Kurt doesn't really know what to do with a sad straight boy. But he finds himself at home Thursday afternoon with a heartbroken Sam who seems to require comfort and companionship, and Kurt is the only one home to provide it. His fingers itch with the urge to text Mercedes, demand why she had to break up with Sam the day before Valentine's Day, because that's just cruel. He doesn't though, because he knows this hasn't been easy for her. Is aware she's disappointed herself for hurting Shane and for hurting Sam. It wouldn't have improved the situation to have strung either of them along through the holiday, but Kurt has been quietly rooting for Sam, thought she would have chosen him. If it had been his decision to make, he would have picked Sam, but it was never his place to offer her that advice.

So he finds himself in the kitchen with Sam who sits at the island while Kurt makes him tea. Tea, Kurt's sure, is a universal medium of comfort, and cinnamon nutmeg tea with dark brown sugar and a splash of whole milk, is supreme among them for such comforting purposes. He makes one for himself, too. Figures he can use a little comfort of his own. He hasn't seen Blaine all week, and while the cards and gifts and gorilla-grams are sweet (he's set up a little shrine of them on his dresser to moon over), he misses him terribly—and worries. There have been complications. Kurt doesn't understand the finer points of the medical jargon, but he understands that Blaine has had to travel to Virginia for a second opinion and a second surgery. He was meant to be home yesterday, but snowstorms close airports, and Kurt hasn't heard anything more today. He hasn't canceled the hotel for tomorrow night yet.

Kurt slides one steaming mug across the island toward Sam. "Are you hungry at all?" Kurt asks. "I could make you a sandwich. Or cookies...?" Sam never eats cookies, but Kurt offers anyway. Desperate times call for desperate measures, or something like that.

"No, thanks," Sam says, curling his fingers around the mug handle and smiling gratefully at Kurt.

That leaves Kurt awkwardly idle and uncertain. He stands opposite Sam and contemplates his own mug of tea. Wonders what he would want Sam to say to him if their positions were somehow reversed. It's hard to imagine it. "I'm sorry," he says at last.

"Did you know?" Sam asks him. "That she was going to do this?"

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "No."

"But you guys talk, hang out..."

"She kept it to herself," Kurt says, and it stings a little. Once, she would have told him, asked his advice. But they don't really hang out or talk as much as they used to. Kurt's not been privy to most of what's been going on with Mercedes since... He's not sure he can pinpoint it, but it's been a while. She was especially remote after she started dating Shane, almost like she was making a point of not needing her old friends, since, shortly after Shane, she left New Directions And though she's been back for a while now, it's been slow getting back to normal with her.

Sam nods, presses his lips together.

"I really thought she'd choose you," Kurt offers. "I never understood what the appeal of Shane was to her."

"He wasn't anything like you," Sam says. "That was part of it, anyway."

Kurt blinks. "What?" Kurt asks, because that doesn't make any sense. If that were her criterion, she'd have been better off dating Rick "the Stick".

"You don't think it's been hard for her, trying to find someone to measure up to the standard you set?"

Kurt feels abruptly light-headed. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says. "We were never..." Nothing more comes out after that. Kurt is flummoxed.

"But she was."

"She was...?"

"It's hard for a girl to get over her first love. Every guy after that gets compared to him."

Kurt stares at Sam. Wonders if he's speaking How do you even know this?"

"Because I've spent a lot of time with her. Talking."

"She loves you," Kurt says, insists, because it's not possible that she ever felt like that about him. "Whether she chose you today or not, she loves you, Sam. You heard the song."

"Yeah, but she loved you first," Sam says.

Kurt casts his mind back over the time since he's known Mercedes. Surely she would have said something to him. He would have known. But he remembers her proudly insisting she was fine on her own, didn't need a man. She was so fiercely independent, which was why Shane didn't make much sense.

But then Kurt also remembers her jealously over his friendship with Blaine. And all the songs about unrequited or painful love. Oh. Oh.

"Oh," he says.

"You didn't know?" Sam asks him, and Kurt realizes that Sam may have accidentally betrayed a confidence. This isn't something Kurt is meant to know. He can't bring himself to chastise Sam, though. Not today.

"I had no idea. I mean, why would she? I'm not exactly boyfriend material for her." Kurt feels terrible in some strange unspecific way, like he just got transported to an alternate dimension via some subspace anomaly Sam would be able to explain to him. "She shouldn't have—" he wants to say 'wasted', but that's too harsh; love isn't a waste. "—felt that way about me."

"That's not how it works, dude," Sam says. "It's not about how we should feel."

Kurt looks down, stares at the grain of the butcher block. "No, I guess not." It's not like Finn's being straight made Kurt like him less. If only it were that easy. He fervently hopes that, in his ignorance, he never hurt Mercedes for her feelings. "I'm sorry," Kurt says, but this time he's not exactly sure what he's apologizing for, just that he feels obliged to, and that he is, non-specifically, sorry.

Sam shrugs. "It's fine."

Kurt gives him a wary look. "Aren't I meant to be trying to console you? Not doing—" Kurt gestures between them. "—whatever this is."

Sam smiles, not altogether happily. He says, "I'll be fine. It hurts, yeah, but I figure, we're still friends, right? If I keep being her friend, let her know I'm there for her, to support her, always, she'll come around."

"I think," Kurt says slowly, cautious of offering any romantic advice of his own. "Friendship is both a good place to start and a good place to end up."

"Yeah," Sam says, and he doesn't look all that sad anymore. Kurt supposes he has contributed to cheering Sam up in some manner, just none that would have occurred to him on his own. But he has another idea, one to distract, because he doesn't want to dwell on either missing Blaine or Mercedes past unrequited feelings for him, and Sam never says no to science fiction.

"So, do you want to pick up where we left off with that Star Trek marathon?" Kurt asks.

~*~

He's not proud of himself, but Kurt thinks he might throw up. The glass door of Breadstix swings closed behind the broad shoulders of David Karofsky, and Kurt's not a bit relieved, but he does his best to rally. He turns a sharp glare to the troglodyte named Nick, who's still got an obnoxious fucking leer on his face and is now directing it at Kurt. Karma's a bitch, but no one deserves this guy, and anger is a good antidote for nausea. The guy opens his mouth to say something to Kurt, and Kurt sees by the mocking glint in his eye exactly what that's going to be. Kurt doesn't give him a chance; he cuts him off: "I see they breed the morons extra large on your side of town," Kurt snaps, and turns on his heel to return to his table.

His pulse is hammering in his ears, and his palms are clammy as he sits, but he lets none of it show. He pulls out his phone, and his hands are shaking so badly, he can't disguise it, so he just sets it down on the table and stares at it. There are no new text notifications. Kurt slides his glass near enough he can take a sip through the straw. He hears a footstep. He's mustering his most fierce retorts when his waitress steps into view and asks if he'd like anything else. Her smile is kind. He relaxes, returns her smile feebly, and asks for a decaf coffee. And a slice of New York cheesecake.

