Kurt's phone buzzes quietly in his pocket, but he doesn't reach for it immediately. It's most likely Blaine letting him know he's got home safely.

"So what do you think?" his Dad asks from the head of the dining table, where's he's got notepads and newspapers strewn in front of him.

Kurt chews on the inside of his cheek and skims over the final paragraph on his laptop screen one more time. "It's really good, I like it," he says. "It needs a little—" He gestures vaguely as he looks for the most tactful word choice. "Polish, but the structure is good. It's heartfelt—your strength—covers the issues, and hits the right notes."

His Dad visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping a little in relief. He's been working on his new stump speech the past few nights alone since Kurt's been doing the play. Tonight is the first time they've been able to sit down and look over it together. With the election less than two weeks away, it's all coming down to this final sprint. Poll numbers are looking promising, but it's hardly theirs to lose.

"I'll go through it again before I go to bed," Kurt says as he pokes 'home' on his keyboard. "And do some more extensive edits for you tomorrow." Kurt pulls his phone out and checks his messages.

From Blaine: "Back home & missing you already. I don't know what to do with myself. Homework? Do I even remember how? Call me later?"

Kurt smiles at his phone, and he's glad he at least has his Dad's campaign to occupy his brain. This is the first evening of no West Side Story and the first afternoon Kurt hasn't hung out with Blaine after school for weeks. He's feeling a little empty even with the campaign to organize. But he does have homework to catch up on, too. And his own campaign, which he is absolutely not thinking about right now.

"That'd be great, Kurt, thank you," his Dad says.

"Sure, Dad. I'm sorry I haven't been able to help you that much this week," Kurt says, then, "Excuse me a sec." He types a reply to Blaine.

To Blaine: "I miss you too. I'll call after dinner. We're kinda busy right now with campaign stuff."

"Don't worry about it. Your plate's been full too," his Dad says.

"Speaking of plates," Kurt says as he spies Finn coming over to the table with a platter full of hot panini sandwiches and a stack of plates and napkins. The scent of hot bread and fresh basil makes his stomach grumble. "Is that dinner?"

"Yep. Mom's bringing the drinks," Finn says distributing the plates as Kurt closes his laptop and sets it on the floor to lean against the leg of his chair. His Dad pushes the newspapers, notebooks, and pens toward one of the spots only guests use. "How's it going?" Finn asks.

"The speech is looking good, so next on the agenda is social media," Kurt says, reaching for a sandwich. "Dad needs to use Twitter more. He hasn't tweeted in nearly a week."

His Dad rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, but Kurt silences his now common protest regarding the difficulties of updating from his phone with a sharp look and a warning, "Dad."

Finn sits down next to Kurt and says, "He's right, Burt. Everything happens on Twitter first. Or at least that's where you hear about it first, which, according to Kurt, in politics is the same thing as happening."

Kurt smiles at Finn as he realizes Finn hasn't been tuning him out as much as he thought he had been. "Twitter lets you be agile," Kurt says, "And responsive."

"And", Carole says as she exits the kitchen with a stack of glasses tucked under her elbow, a pitcher of decaf iced green tea in one hand, and a pitcher of orange juice in the other, "It helps you appeal to the youth vote."

His Dad chuckles.

"See, someone's been listening, Dad. Just not you." Kurt beams up at Carole as she pours him a glass of juice.

"Fine, Kurt. I'll do better updating the Twitter thing."

"Just remember to text me first, if I'm not there, so I can edit for you." He pokes a finger toward his Dad. "And no text speak, it's vulgar."

It's a working dinner, hashing out little details, assigning jobs, and refining to do lists for the next twelve days. Finn will be covering the mail, phones, and the tire shop (essentially the campaign office). Carole is organizing and coordinating volunteers; Kurt will be drafting press releases, reviewing communications, and scheduling interviews with local media outlets; and Mr. Schuester will be doing what he has been doing: looking important while accompanying his Dad to events and engagements, wrangling people and venues, and overseeing the shooting of the new campaign ad. Kurt sends him a text to confirm.

