  Would you like anything to drink in the meantime?”

“Whatever you’re having is good.”   

“I’ve got a white already decanted if that’s good?  It’ll match best with dinner.”

“Sounds delicious.  If you’d like, I can pour and you can cook.”

“I’m fine.  It’s pretty much done.  Glasses are”—Blaine pulled the glasses from their place hanging under the cabinet.

“I’ve got them.”  He poured, handing Kurt’s glass to him.  The room was silent but for the click of their glasses and the soft sound of their swallowing.  “This is delicious.  What is it?”

“A French chardonnay.  It’s my personal favorite.  Now, feel free to drag one of the bar stools around and I’ll start on dinner.”

“What is for dinner?”

“Oh.  I’m sorry. I thought I told you.  Pasta with roasted eggplant, fresh tomatoes, and ricotta.  And if we have room, a slice of cheesecake to split.”

“That sounds divine.  Don’t let me stop you.”

Kurt cooked smoothly and efficiently, the long lines of his body moving with a dancer’s grace.  Blaine could see his dancing training.  He wondered idly, sipping his wine to hide his smile, why Kurt had quit performing.

“Oh my god.  Have you considered a career as a chef?”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I could marry it.  I can cook, but nothing like this.”

“You watched me.  It’s not that hard.”

“But I never would have thought to do that.”

“And now you will.” 

The rest of dinner was, in a word, blissful.  Conversation flowed faster than the wine.  Somewhere during the meal their legs had entwined under the table and occasionally Kurt’s foot would graze up and down Blaine’s calf.  Kurt would flush when Blaine did the same.  It was adorable.

Wine finished, Kurt started stacking plates.

“Let me help.  You cooked.”

He would do dishes any time if Kurt smiled like that.  “Thanks.  Grab the wine glasses for me?  We can wash them after dessert, if you would like dessert.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Coffee?”

“Only if you are making for yourself too.”

“Like I’d ever turn down caffeine.  And seeing as I don’t have plans on sleeping much tonight…” 

Blaine’s jaw dropped as Kurt trailed off, throwing a heated glance over his shoulder before resuming his coffee making.  “Mr. Hummel, if you want me to survive dessert I suggest you not say things like that.”

Kurt hummed, turning the coffee pot on and facing Blaine.  “Then I shan’t say things like that, Mr. Anderson.  I would like very much for you to...survive dessert.”

Blaine couldn’t take the teasing anymore.  He closed the distance between them and brought their mouths together.  Kurt cupped his face as their mouths opened to each other.  Blaine inhaled sharply as Kurt’s tongue slid into his mouth, tasting and teasing.

Blaine pulled back as the coffee pot finished.  “We should get that, I’d like to try your cheesecake.”

Kurt looked confused.  “Oh.  I didn’t make this, actually.”  His laugh was self-deprecating.  “If I made an entire cheesecake I would finish it by Monday, and my pear hips don’t need that at the moment.”

Blaine nuzzled against Kurt’s neck (which was really weird, but felt fantastic.  Maybe he would write a song to Kurt’s neck.  No.  That would be weirder).  “If it is good enough for you, I’m sure it will be heaven for me.”

Kurt relaxed against him, dotting kisses on Blaine’s head as he hugged him closer.  “Okay.  Dessert time.”

Blaine licked a broad stripe up Kurt’s neck in response.

“No.  No.  Cheesecake.  Not me.  Because if we don’t share it I’ll eat all of it and I don’t need that at the moment.”

Blaine heaved an exaggerated sigh.  “Fine.”  He pulled back, pouting like he had had his favorite toy taken away.   Kurt just laughed at him, bopping his nose with a finger.  He wrapped his hand around Kurt’s extended wrist, pulling the hand down to kiss the finger before stepping further back to lean against the opposite counter.

Kurt made their coffee, remembering how Blaine took his, and set them aside as he brought down a plate.  Blaine felt his jaw drop slightly when Kurt bent slowly to get the container of cheesecake out of the fridge, dark gray slack pulling sinfully tight against his ass. 

A coy smile graced Kurt’s face as he turned around.  He knew exactly what he was doing to Blaine and loving every minute of it.

“Tease.”  Blaine mumbled, but Kurt obviously heard, if his soft laugh was any indication.

Blaine’s heart sang at Kurt’s equally soft response.  “Only for you.” 

Cheesecake on its plate and forks in hand, Kurt led the way back to the table.  Once they were seated, Kurt spoke again.  “Let’s play a game.”

“With cheesecake.”

“With cheesecake.  For each bite you take, you have to remove a piece of clothing.”

“I don’t think I’ve played that game before.”

“That’s fine.  I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Who goes first?”  Blaine followed Kurt’s lead and took off his shoes under the table.

“You’re the guest.  You go first.”

“Trying to get me naked, Hummel?”

“I thought that was the general plan for tonight, Anderson.”

“Hmm.  True.”  Blaine picked up his fork and took a bite.  “Oh my god.  This is amazing.  You have to tell me where this is from.”

“After you remove a piece of clothing, good sir.”

Blaine reached under a table and removed a sock.  “Your turn.”  The cheesecake was from a deli a few blocks away, he learned.  Their pastries were also heavenly.

Kurt took his bite, choosing to remove his tie.

Back and forth they went, conversation continuing as they ate, sipped their coffee, and stripped, eating half of the slice of cheesecake.  Until they were both down to their undershirts.

Then…the conversation stopped as they paused and exchanged cheesecake and coffee kisses, breaking apart to let Blaine yank off his undershirt. 

Warm hands smoothed over the planes of his chest, back up, and then down his arms.  Kurt’s pupils had started dilating, roving over the newly exposed skin.  Blaine shivered under the scrutiny.  “Uh, Kurt?”

“Hmm?”  Kurt snapped himself out of it.  “Oh.  Staring.  Sorry.”  He quickly ate his bite and stripped his own shirt off.  Blaine feasted his eyes on the pale skin, gorgeous and beautiful and how was he not fighting tooth-and-nail for the opportunity to have this man?

Kurt gave him a minute to ogle and then cleared his throat.  “Blaine?”

“I’m suddenly not hungry for cheesecake anymore.” 

“No?”  Kurt stood up, towering over Blaine, stepping closer and crowding his personal space.  “If you want part two of your dessert, you should follow me.”  Just as Blaine was leaning in to kiss the soft skin of Kurt’s stomach, he moved again, unfastening his belt as he walked into his bedroom.  “Coming?” was thrown over his shoulder, careless and heated all at once.  Blaine felt himself stirring as he raced behind Kurt, catching him at his waist and bringing them both crashing to the bed.