He might have – if it weren’t for the pants.

Kurt had definitely dressed for the occasion. Looking at him, Blaine was very glad he’d put in a little extra effort himself, although he wouldn’t ever admit to anyone that he’d chosen the rust-colored jeans because of the way they hugged his ass just so, or that he’d worn short sleeves in the March chill just to show off his arms. But Kurt – Kurt put him to shame. Tight slacks of some skin-hugging material, with long black and white stripes running down into the half-open laces of his Doc Martens. They made his legs look twice as long as they already were and Blaine had to exercise some serious self-discipline to control the impulse to fall to his knees and just spend all morning tracing those stripes with his fingers. There was a shirt too, of course, and a long, silver gray waistcoat-type vest that hugged Kurt’s narrow hips in a way that almost made up for the fact that it covered everything above his upper thighs.

Kurt’s lips were redder than usual, whether from the hot coffee or the lip-biting Blaine didn’t know, and the fluorescent light of the hallway cast just the right shadow to highlight the dimple in his chin. If he put his tongue there, Blaine wondered, would it be perfectly smooth, or would he taste a tiny rasp of stubble? His tongue really wanted to know the answer.

On the whole, with the outfit, the self-conscious pose, and the boyish smile, Kurt looked like the most delectable piece of forbidden fruit any twenty-seven-year-old had ever laid eyes on. Blaine suddenly had great sympathy for Eve.

Except, he reminded himself, Kurt wasn’t forbidden at all. Thanks to the marks on their wrists, Kurt was his. All he had to do was reach out.

Kurt’s foot slid down the wall and crossed over his other ankle and damned if that didn’t make the picture even better. “If you’re going to keep looking at me like that you should probably open the door,” he said, eyes sparkling, “before somebody sees you.”

It shouldn’t have been that difficult to get a key into a hole.

Blaine eventually managed to work the lock and pushed the door open, standing back to let Kurt go first. He followed and shut the door. He wasn’t sure if he should lock it or not. Would locking it seem presumptuous? Like he expected something to happen? Screw it. He twisted the bolt home.

He hesitated for a moment, still facing the door, one hand on the lock and the other pressed flat against whatever prefab material it was made of. In a perfect, perfect world Kurt would pick up where they’d left off the day before; take the invitation and move forward to push him against the door, grinding into him, sucking a mark into the back of his neck, claiming him.

“You can turn around, you know. I won’t bite.”

Blaine squashed a little stab of disappointment and faced the room. Kurt was setting the coffee on the desk. He rooted around in his bag and pulled out a collection of creamer cups and sugar packets, then turned back to Blaine with that slightly awkward smile.

“I didn’t know what you like, so I just got you a plain drip. But there’s cream and sugar.”

“That’s actually what I usually drink.”

Kurt grinned. “Really? Well. Maybe there’s something to this soulmate thing after all.”

“You think?” Blaine couldn’t help smiling back.

Kurt abandoned the coffee and moved closer to Blaine, who was still leaning against the door.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here,” he admitted, with a little shrug.

“What do you want to do?” Blaine tried to sound nonchalant.

“I want to touch you.”

It was so direct and unexpected that it took Blaine’s breath away. His own voice was just a tiny bit unsteady when he spoke. “You should. If you want to.”

Blaine sent out a silent thank you for the impulse that had made him choose the short sleeves, because Kurt went straight there, stepping so very close and reaching out to trail two fingertips up from Blaine’s left elbow to his shoulder, along the crease behind his biceps. Blaine could see in Kurt’s eyes how much he liked it, and he felt little surge of pride. Kurt cupped Blaine’s shoulder with his hand, then ran his palm back down again, thumb dragging over the muscle, and kept going past his elbow, down to his wrist. Blaine instinctively turned his palm out; Kurt’s fingers slid between his own and they were holding hands.

“You have really nice arms,” Kurt breathed. It occurred to Blaine that Kurt had probably never touched anyone else this way.

