Blaine thinks that he should be feeling something a little more towards emotional, something a little weary and unsure. He should be nervous at the fact that his little old apartment back in Queens is now not his little old apartment. He thinks that he should be sad that the place he worked hard for and made his own, the place where he found his beloved little cat and allowed him to call it home too, is now somebody else's.

He thinks that he should be feeling a little worried that his furniture has been taken out of storage and donated to a charity store, although he does feel rather proud at that last part. He thinks that he should regret it in some way or how, that it's too soon to trust and back away from his old life and move on.

But he doesn't. He just can't.

Blaine still can't understand why he had felt so raw and open and honest and just too good with Kurt during the weekend of the fashion event, that night. He doesn't get why that plush penthouse suite they had shared was so different from living here with Kurt, in the luring depths of the condo, and not just because of the size difference of the two places, they really are only doors apart, they are alone here, except for an occasional crazy house keeper and a weird cat with human traits and thoughts. He's doesn't get why he can be himself with Kurt honest and trusting, and how Kurt just draws it out of him.

They've never talked about it, the whole thing, and Blaine doesn't know if they ever will, or maybe even need to, they've moved on from whatever that was and not in a bad way. Though Blaine does not forget what words were spoken, he does not forget the way it felt to hear Kurt speak to him in that way, so close, or the colour of his eyes when he looked back at him while he listened, deep in thought. Blaine can still feel the warm tickle of Kurt's breath against the sensitive skin around his ear and neck and face. 

He doesn't know exactly why Kurt had decided to end his trial working period earlier than planned, again its something that he isn't hopeful he'll ever find out about, he doesn't need to, he's just happy that he's came this far, they have come this far, and yet still not far enough.

Their relationship, working or not, is still as maintained and professional as before, if not more so. Kurt relies on Blaine for his assistance and support in a lot of things. Whether it's what day and time is best to reschedule a conference call with an overseas trader, or what to feed the office plants to stop them from dying because Santana could give a rat's ass. Blaine calls Kurt out on some minor gnawing details in their every day jobs and knows that Kurt is thankful for it. He makes up for it when he brings Kurt the double choc chip cookies with his afternoon mocha, and Kurt knows that he's in the dog house when he only gets oatmeal instead. Kurt likes to tease Blaine for the way he holds his pen when he writes and his tongue pokes out at the tip in concentration, but Blaine secretly loves the way it feels to have Kurt's eyes on him, regardless.

They mess around like old buddies and bicker like an old married couple. They flirt- though ask and they'll deny it- like young lovers on a blind date, fun and mischievous and exciting, and it's so normal like a ritual, it's perfect, its just them now, their custom. Even during board meetings, brunch dates and appointments, their chemistry does not go unnoticed by familiar faces. Sam has passed knowing looks and smirks through his rear view more times than anybody cares at this point and Santana's innuendos and running commentary is off the scale, although she is yet to unleash it fully while both men are present at the same time.

That being said, it never ventures further than a play on of words, or a glance that lasts a second too long followed by a wink or a flash of teeth, or a touch that didn't necessarily need to happen but stays warm and soft and inviting regardless. It never strays further than it needs to, just flirts dangerously along the invisible, fine, fine line between maybe a little wrong and just too right. 

And Kurt is still his same old self, mysterious and brooding most of the time and so open and raw and gorgeously refreshing when he wants to be, and Blaine likes it, he prefers it that way. He's glad that there are still those limits and those boundaries and the little voice in his head that still tells him ‘remember he's your boss', but that doesn't mean that Blaine doesn't like to try, he can still play, even though he's fully aware of the implications and that's him who may suffer in the long run, his life, feelings, his heart.  

Honestly Blaine doesn't know how much longer he can hold back, without way over stepping things. God he would never force himself upon Kurt. Though he may not seem like it, he does still truly appreciate this job and this chance, he works hard and knows that he deserves it and he would never intentionally put himself or his career on the line. He knows that he got lucky, he knows that he missed a harsh penalty with his last red wine soaked fuckup.

But strangely all of that doesn't deter him, this job seems different to anything else he's ever took on. This job has Kurt, and Kurt is different to anybody else he has ever met. He knows that Kurt is not unappreciative of his behaviour, he knows that his subtle advances do not go unmissed, they are not unwelcomed. Blaine will know himself when he's heading way off course with Kurt, when Kurt no longer appreciates it, he should be able to just know that, and doesn't think It will be anytime soon, or if at all, he hopes.

What Blaine does definitely know is that since signing his home over and also the new piece of paper that Kurt had given to him almost three months ago, he has felt different, lighter, happy and all too easy, he just can't place these feelings, he can't find the reasons behind them. 

