"Dude, that tickles," Finn says. There's a hint of an involuntary giggle in his voice. It makes Kurt smile even as Finn's slippery, wet hand jerks out of Kurt's grip, splattering both of them and the white tiled counter with cherry scented bubbles and water.

Kurt drops the nail brush into the bathroom sink with a loud splosh. "Your hands are gross," he says, not without warmth, as he wipes his soap flecked cheek against his shoulder. He looks at Finn's reflection beside him in the mirror and adds, mock-sternly, "There's no way I'm letting you on a date with Rachel with your nails all jaggedy either. You don't want another bra mishap."

"That's true," Finn says complacently, and he gives Kurt his hand again to dunk it back into the soapy warm water that fills the sink.

Kurt works the little brush thoroughly over Finn's nails and the callused pads of his fingers. The latter is what makes Finn squirm and squeak in a way that's actually pretty hilarious, but Kurt doesn't laugh at Finn, just keeps grinning and gently teasing him as he scours and scrubs every trace of motor oil and engine gunge off Finn's hands. Once they're clean, Kurt says, "I'm going to exfoliate your hands, too. To help soften these calluses. Okay?"

In the bright, fuzzy glow of the bathroom light, Finn looks at him unblinking—perhaps not entirely understanding, but trusting (and that strikes a happy little fillip against Kurt's heart)—and nods.

Rubbing the apricot scrub into Finn's hands and up his forearms is apparently even more ticklish than the nail brush.

"Oh my god, Finn, keep still! What are you, five?"

Finn giggles, actually giggles, and tries to twist his arm free. "No, I'm five and a half!" he insists.

At that, Kurt cracks up, losing his grip on Finn's arm in order to smother his laughter against the back of his wrist. "You're an idiot," he says affectionately.

"And you're a bossy britches," Finn says in an arguably good imitation of a cranky toddler.

"I'm a what?" Kurt snorts and laughs harder until his vision blurs, he's doubled over, and his stomach hurts.

"You heard me," Finn says, and Kurt straightens to see Finn rinsing his arms off and grinning goofily with a little bit of something in his expression that looks like pride.

As Kurt catches his breath, he has a strange moment of feeling outside himself. Just a flash of objectivity, of seeing this moment as the unlikely and wonderful thing that it is: being playful and ridiculous with Finn in a way Kurt never imagined he could be. His amusement fades into a sort of awe and a swelling warmth in his chest. But he doesn't want to spoil anything with seriousness or sentimentality, so he clears his throat and says archly, "It's just as well, or you'd end up mauling Rachel like a caveman again, and I don't want to have to hear about all that drama again. From either of you."

"You think she'll notice?" Finn asks.

Kurt nods. "Of course she will. I can't believe how clueless you guys are sometimes. I mean, would you want Rachel touching you in potentially sensitive places if her hands were all filthy and ragged?"

Finn scrunches his nose. "You're right, that would be kinda weird."

"Weird," Kurt says. "That's one word."

After Finn's dried his hands, Kurt takes Finn back to his own room and seats him at his dresser where Kurt's already got all his manicure supplies laid out. He puts some music on—a playlist of what passes for classic rock on his iPod—and pulls his desk chair over so he's sitting opposite Finn. Then he gets started on trimming, filing, and buffing Finn's nails. Throughout the procedure, Finn is more sober and patient—and far less prone to bouts of ticklish squirming now that Kurt's working with sharp implements. They fall into a comfortable silence as Kurt works, broken only by Kurt softly prompting Finn to move when needed. It's nice.

Kurt finishes the job with a rich shea butter cream that he works into Finn's cuticles and up his forearms, massaging into the tension and ache he knows Finn will be carrying after spending the week putting Eliza back together after her paint job. He keeps expecting Finn to pull away, but he doesn't, just lets Kurt take the time it takes.

When Kurt's done, Finn is left alternating between stroking one hand with the other and marveling at how soft and smooth they are now. "Wow, that feels awesome," he says. "And my fingernails are, like, shiny. Thanks, Kurt!"

"Now go get changed," Kurt says with a smile. "Or you'll be late."

