"Are you nervous?" Kurt asks, his lips just barely grazing Blaine's. They've paused on the landing, and Kurt has Blaine flattened against the wall, panting so sweetly against his mouth and making lovely low noises in the back of his throat as Kurt presses his thigh between Blaine's legs, inviting him to grind against him. It's only just occurred to Kurt—and he feels like an idiot for having not really considered this sooner—that what he's asked of Blaine, Blaine hasn't done before either. They're both in an uncharted realm of sorts, and Kurt wonders if Blaine may need him to lead. He's uncertain whether—despite Blaine's promises—they're in danger of butting up against the boundaries of Blaine's initiative.

"I am... a little," Blaine whispers, and then he bites back a moan as Kurt drags his mouth to Blaine's jaw, his teeth scraping along the hard line of it toward his ear, and then he's licking into the hollow behind Blaine's jaw, below his ear. Kurt sucks hard at the tender skin there, tasting salty sweat and the sour-bitter trace of Blaine's cologne, intent on leaving a mark. "A-are you?" Blaine asks. His head lolls to the side, inviting Kurt's attention.

Kurt had intended to take Blaine straight to his bed, but then he'd made the mistake of looking back at Blaine as they climbed the stairs, saw something that looked like hesitation in Blaine's expression, and knew he needed to kiss him right away. Kurt releases the suction on Blaine's neck, inhales deeply the scent of him as he nuzzles against the damp bruise he's just made, and loosens the grip of his hands on Blaine's upper arms. He slides down Blaine's arms until he reaches Blaine's hands where they grip Kurt's waist. He curls his fingers beneath Blaine's palms and says, "Not any more."

"You're... not?"

"I've been thinking about this so much, Blaine," Kurt says, dragging the tip of his nose down along Blaine's pulse to nudge at his open collar and exhale across his skin. "How much I want to feel you inside me." It's amazing to say out loud. Kurt coaxes Blaine's hands lower and then guides them back up, under his shirt to his bare skin, as he measures out open-mouthed kisses along Blaine's collarbones. "I think I've wanted it forever, to feel this way," Kurt says between kisses, because he does feel, with Blaine, safe in the moment, wanting this. "I'm not scared at all, and I want you so badly."

"Kurt..." Blaine's fingers flex, digging into the sides of Kurt's waist as his thumbs stroke without rhythm over Kurt's belly, pressing into the yielding muscle either side of his navel. It makes Kurt shiver, the warmth of Blaine's hands on his skin, the pressure of his touch. In some ways it already feels like Blaine's touch is inside him. "I want you, too," Blaine says; his breath stirs Kurt's hair.

"Have you been thinking about it, baby?" Kurt slides his hands from atop Blaine's and finds the buttons of Blaine's waistcoat, starts to maneuver, one by one, the small plastic buttons free while he continues to talk to Blaine. "I bet you have thought about it..." he says, bringing his lips back up to Blaine's ear to whisper as low and smooth as he can, "...stuffing my ass so full of your thick cock."

"Jesus," Blaine says with a groan and a lurch of his hips against Kurt. His hands skid up over Kurt's ribs. His fingertips glance over Kurt's nipples, a teasing shock of pleasure. Oh, and that...

"How do you imagine it, Blaine?" Kurt asks more roughly, with an urgent twist of his hips and a push of his thigh up against Blaine's groin. And Blaine is so fucking hard against him. "How do you want me?" Kurt asks as he moves against Blaine's body, crowding against him, and there's barely enough space for Kurt's hands on Blaine's buttons, but Kurt manages. "You can have me any way you want."

"Kurt... I want, wait..." Blaine trails off as Kurt forces him even more securely back against the wall. "Ooh god..."

"Do you want me to ride you?" Kurt whispers into Blaine's ear. The waistcoat comes undone and Kurt starts on the buttons of Blaine's shirt, taking time to caress the satin warmth of Blaine's skin as it's revealed to his touch, feeling the shape of Blaine's torso beneath his hands. Blaine's belly is tense, quivering. Kurt scrapes his short nails through the soft hair below Blaine's belly button. "Do you want to watch me take it? Do you want to watch me fuck myself open on your dick?" Kurt really hopes he's not promising more than he can deliver; the words are easy. Maybe easier than they should be.

"Kurt, wait a minute... wait, please." Blaine says, his hands pressing against Kurt, trying to make more space between them. "Slow down. I need... I need a minute..."

"Okay," Kurt says and eases back from Blaine, drops his thigh, and lets his hands move down to work the front of Blaine's shirt free from his waistband. He looks at Blaine, finds his eyes closed, lips parted, and brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

Blaine's eyes come open with a flutter, he looks at Kurt dazedly. "Yeah," he says with too little breath behind it for any volume. Blaine licks his lips. "I'm great, I just. I really don't want to rush this. We have plenty of time, and, I mean—" He relaxes the press of his hands. "How do you want it to go?"

"How do I...?" Kurt blinks. It's not a question he was expecting, not exactly. It's not like he doesn't remember what Blaine promised him, he just wants it to be good—so good—for Blaine, too. After all, Blaine's pleasure is his pleasure. "I want to do it... however you want to."

"No, Kurt," Blaine pauses a moment to breathe. "For yourself, not just for me."

The easy words fall away. Kurt inhales, and his fingers go quiet upon Blaine's clothes. The language is hard to summon, even harder to say. What he wants, what part of him has always wanted: the romance and the grace. Is it childish? He thinks maybe not. It was only minutes ago they were talking, and though it wasn't about this exactly, it was near enough to it. For Kurt, it seems like his whole life there's been an ache, a craving, deep and hard, rooted in Kurt's chest. It's not the desire itself, but it forms a shell around it. A yearning, to give in to his secret longings. As he grew older, it became the fantasy: to yield, simply and completely, to the affection of his lover. He wants to give up to Blaine his body, his heart, his fragile being; to lay himself at his mercy and care.

Blaine brought the lilacs; he made the promises. Blaine knows him, sees him; and Kurt thinks, therefore, Blaine already knows the answer to his question. He just needs to know that Kurt trusts his knowledge, trusts both his observation and his perception. Kurt looks up and meets Blaine's patient gaze. "Tell me how you'll make love to me."