What he does find one day, is a keyboard set up in the corner of the study beside the old sewing station which had been pushed to one side to make room. There's a guitar beside it propped up on a stand and its then that Blaine notices some of the bookshelves have been reshuffled and utilized properly.

In fact, they are his instruments, he recognises the chip in the dark varnished wooden neck of the guitar from when he was drunk and dropped it that time in College. And the red ‘Keep calm and make music' sticker he had slapped onto his keyboard as a joke, another time after a gig, when he was also drunk and couldn't peel it back off.

The instruments had been taken from his storage closet upstairs, brought down here, and set up, without words, without his permission. Maybe Santana wants lessons or something, it's a sly and not so subtle way of going about it, he thinks, but that's just her all over. He hadn't given them a second thought, nor glance or touch since finding them a new home, which is something that he never thought would happen.   

Blaine had only came in to the study to look for a dictionary, yes there is Google, and all hail it, there's Wikipedia and all hail that too, but sometimes there's nothing better than a good old fashioned heavy book in your hands, and the rich scent of paper and print in your nose.

Blaine had wanted something fancy to use in a very selectively worded email he was busy drafting to a particular firm who just wouldn't quit, and had wanted to search for the word and pluck it right from the pages himself.

Blaine finds himself stepping closer, further into the corner of the room, a hand stretching out and a finger idly brushing the black plastic of the cover of the keyboard as he walks around to the stool set up in front of the black and white keys.

He's sitting before he realises it and his fingers are pressing down, already forming the memorized shapes, gliding from one place to the next until a perfect melody is filling the room, unrehearsed and unplanned and hauntingly beautiful. A couple of chords turn into a tune, and after a few songs later, he's sitting with his fingers curled around the neck of the guitar and his other hand plucking at the strings. He hums rhythmically, deep and relaxed in his chest, eyes fluttering open and closed, feet tapping at the floor, that all sense of time and being slips away from him.  

He's so lost, so far gone, wrapped up in his old musical mind that he opens his mouth, his Adams apple bobs and his throat works to lubricate itself, he closes his eyes and draws in a breath as his chest expands and the words sit at the tip of his tongue, ready to flow, ready to be become lyrics when-

“I'm glad you found these, finally-” Blaine almost drops the guitar in his hands upon seeing Kurt standing in the doorway, the man is making a habit of this lately and so Blaine should not be surprised. It's the words that stun Blaine the most. 

Blaine stands and fumbles to place the guitar back in its stand, “Uh I, sorry I just, Santana must have-”

“You were intended to find them, and it's me you can thank, or blame, depends on how you're feeling about it.” Kurt's eyes are twinkling mischievously and with a smirk to match, Blaine is slightly dumbfounded.

“Y-you, you put them here?”

“Well Santana found them of course, she told me about them a while ago actually, when she was pretending to work, and I always figured that you would bring them out one day eventually, or we'd hear you playing up in your room, but it never happened, and-and then in the penthouse when-” He pauses and Blaine holds his breath, his eyes widening almost comically.

“When we, you said that-I guess that we all need help sometimes at a little redirection huh? And I, I thought that you may have had forgotten about them, tucked away growing cobwebs, so I thought I-I'd help-”

“You did this for me? For me to-to play?”

“Well…yes…not exactly during hours when I'm paying you but…” Kurt's lips lift and Blaine can only stare at him a little breathlessly, “It's like I said Blaine, everyone loses their way…” He trails off, hoping that Blaine will understand.

Blaine does, he nods. “I…Thank you Kurt, I um, I don't know what to s-”

“Don't mention it-”

“But I am happy Kurt, I am, I-I meant it, what I said about-”

“I know Blaine.” Their eyes catch in the silence between them, Kurt standing in the doorway and Blaine shifting restlessly on the spot a few feet away, and those few seconds feel weirdly wonderful, like a wall has been knocked down, a bridge has been crossed of some kind.

Kurt clears his throat and glances down at his shoes, he brushes a knuckle down the polished edge of the door jamb and fidgets with his Abercrombie and Fitch double breasted light gray cardigan. The December weather is cold and harsh and along with the leaves falling from the trees, even in the warmth of the condo, with central heating and real burning stoked fires in the living room, the office attire has gloriously also adapted seasonally.

Kurt has been sporting thick knitted, sheepskin cardigans and sweaters in rich dark reds and browns which set off his strong shoulders and skin tone like a dream. Blaine has been getting through sweater vests, plaid blazers and festive patterned ties like there's no tomorrow, and that's not to mention the overcoats and boots and scarves, oh the scarves.