Dessert is the non-fat vegan carrot cake Kurt made this morning. The icing turned out well. He'll ask Finn to relay his thanks to Rachel for the recipe. Which reminds him (though he tries not to be reminded) he does have his own speech to write for Monday. Kurt can feel the energy boost from helping his Dad begin to ebb. Brittany is so far ahead of him in the polls now, he has no idea how to regain the ground he's lost. He can't fathom it: he has style and substance. At least he's polling ahead of Rick "the Stick".

Still, he thinks about all the empty space on his NYADA application. Kurt crumples his napkin and tosses it onto his plate. "May I be excused, please?" he asks.

"Sure, honey," Carole says.

His phone vibrates tersely in his pocket as he gathers up the dirty dishes and heads for the kitchen. He sets the dishes on the counter and pulls out his phone. It's another text.

From Blaine: "Math homework is tedious. But good news. My parents just told me they're out tomorrow to a benefit dinner in Cincinnati overnight. Do you want to come over? Stay the night?"

The unexpected proposition makes Kurt bite his lip to stop the happy squeak welling up in his throat. He reads the text twice and feels the zing right down to his toes. It's followed immediately by a plummeting hopelessness. His Dad will never go for it, not if Blaine's parents are out. He'll want to talk to Blaine's parents to confirm supervision if Kurt doesn't tell him, and Kurt can't understand it because he's never done anything to justify his Dad's paranoia.

To Blaine: "Of course I want to, but I don't know if I can. I'll have to ask."

From Blaine: "Let me know. :)"

"Hey," Finn says, coming into the kitchen with the rest of the plates. "Mom told me to help you with the dishes."

Kurt tucks his phone away. "Wash or dry?" he asks Finn.

"Dry," Finn says, as he always does. Kurt retrieves his gloves from under the sink and runs the water until it's hot while Finn puts everything dishwasher safe in the dishwasher.

There aren't many dishes: glasses, the panini pan and press, chopping board, and knives. Kurt glances to the dining room and sees no one. He can hear the television, so it'll be safe for him to have a discreet conversation with Finn.

"So Blaine told me about you and Rachel," Kurt says. No sense being coy about it.

"What?" Finn sets the glass he's drying back on the counter.

"Rachel told Blaine, Blaine told me. You two have become intimate."

"Wow, I didn't think she'd tell anyone. I mean, not like that or so soon," Finn says, and then his eyes narrow. "Wait, she told Blaine?"

Kurt sighs. He's not wholly sure what's been driving Finn's persistent hostility toward Blaine, but it's not something he wants to get into. He has to live with Finn. "He was her Tony, Finn, and it's Rachel. You know she was going to tell someone as soon as she had someone sitting still long enough to listen."

"Well, yeah, but, dude, that stuff is private." Finn's turning red, and Kurt knows there's definitely more to it with Finn and Blaine.

"I know," Kurt says, "and I promise you, I am not gossiping or working up to blackmail threats. I won't tell anyone."

"Then what's this about?"

Kurt glances over his shoulder again, just in case. "Blaine and I— Let's just say, we've been enjoying our time alone together too."

"Oh," Finn says and studies Kurt like he should be able to see it somehow. "Really?" Then he grins and slaps Kurt on the back. "Good for you, dude, that's awesome!"

"Yes, Finn, which isn't important except that I understand both of us would like to have more private time with our partners and we, unfortunately, live with my Dad and his curfews and open door policies and general overprotective parenting."

"Yeah, that's true enough. Do you need me to cover for you and Blaine or something?"

"No, it's not that," Kurt says, and he doesn't mention that Carole already kind of is, because Finn doesn't need to know that. "I don't want to have to lie or sneak around, even though sometimes, with my Dad, I know it's easier to beg forgiveness." Kurt pauses and dunks the chopping board in the sink. "I wanted to give you a heads up that I'll be having a conversation with my Dad tonight that may become heated or awkward, and it may affect how easily you and Rachel are able to get time alone together too."

"You're going to tell him?"

"Yes. Just about me and Blaine, " Kurt says. "Unless it goes abominably, I'll do my best to negotiate any new rules to be as accommodating as possible."

"Dude, you're a braver man than me."

"I'm optimistic," Kurt says lightly, even though he is still convincing himself.

"Well, good luck," Finn says and gives him a lopsided smile and squeezes his shoulder.