While he waits, he tries not to think, tries not to feel. But he can't stop himself from looking at his last text from Blaine.

From Blaine: "I don't know if I'll make it tonight, but I'll try my best. I love you, always. Happy Valentine's Day."

Right. So Blaine didn't make it. And none of those cards or trinkets were from Blaine. And oh, god, that had been Karosfky at school during lunch when Kurt had been preening over the wonder of true love, puffed up with the sure adoration and attention of his boyfriend. The gorilla was David, and it was a lie. While Kurt's been swooning over his former bully, Blaine's been in doctors' offices and laser surgery theaters, not plotting cute little ways to add romance to Kurt's week.

Kurt feels nauseated again. He fumbles with his phone to carefully tap out a reply to Blaine.

To Blaine: "Valentine's Day sucks without you. I miss you. I love you."

He doesn't get a reply, but he can't quite bring himself to call the hotel to cancel. He's such a sucker for false hope.

~*~

The way Kurt wants Blaine right now, Kurt knows, normally unnerves him. It's the sort of desire he still has a tendency to shy away from within himself. Not tonight. Not tonight when it's such a bone deep relief to even see Blaine, who is so devastatingly handsome and charming and wholly back to himself as he works the room singing "Love Shack". Blaine, performing, flirts with everyone, but it's only when his gaze finds Kurt that it truly simmers.

And Kurt wants him; god, how he wants him: shamelessly, animalistically, and repeatedly. They sing together, and Blaine's all over him, pressing against him, touching him, smiling and stealing kisses. When they dance together, it's a little dirty, but Kurt doesn't care; Blaine is diamond hard against the suggestive swivel of his hips. "I got us a hotel room," Kurt whispers in Blaine's ear.

Blaine's hands squeeze him low, where they're holding him in the gap between waistcoat and waistband, where they've been working his shirt free in small increments, seeking the arch of the side seam, seeking bare skin. "Then why are we still here?" Blaine asks, his breath hot against Kurt's cheek.

~

Things between them cool, as they must, when they get to the Lima Holiday Inn and Kurt checks in while Blaine waits discreetly by the elevators. It's back to bland politeness, but Kurt's signature on the payment authorization is distinctly wobbly.

~

As they come into the small sitting room of the suite, Kurt sees immediately there's champagne on ice on the coffee table: someone's oversight. He didn't use his fake ID. Kurt eyes it warily as he holds the door open for Blaine. But they don't tarry there. Instead they move straight through the room, down the short hall, past the bathroom door, and into the bedroom.

The first thing Kurt notices (aside from the modern dark brown, cream, and raspberry decor of the room) is the enormous hourglass shaped jacuzzi tub in the corner of the bedroom, white porcelain set into shiny espresso tiles, the sight of which spurs a flutter of anticipation. But Kurt's not sure if the placement is tasteless or romantic. Who puts a bathtub in the bedroom? As Kurt follows Blaine into the room, he watches Blaine to gauge his reaction.

When they get close enough, Kurt sees the tub is half full and steaming, with red and pink rose petals scattered across the surface of the water. In fact, the whole room smells of roses. The covers are already neatly folded back on the bed with small, red heart-shaped boxes upon the pillows. The room is giving them permission—no, inviting them—to get naked together.

Blaine turns to face him. "Kurt," he says in a way that seems to mean simultaneously 'you're adorable' and 'you shouldn't have' and 'I love it' and 'what's all this about?'.

"It's one of their honeymoon suites," Kurt says. "I wasn't expecting the jacuzzi to be in the bedroom. Is it weird? It's weird isn't it."

Blaine cocks his head and looks at it. "I don't know. Maybe it's practical? You can just kind of roll out of bed and into the tub."

Kurt laughs.

"Wait. You got us a honeymoon suite, Kurt?"

"It's Valentines Day," Kurt says. "I really wanted us to have some privacy and comfort. Especially after... everything."

"Yeah," Blaine says, smiling gently in understanding. That smile fades quickly to be replaced by something more desperate. "Oh my god, come here," Blaine says. He drops his overnight bag and opens his arms.

Kurt sets down his suitcase and goes to Blaine. "I've missed you," Kurt says before their lips meet.

For all the urgency of his desire and for all the plans he's made for tonight, Kurt finds it so easy to just fall into kissing Blaine. They're half on the bed, and Blaine's hat has tipped off and rolled... somewhere. Kurt has untucked Blaine's shirt and is running his hands up the smooth hot skin over Blaine's ribs, sucking down every whimper and soft moan Blaine makes as if they're his only source of sustenance. Blaine is here, with him. Whole and happy and immediately here. It's like a Valentine's Day miracle.

And Blaine's hands are between them, jerking at Kurt's belt and fly, too clumsy with desperation to accomplish much, and Blaine is breaking away from the kiss to pant out words, "God, Kurt, please," and, "I want you so bad," and, "You have to fuck me."

"I want to," Kurt murmurs back against Blaine's jaw. It would be so easy; it's so tempting, to just roll Blaine over and take him, take everything he's offering: fast, sweet, and hard. "I will," Kurt promises. They've waited this long; he's going to do this right. "But you're going to have to wait, baby."

"Wait?" Blaine asks as if he's never heard the word before, doesn't get the concept.

"I have plans," Kurt says, rolling off Blaine to sit up beside him. He smooths down Blaine's shirt, moves his hand lower to rest over the hard line of Blaine's cock. Then, Kurt has a moment of doubt, needs to make sure. "So long as you're okay with that. You're okay now, right? You're not drugged up or in pain? I mean, you look okay—" Kurt squeezes, makes Blaine's eyelids shiver. "You feel okay."

"I'm perfect," Blaine says. "Let's do whatever you've planned. I love your plans."

Kurt laughs softly. "Okay," he says. "Can you get undressed while I get set up?"

Blaine nods and sits up. Kurt stands. Blaine makes quick work of his bowtie, jacket, vest, and shirt while Kurt goes to his suitcase. "You know, I love the thought of you in your lair, like some kind of sexy supervillain, plotting my erotic downfall," Blaine says.

Kurt smiles and unzips his bag. "My lair?"

"Mmhm," Blaine says, shucking off his pants and underwear. "I'm convinced there's a secret door to it in your basement. Behind the old bookcase."

"Huh," Kurt says. "I didn't realize you were on to me." He gets out his iPod and the portable speakers he's borrowed from Finn, the box of three dozen vanilla scented tealight candles, matches, and a royal blue satin sleep mask; condoms, lube, bath oil (happy with the coincidence of it being rose scented to match the room), and a bottle of water. His hand hovers of the next item. "You know what that means?" he asks Blaine, closing his hand around the twin hanks of soft cotton rope. He lifts them up so Blaine can see.

He watches Blaine's face, notes how his eyes widen and darken. "Oh."

"You're going to have to beg for my mercy," Kurt says.

"Oh," Blaine repeats, scoots back on the bed, his legs splaying apart in invitation. Kurt's gaze is drawn, like a magnet, to Blaine's erection, rearing up flushed and proud, gleaming at the tip. He's rushed by the desire to toss aside the rope in his hand, crawl up between Blaine's open thighs, and sink his mouth down over Blaine's beautiful cock.