Just last week Blaine had accompanied Kurt to a winter benefit out in the city, and the tuxes they had been presented with had been out of this world, something Blaine remembers seeing in old glamorous movies and nothing he ever thought he'd have the privilege to own or at least wear.

Sharp fitting, slender suits with silver swirled vests, bow ties dotted with tiny white snowflakes, and silver sprayed flowers peeking out of breast pockets, both matching with hint of differences that set them apart.

And afterwards when the ball had continued into the early hours of the next morning, Kurt had decided he'd had enough and had lead Blaine on an impromptu stroll around the frost bitten grass and paths of Central Park, wearing heavy coats in slate gray and midnight blue, thick ivory scarves draped around their upturned collars and soft leather gloves snug around their fingers and hands.  

Blaine has become accustomed to these ‘events' now, since his first slightly disastrous experience, there have been many more of a similar kind, small and big, important and not so much, sometimes Kurt's presence as merely as an accessory and some when he has been the key asset. No matter what the reason for being there, Kurt always remains calm and collected, and never far from Blaine's side, like an anchor, like Blaine can make all the outside world go away, just by being there.

Blaine doesn't think he'll ever get completely used to the looks and unspoken judgments hidden behind cold sets of eyes of faces he doesn't know, but he's used to dealing with them now. It's not like when he received tweets and emails and slips of paper from back in the day, those were people who enjoyed him and his music not people who enjoyed picking him apart, though he knows that it was always an possibility should he have ventured further into that world.  

Blaine knows how to square his shoulders and straighten his suit, to turn up his megawatt smile and fix his honeyed gaze, he knows how to quip back and when to just remain silent and act disinterested. He's knows when Kurt is feeling playful and will sometimes allow his hand to linger around the vicinity of his lower back just to give them something to sniff at.

Kurt wraps his knuckles against the study wall, he's stalling, Blaine thinks, he doesn't want to go back to work yet, he wants to stay and talk, he wants to stay with Blaine. Blaine glances back at the instruments, he doesn't think he can perform for Kurt, just for him, not yet, he doesn't even know what to make of this whole thing, his mind is still whirring with the thought, and his heart.

Blaine steps over to the old worn leather loveseat in the centre of the room and leans against the back of it, hands running over the edge. He looks over at the sewing machine, old and forgotten and he wonders. He decides to do what he does best, to draw something new out of Kurt.          

“Kurt what made you lose your way?” Ok maybe Blaine could have worded that a bit better, and he isn't exactly sure how Kurt will interpret it. The question obviously catches Kurt off guard, his hand stills and he looks up, jaw tightening. Blaine waits patiently, he knows that this can only go one of two ways, Kurt answering him or Kurt telling him to get back to work and disappearing through the door, which he can deal with.

After a few moments Kurt slowly steps forward towards Blaine, he extends a hand towards him and Blaine feels his heart beat double time not exactly sure what is happening until Kurt presses his hand firmly into Blaine's chest, pushing him back with little playful jerky movements, slightly off kilter on the back of  the couch. Blaine laughs under his breath as he slides down onto the seat cushions and Kurt rounds the couch with a small smile taking a seat beside him and resting an ankle over his knee.

Blaine thrills internally and twists his body so that he can look at Kurt, a leg tucked underneath himself, the little couch where they are situated is certainly not a big piece of furniture designed for two grown men, their knees brush and if Blaine shuffled just a little further forward they would be pressed up together, side to side. Blaine is so comfortable that he has to stop himself from kicking off his shoes, tucking his knees up completely and throwing an arm around the back of the couch, around Kurt.

Kurt seems to find a book up on one of the bookshelves interesting, his gaze pinned to the old faded spine of the cover, his hands are resting over his legs, he exhales a long sigh before starting to speak, still not looking at Blaine.

“When I was in high school, I didn't have anybody to look out for me, I didn't need anyone, I guess I didn't want anyone either, at least that's what I told myself, but the point is that I was alone, I had people around me, like Sam and San when she got over herself, but I still felt alone but I got by, I was bullied… bad, nobody could really be there for me, not at first, not in a way that mattered, my dad was sick for a while and I couldn't tell him and I just had to…deal you know-”

Blaine feels his throat tighten, his fingers flicker to life from the fist he has them balled into at his side and he aches to take Kurt's hand, but knows that he can't, that Kurt won't like it, not yet. This is always a problem for Blaine, when he learns something new about the wonderfully complex man beside him, Blaine is never quite prepared for the heart ache that pours from Kurt, and it hurts him to hear and to see it. Blaine knows how it feels, and he hates knowing that somebody like Kurt has felt the same as him, low and lost and un-liked, he hates it yet, also finds a strange comfort within it, a connection almost.  