After they've finished with the dishes, Finn wishes him good luck once more and heads upstairs to play Halo. Kurt goes to the family room where his Dad is alone watching television.

"Dad?" Kurt asks from the archway.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Am I interrupting?"

"Nah, what's up?"

"Blaine has invited me to sleep over tomorrow night."

"Oh." his Dad straightens in his chair and mutes the television. He takes a breath before replying with a question, "So how would that go?"

"I imagine, being Friday..." Kurt smiles as he twists his fingers together and rocks forward onto his toes. "We'll make cookies and popcorn, watch some DVD's, stay up past our bedtimes—"

"Braid each others hair and talk about boys? Come on, Kurt, you know that's not what I'm asking. What would the sleeping arrangements be?"

It was worth a try. Kurt squares his shoulders and sobers. "Well, if you must know, I would be sleeping in Blaine's bed. With Blaine."

"I see. And are Blaine's parents going to be home?"

It takes more will than Kurt expects not to break eye-contact. "No, they're overnight in Cincinnati."

"And that's why you want to go."

Kurt glances down as he nods. "It's part of the reason, yes."

His Dad sighs. "Kurt, you know my rules about parents being there and you sleeping in the same bed with a boy who—."

"Might be gay, yes, I remember. But, Dad, whatever it is you think those rules are keeping me safe from? They're not. Blaine and I, we..." He can't get the words out in any sensible ordering: are in love, are serious, are mature enough, are having sex, need more privacy, know what we're doing.

"You're sleeping together now? Well, maybe not sleeping. But you're not making cookies, either, I'm guessing."

"Yes, Dad," Kurt says, and he forces out the next words to be clear, his voice a little hazy and high "We're having sex."

Something in his Dad's face changes, it's a strange combination of sadness and tenderness, loss and pride all at once. "Well, okay," he says, sounding uncertain.

"Is that an 'okay, I can sleep over at Blaine's tomorrow night' okay?"

"No, Kurt. I need a minute. Can you sit down, please?"

Kurt moves into the room and sits on the edge of one of the armchairs, back straight, hands on his knees to keep himself from fidgeting. He keeps his face relaxed and calm, though his pulse is rapid in his throat.

"So, how long's this been going on?"

Kurt keeps his voice light, like it's no big deal. "About a week."

His Dad is nodding, "You guys were doing this while we were canvasing last week? Having sleep overs?" His Dad purses his lips. "I trusted you, Kurt."

"I haven't done anything wrong," Kurt says, willing his spine to be titanium. "Yes, we spent a lot of time together, but every night, I came home and I slept in my own bed. Alone."

"Kurt—"

"Dad, did you really expect me to ask your permission to have sex with my boyfriend for the first time?"

"No, but you could have—

"I thought that you trusted me meant the decision was mine to make when I was ready, and Blaine and I were ready. The reason I'm telling you now is because of the trust and respect I believed you had for me. But if that's not the case—"

"Kurt!"

"Sorry."

"Now, don't go putting words in my mouth. I just hoped you would've talked to me first."

"Yeah, because that wouldn't have been awkward at all," Kurt says.

"Hey, don't be like that. You know how much I like Blaine." His Dad huffs a deep sigh. "Hell, Kurt, I've been hoping it would be him for you."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"So... You're not mad?"

His Dad grimaces. "No, I'm not mad. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. And I thought you'd maybe talk to me first. Mostly, I don't like that you took advantage of me and Carole being away most of the week."

"Dad, we've been dating since last Spring."

His Dad nods and looks away.

"It wasn't because you guys were away. Everything just happened when it happened. I'm sorry if I disappointed you. "

"Hey, no, Kurt. You surprised me more than anything. Yeah, I wish you'd gone about things differently, but I'm not disappointed that you and Blaine, you know."

"Okay," Kurt says and presses his palms together between his knees. The silence stretches out uncomfortably, but it doesn't feel like his Dad is done. "So, may I please sleep over with Blaine tomorrow night?"

"Not this Friday, Kurt."

"Why not?"

"Because you kept it a secret. I knew something was up Saturday, but I couldn't figure it out. Were you guys sneaking around while we slept? When you knew I wouldn't approve?"

"No! Dad. I mean, we ended up kissing when Blaine borrowed a book, but we didn—"

"Because Carole checked in on you."