But not yet. "I'm going to tie your hands together, and then to the headboard," Kurt explains. "And then I'm going to blindfold you."

"And then?" Blaine asks, breathless.

"You'll have to wait."

"Wait," Blaine says, now savoring the word, seemingly sort of awestruck by the notion. His chest heaves with a deep breath.

"Exactly," Kurt says.

Kurt kneels up on the bed in front of Blaine, has Blaine sit up and hold his hands out before him. Kurt brings Blaine's forearms parallel and wraps the rope snug around them. As he works, Kurt is aware of Blaine watching him, but his hands are steady. Now and then he pauses to check that the rope is snug, not tight. Glances at Blaine's face for any sign of discomfort, but finds only anticipation.

"All right?" he asks Blaine.

"Yes, Kurt," Blaine says. The flush of arousal across his chest is spreading across his shoulders, and Kurt can see how it's now coloring Blaine's inner thighs, too. It makes his heart beat faster, that he can do this to Blaine. For Blaine.

"If you need to release yourself," Kurt says. "You can pull here with your teeth." He indicates one of the tails of the knot. It's important Blaine knows this for tonight.

Blaine nods, swallows. Kurt strokes his hair and smiles at him. "Can you snap your fingers for me, honey?" Kurt asks. Blaine frowns a little in confusion, but he snaps the fingers of one hand. It's loud enough, Kurt thinks. "If you want me to stop, and you can't speak, I want you to snap, okay?"

Blaine sucks in a sharp breath, and then nods more slowly as he lets it out with a soft, "Okay."

"One more thing," Kurt says. "Do you want to be on your back or on your on your belly?"

Blaine glances around the room as if he can find some hint as to the right answer; then he settles his gaze back on Kurt. "On my back?"

"All right," Kurt says, and helps Blaine shift to the center of the bed and turn. He coaxes Blaine's arms above his head, admires the way the posture pulls his ribs up and makes his belly hollow. He leaves Blaine enough slack to keep his elbows comfortably bent either side of his head, doesn't try to stretch them out. He may need enough slack to turn Blaine over. With the second piece of rope, Kurt loops it through the rope he's already tied; then fits it securely about the widest plank in the bedhead. He tugs at it; it's solid. Shouldn't break even if Blaine has to pull himself up the bed.

"Amazing," Kurt says, letting his gaze roam down the length of Blaine's body, secured and stretched out for his indulgence. He runs a hand down Blaine's side, feels the way his skin shifts over bone and muscle, hears the sharp intake of Blaine's breath. Loves how turned on Blaine is already. He kneels up, reaches down to take one of Blaine's ankles in his grip, and lifts Blaine's leg up, bending it at the knee. Blaine watches Kurt quietly with a strange serenity. Lets Kurt move him so easily. Kurt pushes Blaine's knee up to his chest, sees how far he can push it, and Blaine is so supple, his body so willing. Blaine's lips part, like he's about to speak in entreaty. Kurt lets go and gets up off the bed.

"Kurt...?" Blaine says.

"Be patient, baby," Kurt says, and goes to get the things he's unpacked to the dresser. He brings the condoms, lube, and water bottle to the nightstand, the candles he distributes about the room, taking his time, lighting them as he places them. He concentrates on what he's doing, doesn't really look at Blaine, though he's so very aware of him. Feels Blaine watching him, tracking every movement as Kurt goes about the room. He sets some candles on each nightstand, the dresser, and the last few on the corner of the bathtub. Then, one by one, he switches off the lamps in the room.

The illumination is soft and warm, flickery and romantic, and exactly as Kurt has hoped it would be. Kurt's wanted to make love in the candlelight since he's been aware of the concept of sex. Admittedly, when he imagined this sort of thing as a younger, more innocent boy, there were no ropes involved, and he was the one being pressed back into the pillows by his lover. But Kurt thinks this way is equally, maybe even more, romantic. He turns his focus fully back to Blaine; Blaine whose skin, draped in candlelight, shimmers amber, and his dark eyes glitter, reflecting a myriad tiny points of light. Kurt smiles. "How are you doing, Blaine?" he asks. It's been a long, nearly ten minutes since either of them has spoken. But Kurt knows how Blaine responds to his voice, and he needs to withhold that, for now anyway. Blaine is going to wait.

Blaine clears his throat and moistens his lips before replying, "I'm fine," he says. He sounds a touch uncertain, as if he's not sure what answer he's meant to give. Smiles slightly. "A little curious."

"Comfortable enough?" Kurt asks. he goes to the bed, leans over to grasp Blaine's fingers. They're not cold and flex against Kurt's.

"Yes, Kurt," Blaine says looking up at Kurt's face, seeking with his gaze.

Kurt doesn't give him anything. Instead asks, "Thirsty?"

"No, Kurt."

"Anything you need?" Kurt asks.

Blaine smiles. "Just you."

"I'm yours," Kurt says, bends down and kisses Blaine lightly, just a bare graze of lips. And then he's moving away again, to set up the music. It's not quite their usual. He wanted something new, something instrumental and sexy that wouldn't draw attention to itself, just fade into the background, but something that later would recall tonight. So he found, after searching through iTunes, a collection of Spring themed trance music. It's sensual, scattered with birdsong, and underlaid with bass that throbs like a heartbeat. It's not dissimilar from some of the stuff Blaine has played for them during sex at his house, so Kurt thinks Blaine will like it, too. Finn's speakers are good; the music fills the room.

Then there's just one detail left to set up: the blindfold. It's the element Kurt is most unsure of, but is also most necessary to the fantasy he's hoping to evoke.

He takes the sleep mask over to the bed, crawls up next to Blaine and shows it to him. "I'd like to put this on you," Kurt says. "But I know you've only just got your eyesight back, so if you don't want to, we can skip this part."

Blaine gaze flicks between the sleep mask and Kurt's face. "Go ahead," he says. Gives Kurt a wry smile. "My eye's a little tired, anyway."

"Okay," Kurt says. "Close your eyes, please, Blaine."

Blaine shuts his eyes, still smiling. Kurt bends down to brush a soft kiss against each of Blaine's closed eyes. He feels the tender quiver of his eyelids beneath his lips, exhales across Blaine's face as he moves to take Blaine's mouth in a brief, sweet kiss. Blaine lifts his head to chase after Kurt's retreating mouth, and Kurt takes the opportunity to slide the mask over Blaine's face, pulling the wide band behind his head, and then gently lowering Blaine's head back to the pillow to rest between his upstretched arms.

Then, looking down at Blaine, his hand still cradling the back of Blaine's head with Blaine blindly smiling up at Kurt like some kind of Buddha, Kurt is overcome by all of it: what's he's just done and what he's about to do; how Blaine is so easy and comfortable and trusting of Kurt. It's unfathomable suddenly. How is Kurt here, like this, with anyone? Let alone this boy who is so much more than Kurt ever imagined for himself. "God, I love you," he whispers, flexing his fingers against Blaine's scalp, "so much."

