Finn's cleaned up his room since the last time Kurt was in here. His curtains billow around the open window, and the room smells green and fresh, like warm foliage rather than old socks. "May I come in, please?" Kurt asks from the open door.

When Finn looks up from his game, his expression is peculiarly unreadable. Kurt makes himself smile as he lifts the tray to draw Finn's attention to it, but his voice is too high when he says, "I made you warm milk and brought some cookies. It's a... peace offering."

With a gusty sigh, Finn drops the game controller, scoots back on his bed, and rubs a hand over his face. "Yeah, come in." He sounds tired.

Kurt sets the tray on Finn's desk and passes Finn one of the mugs. "I may have overreacted earlier," Kurt says cautiously. He runs his hands down his thighs and glances at the desk chair, unsure of his welcome. "I'm sorry for that."

"Are you still mad at me?" Finn asks. He pulls his legs up until he's sitting cross-legged and hunched over, looking up at Kurt, half accusatory, half expectant.

"No," Kurt says gently, and takes Finn's posture as invitation to seat himself. He swivels the chair around and sits facing Finn, takes the other mug between his hands, and rests it on his knee. "I'm not mad at all."

When Finn doesn't say anything further immediately, Kurt takes a moment to look around Finn's room again, at the uninspired furnishings. Realizes it is, a lot of it, traditional and masculine—in a different way from Kurt's design, but not radically so: more in quality of degree than in kind. Honestly, it >em>is boring. "Is there anything in here you picked out for yourself?" Kurt wonders out loud.

Finn looks too, considers, and then shakes his head. "Not really. The model sailboat and those figurines were my Dad's, but aside from that, it's what was here when we moved in. Mom picked the bed and the desk is my old one. We got it at a yard sale when I was in middle school. I don't know where the dresser came from."

"Is there anything in here you like?" Kurt asks. "Decor wise?"

"I don't know," Finn says. "I don't really think about it."

Maybe some kind of process of elimination will work better with Finn. Kurt changes tack. "Is there anything in here you really don't like?"

"The walls," Finn answers promptly enough Kurt suspects he may have spent some time thinking about it. "They're too dark." Finn says, pauses, and scowls at his room. The wallpaper is a saturated navy blue sponged texture, and the baseboards and other wood details are all dark stained pine. "Yeah, mostly, it's just too dark."

"You don't like navy blue?" Kurt asks. Finn wears it often enough, Kurt assumed it would be a good color choice.

"I guess?" Finn says. "It's, like, too heavy and close and kind of fuddy duddy. It makes the room feel small and sort of... depressing."

"So, um, was that what you didn't like in the design I did? The navy?"

"Maybe?" Finn tilts his head and purses his lips nervously.

Kurt nods, doesn't push except to ask: "If I showed you the design board again, do you think you could give me more detailed comments? Maybe we could talk about it? See if we could find a new direction to go for the design?"

Finn sits up straighter and lowers his mug to the bed. His eyes widen as he looks at Kurt. "Does that mean you still want to do it? Decorate the camper?"

Kurt presses his lips together for a moment as he double checks the impulse. Then he confirms, "Yeah, I do."

"Really?" Finn's smile spreads across his lips slowly, genuine and relieved.

It makes Kurt smile too, wide and open. "Yes. I've enjoyed helping you with this, Finn. It's been a really fun challenge so far. I'd love to keep at it. If you still want me to."

"Dude, of course I do!" Finn leans over and offers his fist for a bump, so Kurt bumps it. Then, uncertain of what else to do to cement their newly restored rapport, he offers Finn a cookie.

#

They go bra shopping the next day at the mall. It's not as surreal an experience as Kurt expects. Finn doesn't want to linger in the lingerie department, fidgets the whole time they're there, and hastily waves off the sales clerk who offers to help them. "Relax, no one's going to think we're cross-dressers," Kurt tries to reassure him.

"What?" Finn asks.

"There's no way you're a thirty-two-A." Kurt holds up the lavender satin and red lace brassiere against his own chest. "And neither am I," he says.

Finn barks a surprised laugh, and takes the bra from Kurt as if it's some kind of alien lifeform.