"Dad. There wasn't a good time to tell you then, but I'm telling you now."

"Okay, then I'll tell you what. You can go to Blaine's tomorrow after dinner, but I want you home by eleven, like always. Or, " his Dad says, and he's using his 'there'll be no arguments, young man' tone. "Blaine can come over here and sleep over."

"In the guest room?" Kurt asks. Wonderful.

"He can stay in your room with you, if you want to. Same rules as when your girlfriends stay, Kurt, keep the noise down."

"Oh. Okay," Kurt says, blinking too rapidly in a bizarre combination of relief, astonishment, and embarrassment. He finds the fortitude to smile as he stands up. "Thank you, Dad. I'll, uh, talk to Blaine and let you know what we're doing."

Kurt turns to leave the family room.

"One more thing, buddy."

"Yes?"

"Whatever you guys are doing, you're being safe and respecting each other, right?"

"Yes, Dad. Of course we are."

"And you're enjoying yourselves? It's, you know, good for you both?"

Kurt turns back, can feel the rush of blood burning up his face. "Dad. Oh my god, I'm not talking about this with you."

"Okay, okay, I know, I'm not being nosy, just looking out for my boys."

"Right."

"If you ever do need to talk about this stuff, you know you can talk to me, right? I might not have all the answers for your particular situation, but I'm here for you, Kurt."

Kurt thinks he's more likely to talk to Puck about the sex he's having, but he can still, in theory, appreciate his Dad's offer. "Thanks, Dad."

"Good, okay then."

"May I go?" Kurt asks.

"Yeah, I know you've got homework."

"Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Kurt. Thanks for the help with the speech today."

"Sure, no problem."

~

Kurt goes upstairs to his room, and closes the door. He flops down on the bed and breathes while staring at the ceiling fixture. It went better than he expected, and yet he still feels wound up and half in a daze, like he's still anticipating the conversation. He should call Blaine. Kurt picks up his phone and dials.

"Hi, Kurt," Blaine answers.

"I have good news and bad news," Kurt says.

"Me too."

"Oh, you first."

"My parents are still going to Cincinnati on Friday, that's the good news. But I got the date wrong. It's next Friday, not tomorrow. I guess I was too excited to listen to everything my Mom said. But she said you can come over tomorrow night if you want. We just won't have the place to ourselves."

"Okay. Well, my news was that I can come over, but I'm not allowed to stay the night. Or, the alternative was for you stay over here." Kurt takes a breath. "And you're allowed to sleep in my room with me."

"Really? Did you tell your Dad?"

"Yes. I kind of had to."

"He wasn't mad?"

"Sort of, not really. He wasn't happy that I hadn't talked to him before we slept together and was worried we were being sneaky about it and breaking his rules while he was gone."

"So I can sleep in your room with you?"

"Yes, apparently, now you can."

"That's... cool, but, I don't know, kind of weird."

"I know."

"Knowing your parents know? I mean, they'll think we're messing around even if we're not."

"Yeah," says Kurt sympathetically, though he's not sure the weirdness would be enough to keep his hands to himself if Blaine is in his bed with him. "So next Friday, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that," Blaine says, "Do you still want to come over tomorrow, or do you want me to go over there?"

"Well," Kurt says, "I know it's not ideal, but if you came over here, we would get to wake up together and have a lazy Saturday morning. You can help me write my speech for the debate next week, and, in gratitude, I'll make you my special low fat orange and vanilla pancakes."

"Mmm. I do love your pancakes," Blaine says, "But I'm not convinced your Dad won't try to hurt me for defiling his little boy."

"I think on balance I've been doing more of the defiling. You've been more of a defilee."

Blaine laughs. "You may have a point. You were very creative last weekend," Blaine says, "I'll have to step up my game."

"Something to look forward to," Kurt says grinning into the phone. "But I, unfortunately, have homework to do and my Dad's speech to go through again before bed."

"Call me when you're in bed? I may need some verbal guidance for an extra rigorous skin sloughing session."

Kurt laughs, and ignores the twitch of interest from his dick; his brain still needs that blood. "All right. Talk to you later."