With an encouraging smile, Blaine tips his head back against the wall and studies Kurt. His fingers trail down to Kurt's waistband, he tucks his fingers in the front and finds the buttons. He speaks softly. "I'll take my time with you. I want to find out everything you like, and how you like it." Blaine undoes the buttons but leaves the zipper up. His hands turn and spread over Kurt's hips, gentle; his palms make slow circles over the velvet. "I want to take care of you, Kurt. Will you let me do that?"

Kurt bites his bottom lip as he returns Blaine's smile. He releases the grip of his teeth and says, "Yes."

~

Blaine leads Kurt the rest of the way to his room, and Kurt follows, admiring the breadth of Blaine's shoulders, the drape and pull of his suit jacket, and trying to quell the sudden giddy insanity in his chest that's threatening to bubble up in—what seems to Kurt like—completely random laughter.

Once inside Kurt's bedroom, they leave the door open. The scent of the lilacs is strong, suspended in the air syrupy sweet, and potent to Kurt like some sort of aphrodisical drug. Blaine sees the way Kurt is grinning as he takes him to the bed and guides him down, to lie back across the bed, parallel to the headboard. He drags a pillow sham down for Kurt and grins back. "What's funny?" Blaine asks.

Kurt shakes his head, plumping the pillow behind his head with one arm and leaving that arm bent up behind his head, feeling very much like he is offering himself to Blaine. And he is. "Nothing," he says, "I'm just..." Kurt considers the emotion, has a flashbulb memory of doodling big hearts and names in his notebook with a red pen. The feeling is fizzy and bright, and it makes him want to laugh for no reason. "...really happy," he says.

"Me too," Blaine says.

The softness of his mattress beckons to the pleasant lethargy creeping into his muscles from the morning's work; Kurt is content to relinquish himself to it. The Thomas Engel Hart boots come off easily, and Blaine sets them aside before removing his own shoes and slipping off his suit jacket. He tosses the jacket carelessly at Kurt's vanity chair. Then his attention is back on Kurt and he's moving onto the bed, crawling over Kurt, the shimmer of his ardor unmistakeable in his gaze. His open shirt and waistcoat hang down and drag a vague caress over Kurt. "I'm so glad to be here with you," Blaine says, and lowers himself down, heavy and warm and wonderfully real, to kiss Kurt with an exquisite and unexpected delicacy.

Kurt sighs into Blaine mouth as Blaine gradually coaxes his lips apart, and Kurt's eyelids slip shut. It's like that night after the election, except Kurt isn't fogged with sleepiness. Though there is some fatigue in his limbs, his mind feels clear as glass; he is wholly in his body and awake. There's no hesitation in his heart as he surrenders to Blaine's kiss, to whatever Blaine wishes to do with him. Blaine fits their lips together only loosely, so instead of a deep suffocating push-pull of air between them, there's lightness and space; agile lips and playful, lazy tongue. Ticklish, Blaine's tongue-tip traces the shape of Kurt's wide open smile, making Kurt chuckle quietly, pleased. He loves that even after a year and countless kisses, they're still finding new ways to kiss.

With an amused huff of breath, Blaine draws back to ask, "You like that?"

"Yes," Kurt says, cracking his eyelids open to meet Blaine's gaze and see his grin. He brings an idle hand up to Blaine's hair, coils a short curl around his fingertip. "I like you." He slips his finger free and drops his arm behind his head to mirror the other.

"I like you, too," Blaine says, strokes Kurt's cheek, and gives a deliberate deep roll of his pelvis down against Kurt.

Kurt's breath shudders out "Oh..." and his eyelids shiver, threatening to close. And then Blaine is settling even more of his weight, his lips finding Kurt's pulse, as Kurt opens his legs to welcome Blaine between them. Blaine's fingers tangle in Kurt's hair to pull his head back into the yielding cradle of the pillow and make a taut arch of his throat. Above him Blaine is so solid and present. It's not like they haven't lain together like this before, with Blaine heavy upon him, but for whatever reason, today Blaine feels like more, more encompassing of all Kurt's senses, and Kurt feels held and pressed and—oddly, delightfully—secure.

It's difficult to keep his mouth closed with the way Blaine is holding him, so he lets it fall open around the soft, choked off moans he makes while Blaine slowly swivels his hips and sucks hot kisses up and down Kurt's throat, as if he has no other goal in mind but this. But Kurt can feel the heat intensify between them, inexorable, as they grind together, and his throat dries until his moans have become faint and feeble gasps. His breath is hastening, his blood quickening, and the grip of Blaine's hands in his hair is tightening. Against Kurt's neck, Blaine muffles the occasional helpless little grunt.

It's easy to give in to the twitch of his fingers, to bring them down to Blaine's back, to untuck the back of his shirt to slide his hands over silken hot skin and dig his fingertips into the dip of Blaine's lower spine, holding him fast as Kurt drowns in the heat and weight and slow burn of this embrace. Blaine lunges up, one fierce drag against Kurt, to take Kurt's mouth in a deeply delving kiss that hauls all the breath from Kurt's lungs, leaving Kurt reeling when Blaine shifts up and pulls away, panting, his lips rubbed red and gleaming..

The look he gives Kurt, heavily lidded, dark and desperate, reminds Kurt so much of their old make out sessions, when they'd get to this point, and one of them would pull away first, apologize, and say he needed a moment to cool off. But Blaine doesn't say that. Instead he says, "We're wearing too much clothing."

Kurt closes his mouth, swallows to bring moisture back to his throat; he's still hoarse when he replies, "For the record, I want you to note that I am wearing just one layer of clothing today. You on the other hand..."

"Noted," Blaine says with a shaky smile, and pushes back to his heels, and then he scoots off the bed. He doffs the waistcoat and shirt, tossing them toward his crumpled suit jacket, and Kurt doesn't even wince. He's too caught in the display of Blaine's bare torso, the flex of his arms, and the efficient movements of his hands now pulling open his belt and fly. Kurt sits up and unloops his scarf from his shoulders as he watches Blaine's trousers come off with his socks, revealing his sleekly muscled thighs, his well-turned calves. Kurt's gaze trails back up to Blaine's tight maroon briefs, to the prominent shape of him within them, to the damp spot in the cotton straining over the end of his cock.