At the gift-wrapping counter, Finn's even more nervous. It could be the way the woman doing the wrapping keeps staring at them. Kurt sighs, and says loudly enough to be clearly overheard, "Don't worry, Finn. Rachel's going to love it."

After, they go to the food court. They separate while Finn gets a burger and fries from McDonalds and Kurt gets teriyaki chicken from the teppanyaki place. Kurt finds Finn already at a table and sits down with his orange tray and plastic plate.

"I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you," Finn says.

Finn's bluntness leaves Kurt speechless as he breaks apart his chopsticks and unfolds his paper napkin. The ambient cacophony of the food court blankets them for a moment.

"I just don't like people assuming things," Finn says, and then he unwraps one of the three burgers on his tray.

That brings a crooked grin to Kurt's face. "Welcome to my life," he says.

#

It's not a bad day to be working in the garage office. Outside is muggy, gray, and hot. There's a cool, sluggish breeze that brings no relief, just makes one feel clammy and gross. Kurt hopes the rain comes soon. Eliza's primed, cured, and sanded, and Finn and Puck have been watching the weather forecast for the past week for the right conditions to finish the paint job.

His Dad has him doing data entry today: putting all the old shop records into spreadsheets and databases. It's tedious, but at least Kurt is staying clean. The mindless work is a nice break from time spent on his more creative projects. He can indulge his impulse for precision and order without having to think too much. The rhythm of perusing each entry in the paper ledger, tabbing through the fields on the computer, and typing in time to the music coming through his earbuds; it's meditative in a robotic sort of way. Easy.

Time turns into a singular slipping moment, while Kurt types and sings along softly to his iPod.

The knock on the office door startles him from the trance he's fallen into. It's his Dad. He opens the office door and the sodden heat and car smells tumble in with him. "How's it going?" his Dad asks.

Kurt pulls his earbuds out and glances at the ledger beside him; his fingers find the edge of it and ruffle the page corners. It's down about a quarter of what it was when he started this morning. "Pretty well," he says, twists in the chair to stretch.

"Blaine's arrived early," his Dad says. "You want to take the afternoon off?"

"Really?" Kurt says to both. The clock reads quarter 'til noon; his stomach agrees. The freedom his Dad is giving him with Blaine, it's a continuing pleasant surprise. It's not only that his Dad trusts him, but also that he trusts Blaine. The more latitude they get, the more grateful Kurt becomes. "That would be fantastic."

"Sure," his Dad says with a smile. "You've been working hard the past few weeks."

"Thank you, Dad," Kurt says. He gets up and gives his father a quick one armed hug, mindful of his coveralls. "You're the best."

"Yep," his Dad says, and lets Kurt go with a pat on his back.

#

Kurt brings Blaine home with him for lunch. "You can be my guinea pig," Kurt says as they enter the kitchen. Kurt flicks on the lights to compensate for the gray sky, and then he goes to the sink to wash his hands.

"Oh?" Blaine asks, a little flirtatiously.

"My Dad really misses egg salad sandwiches, and I have an idea for a curried vegan egg salad I want to test before I make it for him."

"Sounds interesting," Blaine says as he sits at the island, and Kurt loves that Blaine doesn't wrinkle his nose or make some disparagingly skeptical comment.

"The trick is not to tell him it's vegan," Kurt says. "So just tell him it's cholesterol free. If he asks." Kurt gets the fresh silken tofu from the fridge and sets it to drain on a clean dishtowel. "Something to drink?" Kurt asks as he returns to the refrigerator to get the vegan mayo, celery, and radishes.

"Juice?" Blaine says. Kurt pours them each a glass of orange juice.

Then it's light conversation about their weeks while Kurt finely dices and measures, crumbles and folds . Blaine had to fill in for Marvin the Martian on Tuesday, and Kurt laughs at Blaine's tales of amusing encounters with children and his costume drama. "I bet your legs looked good in the tights," Kurt says, and Blaine blushes adorably.

He gets Blaine to taste the salad mixture as he goes, and it turns out the magic ingredient that pulls it all together into something exceptional is the addition of mango chutney. Kurt serves it on lightly toasted whole wheat bread with a thick layer of baby spinach leaves.