“My dad met this lady, Carole-obviously,” Their eyes finally meet, and Blaine offers a small smile and nod of understanding, “She had a son who went to my school, we had Glee club together, Finn, and honestly we didn't exactly see eye to eye at first but it was cool, he was a great guy at heart, my dad and Carole got married and eventually Finn and I became like real brothers, and he was the closest thing I had to anybody caring for me, aside from my dad of course.” Kurt paused again, eyes flicking around the room, Blaine became fixated on the bob of his Adams apple as he prepared himself to speak again.

“Finn, um, he died the year we graduated from school- uh accident,” Kurt swallows and looks back over at Blaine, who felt frozen in place, skin tingling and tight, eyes almost glazing over. Kurt actually offers him a small but sad smile and Blaine can do nothing but watch him silently, his face moulding with emotion, “It was when I was preparing my range, Finn would model for me, he worked for my dad too and he was like my biggest fan,” Kurt laughs obviously thinking back and Blaine almost laughs with him.

“I'm so sorry Kurt, I'm sorry that you lost somebody so important to you-” Kurt lifts a hand tentatively, it hovers in the air between them before he finally seems to settle on something in his head and pats at Blaine's knee lightly, its his response, his wordless reply and Blaine doesn't think before he lays his own palm over that hand.

“Finn used to think he had to be one of those guys, one of those jocks who made people's lives a misery, he helped a few of them throw me in a dumpster once,” Kurt smiles wistfully but there's a hint of humour to his tone, this was ok for him to talk about now, he'd had time to make it ok. “Once he realized he didn't have to be like that, like them, he became like Superman or something, an unstoppable force, I used to tell them, the bullies, that one day they would all work for me, and with Finn on my side, my keen advocate, I felt anything was possible.”

Blaine felt himself tense, fixated on Kurt's every word, his eyes clear and wide latching onto Kurt's gorgeous side profile, the glimmer of his hard eyes and the curve of his lips. He somehow knew what was coming, he suddenly understood Kurt a lot more, the why's and the how's of him. There are probably hundreds of people who all work for Kurt now in some shape or form.

“When Finn died, the drive and the need to prove them all wrong and myself right just became overwhelming, I was driven by the hope of him watching over me and imagining his goofy grin,” Kurt couldn't quite meet Blaine's eyes again, but his hand twitched under the palm that Blaine had forgotten he'd placed there, keeping them entwined together against his knee.   

“W-when I um, made my-my first my million, when I shot my first ad and published my first article, I always envisioned him smiling and clapping and scooping me up into one of his bear hugs, but-but then, something shifted, something happened, I was too far-gone, became too wrapped up, too hell bent on keep proving people wrong, college became a distant thought along with what I really wanted and cared about, and power and control and the knowledge of being better and richer and more important than those ass-holes back in that hell hole became my number one priority.”  Kurt snapped his lips shut, eyes darting to Blaine's, full and wide with a sudden panic and an edge of fear, he looked withdrawn and Blaine just couldn't pull the right words from the scramble up in his brain. Blaine tightened his hold on Kurt's hand, hoping that it was the right thing to do.

“That's when I lost my way, that's when I lost myself, my dad just didn't know what to do with me, he tried to pull me back, but I um, I eventually moved out here, leaving him and Carole, everything behind, and-and that's that I suppose, for the better, now.” Kurt slowly pulled his hand out from under Blaine's, he shifted restlessly against the leather cushions before straightening up, rather dismissively, like story time was drawing to a close and Blaine knew that he was starting to lose him.

“B-but Carole, she-”

“She told me that she didn't want to lose another son, that she wouldn't allow it, and-and she hasn't, she started taking trips out here and has done so ever since, she makes her presence very much known and I appreciate that, she doesn't take no for an answer-” Blaine manages to smile, he wants to ask about Kurt's dad but knows that Kurt would have elaborated should he have wanted to, that side of the story is something that will maybe have to wait. He is curious about something else though.

“What about Santana, how did she fit in to all of this?” Kurt smirks, it's a relief to see the crack in his composed schooled features, he picks at a scuff mark in the leather.