Blaine turns his head toward Kurt. "I love you, too."

And now the nerves hit him, like a jolt of caffeine. This next part, Kurt's wary of. It could go so right—as he hopes—or it could fail miserably. He doesn't know how to tip it toward right without spoiling it. But he's got to try. "Blaine?" Kurt says.

"Hmm?"

"Whatever happens tonight," Kurt says, "I need you to trust me."

"Kurt? What are you—?"

"I need to know. Do you trust me, Blaine?"

Blaine doesn't hesitate to answer simply, like it's the most self-evident thing, "I do."

"You're safe with me, baby, I promise."

"I know," Blaine says, but there's the slightest wrinkle of a frown in his brow. Kurt drags his thumb over it smoothing it out, and then carefully pulls his other hand out from under Blaine's head.

"Just one more thing, then we'll be ready," Kurt says. "Thank you for being so patient with me."

He gets off the bed, rubs his palms down his thighs and pauses, staring at the candles, then his open suitcase, then the abstract art print on the wall. Kurt goes to the suitcase, makes enough noise rummaging through it that Blaine should be able to hear it. "Hmm," Kurt says, as if to himself. "I must've... Shoot." It feels like his acting has never been worse. "Blaine, honey?" Kurt says.

"Yes?"

"I've left what we need in the car. I'm really sorry. I need to run out for a sec to get it."

"Kurt?"

"I'll be quick," Kurt says, as he moves swiftly out of the bedroom toward the sitting room and the door.

"Kurt, wait..."

"Just. Hold tight, Blaine," Kurt calls over his shoulder and he opens the door. He holds it open for a couple seconds, but he doesn't go through it. Then he lets go, lets the weight of it close it on its own with a loud click-bang. He feels awful even pretending to be so careless and irresponsible. He'd never actually leave Blaine alone like this, but he needs Blaine to wait. Needs him to wonder.

Kurt turns back around, and he starts to undress as quietly as he can, setting his clothes neatly aside on the loveseat. He doesn't hear anything but the music from the bedroom, hopes it's masking the rustle of fabric. And Kurt waits, too. He stands there naked and starting to shiver, feeling ever so slightly ridiculous, feeling like he's about to vibrate out of his own skin. He counts his breaths, gets to one hundred eighty and decides to venture back to the bedroom. His bare feet are silent on the hotel's plush carpet.

Blaine has rolled to his side, and he lies, with his knees tucked up, facing the door of the bedroom. Kurt has a wild, irrational sense that Blaine can see through the blindfold, can see right through Kurt's charade. But nothing in his face that Kurt can see changes as Kurt enters the room, holding his breath. Kurt creeps around to the far side of the bed, lets out his breath, and reaches up to the drapes. The slow drag of the curtain hooks on the rail is loud enough, abrupt enough, Kurt startles just as much as Blaine does. Kurt pulls the curtain closed again. They may be on the top floor, but that doesn't mean he wants to be standing in front of the window nude.

"Hello?" Blaine says, using his legs to roll himself to his back. "Kurt?" He's frowning.

Kurt doesn't say anything, but he moves to the bed. Knows Blaine can feel the dip of the mattress as he kneels up on it. It's been less than ten minutes since he pretended to leave. It feels so much longer.

"Kurt?" Blaine says more softly, but his limbs have gone stiff; he's nervous. Kurt desperately doesn't want that to turn into fear. Is ready to slide the sleep mask up and give up the game if he needs to. He crawls near, leans down low over Blaine without touching, but close enough Blaine can, he hopes, feel his body heat and smell his cologne. Close enough Blaine can know.

He lowers his head so his mouth is close to Blaine's ear. Despite the cushion of air separating them, Kurt can nearly feel the hum of Blaine's nerves tickling his lips. With a voiceless whisper so as not to betray his identity too explicitly with his voice, Kurt says quietly but clearly: "My beautiful Psyche."

Blaine's tension eases somewhat at that; he makes a soft sound of comprehension, something between an 'oh' and an 'ah', but he's still trembling when Kurt's lips press against his neck, in the hollow below his ear, behind his jaw. Kurt follows the kiss with a gentle nuzzle, dragging the tip of his nose down Blaine's throat, inhaling the warm scent of him. He lets out the breath through parted lips, soft over Blaine's skin. It's so hard not to speak, so Kurt finds other uses for his mouth. He kisses into the hollow between Blaine's collarbones, kisses up Blaine's pulse as he moves the rest of himself over Blaine, straddles his thighs. And Blaine moans, wantonly. Arches his neck up to meet Kurt's mouth. Arousal burns through Kurt's belly; his cock is flooding heavy with blood beneath him, hovering above Blaine's equally thick erection. He's about to lower himself against Blaine, to press them together when Blaine speaks.

"You're my husband," Blaine says; the words a surprising buzz beneath Kurt's lips.

Kurt pauses, lifts his head to look at Blaine, finds him beautifully flushed and expectant, his mouth relaxed and open, framing quick breaths. The candlelight is a dancing glimmer over the blue satin covering his eyes. Kurt aches to reply with something: "Yes," or "I want to be", or "One day," or "I will be," but he can't. His chest feels tight, weird and good, almost like he's suffocating, but there's no oxygen debt; he's still breathing. He bites his lip and brings a hand up to Blaine's cheek. Tries to use touch instead.

Then, releasing the grip of his teeth, his lowers his lips to Blaine's, offers him his mouth, his tongue, his breath. He keeps the kisses shallow, but intimate, holding back just enough while giving just enough, to make Blaine want more. But every time Blaine stretches up for more, Kurt draws back, gives him a little bit less, until Blaine is straining up, whimpering in frustration, and Kurt's lips are just out of reach. Kurt sits up and back, resting his weight upon Blaine's thighs and pinning the restless shift of his hips. He watches Blaine, tensing against his bonds, the muscles of his arms rippling uselessly. Feels Blaine squirming beneath him, trying to get some friction where he wants it. Kurt forms his hands into fists, to keep himself safe from temptation (Blaine's cock is right there), and rests them upon his thighs. And he waits.

Without seeing Blaine's eyes—without being seen—it's easier to wait, easier to tease. But that doesn't mean Kurt doesn't want. He does. So many things it's overwhelming. There's so much he could do with Blaine right now, and Blaine will take it, whatever Kurt chooses to give him. And Blaine will give whatever Kurt chooses to take.

There's a moment when Kurt, looking down at Blaine's cock, thinks about it. He imagines shifting up, getting the lube, stretching himself out, and giving Blaine his ass, riding him while he's caught helpless beneath Kurt. But it's not how Kurt wants the first time Blaine fucks him to go. He wants Blaine completely there with him, and he with Blaine, open-eyed and unfettered.

That's when Kurt realizes it: he wants Blaine to fuck him. Maybe not today, but soon. His heart hammers up in his throat as the truth of it sinks into his consciousness. A hot chill chases across his skin, leaving him goosebumped and trembling. Soon, he's going to ask Blaine to fuck him.