“Thank you,” he said, and it felt like he meant for more than just the compliment.

It was so strange to watch Kurt try to work everything out in his head. He’d been almost awestruck touching Blaine’s arm, but just standing there, holding hands, he seemed to straighten a bit, looking more self-assured, and for a moment Blaine thought he was going to be kissed again.

“Do you have any plans tonight that you can’t change?”

With Kurt close enough that their chests were almost touching - so close Blaine could feel the rise and fall as he breathed - he didn’t have a clue whether he had plans or not.

“No.”

Kurt smiled. “I want to go to your place. After school. You live alone, right?”

Blaine could only nod.

“We need to talk. There’s still a lot we have to work out. I made a list.”

Blaine’s eyebrows shot up. “You made a list?”

“Well I didn’t want to forget anything important.” Kurt looked a little hurt that his list-making had surprised Blaine. “I’m trying to be responsible about this.”

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “No, that’s great. A list is a great idea.”

Kurt squeezed back and his face relaxed back into its happy smile. “Okay. So, I have Glee practice after school, but if you want to wait, we can meet back here and I’ll just follow you home.”

“Sure. That’s great.”

The idea of having Kurt alone in his apartment that afternoon was enough, really. Blaine couldn’t ask for anything more than that. But he must have done something very, very good in a past life, because Kurt took another half step closer - now their chests were touching - and leaned his face down close to Blaine’s. He hesitated just long enough to murmur, “This is okay, right?”

“So okay,” Blaine whispered back and then Kurt’s mouth was on his, lips pressing chastely at first, but this time when Blaine’s mouth opened Kurt accepted the invitation, his tongue teasing in with more confidence than before, stroking against Blaine’s, exploring gently. Fingers brushed against the hand that Kurt wasn’t already holding and then they were connected by both hands and their mouths, tasting, touching.

Kurt shifted a bit so that one of those long legs settled in between Blaine’s. It would only have taken the tiniest movement on Blaine’s part to push his groin against it, but he held back. The last thing he wanted was to scare Kurt off, and he was pretty sure grinding against Kurt’s leg would be the definition of too much, too soon.

Blaine couldn’t have said who moved first, if it was Kurt’s idea or if he himself had somehow initiated it, but suddenly their joined hands were moving upward, and Kurt was pressing the backs of Blaine’s hands into the door just above his head.

“Yes . . .” Blaine couldn’t help sighing against Kurt’s lips. He practically melted into the door’s hard support. He felt himself start to stir toward an erection and he didn’t even care. Kurt’s tongue was warm and seeking in his mouth and his hands were strong in Blaine’s. He wanted Kurt to know how right this was. How much he needed it. His cock lengthened, thickened; before Blaine could stop himself he’d closed the distance and brushed it faintly against Kurt’s thigh.

Then he was gasping a tiny, “No,” as Kurt’s lips drew away. He opened his eyes to Kurt’s, dark and surprised. For a moment they just stared at each other. Maybe it was the angle, or the height difference, or the layers, but he couldn’t tell if Kurt was hard as well. Kurt could feel him though, it was obvious, and he didn’t seem to quite know what to do about it.

Too much, too soon. Blaine held his breath.

Kurt didn’t move away. Eyes locked with Blaine’s, he pressed forward just a little, pushing his thigh deliberately against the hardness, and then he rocked it ever so slightly from side to side.

“Oh God . . .” Blaine gasped as pleasure swelled out from his cock to tingle down his legs and up his spine. He didn’t know what to do or say. He was terrified he’d say something wrong and Kurt would stop. He fought to stay pressed into the door and not push back against Kurt’s leg. He told himself to just take, accept, whatever Kurt wanted to give him.

The smile came back – the self-satisfied one Kurt had flashed him after he’d realized he’d gotten the coffee order right. His eyes lit with mischief and he rolled his leg, actually rolled it in what could only be called a grind, against Blaine’s ever-harder cock, and captured his lips again in the most self-assured kiss yet, squeezing hands and demanding tongue, seeming even more emboldened by the tiny noises that Blaine wasn’t even trying to suppress.