Kurt brings his fingers the buttons of his shirt but is stopped by Blaine's urgent, "Wait." He comes back to the bed in just his underwear. "Let me, please," he says, bumping Kurt's hands away with his own to take over the unbuttoning.

With a simple, "all right," Kurt plants his hands behind him and leans back as Blaine works his way to the bottom of the shirt. And then Blaine is sweeping the two halves of his shirt apart, baring Kurt's torso to his eager gaze. Kurt's breath comes shallow and fast through parted lips, and he tries not to fidget as Blaine pauses and simply looks at him. A silence settles over them, gravid and grave.

Upon Kurt's skin, Blaine lays one hand, below his breastbone. He passes that touch in an arc he follows with his eyes, over Kurt's chest, the swell of his pec, a warm drag over his nipple and up to his shoulder, pushing the edge of his shirt away and down to Kurt's deltoid, baring the hard curve of his shoulder. The susurrus of skin across skin seems loud and portentous.

Blaine exhales heavily (Kurt realizes then, Blaine has been holding his breath) and his eyes find Kurt's. His hand tightens around Kurt's upper arm, and he leans in to press his mouth to Kurt's; his tongue slips into the space between Kurt's lips. Kurt yields to it, lets Blaine work his mouth open, little by little. The muted wet sounds of their mouths seems an intimate clamor, smoothed and soothed by Blaine's long, low hum into Kurt's mouth. The hum feeds into Kurt's flesh, charging his nerves and stirring the deep heated throb in his belly, the heavy demand building between his legs. Kurt shifts his hips slightly, seeking some friction for his cock, but there's just the insubstantial pressure of his underwear and trousers.

Blaine withdraws as if reluctant, his lashes lowered and dark against the sanguine stain of his cheeks. His lips work for a moment soundlessly, then he raises his gaze and asks softly, "Do you want me to put some music on?"

So he doesn't disturb the strange stillness, Kurt replies in a scarce half-whisper, "No, I think... I like being able to just... hear us."

Blaine lets go of Kurt's arm, brings that hand to brush a wayward curling lock of hair from Kurt's forehead. "If I do anything you don't like or don't want, you'll tell me?"

"Yes."

Okay," Blaine says and lowers his mouth to Kurt's exposed shoulder. With soft kisses, he backtracks along the route his hand took before. At Kurt's nipple, he lingers, first nuzzling, then kissing, then suckling insistently, noisily until Kurt arches up against him and cries out, his voice harsh and plaintive. Kurt's elbows tremble and give way and Blaine presses him to his back, his lips never faltering upon Kurt's skin. Instead he sucks harder, bites, brings a hand to Kurt's other nipple, pinches and tugs and twists.

Kurt knew his nipples were sensitive, but this is more than the usual brief caresses and kisses. Blaine's concentrated attention is sending a crackle of sensation, forking like electricity beneath his skin. And Kurt is panting and groaning and making inarticulate fragments of sound, tangling the fingers of one hand in Blaine's hair to hold him close, because—oh—it feels amazing. His other hand clings to his duvet. Restlessly he shifts his hips, bucking up to seek some contact with Blaine, who hovers too far above him for the effort to result in anything but air. "Blaine," Kurt says.

"Mm?" Blaine queries against Kurt's skin; his tongue laves over Kurt's tender bitten nipple to soothe. His thumb circles the other with deep bone-tingling pressure. Kurt shudders and tries to make his brain find the words.

But his brain is disinterested in language. Kurt grunts and lets go of the bedding, grabs Blaine's hand at his chest and draws it down to his groin. He summons up a "please" as he shamelessly presses Blaine's palm against the hard line of his cock.

Blaine lifts his head and asks, "Do you need to come again before I fuck you?" And Blaine sounds so calm about it, conversational, like he's asking Kurt if he wants sugar in his coffee.

Kurt replies with a very eloquent and emphatic, "Uh." He slumps down against the bed, limp; closes his eyes; and makes himself relax, breathe, think.

"Are you all right?" Blaine asks, shifting to lie close beside Kurt, his hand moving up to the tab of Kurt's zipper; he draws it down slowly. He doesn't sound at all concerned.

"You're going to fuck me," are the words Kurt's brain decides to provide him. He'd intended to say 'yes', to both questions.

"Yeah," Blaine says. His hand is wonderfully warm, sliding into Kurt's fly over his underwear to cover his erection. "If that's still what you want."

"It is," Kurt says. He opens his eyes. "And yes, I'm fine, and yes, I'd like to come before you do. Fuck me, that is."

Blaine rubs down the length of Kurt's cock with the heel of his hand, curls his fingers under Kurt's balls, nudging up a little behind them. "Okay."

"Feels so good, Blaine," Kurt mumbles and spreads his legs to invite Blaine to keep doing what he's doing, but it makes the fabric of the crotch of his pants pull too tight and has the opposite effect.

Blaine withdraws his hand. "Lets get you naked first," he says.

But Blaine doesn't move to take Kurt's pants off. Instead, he kneels up and takes Kurt's nearest arm to unfasten Kurt's cufflink. Kurt watches him, watches as Blaine works it free, feels the ticklish caress as Blaine's fingers curl around his wrist and lift Kurt's hand up to his lips. He kisses across Kurt's knuckles, and then turns Kurt's hand over to press a longer kiss to Kurt's palm. He glances at Kurt, and slides his lips to the tender inside of Kurt's wrist, pushing the sleeve up as he goes, trailing lazy, maddening kisses up Kurt's inner arm. The graze of his lips over such sensitive skin and the flicker of heat in his gaze leaves Kurt wide-eyed and panting.