But until then, there's this: here and now with Blaine finally relaxing again beneath Kurt, whispering so sweetly, "Please..." His mouth falls slack, his lips so plush, his tongue so pink and inviting. Kurt knows exactly what he's going to do. He rises up to his knees and shuffles up until he's straddling Blaine's chest, his knees snug against Blaine's ribs, his cock swaying so close to the temptation of Blaine's mouth. Kurt holds the headboard with one hand, his erection with the other, as he angles his hips down and forward, guiding his cock. Blaine lifts his head to meet it.

Kurt has intended to tease, to drag his head around Blaine's lips, slicking them with his precome, to just dip in to give Blaine a taste, to drive them both crazy with it, but Blaine's lips are closing around his cockhead, snug and hot, and there's the wet flicker of Blaine's tongue, even hotter. Kurt doesn't have quite the willpower in reality that he does in his fantasies. With a groan, he presses into the delicious suction, let's Blaine suck him down as far as he can take it, as much as Kurt can give him.

Kurt lets go of his cock, moving his hand to tangle his fingers up tight in Blaine's hair, making a fist and holding his head up as Kurt rolls his hips down to meet each eager slide of Blaine's mouth. Rapt, Kurt stares down—panting, open mouthed—at Blaine's enthusiasm, at the gorgeous obscenity of his spit-shiny cock pushing through Blaine's stretched lips. This is what Blaine meant, Kurt thinks, when he'd whispered those words months ago: "use me...". So Kurt does.

He fucks Blaine's mouth, not rough, deep, or fast, but steadily; and it's such an acute pleasure, it makes Kurt ache everywhere. Kurt listens for the snap of Blaine's fingers, but all Blaine does is moan and hum and drool around him, like no matter how much Kurt gives him, it's not enough. Kurt feels his orgasm building in every piece of him. And when he's so close its inevitable, he pulls out, lets go of Blaine's hair and hooks his thumb in Blaine's mouth, over the sharp ridge of his bottom teeth to hold him open as Kurt brings his hand on the headboard down to finish himself off.

Kurt comes with a choked off gasp (he's so glad of the practice he's had in his room with Blaine, of coming quietly), and Blaine groans. His semen shoots across Blaine's mouth, his tongue and lips, his chin, cheeks, and even a little on the backs of his arms. Some makes it onto his neck, but none, Kurt is pleased to see, is staining the blue satin of the mask.

Around Kurt's thumb, Blaine closes his lips, sucking as Kurt slides it out. Kurt is dizzy, looking down at his mess, gleaming and oozing pale upon Blaine's golden skin. He watches Blaine swallow thickly. Watches his tongue come out to lick clean his swollen lips. Stretching his tongue farther, shamelessly reaching for as much as he can. So Kurt helps. He sweeps up what Blaine can't reach with his fingertips, offers them to Blaine, who sucks them clean with pleased little hums and sighs. And, god, it's so... Kurt doesn't know a word for what it is, but he likes it—no, loves it. Loves this quiet moment in his afterglow, carefully wiping his come from Blaine's skin and feeding it to Blaine, pushing his fingers into Blaine's mouth, sliding against the velvet wet pulse of his tongue, feeling the vibration of Blaine's pleasure, knowing he's the cause of it.

When they're done, and Kurt has kissed away any last remnants of his spunk, Kurt reaches for the water bottle, uncaps it, and offers it to Blaine, who takes the water almost as eagerly as he took Kurt's cock. Kurt supports his head while he drinks his fill. "Thank you," Blaine says when he's had enough. And then he asks, "Are you going to fuck me now?"

In silent answer, Kurt strokes his face, his hair, and then slowly kisses his way down Blaine's body. Despite the needy arching of Blaine's hips, Kurt tries to avoid his cock. It brushes Kurt's cheek, hot and smooth, and though Kurt wishes to linger, he moves away, and Blaine makes a sad noise of complaint. Kurt sits up, pressing his knees, one at a time, between Blaine's thighs, to prompt him to spread his legs. Then he gets his hands beneath Blaine's thighs, lifts and spreads them, rolling Blaine's lower back up off the bed and scooting forward, leaning and reaching to grab a couple pillows to tuck beneath Blaine. With Blaine's spine curled up, Kurt holds him open and looks, just lets himself look while Blaine squirms in frustrated anticipation. Looks at the quiver of Blaine's hole, dusky and tight. The same color as his nipples and his cock, a little darker than his lips. And, Kurt knows even better than he did the last time they did this, it's so very sensitive. Kurt is going to make him beg.

The music is swelling and building into some sort of bacchanal frenzy, and Kurt's heart races to keep pace. His hand is steady, though, when he touches Blaine, stroking the pad of his thumb along Blaine's perineum, nudging up behind his balls and back down, stopping and reversing the caress just before he reaches the different texture of Blaine's rim. With each pass, Kurt presses more firmly. He watches the glisten of sweat break across Blaine's flushed skin. Watches the needy creasing of Blaine's brow, the way his mouth falls open around each ragged edged moan, the way his cock jounces with each heartbeat. There's so much precome; it's nearly a steady drip of bright strands catching the candlelight, dampening the trail of hair beneath Blaine's navel. Kurt reaches for the lube, leaning and stretching out one arm while holding Blaine open and steady with one hand. His cock presses up against the back of Blaine's thigh and Kurt can't not roll his hips against the contact.

"Please," Blaine says.

Then Kurt is back on his heels, squeezing a dollop of cool gel out to fall upon Blaine's overheated skin. Blaine flinches, and Kurt watches it slide down toward his hole; he catches it on his fingertips lest it slide too far. Already Blaine's relaxing for him as Kurt spreads the slippery stuff around his hole, circling his rim, pressing without penetrating. Blaine curls himself up more, spreads his legs wider, begging wordlessly with his body. His legs shudder as Kurt cocks his finger and finally does push in slowly, giving Blaine just the tip of his middle finger. And then out. And again, dipping in and out, in and out, pressing just millimeters deeper each time. Kurt knows how this feels now, understands how to draw it out.

"Oh, god, please," Blaine grits out, tries to push against Kurt's hand to take him deeper. But Kurt holds him still, now moving his fingertip in a slow revolution, circling and pressing outward around Blaine's rim from the inside. Kurt's cock throbs a dull aching tattoo between his legs, and he pushes in deep with one smooth glide, slides his finger into the sweltering grip of Blaine's ass as far as he reach. Blaine moans and tosses his head back. "Fuck!"

It sounds like a command, and Kurt is so ready to fuck him. Beyond ready. God, Blaine's so needful, his body so greedy for it, and Kurt's cock feels like it's going to burst if doesn't do something with it soon. He gulps a thick lungful of air and redoubles his concentration. He's going to get Blaine off without touching his cock. He presses against Blaine's perineum with his thumb as he finds the smooth bump of his prostate with his finger. He curls his finger up against it and strokes with a steady, focused pressure Kurt doubts he could replicate with his cock.