~*~

It's not as awkward as Kurt feared having Blaine over for dinner Friday. At least not with his Dad and Carole. Mostly they talk about the camp possibilities for the Hall and Oates mash-up (mustaches are a must). Finn scowls a lot, mostly at Blaine, who simply smiles back at Finn like they're best friends; but it doesn't reach his eyes. Kurt wonders if the humor is offending some serious Finn-like sensibility about the 80's duo. Kurt explains how mockery can be both affectionate and respectful, and Finn seems mostly mollified. Still, Kurt imagines he can hear Blaine's teeth grinding behind his smile and silently hopes whatever the hell is going on with Finn resolves itself before Blaine's smile gives out.

Kurt does end up making cookies after dinner. He decides to indulge and uses the chocolate chip cookie recipe from his maternal grandmother's handwritten book. It uses whole eggs and butter and both brown and white sugar. Blaine helps, creaming the sugar into the butter with a ferocity that produces astoundingly light and tender cookies. Kurt lets his Dad have two cookies, washed down with chilled soymilk, and quietly thanks him again for letting Blaine stay tonight.

Finn takes a plate of cookies to Rachel's with Kurt's reminder that they aren't vegan so he should take some carrot cake too. Finn promises his Dad he'll be home by eleven.

His Dad suggests a movie, and they end up watching Gladiator, because it's one everyone likes. With Finn gone, there's no lingering tension—nothing Kurt's feeling anyway. His Dad and Carole are being very normal; the only change in their behavior seems to be an increase in smiles directed at both him and Blaine. It's unexpected, but reassuring (which is probably why they're doing it). So on the loveseat with Blaine, Kurt feels comfortable enough to pull Blaine back against him into a loose embrace, though it takes about thirty minutes into the film for Blaine to relax completely against him. Carole makes popcorn at their impromptu bathroom break intermission. They sit through the end credits while his Dad and Carole head to bed, and then it's just Kurt and Blaine in the dimmed lights of the family room watching the DVD screensaver jaunt about the television screen.

Blaine rolls over in Kurt's arms and scoots up for a kiss. Kurt is feeling so perfectly relaxed, he returns the kiss lazily to better savor the warm creep of his arousal. Nothing feels desperate, just comfortable and good. He lets himself wallow in the wonderful ache of anticipation, holding Blaine close and twining their legs together. His heart stays steady until Blaine begins to rock against him, and then he's muffling a moan against Blaine's neck, and Blaine is asking him, "Do you want to go up to your room now?"

And Kurt is answering with a whispered, "Yes."

It's silent and dark upstairs, and Kurt is relieved, glad they waited a little longer before coming upstairs. They get ready for bed quietly, sharing the bathroom for teeth brushing and face washing, making eye contact in the mirror without talking. It's nice: companionable and domestic. Kurt has a flash of the future, sharing a bathroom with Blaine in some tidy, tiny New York apartment. Happy, free. He gives Blaine a wet, pepperminty kiss, and leads him to his bedroom by the hand. He closes the door, and anxiety flutters in his stomach as he turns to Blaine.

"My Dad's only rule is that we keep the noise down," Kurt says softly.

Blaine nods and looks a little tense.

Kurt strokes down his arm. "We don't have to do anything. We can just sleep."

"No, Kurt, I want to," Blaine says. "Just maybe not everything, because I'm not sure we can be all that quiet. At least," he says with a grin and an eyebrow quirk, "I'm pretty sure I can't be anything but loud when you fuck me."

"Dirty little freak," Kurt says with a wink.

"That I am," Blaine says with a little bow, and then, without further preamble, he starts undressing.

Kurt is still unlacing his boots by the time Blaine is naked and stretched out on his bed on his side, lean and strong with his dick perfectly hard and ready, his head propped up on his hand watching Kurt remove his clothes to either put them in his hamper or hang them neatly in his closet. "Did you have anything particular in mind tonight?" Kurt asks to break the silence. He still feels awkward with Blaine just watching him disrobe.

"I hadn't got much further than being naked together and touching you," Blaine says. Kurt looks over his shoulder at Blaine, sees his gaze dark and brazen tracking over Kurt's body and movements. It's still disconcerting, but Kurt doesn't speed up or try to hide from Blaine's appreciation. It's just modesty, he thinks. He's become so accustomed to portraying himself as anything but a sexual being, it's hard to process the state change now.