Before they started having having sex, this is what they would do sometimes, if they had time for a long make-out session: map out the unexpectedly erogenous zones 'north of the equator'. It's so much more erotic now. Then, it was hot with the novelty of their young romance and the rush of exploration. But it was its own thing, its own goal. Now it's foreplay: it's promises for and memories of even more intimate kisses; it's intention and desire and permission; and by the time Blaine is licking and sucking an open-mouthed kiss into the crook of his elbow, Kurt thinks he's going to lose his mind. The dull heat in his balls is heavy and tight, and his cock aches for contact. But Kurt doesn't reach for himself with his free hand. He does think about reaching for Blaine, but that doesn't seem like playing fair somehow. "You're teasing me," he says, breathless.

Blaine releases Kurt's arm and smiles. "No, I'm taking my time with you," he says.

"Teasing," Kurt insists.

"Well," Blaine says, reaches for Kurt's other arm to undo the cuff. "I'll admit, I have wondered what it would take to make you beg."

"I said 'please' before," Kurt says.

Blaine chuckles, looks down to attend to his fingers working the cufflink free. "So polite, Kurt."

"Do you want me to beg?" Kurt asks, genuinely curious.

The cufflink comes free; Blaine sets it aside with its mate, shrugs with one shoulder. "Not necessarily," he says, tracing a secret script down Kurt's inner arm with his fingertips. It feels good. "I just want to make sure you're really fucking turned on."

"I am," Kurt says.

"That's what you think," Blaine says. And he winks. Winks.

Kurt laughs.

"So, you know," Blaine says, an amused glint in his eyes. "You can beg if you want to." He lets go of Kurt's hand.

At that Kurt does reach for Blaine, for the thigh nearest him. He slides a caress up from Blaine's knee to his groin, then across to the front of his briefs, a deliberate tease over the outline of his cock. "And if I do, will you be merciful?"

"Mm," Blaine says, his hips rocking into Kurt's touch. "That depends on your definition of mercy."

"I see," Kurt says.

Then Blaine shifts and swings one leg over Kurt to straddle his hips. He takes Kurt's wrists in his hands and lifts them up over Kurt's head as he leans down over Kurt until their faces are only inches apart and Kurt is pinioned by both Blaine's weight and the strength of his grip. Blaine's eyes search his face, come to rest in his gaze. "I don't think you do," he says, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. Kurt doesn't even know what that's supposed to mean.

Kurt grins up at him. "Do your worst," he says.

"I'm going to take your pants off now," Blaine says, and straightens without kissing Kurt.

"Thank god." Kurt leaves his arms where Blaine left them. He can slip out of his shirt easily enough later. Or not at all, if that's how it goes.

Blaine runs his hands up Kurt's thighs slowly, pressing into the velvet. "I like these pants, too," he says. And then he starts to pull the waistband down. Kurt lifts his hips.

But the pants are clingy and don't want to come off easily. Blaine has to peel them down Kurt's legs, turning them inside out as he works them down to Kurt's knees. Then Blaine pauses, his hands moving thoughtfully from the fabric of the pants back up to Kurt's bare thighs, sliding his hands around to cup behind them. "Lift up?"

Kurt does, thinking Blaine has come to some insight regarding getting the pants off, but it's not that at all.

Against the back of Kurt's thighs, Blaine turns his hands and presses his thumbs into Kurt's hamstrings, massaging his way along the thick muscles up to Kurt's knees. "What are you—?" Kurt starts, but cuts himself off when Blaine ducks his head down and kisses Kurt, low on the back of his thigh, just a few inches above the leg band of his underwear. "Oh," Kurt says. "Okay."

He doesn't get a reply, not a verbal one anyway. With one arm, Blaine maneuvers Kurt's calves to drape over his shoulder. His other hand slides down to join his mouth. Kurt can't see what Blaine is doing to him, but he can—oh, he can—feel it. Blaine's tongue is a hot, slick tease tracing along the edge of his underwear, from the middle of where the material is stretched across the taut cheek of his ass, inward and around to...

"Fuck," Kurt says as the tip of Blaine's tongue presses into his flesh, digs just under the edge of the fabric as Blaine makes his way between Kurt's legs, his forehead pressed hot to Kurt's thighs. But, hampered by his pants around his knees, Kurt can't spread his legs far, so Blaine can't quite reach his balls. He's so close, but not quite there. The slip of tongue on the tender inner base of his buttock is enough. Blaine fingers chase the cooling trail of his tongue, curl into the band and pull it away and down, letting Blaine kiss and lick at tender places Kurt has never been kissed.

Blaine licks lightly, rhythmically, reaching for but not meeting where Kurt's desire burns most fiercely. Which just makes him want it more. Blaine's tongue skims farther back, a flash of wet heat so near the rim of his anus, but not quite. The muscle twitches; Kurt feels his pulse there, too. His desire resolves into a more specific hunger.

"Oh god," Kurt moans and it comes out so ragged and reedy, he doesn't even recognize his own voice. He tangles his hands in his own hair and closes his eyes. "Blaine..." He lifts his legs back, pulling his knees up to his chest, has to release the grip of one hand to hold them up with his arm, tries to encourage Blaine to do more. Blaine shifts, says nothing. His thumbs run up under Kurt's underwear between his legs, along his perineum, brushing up behind his balls, kneading at the inside crease of Kurt's thighs. "Blaine..." Kurt whispers miserably. He's so fucking hot, he's incandescent; it's baking his brain. He can't think. Can't speak. Can't do anything but ache and want and utter an endless stream of needy little sighs, moans, and whimpers.

And then Blaine thumbs are reversing, coming back to his buttocks, spreading them apart beneath Kurt briefs, making the fabric contract and pull snug into his cleft, and just that, the thin modal coming into contact with his skin where he's so desperate to feel any sort of touch. Kurt's hips shift restlessly, writhing and seeking. "Please," Kurt breathes out. His chest heaves, his heart pounds, he's going slippery with sweat and crazy with the agony of too much want and not enough satisfaction.

It would be easy to just tell Blaine what to do, what he wants: to demand it. Kurt knows that Blaine would do anything if Kurt asked him for it directly. But that's not what they're doing right now. Now is about Kurt letting go. So Kurt doesn't ask or tell or demand. He relaxes the useless tension in his muscles, takes a deep breath, and decides to accept what he's being given. Which is a level of arousal he didn't know was possible. For all that he's seen Blaine desperate for it, begging and pleading, he didn't know it was quite like this. "Blaine," Kurt says more gently with a heavy exhale.