A stream of nonsensical and sacrilegious profanity pours from from Blaine's lips; his body snaps and curls tight into Kurt's hold. Desperate. Kurt wants to speak so badly, wants to tell Blaine how amazing this is, how gorgeous he is, how perfect, but Blaine's doing enough talking for both of them. Begging for more, for harder for faster for anything, god, just something.

"Jesus, fuck. Fuck me. Fuck me."

And Kurt can tell Blaine's close even though he has never seen Blaine quite like this, falling so far so fast.

"Want to come with you inside me, please. Oh, please, fuck me, Kurt."

Hearing his name is what does it. Kurt can't deny either of them any longer. He looks at the condoms, all the way over on the night table, a million miles away from where he is. His heart stutters as he rejects them. He pulls his hand free and grabs for the lube. Slicks himself up hurriedly, with too clumsy hands. Feels like there's a clock ticking down that he has to beat, has to get inside Blaine while he's still so close to his climax. So Kurt just lines himself up and pushes in with such deep relief his vision goes black at the edges. Blaine's moan is tortured, plaintive. And fuck he's tight. Kurt hasn't stretched him out as he normally does, and Blaine's body grips him brutally. As Kurt presses deeper it's like his nerve endings have multiplied, like he's raw and porous and Blaine is bleeding into him. Everything is hotter, closer, slicker; more visceral and primal. Infinitely more devastating.

Kurt tips forward, lets gravity draw him in, bends down to kiss Blaine, kisses him deeply, as deep as Blaine's taking him. He grinds and screws his cock deeper into Blaine's ass, and Blaine sucks his tongue like he's fellating it, whimpering hoarsely in the back of his throat. Kurt buries his hands into Blaine's hair, fists tight, pulling his head back and surging up to follow with his open mouth, letting Blaine suck messily at his lips and tongue. Pressing even deeper into Blaine as Kurt fits them together; Blaine's knees are nearly at his armpits..

God, he needs to see Blaine's face. Kurt rips his mouth from the kiss and Blaine's head lolls against the pillow, only stopped by the stretch of his arm. His mouth is lax with pleasure, wide open, his tongue sliding restlessly over his bottom teeth as if begging for something to suck. Kurt rocks his hips and Blaine shudders—everywhere. He gasps and groans, shivering and shaking uncontrollably, and Kurt hesitates, brings his hands from Blaine's hair to pull his thighs up snug against his sides, and he wraps his arms around to hold Blaine tight. It's like his embrace is all that's keeping Blaine from flying apart: he's so strung out, about to shatter.

The plan was to fuck Blaine and then leave him 'alone', well fucked and wrung out. Then Kurt would return to find Blaine freshly debauched, would remove the blindfold and untie him and they would go for a leisurely round two. But Kurt has to see him, and he has to be seen now. Has to.

Gently he pushes the sleep mask up and off. Blaine's eyelids flutter and come open only sluggishly. His eyes are glassy: wet and unfocused. A little lost. "Blaine," Kurt says softly, to recall him. Wonderingly, he touches a tear that's escaped to wend its way across Blaine's temple to get lost in his hair.

Blaine's gaze sharpens and finds his. "Kurt," Blaine says, blinks, and then he whispers, "Move."

Kurt can do nothing but obey. He curls his spine, pushing in deep as he can, presses until his muscles tremble with the effort. Then he drags back out slowly, his eyes falling closed at the searing brilliance of it. "Oh, god," he says, the words coming out a desperate moan. "You feel so..."

Then he opens his eyes, looks into Blaine's and says with so much breath it's like a sigh, "Come for me." He thrusts back in with a sharp tuck of his tailbone, reaching as far as he can. It only takes a few strokes and Blaine is arching impossibly against him and crying out loud and ragged, pulsing tight around Kurt's cock, coming and coming wet and hot between them. Kurt kisses him while he's still quaking and sobbing through it. Kisses across his open trembling lips, kisses his tear streaked cheeks, his chin, his nose...

When Blaine's orgasm has passed, Kurt is afraid to move again immediately. His own need for release is like a hot, tight screw, winding tighter and tighter, slowly splitting him open until he must come apart. But not yet, not yet.

"Blaine?" he asks.

And Blaine turns his head and looks up at Kurt, he rolls beneath him, bucking up and making Kurt jerk inside him. "Don't stop," Blaine says.

"You're okay?" Kurt asks with little voice to spare,

"Yes," Blaine says fiercely; then more softly repeats, "Yes."

So Kurt keeps going, fucks him slow and deep, holding them together. Tries to tamp down the urgency of his own need to let Blaine's arousal return. And Blaine talks to him. "Missed you so much, sweetheart," he breathes out thickly, with his eyes closed, relaxing into the steady drumbeat of Kurt's movements. Then, when the tension begins to return to his body, he pants out with wide open and wild eyes, "Don't stop, Kurt. God, don't stop. Don't ever stop fucking me." And when Kurt feels Blaine's cock stirring back to life, Kurt shifts to reach between them, strokes Blaine back to fullness.

And Kurt remembers he can speak again. There's no role to betray any longer. So he unlocks his voice and talks back, praising Blaine, telling him how good he feels, how gorgeous he is, how good and patient and amazing he's been, how much Kurt adores him, how glad he is they're together like this tonight. Tells him how he wants to fuck him forever. Kisses Blaine, breathes his breath, and kisses him more until Kurt's struggling to temper anything, and they are both sweating and gasping, aching and overwrought.

Kurt pulls back to sit on his heels and straightens, hauling Blaine bodily onto his cock. Blaine swears and winces, his arms pulling too tight in the ropes, and Kurt quickly tries to give him some slack by rising up to his knees, pushing Blaine back toward the bedhead while lifting him up until his spine is a steep drape from Kurt's grip where they are joined, down to his shoulders upon the bed, and he's got room to relax his arms again.

Kurt's biceps tense and bulge, and he feels so fucking virile like this, supporting all of Blaine's lower body in his arms. He gathers Blaine up and fucks into him hard, with deep, rolling strokes, thrusts that make Blaine's whole body judder with the force of them. "Can you come again?" Kurt asks. "Like this?"

Blaine shakes his head. "It's good, but... don't think...not quite," he says. "Turn me over..."

Kurt pulls out, quickly helps Blaine roll over and get his knees under him, thighs splayed wide, his ass high, wet and soft and welcoming. Kurt grabs the lube, squeezes out more. They've been going at this long enough, things are starting to go from slick to sticky.

He pushes back in quick and rough, and Blaine gasps, "Jesus, Kurt." But as Kurt picks up his stroke again, hammering in short and sharp, Blaine swears again, his head hanging low between his arms, forehead pressed to the mattress, "Fuck, yes... oh my god... like that. More."