#

Now it's Kurt's turn with Eliza. While he's braced himself for the complexity of the project, done his research, and gathered his materials; on a Monday, he finds himself standing on the tarmac, tools at his feet, wondering where precisely he should start.

He's already asked Mitch—one of the other guys who works at the garage—to help him with the electrical work, and his Dad has promised to help with the plumbing and carpentry. (The sink hasn't been delivered yet.) So Kurt decides to start with sewing. That's familiar enough, it should help ease him into things.

Blaine arrives that first afternoon and helps Kurt pin and cut strips of orange and white vinyl for upholstering the driver's and passenger's seats in the cab. They work mostly on the floor, in the shade of one empty bay. The thick orange extension cord meanders across the well-scrubbed concrete to where Kurt's set up his sewing machine on a portable work bench.

They listen to Pandora on Blaine's phone, and sing along to a lot of P!nk songs together. Some time after the shop has closed, Henry Higgins comes to investigate, but he's not much help. Blaine ends up spending more time playing with the cat than he does pinning the next pieces of vinyl together for Kurt to stitch. But Kurt doesn't complain. Watching Blaine drag around an off-cut while Henry Higgins stalks him between the tire racks is worth any delays.

As the heat of the long day gentles and the sky goes pale, they continue working. Carole calls just before seven to tell them dinner will be ready soon and Blaine is welcome to stay if he has the night off. Which he does.

So they have dinner outside on the patio with his family, and then they spend the rest of the evening on the sofa in the family room eating fresh fruit and ice cream and watching Designing Women, because Blaine's never seen it.

#

Slowly, Eliza comes together. There are hiccups of course. The material Kurt ordered for the headliner turns out to be unsuitable to the task, and he has to get a replacement locally. The color ends up being flax where Kurt wanted eggshell, but Finn likes it well enough, so it'll have to do.

Replacing the tent canvas on the pop top takes three times as long as Kurt anticipated and requires more hands than just his and Blaine's. The mattress has to be completely replaced, too. When that's finally done, they celebrate with cheesecake.

Nevertheless, it almost feels too soon that Kurt can see the end of the project. He's alone one night in July, seated inside Eliza on the bench seat, with a work light hanging above him, when he looks up from doing the final hand-stitching on a throw pillow and realizes that, if he stays late tonight, he may just get it done. The substantial hardware is all in place, the large upholstery jobs and painting complete. It's down to the details now, and this is Kurt's favorite part: the small furnishings and fixtures and various other decor objects.

There's an anticipatory thrill knotting in his chest when Kurt calls his Dad to let him know he may not be home until late, and then he gets back to work, freshly energized.

It's close to three AM when he's ferrying the last box from the storage room out to Eliza. This one contains the acrylic glassware for the kitchen. He found wonderful short-stemmed martini glasses, tumblers, and water goblets in clear apple green. It's the perfect extra accent color. He's worked it in to a few other details, but the bright glassware is his favorite for the way it catches the light. Kurt stows them in the top cabinet, right where he knew they'd go, rolls the door closed, and steps back. He inhales around the giddiness fluttering up in his belly.

He's not quite ready to indulge the joy of a project completed. It'll be time to celebrate soon enough. He'll still need to stage the camper properly, and the small area rug has yet to be delivered, but, aside from those technicalities, he is actually done.

He's done, and it looks incredible. He's growing woozy with the realization—or it could be the time.

The lateness of the hour is undeniable, and he's probably too tired to drive safely, so he sends his Dad a text, locks up the shop, and goes back to Eliza. His skin will survive one night. Kurt folds down the dining table, folds back the bench seat, and curls up with the cream and orange chain-knit throw and a newly sewn throw pillow in a rectangular patterned sky blue satin. Eliza's windows are open to let in the summer's night breeze, and Kurt falls into sleep swiftly, lulled by the distant song of cicadas.

#

A knock wakes him. Kurt's disoriented at first. The feel of the space around him is wrong. The air is warmer, softened by dew, the light tinged too blue through the curtained windows, and the mattress beneath him holds his weight differently. Unfamiliar road noise dominates the ambient sounds, and then there's the dull, insistent knocking. Kurt blinks his eyes wider and lifts his head, orienting his attention toward the source of the sound.