How they’d gone from awkward conversation about coffee to this Blaine wasn’t sure, but he never, ever wanted it to end. Kurt’s body was controlling him in so many beautiful ways – trapping his hands, owning his mouth with lips that were impossibly soft and that warm, tantalizing tongue, leg bearing down slow and controlled against his erection in a rhythmic roll that teased in the best possible way, winding Blaine higher and higher and making his body dance to Kurt’s own special tune.

Then, with one last slide along Blaine’s lower lip, the tongue was pulling away, the lips slipping back, the delicious pressure of the leg tapering off, hands releasing their captives. Kurt’s forehead pressed to his own and Blaine opened his eyes and stared at his soulmate with wonder, chest heaving gently.

“Don’t.” he panted. “Don’t stop. You’re doing everything right.” He stretched out for more of the beautiful, soft lips, but Kurt pulled them back just out of reach.

“The warning bell rang.”

“No. No it didn’t.”

A trembling laugh shook Kurt’s body. Blaine could feel it vibrate in all the places it was still touching his own. “It did, Blaine. Look at the clock.”

The horrible, hateful hands of the clock on the wall pointed out 7:50. Blaine had ten minutes to get himself under control and remember something about the Industrial Revolution for the thirty-five freshmen who would be waiting for him.

“Fuck!” His head smacked back against the door, and Kurt laughed out loud this time. It was so wrong, after what they’d just been doing, to notice that the laugh made him look so much like a little boy.

“Here.” Kurt reached back to grab the cups of coffee and pressed one of them into Blaine’s hands. “Drink your coffee.”

Blaine could only stare, unmoving.

“You have to move away from the door if I’m going to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Blaine couldn’t help pushing forward so that his erection rubbed against Kurt’s thigh again. “A responsible dom wouldn’t leave me here like this.”

He worried briefly that he’d gone too far and Kurt would misinterpret his teasing, but Kurt laughed again, and reached around Blaine to unlock the door. He had no choice but to shuffle aside as the door pulled open. He could hear the noise of students moving busily through the corridor outside.

“Well, thanks so much for the help, Mr. Anderson,” Kurt said in a voice that carried out into the hallway. “I understand everything so much better now.” He grinned at Blaine. “See you fourth period.”

He was out the door and gone, leaving Blaine alone with hot coffee and a hard dick, feeling sort of like he’d been hit by a truck; a happy, sexy, completely overwhelming truck. He didn’t even want his erection to go away. He wanted to feel like this all day; being aroused was like having Kurt there with him, wrapped around him.

Not practical, though. Especially in these jeans. He sipped his coffee and made a face at its bitterness. Reaching for a creamer, he found himself humming his alarm song – the pounding second movement of the Moonlight – and smiling and biting his bottom lip in much the same way Kurt had when Blaine had found him outside his office.

Things might be okay. Kurt just might be able to do this. It almost seemed possible that they’d find a way.

Blaine realized he was starting to let himself hope.

Kurt quite literally danced through his morning classes. He ditched his coffee first thing – there was no need for caffeine after those ten minutes in Blaine’s office. It didn’t matter that he’d been up half the night buried in “Domming for Dummies” (which, it turned out, actually contained lots of helpful information) and making up his list of things to settle with Blaine. He wasn’t the slightest bit tired. He had a soulmate. He had a soulmate who’d gotten hard and kind of humped his leg and told him “You’re doing everything right.” He didn’t even care that his perpetual, self-satisfied smile was getting him suspicious looks right and left.

“Yes.” “Oh, God.” “So okay.” “Don’t stop.” His brain kept running them on a loop, the beautiful, wrecked sound of Blaine’s voice playing over and over like the best music Kurt had ever heard. Everything he saw and heard and felt was Blaine.