Kurt digs his fingers into Blaine's hips, knows he's bruising, and lets go; he just fucking pounds Blaine's ass. Hard and harder, fast and mindless. He just takes: takes Blaine, takes his ass, takes everything. Ends up shoving Blaine down into the mattress, one hand pressed down flat against Blaine's lower back, holding him while Kurt fucks him, reducing his speech to a random arrangement of 'oh' and 'fuck' and 'Kurt' until Blaine eventually runs out of coherency and can do nothing but muffle his too loud moans into the pillow until he comes again, not as hard or as long as the first time, but unmistakeably, shoulders shaking as he sobs into the bedding.

And Kurt, finally, lets himself surrender, too.

He's a dead weight upon Blaine's back, his cock still buried inside Blaine's ass, sated but stubbornly hard. Sticky with sweat, Kurt winces as he pushes himself up, feeling the way their skin comes apart so reluctantly. His cock slips out, wet, and Kurt looks down, remembering the lack of condom. He shuffles back and looks, sees a trail of his come over Blaine's tender anus. He's left some of himself in there. Gingerly he rests his hands on Blaine's ass, parting his cheeks so Kurt can look more, see the evidence of what they've done.

Blaine stirs with a grunt, turns his head to the side, but his voice is still muffled. "Kurt? Are you staring at my ass?" he mumbles, sounding mildly amused, uncharacteristically lazy, but mostly drowsy.

"Mmm," Kurt confirms, struggles to find the words to explain. "It's just kind of amazing," he says lamely. "That I was in there."

"You like to look, huh?" Blaine says, opening his legs wider for Kurt's scrutiny. So unselfconscious.

"Yeah," Kurt says. "I do." He really can't see much of Blaine's face like this. Thinks he really needs to untie Blaine about now. But. "Do you mind?"

Blaine shakes his head. "No. I like it."

"My looking?"

"Yeah."

"How about if I...?" Kurt runs a light fingertip over the white smear of his come, careful of Blaine's swollen entrance. The exhausted muscle tries to clench, but it's weak. Blaine flinches. "Sore?" Kurt asks.

"Sensitive," Blaine says. "It's okay though. I'm good. Just be gentle."

Kurt slips his fingertip around Blaine's rim, asks him, "What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Being fucked here." He presses more firmly into Blaine's center to punctuate.

"Ah... It's. Mmm. So good, Kurt. When you're inside me, and I'm stretched so wide open around you, and I'm so full of you that it's all I can feel. Like that's all there is, all that matters, you moving inside me. It's incredible."

Kurt stills the motion of his finger, feels more than a little awestruck. "Thank you," is all he can think to say.

"What for?"

"For letting me be the one to make you feel like that."

Blaine hums, pleased; Kurt hears the smile in it. He shifts up, leans to undo the ropes. Once free, he takes Blaine's arms and rubs warmth back into them. "Okay?" he asks as Blaine flexes his fingers and takes his arms back to himself, turning over and propping himself up, carefully arranging himself around the wet spot on the sheets. Kurt sits back, close enough to rest his hand upon Blaine's, but not too close. He's too sweat sticky and gross for cuddles.

"Yes," Blaine says. His gaze finds Kurt, and he turns his palm up, closes his fingers around Kurt's. "That was amazing, Kurt. You're amazing."

"It was good, then? You liked it?"

"Good? God, Kurt, that was like the best sex we've had. I loved it."

"I literally could not have done it without you," Kurt says with a soft laugh.

Blaine chuckles. "So, Cupid, huh?"

"Happy Valentine's Day," Kurt says. "It seemed appropriate."

"Appropriate?" Blaine laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"You," Blaine says. "You do all this for me and then you call it 'appropriate'."

Kurt grins back. "Well. It's the least I could do after all you've been through."

Blaine shakes his head in amusement. "You've been doing so much for me, Kurt. This was more than..."

"More than what?"

Blaine shrugs, tilts his head as he looks at Kurt. "I got you something, too," he says. "It's not much compared to all this, but I got you something when I was in Virginia."

The candles are jumping and guttering, no longer providing much light, so Kurt leans over to flick on a lamp while Blaine gets off the bed and goes to his overnight bag. Blaine pulls out a box covered in burgundy paper with a silvery lace pattern on it. It has a satin silver bow and an embossed gift tag. It looks professionally gift wrapped.

He gets back on the bed and hands the box to Kurt. "I hope you like it," he says, sits back and watches as Kurt carefully deconstructs the crisp wrapping. He tries not to tear the paper. It's a blue velvet hinged box, too large to be a ring. Too large for cufflinks, too. Kurt glances up at Blaine, then back down and he opens it. Nestled into white satin is a silver pocket watch. It's got a patina of age and use; it must be vintage or antique: old. He takes it out to get a better look. The cover is unusual, it's a spidery rosette design backed by clear glass (the glass looks new), revealing some of the watch face in the gaps. Within the rosette pattern is a ring of tiny repeating hearts. "It's lovely," Kurt says.

"Turn it over," Blaine says.

Kurt does. The back is engraved, not with words, but with a pair of finely detailed butterflies. They look like they're about to embrace.

"I wanted you to have something you could carry with you, have it with you every day when you're in New York," Blaine says. "Something you'd look at from time to time and think of me. This was beautiful and complex and it looks maybe a little bit delicate to someone if they don't look at it closely enough, but its refined and strong, it's not fragile. It reminded me of you."

Kurt blinks, touched. "Thank you," he says. "It's beautiful. You're beautiful, Blaine." He looks up from the watch and smiles. "I love it. I love you." He leans over, stepping his hands toward Blaine.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Blaine says and tips forward to meet Kurt's lips halfway.

The bathtub is convenient, although they do take turns in the bathroom cleaning up while it fills, so they won't end up stewing in their own mess. Kurt pours some of the rose scented oil into the water since they're not planning on using the jets. Fragrant, the water steams up around them; they face each other, each tucked into one curved end of the tub, their legs tangling together in the middle. Kurt slips down into the water until it's up to his chin, and he closes his eyes. He's drowsy, pleasantly so, but he doesn't want to sleep. The hot water has him feeling floaty and diaphanous, like he's growing incorporeal. But the ball of Blaine's foot is gliding up and down his thigh, anchoring Kurt in his body.

He feels like he should say something, but his mind is fuzzy and he's feeling so loose and weirdly feeble. Kurt tips his head back and drifts.

Blaine speaks first, drawing Kurt back a little. "Did you like it, Kurt?" Blaine asks. "Bare?"

Kurt opens his eyes; it feels like someone's attached weights to his eyelids and his eyes feel a little gritty as he blinks them wider. "Yes," he says. "It was different, I didn't know if it would be. You?"

Blaine nods. "Yeah. It felt good like that." Then he lowers his gaze. "But we don't have to do it like that all the time. The aftermath was a little..." Blaine makes an embarrassed face.

Kurt reaches down and folds his hand over Blaine's foot, stroking his arch with his thumb. "Did I tell you my Dad got to meet Rick Santorum?" Kurt says.

Blaine's eyes go wide and he looks at Kurt, stunned for a just a second before his whole face sort of crumples and he cracks up, laughing helplessly and covering his face. "Oh my god, Kurt, are you serious?"