It's Blaine, knocking on the windshield, and, in a rush, Kurt remembers the evening and where he is. With a grin, Blaine holds up a large Lima Bean cup, and Kurt sits up and waves. Groggily he shoves a hand through his hair and scoots from the mattress to unlock the door.

"Good morning," he says squinting at the bright sunlight that greets him.

"Your Dad told me you slept here," Blaine says. "I brought caffeine and breakfast pastries."

Kurt covers his mouth as he yawns, and then he takes the coffee and the brown paper bag gratefully. "Oh my god, you're some kind of precognitive boyfriend saver," he says. He takes a sip immediately, wincing at the heat. "Come in," Kurt says. "I'll just fold up the thing and we can use the table."

Blaine steps up into the camper and looks around. "Oh, hey, you've done a lot since I was last here. Those light fixtures are cool."

"Yeah," Kurt says as he pushes the bench seat back into its seat shape and folds the table up for use. "Have a seat." He gestures across the table.

"It looks great," Blaine says. He pulls out a stack of brown paper napkins from his pocket and sets them on the table between them. "Are you...? It looks like you're nearly done?"

Kurt nods through another yawn and pulls one of the sticky danishes out of the bag before passing it back to Blaine. "Stayed up late finishing. I just need that damned rug to arrive."

Blaine reaches to the tamboured doors of the cabinet next to him, runs his fingers over the flexible thin bands of wood. "Kurt, this is amazing. Finn and Puck are going to love it."

"I've forbade them both from looking for the past two weeks," Kurt says. "I want the finished product to be a surprise."

"Time to start organizing a party?"

"That could be fun," Kurt says. The coffee's not working fast enough to take the weight from his eyelids or the fatigue from his limbs, but it's a comfortable weariness. He's done, which is still difficult to believe, for it's taken so many weeks to get here. He slumps down in the seat until his legs are bumping up against Blaine's and he can lean his head against the back of the bench. The burnt orange microsuede was nice to sleep on. He hopes Finn will use sheets, but it's good to know he chose a comfortable enough material for casual napping. The memory foam was a good choice too.

"You could have a naming ceremony for her," Blaine says. He catches Kurt's knee between his own, squeezes a little. "Like for a ship. Break a bottle of champagne over her prow and officially dub her 'Eliza'."

"Only if I can do it with a hoity toity English accent," Kurt says, grinning over the edge of his coffee.

"Well, of course," Blaine says. "She'll be the HMS Eliza."

"So what does the HMS stand for in this context?"

Blaine narrows his eyes and tilts his head in mock-serious thought. "Hummel's Makeover Success."

Kurt laughs. "That's dreadful," he says. "I love it."

"Don't forget to invite Henry Higgins," Blaine says, and offers his coffee in toast. "To a job well done."

Kurt taps the plastic lid of his coffee against Blaine's and drinks to that.

#

Once he's got a belly full of coffee and enough food that he's not queasy with hunger, Kurt feels a desperate need for hygiene. His teeth feel gritty and he's certain he's not smelling very fresh. He locks up Eliza, and he and Blaine take their separate cars back to the Hummel-Hudson residence. Kurt waves Blaine toward the kitchen with, "If you're still hungry or want more coffee, help yourself." And then he drags himself upstairs.

He flosses, brushes his teeth twice, and gargles with Listerine. By the time he's in the shower, the caffeine has infiltrated enough of his blood supply that he's alert and coordinated, even if the fatigue of missed sleep is still hunkered in the back of his mind.

The pressure of the warm spray encourages him to linger, to let the water beat some of the ache from his upper back and shoulders. When he shuts the water off, he's refreshed and relaxed. Kurt towels off, opens the window to let the steam escape, and slips on his light waffle-weave dressing gown. A quick application of hair fudge and he shapes his hair into something casual and tousled that can air dry. He washes the sticky product from his hands and heads to his room to moisturize.