This time, Blaine answers him. "Kurt," he says. He lets go of Kurt's backside, reaches for his legs to straighten them and get Kurt's pants the rest of the way off. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart."

Kurt lies there, letting his acute arousal diffuse through his body, lambent and warm. It's no less demanding, but it's more comfortable somehow, to surrender to it rather than strain against it. It's not how the things in his life usually work. He's so used to fighting for it—whatever it may be. But he doesn't have to fight for this. This is freely given: a gift.

So what does he need? There are many things he could name. Blaine's mouth on him, on his cock or his balls or rimming him, Blaine's fingers around him or inside him. Blaine's body pressed naked against him. Blaine's cock inside him—or his inside Blaine. He could ask for any of these things—or for all of them, but Kurt realizes he doesn't need them. Wants, them, yes, so much. But it doesn't matter if Blaine fucks him now or if he never does. It's good. He's good. All he needs is Blaine, however Blaine wishes to share himself.

Kurt opens his eyes. Reaches down to Blaine just as Blaine tosses Kurt's pants to the floor behind him and he comes back up Kurt's body. Blaine takes his hand, interlaces their fingers, and Kurt says, "Just you."

"I'm yours," Blaine says, and it's like déjà vu, an echo of their night together in the hotel.

But Kurt goes off script. He reaches up to cup Blaine's face with his free hand. "Show me," he says, and Blaine lowers his head to kiss him.

Pressed together, fingers entwined, they kiss for a long time, deep and slow.

Wonderful as it is, it's not enough for either of them. Eventually Blaine withdraws from a long, last kiss and moves away to get the lube and condoms from the nightstand. He strips off his underwear, pulls Kurt's down his legs and off, and comes back onto the bed with him, naked and flushed, and so gorgeous and sexy. Between Blaine's legs, his cock is proud and magnificent. It's everything Kurt wants. When Blaine pushes at his thighs, Kurt's opens his legs wide as he can, bending his knees, feet flat on the bed.

Between Kurt's spread legs Blaine kneels and squeezes some lube into his palm. The teasing is over, Kurt hopes. Blaine wraps his hand snug around the root of Kurt's cock and gives a long, wonderful pull up. Kurt doesn't hold back; his moan is loud, relieved and grateful. Then Blaine's hand comes down with just the right, tight pressure down the shaft, his thumb firm all the way down the underside, then coming back up and loosening over the crown with a clever swipe of his thumb against the frenulum and a pinch and little slick circle right over the very tip. And then reversing back down again. It's not fast, but it is quickly shaping up to be the best handjob Kurt's ever received, by either of their hands. It's more than enough to get Kurt off—and soon. He bites his lip and pushes up into the even stroke of Blaine's fist. Stares at the slide of his slick, flushed length passing through Blaine's fingers. It's hot. So hot. But he does want something more than this.

"Would you...oh, that's good... kiss me somewhere, please, Blaine?" Kurt asks.

Blaine looks up from the work of his hand upon Kurt's cock. "Where?" he asks.

"Would you, please—" and Kurt breaks off, his tongue and lips fumbling the next word. Despite his recent epiphany, saying it is still not a simple thing. He says it anyway. "Rim me."

Blaine trails the fingers of his other hand down over Kurt's balls, curls them up behind and then straightens and rubs down, edging back farther and Kurt's trying to spread his legs wider and lifting his hips higher up off the bed, fucking up into Blaine's hand while urging Blaine's touch just a little farther back. When Blaine reaches his anus he pauses, and Kurt ceases the rocking of his hips. Blaine's other hand stills too, squeezing around the base of his cock. The pad of Blaine's finger presses flat against the tense, closed ring of muscle, firmly enough to incite the the little aching pressure Kurt's been craving. "You want me to kiss you here?" Blaine asks.

"Yes," Kurt says, sighs. "There. Please."

Blaine smiles and gives Kurt's cock one last stroke before he lowers his head and uses his hands to urge Kurt's legs up and back. Messily, he sucks at Kurt's balls, but doesn't linger. Kurt curls his spine up so Blaine can lick back farther, his hands moving to hold Kurt's buttocks apart, tongue flickering down and deliriously down and its tip is just reaching Kurt's rim, and Kurt is groaning and reaching down for a fistful of Blaine's hair because that little hot slip of tongue is an enormous, thrilling, incredible thing. But then Blaine is pulling away and letting go of Kurt and saying, "Can you turn over for me, please, Kurt?"

Kurt nods, says, "Yes," and, with Blaine's hands guiding him, he rolls over—sits up long enough for Blaine to drag his shirt down his shoulders and off—and then drops forward to his hands and knees. Blaine's hands slide up his bare thighs, pass over his ass, and pause there upon his buttocks, pressing them gently apart, exposing him to Blaine's view and intentions. Kurt doesn't know why, but he does feel more exposed this way than he did lying on his back.

"Are you comfortable like this?" Blaine asks.

Kurt lifts his head, looks across to the scarf-draped mirror above his dresser. The angle is imperfect: he can only see a slice of himself, pale-limbed and naked, in such a sexually suggestive and receptive pose. His blush paints his shoulders and back blotchy shades of red nearly everywhere he can see; his eyes slip past meeting his own gaze, for his attention is drawn behind himself, to what he can see of Blaine (just the edge of him, up to mid chest), kneeling naked behind him, his tawny skin glowing warm with arousal. They look pornographic. He feels like a voyeur.

He likes it. A lot. "Yes," Kurt says to answer Blaine's question. "I'm comfortable. It feels really... sexy like this."

"It is really sexy," Blaine says. "I like it too." He slides his hands up over Kurt's backside, up to his waist, kneading a gentle massage, and leaning down to kiss his way from the dip of Kurt's lower back up his spine, one vertebra at a time. Lingering at each as his hands inscribe abstractions across Kurt's skin. Kurt drops his head and pants, open-mouthed, for enough air to clear his head.