Kurt grins. "Actually, no, but I bet it would be a good story if he did."

"You know it would be." Blaine drops his hands away from his face, calming as he smiles at Kurt.

Kurt smiles back, and they're quiet for a time, Blaine just staring at Kurt like he can't quite believe they're here. Kurt knows that feeling well.

Then, "You," Blaine says, fondly

"Me?"

"Yes. Come here."

Kurt musters enough vigor to shift up and splash over to Blaine, slumping down into his arms and pressing his nose against the hot wet skin of Blaine's neck. He smells like roses. "If you want me to fuck you again, I'm going to need some food first," Kurt says.

"Mmm, not yet," Blaine says, his hand slipping wonderfully down Kurt's spine. "Just kiss me, Kurt."

Kurt shifts, his knees settling either side of Blaine's, and slides up Blaine's torso to find Blaine's mouth with his own. Blaine hums into the first easy kiss, and they kiss comfortably for a while. Lazy and soft. But slowly, inevitably, it begins to turn hot. Blaine's hands drift down Kurt's back, skimming over the curve of his ass to cup the backs of his thighs, pulling Kurt against him.

The water is an ethereal caress, but Blaine's hands on him are solid and insistent, tugging Kurt into a rhythm against him. As is Blaine's cock, unyielding and digging into his soft belly, and Kurt is equally hard, sliding up snug beside him. Kurt holds Blaine's face between his hands, swallows his shuddering breathless moans. And Blaine's hands are slipping up again as they grind together, taking hold of Kurt's ass, squeezing and kneading, each tug spreading him apart, exposing him more to the heated eddies of the water, and it's not enough. There's an ache building; it's still new to Kurt, but he recognizes it. He withdraws from Blaine's mouth to ask in a low murmur, "Do you want to touch me—?" He drops one hand behind him, lays it over Blaine's, drags it close to where he wants it, feels Blaine's fingertips dip into his cleft. Kurt shivers. "—here?"

Blaine blinks, his steam damp lashes look so long and lush framing his hot gaze. "Are you asking me to?" he asks, just as softly, doesn't move his hand.

"Yes," Kurt says.

Blaine studies his face. "You really want this?"

"I do."

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine breathes out, and Kurt leans back in to take his mouth. He releases Blaine's hand.

Blaine's touch is gentle, circling and rubbing without penetrating, while they rock together. It's creating such an amazing buzz for Kurt. He muffles his hums and whimpers in Blaine's mouth, until kissing becomes something too complex to sustain and they end up doing little more than just panting, open mouthed, against each others lips, breathing in the same space. "Feels so good, Blaine," Kurt manages.

"You're so hot," Blaine replies, pressing more firmly as he makes a slow circuit around Kurt's rim.

"Can you... ooh... Push it in. Just a little?" Kurt's having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He gives up, lets them close.

"Yes," Blaine says, and he does. His fingertip pushes, and it aches just a little bit, and then Blaine's edging inside, and Kurt feels a chill scatter over him everywhere even though he's so, so hot.

"Oh, god," Kurt says. Everything is sweltering and thick; hot and foggy. Kurt is dazed, burning up. And though Blaine's just giving him an inch maybe, it's like Blaine is touching him everywhere.

"You feel so good, Kurt," Blaine says. "God, I love you like this."

"I love what you're doing," Kurt says, feels how his forehead is creasing, how his face is contorting with it. Knows he's going to come soon. Rolls his hips against Blaine, feels the hard skid of Blaine's cock against him and how the flesh of Blaine's belly alternates between yielding and tense as Blaine moves with him. And Blaine is working his finger in deeper, now dragging it out, just so he can push it back in, and...

"Oh my," Kurt says as he comes.

Blaine strokes Kurt's damp hair back from his face with one hand, while holding the other immobile, still inside Kurt, as Kurt comes down, little tremors still wracking his nerves. "Mmm, you're so pretty when you come," Blaine murmurs.

When Kurt opens his eyes he finds Blaine smiling softly, looking up at him. His eyes are bright, welling up with emotion. "Blaine," Kurt says, "Are you...?"

Blaine blinks back the wetness. "Thank you, Kurt," he says, withdrawing his finger carefully, and rubbing up to the small of Kurt's back. Then he pulls Kurt against him, into a loose hug. "I hope you know, you're so precious to me."

Soon after, they exit the tub on shaky legs, opting for a cool shower to clean off and cool down. Kurt finds two fluffy terry robes in the closet and they pull them on gratefully. The plush fabric feels so good against Kurt's too sensitive skin. Then Kurt dials room service: they're both ravenous, and though tired, neither of them wants to waste a moment sleeping. Kurt orders a carafe of coffee, tuna sandwiches with shoestring fries on the side, a large fruit platter with yoghurt, ice water, orange juice, and chocolate cake. "Do you think that'll be enough?" he asks Blaine.

"I hope so. I can't remember the last time I was this hungry."

Despite their intentions, they do doze off, Kurt's head pillowed on Blaine's shoulder, as they wait for the food. Kurt wakes at the knock on the door.

While they're eating, Blaine asks Kurt who the secret admirer turned out to be. Kurt is quiet, trying to piece together the right words, trying to keep the sick feeling at bay. He's quiet too long.

Blaine asks, worriedly, "Was it someone I know?"

Kurt says, "Yes."

Blaine cocks his head. "You don't look happy about it."

Kurt shakes his head, has trouble swallowing a piece of pineapple.

"One of the guys from Glee?" Blaine asks.

"No, god no," Kurt says, and he makes himself say the name: "David Karofsky."

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine looks bewildered. "God, that's..."

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry."

Kurt shakes his head. "All the times you told me it wasn't you, I thought you were just being mysterious."

"It should have been me, Kurt. I'm so sorry. I just..." Blaine makes a helpless gesture. "I didn't think you liked all those cheap holiday gimmicks."

"No, I don't, not really," Kurt shakes his head, "Unless I think it's from you, apparently. I should have known. How could I have seen you in a hulking great gorilla suit?"

Blaine shrugs sympathetically. "Maybe you saw what you wanted to see?"

Kurt nods. "I saw you. I wanted you." Kurt says, "But I don't really want to talk about it any more right now, Blaine. Tonight is about us. Here, together. Us."

"Us," Blaine agrees, and Kurt sees the heat flare in Blaine's gaze. He can't ignore it.

He sets aside his plate and goes to Blaine, presses him with kisses back into the bedding before rolling him onto his belly. Blaine goes over without complaint, loose-limbed and easy beneath Kurt's hands. Kurt straddles his waist and and works the back of the robe down to bare the base of Blaine's neck and the top of his spine. He kisses over his nape, gently bites down his vertebrae, makes Blaine hum and squirm. "Speaking of us," Kurt says, reaching a hand back to cup Blaine's backside. "How's your ass?"

"Still a little tender," Blaine says, "but good."

Kurt grins. "If it's already good, I bet I can kiss it even better."

"Mmm. Please do," Blaine replies.

end Part V