Blaine's there. He's reclined on Kurt's bed, barefoot, flipping through last month's French edition of Elle. There are two mugs of coffee on the nightstand and a tray on the bed holding cut peaches and plums, yogurt, and granola. House finches chirp and chatter cheerfully in the tree outside his open window, and his curtains gently sway in the fresh scented breeze. The pale morning sunlight floods the floor and splashes bright over his white bedding. "Hi," Blaine says. "I hope it's okay that I brought the food up."

And Kurt has a moment. It dilates into something that feels like inevitability, a sense that this will always be: Blaine in his life, beautiful, wonderful, and constant. With a blink, it soon passes, but it leaves an imprint in Kurt's heart that makes his hands tremble as he absently tightens the belt of his robe. "Yes, of course," Kurt says. "Thank you."

He sees Blaine notice his fidget with the sash. "I can leave while you dress," Blaine says.

Kurt surprises himself by saying, "No." He turns toward his dressing table, and squirts a dollop of his facial lotion onto his fingertips. "Please stay."

Behind him, Blaine says, "All right," and Kurt hears the soft rustle and snap of a magazine page turning.

As he works the product into his skin, Kurt does wonder. Perhaps it's the lingering sense of something more than simple devotion that emboldens him. He's not sure, only that he isn't all that uncomfortable right now. It could be the fatigue combined with the happy buzz of a big project's completion. Regardless, there's an absence of hesitation when he collects the bottle of body cream and opens his robe in order to apply it. His back is still to Blaine, so it's not like he's entirely on display, but the possibility of it doesn't rankle his nerves.

They've both been in boys' locker rooms, so there's really nothing new here, except that this feels nothing like that. Eventually, Kurt takes the robe off so he can reach his back. For a brief nervous moment, he pauses and looks for Blaine's reflection in his mirror, to check his response. Upon Kurt's bed, Blaine appears to be reading the magazine so studiously, it's almost comical. Kurt is standing there, only a few feet away, completely nude, and Blaine's determinedly not looking at him while pretending to be able to read French.

Kurt laughs, and Blaine glances up at the sound. His eyes settle upon Kurt only fleetingly, then they flick away and Blaine fixes his gaze upon Kurt's bookshelf.

The situation doesn't feel particularly sexual, which surprises Kurt, and he discovers that he does want Blaine to feel free to look. And since Blaine is not looking, he worries. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" Kurt asks as he sets the body cream down.

Blaine makes a very unspecific noise. "Not exactly," he says.

Kurt holds his breath for a moment, doesn't move, neither to turn around to face Blaine, nor to go to his bureau for his underwear. When he speaks it comes out softer than he means it too, as if he's sharing a secret: "You can look at me. If you want to."

"Kurt?" Blaine says and Kurt watches his attention slip back, but it doesn't catch on Kurt's body; Blaine meets Kurt's gaze in the mirror.

"I mean, just look. I'm not trying to seduce you again," he says with a wry smile. "It seems silly to kick you out. And I... I don't mind if you see me." I trust you, he doesn't say.

"Okay," Blaine says, and he watches Kurt get dressed.

Until Kurt's got his underwear on, it's only a little bit awkward. Blaine's attention upon Kurt is surprisingly light and uncomplicated, not for lack of interest—there's definitely curiosity there, and appreciation—but for lack of intention. Kurt doesn't feel pressed or ogled or judged—or anything more than simply seen. And each time Kurt turns to look at Blaine, to see how this is going for him, Blaine's eyes meet his easily, with warmth and surprising gratitude.

Kurt pulls on a pair of jeans, an undershirt, and gets a short sleeved apricot button-up from his closet. Then he moves onto the bed beside Blaine, receives a coffee-scented kiss on his lips and a hot mug of coffee into his hands. "You're lovely," Blaine says, touching Kurt's cheek.

It makes Kurt warm down to his toes. "So, I guess we're planning a party, huh?" Kurt says.

#

It's on a partly cloudy Sunday, hot with a gusty breeze from the east, that they have the party to unveil Eliza. Kurt spends the morning staging the camper. He raises the pop top, opens her doors, and unfurls the orange and white striped awning to shade her open side. Beneath the cover, he sets up the small cafe table and chairs he got for her. The table is vintage, streamlined aluminum, but Kurt replaced the missing glass top with milky white perspex. The chairs are new, funky molded blue acrylic.