It's not just heat Blaine wakes within him, not just a dark smoldering arousal from the depths of his body. It's light, too. Kurt's skin feels too tight with it, he's brimming up, effulgent within this opaque unbroken membrane of himself. And Kurt imagines tiny invisible hairline fissures chase the paths of Blaine's lips and fingers, and the blinding light of a star is about to shine out from under his skin everywhere Blaine is cracking him open.

Then Blaine reaches his upper back and lifts his mouth from Kurt's skin. He presses a hand between Kurt's shoulder blades, urging him down to his elbows and chest, keeping his ass high as Kurt's thighs splay out. "Perfect," Blaine says, and his hands run back down to Kurt's buttocks, squeezing and spreading and holding him open. "Kurt—" Blaine says urgently, as if starting a sentence. But he cuts himself off, leaving whatever it was going to be unsaid.

"Kiss me," Kurt whispers; he leans his head on his forearms, turned to the side so he can breathe; He closes his eyes.

And Blaine's mouth is on him, a dizzying hot drizzle of sensation down Kurt's cleft to his hole to kiss him with fervid lips and an eager tongue, to take a lingering long taste of him.

"Oh...god..." Kurt says, it comes out so broken and needy. His skull feels too small, his lungs too full, his skin too thin, and tears spring sharp behind his eyes. He can't contain the wretched sounding sobs and whimpers escaping his mouth, the tormented groans dredged up from the deepest parts of him.

For Blaine is not teasing. His mouth is fucking voracious, plying Kurt open; his fingers dig into Kurt's flesh.

It should be impossible to feel this much. Surely his body should shatter. But it doesn't; he doesn't. Kurt takes it, all of it, and lets it take him down. He could live and die within this sensation. And maybe he does. His awareness melts into a timeless, deranged blur.

When Blaine's tongue pierces him, Kurt shudders down to his bones and nearly comes right then, but it's not quite enough. He's suspended in euphoric agony, right on the verge as Blaine works him over with his tongue. When Blaine, mercifully, gives Kurt one lube-slick hand, makes a loose fist over Kurt's cockhead and frees his mouth long enough to tell Kurt, "Fuck my hand, sweetheart." Kurt comes embarrassingly quickly.

Kurt collapses, falling from Blaine's hold, gasping. His head is full of static; his body buzzes with so much sensation, he feels like he's about to dissolve or sublimate or lose his physical coherency in some other improbable manner. Kurt closes his eyes and waits for the room to stop wheeling about him.

Blaine is there, near him, beside him, hard against Kurt's hip and patient, touching him, talking to him softly, stroking his hair and down his back and over the curve of his ass, telling him he's amazing and sexy and really, so very sensitive, and wow, is that ever hot, Kurt, Jesus. And Blaine loved doing that for him so much, he's wanted to for so long, and he loves Kurt so much, and he really wants to fuck him soon, because Kurt's ass is kind of amazing and Kurt is amazing and he's going to make it so, so good for Kurt and...

Kurt feels like he should say something, but he can't dredge up anything like words to his lips. He settles for opening his eyes to smile at Blaine and look into his soft gaze. He reaches to brush trembling, wondering fingertips over Blaine's chest, shoulders, neck, and face. Somehow, Blaine seems to understand, just talks and touches and waits for Kurt to come all the way back to him.

Eventually the fallout haze of his orgasm recedes, and, due to the erotic magic of Blaine's caresses, Kurt is hard again (Or still? Kurt lost track), trapped between his belly and the bed. And already wanting more. "Blaine," he says.

"Do you need anything? Water?" Blaine asks him.

Kurt shakes his head. He says, "No," then he says, "I love you, too." He rolls back to his side and pulls Blaine in to kiss, soft and shallow, just lips and breath. Blaine hums and presses his mouth more firmly to Kurt's. Smiling against Blaine's lips, Kurt slides a hand down to Blaine's hip and reaches for his cock, curls his fingers around and holds it. The feel of it in his hand, the heavy weight, the solid girth of it, it's what will soon be filling him up. With a loose fist, he strokes Blaine's cock to make Blaine's hum rumble deeper into his chest. When Blaine pulls back from the kiss, his hooded gaze searches Kurt's, and Kurt says, "You can fuck me now, honey."

"Okay," Blaine says, and rolls away to reach for the lube.

Kurt can't help it. "Just okay?" he teases.

Blaine laughs, comes back, half-sitting and propped on one arm. "How do you want to—?"

"Like this," Kurt says, and rolls back to his belly. The wet spot beneath him is negligible; Blaine must have caught most of his semen in his hand.

"I mean, do you want me to prep you, or did you want to?"

"You can," Kurt says. "I want you to."

"All right," Blaine says, kneeling up and shuffling down to kneel between Kurt's legs. "You should still be fairly relaxed after..." he says, half to himself it seems. Kurt just hums affirmatively and parts his thighs.

Blaine holds him with his dry hand, brings two fingers to Kurt's hole, gently probing and circling without penetrating. Kurt lets out a breath, and folds his arms to pillow his head. In the mirror, he watches Blaine, how intent he is on what he's doing, how serious.

"Yeah, you feel pretty good," Blaine says and pushes with a fingertip against the center where Kurt can open for him.

It gives with little resistance, and Kurt bites down on his pleasured sigh; the slide in is so fantastic. "It feels amazing, Blaine," he says. He's getting goosebumps already; his eyelids shiver closed. "Can't believe it took me so long..."

"Hey," Blaine says gently. Pushing deeper, pulling out, then back in, working up an easy cadence to get lost in. And Kurt would let himself get lost in it, if this were all they were doing.

"I really love it," Kurt confesses. "What you're doing, and... what you did, with your mouth. That was, ah... just really good." It's a hot thrill to say the words, knowing what they mean. Knowing Blaine knows.

"Yeah," Blaine says, and Kurt can hear his smile, doesn't need to open his eyes. "I could tell."

"I hope you love it, too."

"Of course I do, Kurt. God, I love everything you do with my ass." Blaine eases his finger out, then dips in with two. The extra stretch is electric, flowing swift through Kurt's body, prickling over his skin.