Once the dishes are done, Kurt turns to Blaine and asks, "So, what do you want to do this afternoon?"

Without the smallest hesitation, Blaine replies, "You."

Kurt flushes hot in an instant; his lips part, but nothing comes out.

Blaine's bold flirtation turns more self-conscious and unsure. "I only mean... it's been a while since we..."

The combination of suggestive and bashful is both endearing and compelling. "Yeah," Kurt says. "Let's go upstairs."

#

It has been a while, but they fall into routine easily: shoes off, belts off, Blaine's wristwatch on the nightstand. Then they're on the bed, and it's here the routine sometimes fails Kurt. Too many possibilities assault his body, and he's left groping at Blaine haphazardly, pulling at his shirt hem, only to abandon it for a hold on Blaine's shoulders, before deciding his hands really need to be on Blaine's face, guiding him into a longer kiss. And then his restless hands are sliding down the curve of Blaine's spine to the small of his back and digging his fingertips into the fabric of Blaine's shirt to ruck it up and bare some skin.

"Off?" Kurt says.

"Yeah," Blaine replies, all soft breath and eagerness. "You too."

Kurt hums his agreement against Blaine's throat.

Shirtless make-outs are still a novelty. The awkward few seconds where Kurt's pulling his undershirt over his face, and he's exposed to Blaine, but he can't see Blaine looking at him, is the most oddly vulnerable—some kind of anxious peek-a-boo. It's a relief when his shirt comes free, he catches his breath, opens his eyes, and finds Blaine—also bare chested—looking at him with warmth and patient desire. Kurt's fingers flutter to his hair as Blaine reaches for him.

Blaine pulls Kurt with him as he falls to his back. Kurt settles his knee between Blaine's legs and lets his weight come down into Blaine's embrace. Sliding into each others' arms like this, skin to skin, is such a gentle shock: luxuriously smooth, warm—and so close.

He kisses Blaine: slow searching kisses, decadent and soft, and he twists the fingers of one hand into Blaine's loosely styled curls. Closes his eyes and sinks into the narrow focus of this new intimacy and the blossoming heat between them. Blaine's hands wander his skin, firm upon the back of his ribs, ticklish at his waist, gentle short-nailed scratches across his shoulders that make him shiver as his skin prickles hot. He feels Blaine's pulse strong against his hip, the heartbeat throb stirring his own flesh against Blaine, the way their skin grows tacky with perspiration where they touch, the sweltering glow of arousal. The way his lungs grow more greedy for air. Like this, it's incredible—literally incroyable. It's so good, it feels unreal.

He shifts his pelvis, to better align them. There's no intention to get off; Kurt just wants to feel them together. He withdraws his mouth from Blaine's so he can see Blaine's face: flushed cheeks and heavy gaze.

Blaine's breathless when he asks: "What about no hands below...?"

Kurt swivels his hips carefully, presses down, distinctly feels Blaine jolt harder between them. "I'm not using my hands," Kurt says. He kisses Blaine again and dares to keep moving against him, small irregular motions, not enough to result in anything climactic, but enough to tap deeper frissons of wonderful feeling from his belly. Then he pauses to breathe and ask, "Is this okay? Just... this? Not—?"

"Uh huh."

So they do that until it becomes too arduous to continue, and they have to break apart. Furnace hot, sweaty, and out of breath, Kurt's aching, and it's glorious to simply let his body want. He flops to his back beside Blaine. The air conditioning scatters goosebumps across his skin.

With a soft laugh, Blaine reaches for Kurt's hand, loosely tangles their fingers. "That was... wow."

"Yeah," says Kurt, feels a grin pull hard at the muscles of his cheeks. He's stupidly happy.

Blaine hoists himself up to an elbow next to Kurt, his hand is warm and lazy upon the fresh chill of Kurt's skin as he caresses across Kurt's torso: his chest, his nipples briefly (which makes Kurt gasp in surprise), and down to his belly, but no lower. The weight of Blaine's attention is nearly palpable. Kurt watches Blaine looking at him. He tries not to flinch away, resists the impulse to cover himself with his arms. Lets Blaine look; lets Blaine see him. Kurt touches Blaine's arm as he traces nonsense patterns across Kurt's bare skin.