"I hope that's not what passes for upping your game," Kurt says.

"Well, I have some ideas," Blaine says, "but I'm not going to spoil them by telling you."

When Kurt removes his briefs, he is caught admiring how unabashedly Blaine stares at his erection, like it's the first time he's laid eyes on it. When Blaine 's tongue comes out to moisten his lips, it jolts hard in Kurt's gut. He doesn't lift his gaze from Blaine's lips, full, moist, and parted. "I have some ideas, too," he says and moves to the bed.

He kneels up and shuffles over to Blaine until Blaine reaches a hand around the back of Kurt's thigh and Kurt cups the back of Blaine's neck. Blaine's gaze lifts from Kurt's erection up to his face and holds steady, wide and wanting. "Tell me," Blaine says softly.

The words thunder in Kurt's ears, the ones he couldn't say almost exactly one week ago in this moment. But today he can. Kurt turns the hand at Blaine's neck to slide up the back of Blaine's scalp and thread his fingers into his hair. He tugs, angling Blaine's face up slightly. His other hand goes to rest against Blaine's cheek, his thumb rubs across Blaine's bottom lip. "Suck my cock, Blaine," he says.

Blaine scoots up and leans forward. Kurt cradles his jaw and feels him open up for his cock, the skin and muscle and bone shifting under his hand as Blaine takes him into his mouth in a single delirious slide. Blaine's tongue works along his flesh, a steady pulse of liquid heat and suction. Kurt lets himself stare down at Blaine, sees his lips stretched taut, his lashes a graceful dark sweep against his flushed cheeks. Kurt's dizzy, trying to inhale, but his lungs are full, and he has to breathe out before he can breathe in again, but he can't exhale, because then he'll moan, and, god, he's supposed to keep it down. He has to move the hand cupping Blaine's face to grip with white knuckles the top of his headboard. His chest aches; he's suffocating on pleasure, and Blaine's not letting up, his grip on the back of Kurt's thigh tightens and he's moving his head, sliding slickness and heat and...

Kurt has to let it out or pass out; so he utters a miserable little sound, quietly as he can manage; then gulps a ragged lungful, deepens and steadies his next breath the way he breathes when he's singing. That helps.

Kurt relaxes into it. It's the only way he's going to get through this without waking the house up. He closes his eyes, twists his fingers tighter into Blaine's curls, and tips his head back. His hips fall into a shallow rhythm with Blaine, and Blaine is not rushing, not driving him headlong into an orgasm. He's just going steady and even, holding Kurt on an amazing plateau of bliss.

And Kurt whispers to Blaine, how good it is, how sweet Blaine's mouth is, how he loves being inside Blaine, how nothing he imagined sex would be like compares to the reality of it. It's so much better and more beautiful than he expected. Blaine picks up the pace and Kurt opens his eyes. His thighs tense and the muscles of his belly hollow out to keep up. The tension feeds upon itself, pleasure quickening in Kurt's veins. He looks back down at Blaine, tells him how pretty he looks with a cock in his mouth and lets his gaze skate along the rest of Blaine, how he's sprawled upon the bed, all golden tan upon the stark white of Kurt's sheets. But Kurt realizes, beautiful as the arrangement may be, Blaine can't be comfortable, taking most of his weight on one crimped wrist joint. Between Blaine's legs, one bent beneath him, the other stretched out loosely, Blaine's cock is untouched, glistening at the tip, and Kurt wants to touch. He wants to lick the glint off it.

"Blaine," he says, a little louder than the various filthy endearments he's been murmuring so quietly. Blaine's eyes flick up to meet his, but Blaine doesn't pause. Rather he redoubles his efforts. Kurt hisses and fists tightly in Blaine's hair. Wait," Kurt says and pulls him off his cock more roughly than he intended. There's an obscene 'Pop!' and an even more obscene flash of Blaine before he composes himself: his eyes deep and seeking, fluttering closed in surprise, his mouth open, lips gleaming and swollen, his tongue resting upon his bottom teeth, and Kurt's spit-slick cockhead hovering just above. The desire surges up within Kurt out of the void of his ignorance, vivid and crazed: He wants to come on Blaine's face, over his open mouth, see it smeared and splattered across his lips, dripping down his chin, puddling on his tongue...