“She followed me out here, simple as that really, as stubborn as she is, she wormed her way into my life, my new life and refused to budge, and I'm glad now that she had done so, she told me about Sam struggling to support his family and he was always one of the good kids back in school, he always tried even though it was never enough, but at least he tried still, so in return I helped him in the best way that I could-”

“You gave him work-”

“I bought his family a house-”

“You-you what? Kurt that's-”

“I'm not made of ice and stone completely.” There was no malice to his tone, and it was rather like he was telling himself more than anything. Kurt made to stand but Blaine reached out, and grabbed his arm, maybe a little too roughly and pulled him back into place.

“Kurt, I have never once thought that about you, you must know that.”

Kurt turns his head and pins Blaine with a deep stare, Blaine can feel the gaze seep through him, into his very core, it both chills and warms him through. He feels like he should squirm under Kurt's scrutiny, but there is something else there, something almost pleading in Kurt's wide blue eyes, shining with greens and darkening with greys.

“I know that Blaine, I think that I've always known that with you, but it makes me feel better to say it out loud, it makes me feel human, you make me feel human.” Blaine's fingers dig into the softness of Kurt's cardigan where his hand is still curled around his arm, he tugs and Kurt's body eases, flows naturally into the pull. Blaine almost whimpers at the easiness of the contact, as their arms and thighs press together.

Blaine too far gone in the moment to care at all lifts his free hand to Kurt's cheek, tilting slightly and softly, turning them face to face, their noses just an inch and a brush away. Blaine can feel Kurt tense under his touch, just a fraction, not uncomfortably, just re-adjusting to the feeling, and the crackling atmosphere around them.

“Kurt, you are human, that's the problem, you're normal, you're supposed to feel these things, you were dealt a shit hand and you're still busy dealing with it in a way you know how, I don't care about what you have, or what you were like, what you think you're like now, I care about the person I know, both on the outside and within-”

Kurt inhales a shaky breathy and places a hand on top of Blaine's over his cheek, now growing warm under the soft weight, he gently pulls Blaine's hand away, holding it in his slightly trembling grasp.

“Blaine, I-I don't know what you want from me, what-what you want me to-”

“I want nothing from you Kurt, you've already given me so much, and I'm so grateful for that, you're an amazing man-”

“Blaine y-you, you should-” Kurt tries to pull back though his fingers are still wrapped tightly around Blaine's, there is no force in his movement, there is no will behind his words. Blaine lowers his voice.

“What, what is it Kurt, tell me.” Blaine's eyes drop to Kurt's lips, pink and full and parted into an adorable ‘O' shape, and Blaine watches as he draws in a breath and lets it out with a slight shudder. Blaine moves in, he moves closer, mind blown and common sense and rationality long gone, to fuck knows where. Even in the grey winter daylight, Kurt's eyes are still illuminated orbs in his beautiful pale face of hard defined lines and sculpted features. Blaine continues as Kurt just sits there silently, panting almost, pupils dilating.  

“I think I know,” Blaine whispers almost against Kurt's lips, the tips of their noses just starting to graze. Blaine can hear Kurt's breath rush out of his chest, he think he can hear his heart thud dramatically, hard and fast, along with his own. “I think I know what you want, but you think that you don't deserve it-”

“Blaine-” It's hardly a word, it's hardly even audible as Kurt curls his fingers tighter around Blaine's hand and draws it into the soft knit over his chest.

“You deserve it Kurt, you're allowed, it's ok.” Blaine's whispering breath tickles warmth onto Kurt's jaw, their whiskery fuzzy shadows of their jaws and cheeks almost brushing.

The final press of their mouths together, hard and fast, comes as a slight shock to Blaine, even though that was completely the headed direction in which was intended, but he thought that he would have to take that leap, to cross that line. What he didn't expect was for Kurt to actually close the distance between them, melding their lips against each others in one firm, steady press, lingering for taste and for touch and for more.

Blaine suddenly aware of what the fuck is actually, finally, happening between them, sits still, letting Kurt take control. He flinches when Kurt's hand against his chest spreads and their fingers widen together over the steady rise and fall and the thump-thump of his heart. Kurt's free hand comes from out of nowhere and inches into the softer hair at the nape of Blaine's neck, scratching lightly and curling into where the gel just begins to thicken into a style. It's like a dream.

Kurt finally opens his eyes, and Blaine feels a current run through him, a shock of blue boring into him and then Kurt moves slightly with a low groan, and Blaine fights to not smile into the kiss. Kurt's upper lip curves over Blaine's and his teeth gently pull Blaine's lower lip in and close, he sucks and nibbles and Blaine can do nothing but sit there still and take it, he just about bites back the moan that rises up his chest in a deep rumble as Kurt moves his hand to cup the other side of Blaine's face, allowing Blaine's hand to stay resting over Kurt's heart, fingers curling into the softness of his lapels, feeling the energy and the adrenaline and the power course through him with every brush and lick and suck.