"Mmm, no," Kurt mumbles. "I mean," he says, rapidly growing breathless and hot, "I hope... you love... fucking me."

"Oh, yeah," Blaine says. "Don't think you should worry about that." Blaine twists his hand, screwing his fingers in deeper with each thrust.

Kurt swears. "Blaine... god."

"Okay?"

"I'm ready. Just... fuck. I'm ready."

"Okay," Blaine is saying as he eases his fingers from the grip of Kurt's ass, "okay." Kurt is aware Blaine is grabbing for the condoms and the lube again, putting a condom on, slicking himself up, and then he's pushing his fingers back into into Kurt, abrupt, wet with more lube, and the stretch is so good, a preview.

Everywhere, Kurt's aching and acute and alive. Kurt pushes back as Blaine pushes in. His nerves are singing; Kurt makes an inarticulate noise.

"Are you sure?" Blaine asks. "I can keep doing this until—"

"Yes," Kurt says, "Do it, please."

"Okay," Blaine says and his hand comes free, leaving Kurt bereft, clenching around nothing. "Okay," Blaine says again, starting to sound nervous—and also really turned on and maybe a little impatient. Kurt can relate; he remembers. Then Blaine's hands are on Kurt's hips, one slipping as he pulls at Kurt, urging him up. "Kurt, can you... come up and back for me?"

Kurt's confused, tries to coordinate his limbs to obey the impulse of Blaine's hands, tries to get his knees stable beneath him. "What?"

"Here," Blaine says, moves his hands. With one hand on Kurt's shoulder and a strong arm around Kurt's chest, he pulls Kurt upright until his lips mash against the top of Kurt's spine, and his lubed and latexed cock bumps slippery at Kurt's tailbone. He's kneeling behind Kurt. "Like this. Can you? Just at first? So you can control how much how fast?"

"Oh," Kurt says, lifts himself up a little more, skates his knees out, and reaches back to find Blaine, to guide his cockhead down to where Kurt wants him. "Okay," he says, poised on the brink of it, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Kurt."

Kurt closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, holds it, and pushes back and down. And just like that, his body opens, an impossible stretch of him around Blaine's unyielding flesh.

Blaine makes a strange, stunned sound and says Kurt's name. Upon Kurt, his hands are both gentle and firm, as if Kurt is some precious fragile thing—like a small bird or a delicate ornament—that Blaine must at once hold tight to keep safe, but not so tight as to break. Blaine's fingers flex like they're begging. And Kurt lets himself sink in small increments, lets gravity take him down slowly, slowly, slowly as his body surrenders, and he gives Blaine unfathomably more.

Though he knows better, and Blaine has prepared him well, Kurt finds that he expects it to hurt; but there's no pain at all. But it is intense, a bright splitting open of his fundament that's lancing up his spine with each small movement. "Blaine," Kurt whispers to name the sensation filling him up. Filling him up where he didn't even know he'd been so empty.

"Right here," Blaine says breathlessly against his neck. "I'm with you."

"You are." Kurt covers Blaine's hands with his own, tips his head to the side and back to invite Blaine's mouth.

"Just... you can move whenever." Blaine presses his lips behind Kurt's ear. "Whenever you're ready, okay?"

"Yeah," Kurt says. "Okay."

"Sweetheart," Blaine says, his mouth sliding down Kurt's neck, along toward Kurt's shoulder. "Kurt, god, you feel so good, all around me. So hot."

"It is good."

But moving doesn't seem possible. The aching wide stretch of him around Blaine, the heavy pressure of Blaine's cock embedded so profoundly in his bowels, has him feeling fastened, locked immobile. Like if he moves he will actually break open. But he wants to move, because he wants to feel more of it. His thighs tremble as he tries lifting himself up, feels the thick slide so, so deep and good and everywhere, from the cascade of friction in his ass to the tingle across his scalp. Blaine moans against his shoulder, infusing his muscles and bones with the vibration of it.

Kurt asks, "Is this... oh. Is this how it feels... for you?" A violent shiver wracks his whole body as he comes back down, his knees buckle (which is okay, since he's kneeling already), and his body clamps around Blaine's cock; Blaine gasps, open-mouthed against him. Then he bites down, a sharp pinch of teeth. Kurt shivers, and he doesn't move again immediately, just holds himself still, closes his eyes and feels.

"Kurt... god," Blaine mumbles. Against his back, Blaine's heartbeat drums hard, filling in the quiet spaces between his own. Inside him that same throb is muted, but no less distinct. "I don't know," Blaine says sluggish, as if drunk, and he kisses Kurt's skin, soothing over the careless bite. He asks, "What does it feel like to you?"

Thinks, takes inventory of himself. "Full, but like... it's too much and not enough at the same time."

"Yeah," Blaine says, then, "It's... like that for me, too."

He tries again, lifting up, dragging another moan from Blaine and a whimper from himself. But his knees buckle again on the way down, leaving him craving more of the tempting friction, but bizarrely weak and uncoordinated and unsure how to attain it. His body doesn't understand this dance yet. "Blaine," he says. "I'm not sure how... I need you to..."

"Okay," Blaine says. His hands move to Kurt's shoulders, pushing him forward as Blaine rises up behind him. Kurt gasps, the shifting pressure of Blaine's cock feels like its tugging at his sacrum, bodily lifting him, forcing his ass up as he falls forward to his hands.

On his back, Blaine's hands slide from his shoulders to splay across his ribcage, his fingers pressing close. Holding still for one long second.

Then Blaine starts to fuck him: a long pull out that drags a brutal pleasure from Kurt's nerve endings, makes his hands clench, his spine bow, and his mouth fall open around a helpless moan. And back in, a slow driving push that Kurt nearly gags on as the force of it rocks him forward. His elbows buckle.

The rush of blood thunders in Kurt's ears, whiting out his greater awareness, collapsing his existence down to this singularity: the irresistible ebb and flow of Blaine moving inside him. He knows Blaine is talking to him, breathless words of praise and love, and other less articulate things, sounds that aren't words at all. Blaine's arms are coming strong around his waist, Blaine is warm and kinetic, sweating, slipping against his back, kissing across his skin, making it hum; and Blaine's cock is fucking him steady as a metronome. Hypnotic.