Carole, Rachel, and Blaine have been taking care of food, refreshments, and music. There are a half-dozen bottles of sparkling cider chilling, and one bottle of actual champagne. Also, sodas and juice and water. They've brought the gas barbeque from home, and Carole's setting up a buffet table beside it in the shade. Blaine's in the office now, trying to get Kurt's iPod to play through the shop's old speaker system. Rachel is off picking up more ice and a cake from a local bakery.

Kurt drapes a sheet over Eliza's door to hide the scripted name stenciled in black upon her door. His Dad will be the one to name her formally, but there'll be no breaking of a bottle against her new paint job—just a champagne toast among those who've done the work.

At noon, their friends start arriving: the guys from the shop, most of New Directions, and a few Warblers. Finn and Puck arrive together last, as planned, with Lauren, who does a good job of keeping them both away from the camper until it's time.

Rachel and Mercedes pass out the plastic champagne flutes, and Mike and Tina charge everyone's glasses. His Dad stands at the front of the camper with Finn, Puck, Mitch, Kurt, and Blaine. He gives a short speech about being proud of his boys and their work, and then he pops the cork, pours a few glasses, and pulls away the sheet as he announces her name. They raise their glasses in a toast, and it's official.

Kurt stays close to Eliza after that, showing his friends and guests inside the camper. Finn stands with him, in the shade, grinning broadly and enthusing over how totally awesome everything is, and telling of the plans he and Puck have to take her down to Florida. Kurt gets hugged at least twice by Finn and again, surprisingly, by Puck, who says, "Excellent job, dude, beaucoup thanks."

His Dad works the grill, making turkey dogs and mushroom burgers and vegetable kebabs (Kurt was very specific about the menu). There's a colorful arrangement of mostly low fat vegan salads that are well received, and Kurt really does owe both Rachel and Blaine for their help with them. No one seems to notice the lack of animal products, and Kurt likes that his Dad can eat everything on the table without Kurt or Carole having to supervise him.

The afternoon rolls on into early evening with food and drink, music and laughter and conversation—and an impromptu game of kickball Nick and David instigate. By the time the sky is turning a limpid green-tinged blue, the drinks are running low, the ice has melted, and people are starting to leave, saying their goodbyes in pairs and trios.

Blaine saunters over to the shade of Eliza's awning. He's drinking a Sunkist; and his cheeks, nose, and bare arms glow from the hours of sun exposure. Kurt's sitting in one of the blue acrylic chairs, legs stretched out in front of him, sipping a bottle of tepid water. Finn's gone off to show Mike and Sam something in the garage, and his Dad and Carole are packing up the leftover food and the grill. Rachel and Tina and Mercedes are still around somewhere, but for now, right here beneath the awning, it's just he and Blaine. With a contented sigh, Blaine leans against the edge of Eliza's open door.

"Have you been up in the pop top yet?" Kurt asks. It's been a popular attraction today. Everyone's had a climb up and a stretch out on the mattress. There's some special appeal to the idea of sleeping up high he supposes.

Blaine takes a long pull from his soda and shakes his head. "Not yet," he says. "Are you inviting me to go up there with you now?"

Kurt chuckles at Blaine's suggestive tone. It would be a fun spot for a long lazy make-out, but perhaps not today. "Sure, let me show you," Kurt says.

They take off their shoes and climb up. Kurt goes first and then offers Blaine his hand.

Sitting at the edge of the mattress with their legs dangling down, they look out through the clear vinyl window opposite. They can see over the corrugated iron fence into the empty parking lot of the neighboring lighting warehouse. It's not much of a view here, but it could be elsewhere. There's a cluster of houses farther up the road. Kurt wonders which of them is Henry Higgin's home.

Then Blaine hooks his bare foot behind Kurt's ankle and draws Kurt's attention. Kurt turns to smile at Blaine, and he sees how Blaine's lips are stained bright from the orange soda. Kurt wonders how they taste.

It's nice to wonder. But, sometimes, it's even better to know. Kurt leans in and kisses Blaine, and finds Blaine tastes citrus candy sweet. And Kurt knows, the rest of the summer's going to be fantastic. He wonders what's next.

the end