Blaine gasps, he can't help it and Kurt takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth, teasing with his tongue and just take, take, take. Blaine moves fully onto his knees, hardly bearing his own weight on the couch and Kurt presses in further, almost towering over him. Blaine feels himself sliding sideways and back into the couch, he whimpers when Kurt's hand drops to his shoulders, down to his back, guiding him, lowering him down.

“K-Kurt, Kurt, god, yes-” He can't help it, the words pour from him breathlessly, a rasped babble between tongue and teeth and lips. And almost instantly he regrets it, wishing he could swallow the words back down.

Kurt stills and straightens, he pulls away from Blaine with a slick wet sound and a harsh rush of breath. He pants with wide glazed eyes, he looks lost in himself, in some sort of daze, cheeks prettily flushed, lips wet and pink and parted, kiss-swollen and Blaine just wants to take them between his own again and never let go.

“Jesus, I-I'm sorry, we should, we can't, I- sorry-” Kurt scrambles up from the couch, eyes hardening, large and clear as a fresh new morning.

“Kurt no-wait, don't be, I'm sorry, Kurt-” Blaine rises on to his knees and turns on the couch, watching as Kurt hurries away from him to the door, pulling his clothes back into place as he moves. “Kurt please?”

Blaine doesn't even know what he's asking for, doesn't even know what he wants to say, but when Kurt halts in the open doorway and looks back at him, the words die in his throat.

Kurt doesn't look mad or angry or even sad, his face is not contorted with rage and his eyes are not even full with any kind of emotion, round and wide yes, but they bore into him with so much unknown sentiment that Blaine cant even begin to try and place it. His beautiful face is like a blank canvas, composed and passive, there is nothing but a glimmer, a very tiny fleeting passing of hope and then he's gone.

Blaine blinks into the blank space as Kurt's retreating footsteps carry him away down the hall, leaving an echoing hollowing sound in his wake.

And yet Blaine isn't feeling what he should be feeling, he isn't panicking or stressing about what the holy hell he has just allowed to happen, he has just initiated.

The small speck of hope that he thought he had seen etched into the lines of Kurt's face and the depths of his eyes, has now leapt into the crease of Blaine's mouth, forcing his lips into small but sure smile.

*

“Hey cat, get off. Now.” Blaine grins with a low, deep chuckle as he looks up from where he's sitting on the floor up against the couch in the living room. There are boxes and stacks of cards, envelopes, pens and all kinds of stationary surrounding him. Music is filling the air around them and lyrics of snowmen and snowfall filling Blaine's ears as he hums along.  

Santana is in the corner near the bar, towering elegantly in her usual black heels and a red fitted dress with a white trim. She's teetering around a large fat tree, thick and plush, a rich deep green, smelling fresh and wonderful of pine and earth. A twine of sparkling tinsel is hanging from her fingers as she tries to coax it into some kind of pattern around the branches artfully.

Jester is down at her feet, up on his back legs with one fluffy front paw resting against Santana's bare leg, claws curling up and out, and one batting through the air trying to catch the dangling sparkly rope in her hand. There's glitter flying around him with each swoosh, as he looks up at her with wide, pleading blue eyes and playful little mewls squeak out of him.

“Do not talk to my cat that way, Ms Lopez, thank you very much, he has feelings.”

“Remove him Anderson, I mean it, if there is one hair on this dress, or one scratch then so help me god-”

Blaine laughs as he taps his fingers against the hard wood floors and makes soft sounds between his lips, “Come here Buddy, leave her alone, she's not worth it.” Santana mutters something unintelligible as Jes excitedly scatters across the floor towards Blaine, landing just beside his thigh and sending items flying across the floor.

“Santana get that thing off of my tree now, it is tacky and distasteful and uncoordinated-” Blaine startles at Kurt's voice as he enters the room from behind him. He continues looking down, tickling Jes's fur as the cat rolls over on to his back, tail thumping and swooshing.

“Ok that's it, I'm done.” Santana pulls her arm back hard, the tinsel unravelling from the branches and dropping to the floor into a pile, where Jester immediately notices and runs and launches himself into it. The tree shakes and rebalances itself in its little stand wrapped up in a red bow, the tree decorations sway with a slight jingle as they resettle. “Happy freaking holidays, one and all, I have a flight to catch for two weeks in the sun, and-”

“Yeah, yeah, we know, get your lucky ass out of here-”

“Who are you calling lucky? Do you even know who you are, you don't have to stay here and wallow in your self pity you know, there are a million other-” Kurt suddenly appears in Blaine's side-eyed view.

