Kurt sighed as he watched his boyfriend walk away, his back arched, shoulders leaning against the cool metal lockers. Both hands clutched to the messenger bag strap crossing his slender torso, he returned his head to center and let his eyes fall closed, lost in his thoughts. It was fall of senior year. Over the summer—a beautiful and extraordinarily romantic summer—Blaine had decided to join Kurt at McKinley, for a whole list of reasons. He said he couldn’t take not seeing Kurt’s glowing face every day like he used to at Dalton. He felt like it was time to leave the safe haven of private school and try to brave what he had regretfully run from years ago. He said Kurt had inspired him, shown him the light. Kurt definitely wasn’t going to argue.

At the end of the year, they had both said ‘I love you’ to each other. The most beautiful part about it was the simplicity of it. There they were, in the coffee shop they had come to call their own, lost in smooth conversation and it just came out, raw and pure in the air between them. That was it. They loved each other. It was as easy as that. And all the other bullshit didn’t matter. Kurt couldn’t have dreamt it any other way. Also, he was extremely proud of himself for keeping that sip of coffee secure in his mouth, rather than choking and spluttering on it, or worse, spitting it right back out all over Blaine’s face…

They were in bliss. The two spent quiet nights together all summer. It was the closest thing to a classic, epic, deliciously cheesy Hollywood romance Kurt had ever seen, let alone experienced. Blaine would show up outside his window, tossing pebbles and strumming gentle melodies, sometimes humming or singing softly along. When Kurt would poke his head out said window, he was always greeted by a big goofy, cheeky grin that had him swooning so hard he couldn’t even bring himself to roll his eyes playfully, and he just melted, every single time. They would sneak out at all hours of the night, giggling under the starlight with Blaine’s guitar slung over his back and their fingers entwined as they stumbled through dew-wet grass, high off the thrill of young love. Sometimes they would run to nearby parks or ponds just talking peacefully as every so often Blaine would pause just to indulge in staring at Kurt in the moonlight while Kurt blushed to the tips of his ears. Other times they would drive to abandoned asphalt lots and kiss softly on the hood of Blaine’s car. Those were some of Kurt’s favorite nights; just thinking about them made his heart flutter and left him a little breathless.

The summer allowed them to spend time together like they never had before. They were inseparable. Kurt couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to someone. So…intimate. But that was the problem Kurt had finally come to understand. They were each other’s everything, and yet they never seemed to break that barrier from intimate to intimacy.

Don’t get him wrong, Blaine’s sweet and slow kisses were like crack to Kurt; always passionate, always romantic, always meaningful… but as is the case with crack, you get addicted and you want, you need, you crave more. And Kurt. Wanted. More.

When he arrived at this epiphany, this sexual awakening if you will, Kurt had thought initially that Blaine would have pounced on him. Kurt had assumed that Blaine wanted him as much as he wanted Blaine. That he would want to pin him down and rip open his shirt in a passionate rage, not caring if the buttons broke, just as much, if not more, as Kurt wanted him to. But every time Kurt tried anything, let his hand drift a little lower, let his tongue slide just that much deeper, Blaine would freeze up and get this weird look. Sometimes it was visible conflict (over what, Kurt didn’t know) and sometimes it was completely unreadable, but every time, Blaine would end things right then and there and disappear for a couple minutes if he could, muttering unintelligible excuses before Kurt ever got a chance to ask just what the fuck was going on with him. Whatever it was, Kurt didn’t press it. He felt this was something he should be patient about.

But it carried on all summer, bleeding even now into the school year, and Kurt’s patience was starting to wear thin. Blaine seemed to, unintentionally of course, be in the habit of leaving Kurt with permanent blue balls when he was awake, and sticky sheets when he was asleep. The pale boy winced in his thoughts at the memory of a particularly uncomfortable breakfast when Finn tactlessly asked Kurt, “If you’re gonna keep washing your sheets would you mind throwing in a couple of my darks? ‘Cause I unloaded the washer and that’s all that was in there again so it seems like a waste of water…god sorry! Rachel keeps preaching about conserving and the environment and shit—stuff, sorry Burt…” Finn had trailed off as he finally pulled his gaze away from his bacon to Burt to apologize for swearing, only to see the older man looking kind of shifty and awkward with a slight tug at the corner of his lips, but wise eyes telling him silently to shut. Up. Confused, Finn panned his gaze across the table to see his mother with a hand pressed to her mouth as if trying to physically press her smile down, her sight focused on her plate. Finally, he glanced at Kurt and was shocked to see Kurt staring at him, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, arm frozen with his fork in hand as its journey to Kurt’s mouth had been interrupted half way and his face flushed beet, red as his mouth hung open slightly. Everyone watched as comprehension dawned on the thick football player, eyes going wide and apologetic. Just as he was about to open his mouth to attempt to speak again, most likely to attempt to rectify the situation, but more likely to put his foot further in his mouth, Kurt’s face changed to the glare from hell so fast that Finn felt a chill go down his spine and instantly shut up, burying his face in his food to avoiding all contact with his livid and humiliated step-brother. Kurt, refusing to look anybody in the eye, downed his juice, cleared his throat in what he hoped was a dignified manner, and primly stated that he was going out to meet Blaine for coffee. Just as he was gingerly closing the door behind him he heard Carol finally snort loudly as it segued into an infectious giggle and he heard his father groan in an amused sort of way, while Finn swore again, but also this time breathing it out with a guilty chuckle and Kurt, standing out on his front step finally clicked the door shut and face-palmed so hard he thought there might be handprint there.

Just the memory had the countertenor pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling a forlorn groan. Oh, Finn… he thought tiredly. He pushed the thought from his mind by internally returning to his situation with Blaine. The Chestnut haired boy had a flash of a particular dream from a couple nights ago, involving a certain beautiful head being yanked back roughly by the back of his wild curls while Kurt attacked said boy’s exposed neck, nipping at his Adam’s apple and feeling the moans coming up the boy’s throat vibrate against his lips and tongue. In that moment Kurt’s last thread of patience snapped, and as he peeled himself off his locker, his inner voice declared enough is enough, and he set off down the hallway towards French class with a new sense of determination and resolution.

Fuck patience, it’s time to take action.