Blaine's fingers keep returning to linger on the vivid blotchy flush across Kurt's pale chest. Kurt shudders and bites his lip, self-conscious. "I'm sure I look terrible," Kurt says. "All splotchy like I have a rash."

"No, you don't," Blaine says softly, wonderingly. "I... I like it."

"You do?"

"Yeah... because it means you're, uh, really turned on, right?" Blaine's admiring gaze drags up from Kurt's chest to meet his eyes.

"I am," Kurt whispers.

"Me too," Blaine says and he leans in until he's nuzzling close to Kurt's ear, and Kurt's sucking in rapid breaths that feel too shallow no matter how hard he pulls in the air. Blaine's breath is soft against his cheek, and Kurt closes his eyes. "I really like being turned on with you," Blaine confesses shyly.

"Yeah," Kurt says. It comes out like a wheeze. "It feels really good."

"I love that I can turn you on," Blaine murmurs; his hand is quiet on Kurt's skin now, resting at Kurt's solar plexus. "The way your body gets so hot so fast when I touch you? It's amazing."

"I love it too," Kurt says. "It's better than I thought it would be."

"I'm glad," Blaine says and settles beside Kurt.

They lie together like that for a while, close as they cool off and the exhilaration fades.

Until Kurt's concerned he's going to drift to sleep. And while there's undeniable appeal in a lazy summer afternoon nap with Blaine, today he doesn't want to spend any of their time together unconscious. Kurt draws away from Blaine and sits up, reaching for where his undershirt is crumpled up by his pillow.

They put their shirts back on. "May I show you Eliza's design board version two?" Kurt asks. He'd really like some honest feedback before he shows it to Finn—who's been more involved this time, and Kurt's managed to draw out and clarify some aspects of Finn's taste, but that doesn't stop Kurt from a few lingering nerves over the project.

"Sure," Blaine says. "I'd love to see it."

Kurt gets off the bed and kneels on the floor to drag the board out from under his bed. Blaine leans over the side and peers down at it. "Wow, Kurt," he says.

Kurt tilts the board toward the light. "You like it?"

"Yeah, it's so cool." Blaine reaches down and brushes his fingers over the bright fabric swatches. "The colors are fantastic."

"You've been my muse. Sort of," Kurt says. "Not for the colors, I picked those, but for the general aesthetic. I went with mid-century modern, which I think is cool, too so..." Kurt smiles. "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm sure Finn will love it," Blaine says. He's so fierce in his earnestness, Kurt believes him.

"I hope so," Kurt says.

#

Later that evening, Kurt takes the board downstairs to where Finn's in the family room watching TV. His Dad and Carole are out with friends. Kurt sets it on the coffee table and sits on the sofa. Finn pauses the TV, comes over to look. Kurt doesn't have to wait long for a response. Finn's first comment is an enthusiastic, "That's awesome, dude. It's like the Jetsons!"

That makes Kurt laugh. "That's a good thing?"

Finn's response is so much an echo of Blaine's, it's weird (but also gratifying): "It's so cool. I love the colors." Finn sits down beside him on the sofa.

"Really?"

"Yeah, the orange and turquoise and white are like, totally happy and summery."

The blue is actually closer to a sky blue, but Kurt resists the urge to correct Finn. "You don't mind the wood accents?" Kurt asks. He touches the photo of his inspiration piece. The curved cabinetry is timber in two tones: light honey colored tamboured doors and darker espresso stained surfaces.

"It's not too much," Finn says. "I like the rounded cabinets. And the microwave is seriously funky."

The retro designed microwave is a find Kurt's particularly proud of. "There's no robot to cook for you though," Kurt says dryly. "I'm afraid that's well beyond my skill set."

Finn laughs and looks at the board some more, commenting on other things he likes, and because Finn's such a bad liar, Kurt can tell he means all of it. Then Finn falls into a quieter contemplation for a few minutes, in which Kurt finds he's not at all nervous.

Even so, when Finn speaks again, he surprises Kurt. "You know, this one looks more like you, too."

"More like me?"

"Yeah, like, it's bold and colorful, kind of eye-catching. Modern, and fearless."

Maybe Kurt underestimated Finn's vocabulary.