It's Sunday and he's wearing loose jeans and a long sleeved maroon coloured shirt and brown suede moccasin slippers on his feet, he looks edible. Kurt gets to Santana in three long strides, wrapping her up in his long arms and cutting off her rant as she gives herself up into his embrace. Blaine watches from the floor, a small smile on his lips.

“Merry Christmas Tana, be safe, have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't, say hi to your girl from me-” Kurt pulls back and places a kiss to Santana's cheek. She does the same to him before lowering herself to his ear.

“Take it easy Kurt, I mean it, please, have fun, like fun fun.” She glances at Blaine then with a flick of her eyes, he realizes then has left it too late to act like he hasn't been watching and listening. Santana winks at him with a smirk before letting go of Kurt and waltzing out of the room, heels clacking and hips sashaying.

“Merry Christmas Bowtie, and feline friend.”

“Merry Christmas San.” Blaine calls back to the sounds of her footsteps with a smile.

Kurt steps up to the bar and starts to fix himself a drink, the elevator out in the entrance hall beeps lightly indicating that Santana has safely reached the ground floor and safely out of their way for two whole weeks.

The music continues to play into the silence and Blaine purses his lips as he watches Jes roll around causing a mess of glitter all around him.

“You want one?” With a start Blaine glances up to Kurt at the bar who is looking down at him, holding out a glass tumbler filled about three fingers full with a dark orangey liquid.

“Um, yeah sure, thanks.” Blaine smiles and watches as Kurt picks up another glass and a bottle and comes over towards him. He self consciously fidgets with the cards on the floor beside him and thinks about packing up and moving to sit up on the couch but Kurt comes to sit right in front of him, long legs crossed in front of him, the frayed hem of his jeans draping across the floor. He pours some strong smelling liquor into the glass before handing into Blaine.

Blaine smiles and nods in thanks and closes his lips around the edge of the glass, he closes his eyes as the liquid hot and soothing rolls down his throat warming its way down deliciously. Kurt places the bottle down between them and nods down at the floor whilst lifting his glass to his mouth.

“Holiday cards?” Blaine swallows some more and hums.

“Oh uh yeah, tomorrow's the last day to post right?”

“Right,” They both take small sips from their glasses, and watch with amusement as Jester body crawls over to them, the tinsel dangling from his mouth. Blaine winces at the trail of glitter he's leaving behind but Kurt doesn't seem to mind, it's nothing that can't be cleaned up anyway. “Couldn't you hand deliver? You're not going home for Christmas?”

Blaine takes another drink and goes slowly about, buying himself time as he taps the glass with a finger. He knew this question would come up, he's surprised it's not happened before now. Though honestly this is the first time that they've really spoken in a good few days, like face to face, that wasn't work related.

They hadn't talked about ‘the kiss' and Blaine wasn't surprised that they hadn't but he was disappointed. Yes it would be awfully awkward and could go either way but this wasn't like that silly talk and overly tempting peck they had shared at the convention hotel. This was real, very real, desirable and so, so good, it meant something, to Blaine it did.

Blaine had tried to talk to Kurt about it back in the office later that day but Kurt had simply stuck a pointed finger up in the air saying ‘not in work time' and they carried on about their day, as if nothing had happened. And the same had happened the next day and the next, until Blaine had given up trying altogether. They had their breaks separately and thankfully had no events scheduled in and when the clock reached six-thirty Kurt would lock himself up in his room for the night until the next morning. Blaine's not going to lie, the kiss and the whole idea of where it could have lead to had provided some very useful material for Blaine and his hand during his personal, private time. The whole thing had been eating at Blaine though, from inside out, and so Blaine was glad to wake up to a day off this morning, not having to be expected to act or lie to himself or pretend, but he wasn't expecting Kurt actually coming to hang out with him and talk to him like this.

“Um no, I'm not going home this year, I uh, I'm sorry I should have asked or something, it's ok right, I can still stay-” Kurt laughs, cutting him off.

“God Blaine, I'm not gonna throw you out on the street or anything, this is your home too, of course its ok.” Jester who had been spread out on the floor by their feet, suddenly drops the tinsel from his mouth and hooks a claw into the frayed hem of Kurt's jeans who laughs in return. “It's not about this one is it?” Kurt says nodding down at the grey cat trying to eat his clothes, “Cause I'll be here, I'll watch him for you.”