The strength is melting out of Kurt as the heat pools and swells within him. His spine droops into the hold of Blaine's arms, and Kurt feels his legs giving out, splaying and skating wide. He's sinking as his body loosens, yielding so completely, he's so open, so full, so taken. "Blaine," he mumbles.

"More?" Blaine is asking him, his breath humid on Kurt's skin.

Kurt lifts his head and blinks, his gaze bleary. Blaine is braced on one arm, the other still holds Kurt firmly around his middle, pulling him up into every thrust Blaine makes. "Yeah," Kurt say, finding some reserve of vitality to push back from his elbows and flex his spine, meeting Blaine's next stroke. "Fuck me," he says.

"You're so fucking hot," Blaine says, "like this." He speeds up, adding a sharp snap of his hips.

"Oooh," Kurt moans, the shock of the extra force and speed is a delicious surge.

"Can you come?" Blaine asks.

"Feels so good," Kurt says, though it's not an answer. He's not sure. Part of him doesn't care. This is so good. He could stay like this forever, he thinks.

"Kurt," Blaine pants. "I'm going to... come soon. Want you with me."

"Mmm," Kurt says. "I'll try," he says.

"Touch your cock," Blaine says.

Kurt shifts, freeing one arm and reaching back to find his cock, blood heavy between his legs but nearly forgotten. Kurt closes his hand around it, and "Oh," he says. Remembers how this works. He pumps his fist over the shaft, over the head, feels the red hot ribbons of sensation binding the friction and pressure in his ass together with the pull of his hand on his cock. It's enough. he's going to...

"Oh," Blaine echoes; his thrusts falter out of rhythm, going shallow but fierce. His arm tightens around Kurt's waist, holding him snug against Blaine's hard stuttering hips. "Kurt," he whispers.

He feels Blaine come, like a heavy pulse deep inside. Or maybe it's just his own climax starting to crest.

~

After, Blaine doesn't withdraw immediately; he drapes, heavy and boneless, over Kurt's back. They lie together and breathe for some span of time Kurt doesn't measure.

Blaine stirs first, lifting up and bending to place light kisses upon Kurt's temple, his hair, his blood hot cheek, his pliant parted lips. Kurt hums and stretches and opens his eyes. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," Blaine replies, soft smile. He moves away then, slipping out of Kurt, leaving Kurt oddly desolate and chilled, but too wrung out to do anything about it. The remnants of their lovemaking still glimmer within him. Blaine kisses his back, says, "I'll be right back."

Kurt drifts, untethered and easy.

Then Blaine is back with a warm, damp cloth, wiping gently over Kurt's backside and thighs, carefully cleaning up the lube and sweat, mindful of his tender, swollen anus. Then patting him dry with a fluffy towel and asking Kurt, "Turn over, sweetheart."

Kurt rolls away from the wet mess beneath him, is glad—perhaps for the first time—that his cover is a (relatively) cheap, machine washable polyester blend and not some finer thing.

"How do you feel?" Blaine asks him, scrubbing lightly at the semen upon Kurt's belly.

"Mmm," Kurt says, smiles.

Blaine grins, drops the cloth and gets the dry towel, rubbing over Kurt's still sensitive skin. "Yeah, me too."

~*~

Downstairs, Kurt preheats the oven to heat Blaine's lasagne. They're both hungry, and the afternoon passed into early evening so quickly while they were lost in their shared bliss. Kurt goes to the kitchen sink and looks out the window, at the neat, new garden bed. It's hard to believe that was his morning. The pale sky is clouding over, bringing an early dusk. Kurt wonders if it will rain overnight. The lid of the washing machine slams down, and he hears Blaine turn the dial, the rush of water. The lunch dishes are still on the dining room table. Kurt's not particularly bothered by it just yet.

There's no restraining his smile as Blaine comes back into the kitchen and Kurt turns to face him. "Thanks," Kurt says.

"You're welcome," Blaine says, moving into Kurt's space to pull him into an embrace. Kurt rests his head on Blaine's shoulder, rubs his back. Kurt expected to feel different after. And he supposes maybe he does (he can feel it in his body, at least, not exactly sore, but there), but not in the way he expected. He feels, mostly, just calm, pleasantly wrung out, and easy in his skin. He doesn't know if it will last, or if it's just happy brain chemicals and a drawn out afterglow.

It doesn't matter. He squeezes Blaine and loosens his hold, letting Blaine step back. He looks down as Blaine joins their hands. They've haven't talked much since they came downstairs. Kurt, honestly, doesn't even know what to say. There's things like "I love you" and "Thank you" and those sort of sentiments, but they are not more true now than they were before. Perhaps they are simply more deeply felt, more tender.

Kurt raises his gaze to meet Blaine's. "Happy anniversary, Blaine," he says.

"Happy anniversary, Kurt," Blaine replies.

There's the unmistakable splat of a fat drop of rain against the window behind him. And another.

At any other time, Kurt would, perhaps, let his mind go to a fantasy of the future together. Imagine he and Blaine in their own home, in their own kitchen. The increasing tempo of the rain upon their roof, their washing machine chugging along in the backdrop, their dishes neglected upon the table. But he doesn't.

This moment, their immediate present, is perfect. There's no dreamed of future with which he would replace it. He knows, from the past year, that there will still be days that are hard, times that are ugly. They are still ahead, lurking unknown. But there will also be good days and beautiful moments. Moments like this one. And all of them—the good and the bad, triumph or trial—he hopes to share with Blaine.

The oven light goes out with a click, and they move apart, Blaine to the fridge to get the lasagne, Kurt to the dining room to clear the table. "Do you want to watch a movie after dinner?" he asks. He'll light the fire to chase away the chill of the Spring evening and the dolorous atmosphere of the rain. They can snuggle on the sofa with a blanket and mugs of hot tea. And after, they can go back to bed together. Kurt will make pancakes in the morning.

Blaine says, "Sure."

It'll be perfect.

there will be an epilogue in Chapter 20