But he wasn’t distracted. Absolutely not. He paid attention in every class and answered all the questions brilliantly because he was a superhero. A superhero who could ace his geometry quiz and bake a perfect red velvet cupcake and effortlessly dominate his insanely hot twenty-seven-year-old soulmate all before lunch and without breaking a sweat. Well, okay, he had sort of broken a sweat grinding into Blaine up against the office door, but that was a sex sweat, which was entirely different from an effort sweat.

He was making his (perfect, graceful, king-of-the-world) way from home ec to history when Rachel sidled up beside him and tucked a hand through his arm.

“You have about ten seconds to tell me everything or you will be in serious violation of the best friend code.”

Kurt tried to look disdainful. “As usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Kurt. Please. You have been walking around all morning like the cat that ate the canary. You’ve never looked this happy. Not even during Gaga week. Not even when Mr. Schue gave in and let us do Britney Spears. Something is up and I demand to know what it is.”

“I can’t just be happy to be here?”

Rachel stopped walking. “Here? Seriously? No.” She dropped his arm and continued down the hallway, calling over her shoulder in a teasing singsong. “Besides, Finn told me about your conversation last night.”

Kurt hurried to catch up with her. “Oh my God! Did he even wait until he got to his room, or did he call you from the hallway?”

“Actually, he waited until he saw me this morning. Which he is definitely going to be punished for. Information like that needs to be delivered immediately. Oh, it’s okay,” she reassured him, when Kurt looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “He likes it when I punish him.”

Kurt could only shake his head and keep walking. How had he ever thought talking to Finn would be a good idea?

“The point,” Rachel continued, “is that you had a conversation with Finn last night about how to be a good dom, and now you’re walking around looking like you just got cast as Boq in the national tour of Wicked. You met someone, Kurt. Haven’t you learned yet that you can’t hide these things from me?”

They had reached their history classroom now, and Kurt pushed Rachel aside to peek around the door. Blaine wasn’t inside, just a few early arrivals settling into their desks. He grabbed Rachel’s arm and pulled her through the room to their usual seats.

“Okay, look,” he whispered, pushing her down into her chair and rushing on despite her glare of protest, “I promise that if and when there’s anything to tell, you’ll be the first to know. But please, please just leave it alone for now, Rachel. Seriously.”

She looked up at him. All the teasing jocularity disappeared from her face and her eyes widened.

“Oh my God. There is someone, isn’t there?”

And just at that moment someone sauntered into the room. Kurt took his seat and clutched at Rachel’s hand. “First to know. I swear. Just don’t . . .” he made a little warding gesture with his free hand. Rachel smiled at him and drew a little x of promise over her heart.

Blaine went right to the desk, which was neat and organized today, and started pulling out the materials he needed for class. He had a tiny smile, and Kurt really hoped it was because of him. Other students filed in and took their seats, with Puckerman arriving last and sliding into his desk just as the bell rang.

Blaine finally looked up and surveyed the students, his eyes lingering a bit longer on Kurt than anyone else, but he stayed poised and professional. He moved around to sit down on the front edge of the desk.

“Okay,” he addressed the class with a smile, “we should start over. Because I was a little . . . overwhelmed yesterday and didn’t really get off on the best foot. So, Mr. Anderson,” he gave a little wave, “substitute, probably for the rest of the year, and if someone would collect the homework I’ll take roll.” He opened the little attendance book. “I hope the questions didn’t give anyone too many problems.”

Rachel popped up at once to collect homework. When she passed Puck’s desk he handed over a battered sheet.

“Well I only did the first three,” he said. “I had a killer Halo battle going on and those questions were hard!”

Kurt couldn’t resist it. “Did you think so?” he said in a sweet voice that he pitched loud enough to carry. “I didn’t have any problems. In fact, I’m pretty sure I got everything right.”

Blaine seemed to remember something vitally important he needed to write on the white board, spinning away from the twenty-two pairs of eyes on him. But the furious red creeping up the back of his neck totally gave him away.

Kurt smiled and bounced a little in his seat. This was going to be fun.