“Oh that's very nice of you, thank you, I appreciate that, but no, I uh, I called back home a few weeks ago, they're visiting with Cooper actually, I was invited but honestly I don't know who I feel sorry for the most.” Blaine laughs and Kurt joins him, his blue eyes alight and twinkling along with the green leafy wreath that had been draped over the hearth, strewn with tiny plastic glowing bulbs. He seems relaxed today and Blaine finds that he can relax because of it, maybe they can talk it all out.

Blaine honestly can't think of anything worse than going back to Ohio for the holidays, they don't even exchange gifts anymore, unless it's a voucher or an online discounted code for something boring. Even with not knowing what's going between himself and Kurt and could spend the whole time being blanked, he still finds that more appealing.

Blaine doesn't have to ask why Kurt isn't travelling back to Lima either, he knows he'll be hitting dangerous territory if he tries to raise the question.

Sam had left yesterday and won't be coming back until the New Year, like Santana, they really will be alone, actually alone. Jester meows loudly whilst pawing at anything he can reach, as if hearing Blaine's thoughts and reminding him of his presence.

“I um, I think that they're still a little angry that I didn't show up for thanksgiving.” Blaine continues and chuckles.  

“And why did you not?”

“Because I prefer being here.” No point in lying about anything now.

The music around them seems to grow a little louder into the soft silence that falls between them, as the track changes to something a little more upbeat. Lyrics of mothers and fathers and fireplaces and ultimately the fact that it is indeed cold outside, filters around them as Kurt drains his glass, whilst trying to avert his heavy gaze. He fills his glass up again, then tops up Blaine's without even asking first. Blaine mumbles a thanks and takes a fresh sip, the alcohol is warm and feels heavy in his chest and his veins, he can feel it deep down. He bites his lip in thought.

“Kurt-”

“I'm sorry Blaine, for what happened-”

“No you don't, don't apologise-”

“I meant what I said about not discussing such things during work hours, but I'd like to talk about it now if you do? I'm sorry its taken this long.” Oh.

“Yes, um I-”

“I'm sorry that I walked out the way I did.” Double oh.

“I'm sorry that I kissed you.”

“Are you though?” Kurt's head is tilted to one side, that smirk on his lips and eyes a little hooded, he looks unfairly gorgeous. “And let's be honest, I kissed you, did I not?”

Blaine sets his glass down beside him and draws up his legs, hugging his knees to his chest, he lowers his chin and grins into his Sunday sweat pants. “No I'm not sorry, and yes I believe you did, therefore I'm not sorry that you did that either.” Kurt smiles, takes a small swig and sets his glass down to the side, he gently shoo's Jes away from his leg, the little cat picks up his tinsel and takes it away, tapping over the wood floor dismissively as if they are no longer good enough company for him to keep. 

Kurt rests both of his elbows on his knees and balls his fists up under his jaw, he leans inward. “Me neither, but honestly, I don't know what to say to you right now, but I know that I should say something, that you're expecting me to, but I um I don't know-”

“It's ok Kurt, you don't have to say anything, I-we, it doesn't have to be anything, we don't have to-”

Kurt lifts himself forward on to his knees, bracing himself on his forearms as he crawls towards Blaine. Blaine's words dry up in his throat at the sight that is inching towards him, he licks his lips at each roll of Kurt's muscled shoulders in that tight shirt and he knows that his eyes have darkened to heated slits.

“I can't promise you anything Blaine.” Blaine is barely aware of the song still playing in the background as Kurt crawls to a stop, just a breath, just a kiss away. The lyrics roll thickly between them as Blaine swallows hard, his gaze roaming around Kurt's face and then dropping to the perfect pout of his mouth.

Gosh your lips look delicious…

“I don't need promises Kurt.” He does, but that's beside the point right now. His words are barely there, a hoarse rasp, straining from his throat as he pulls himself up onto his bended knees, hands falling limply at his sides as Kurt rises to meet him and bends a little into the crook of Blaine's neck. He's right there.

Oooh your lips are delicious…

“Good, because this is all I can give, all I can do, right now.” Kurt whispers into Blaine's skin, leaving a slight brush of lips after each word.

“Until further notice r-right?”

Kurt's sky blue eyes light up like a thunderstorm with a bolt of lightening running through. He looks like he's finally been allowed something that was always in his reach yet still too far, like he's finally won some kind of internal battle with himself.

Kurt runs his hands up down Blaine's arms, fingers sketching the lines of hard muscle and flesh, feeling the slight shivers under his touch. Once again Kurt closes the distance between them, he's feral almost, like a mad man, a man who has finally got what he wants.

The feel of soft lips sucking wet bruises into pulsing pliant skin, is like a seal of fate.

“Right.”