Kurt sucks a deep breath and blinks the image back from his forebrain. "Blaine," he says more gently. "Let's lie down so we can do it together, um, like a sixty-nine?"

"Sure," Blaine says, his voice low and a little hoarse. Sexy, Kurt realizes. That's definitely a sex voice.

"Okay," Kurt says with a shaky smile, and he lowers himself to the bed. He takes a moment to kiss Blaine, deep and slow, before falling toward the foot of the bed, while Blaine lies toward the head. Kurt scoots down, until they are on their sides, top to tail, facing each other. Kurt feels simultaneously exposed and transgressive, like, despite the other things they've done, this is pushing at some internal boundary he hasn't bothered to mark. He looks down his body to Blaine and can't think of anything at all to say. So he lifts his gaze back up and wraps a hand around Blaine's cock. Then he rolls forward to lick across the head of it, licks again, curling his tongue and flicking just under the flared crown.

"Kurt," Blaine says in a rush of breath, "that's..." Kurt feels Blaine's hand warm along his thigh, then folding around his cock, and then Blaine's tongue is quick and clever, mirroring what Kurt's is doing to him. When Kurt feels a groan rumbling up from his chest, he muffles himself by sucking Blaine into his mouth as deep as he can comfortably manage. Blaine's answering moan hums around him, and Kurt's eyes roll back in his head. It's hard to concentrate, and he's not practiced enough at sucking cock to not need to concentrate. It's a little awkward, upside down. He can't lick where he knows is most sensitive, and he's even more aware of his teeth. It's still fantastic, the feel of Blaine so thick and solid in his mouth, the scent and taste of him. But Kurt knows he lacks the skill for much more than gamely sucking and bobbing his head.

And since that's how Blaine is reciprocating, Kurt knows there's no reason for complaint. His cock is wrapped in the slick, rhythmic pull of Blaine's mouth, and he's tumbling deeper into the single-minded fog of lust. Everything else is melting away, and his existence is centered in his hand and mouth on Blaine, Blaine's hand and mouth on him: breathing, sucking, sliding, striving.

But then Blaine is taking him even deeper and moving his hand from the base of Kurt's cock to grab his ass. And then, before Kurt can process it, Blaine is moving, rolling them until Blaine is on his back and Kurt is straddling his face, nearly choking on Blaine's cock as the sudden movement jostles him forward. He has to pull back, coughing and gasping. Blaine lets Kurt's cock slip free, to quietly ask, "Are you okay?"

Kurt gets his diaphragm back under control and answers, just as quietly,"Yes, you just surprised me."

"Okay," Blaine says and rubs his hands up the backs of Kurt's thighs until they're resting on his buttocks. He nudges down Kurt's cock with his nose, brushes his lips across the base near Kurt's balls, and asks, "Comfortable enough?" Blaine kneads his ass as his lips move to Kurt's balls, mouthing at them so gently.

Kurt closes his eyes and whispers, "Yes." He's feeling weirdly untethered in the moment, with Blaine taking more initiative while Kurt's confidence diminishes. He hadn't planned for this, hadn't thought about it in advance. And, he realizes with a hot rush of blood to his face, Blaine's never touched his bare ass like this, with so much intention. Kurt feels so vulnerable and turned on, it aches through him, searing, fierce, and primal. He licks a wide, wet stripe down Blaine's cock, swirls his tongue over Blaine's balls and then kisses his way back up to the tip of his cock and takes him back in his mouth.

Recovering his prior rhythm is a challenge, for Blaine's mouth is opening beneath him, and he's licking and taking Kurt's balls carefully into his mouth, holding them in sweltering slight suction, his tongue moving softly around them. Kurt falters, can only find enough sanity to breathe harshly through his nose and suckle weakly at Blaine. His weight comes down onto his elbows as his thighs quiver with the effort of keeping his hips held above Blaine.

Kurt cracks his eyes open and stares at his bedroom door, which is closed, but all he can think about is how it's unlocked; and it's such a flimsy barrier between his normal, careful life at home and this naked, amazing thing he's doing with Blaine.

And then Kurt stops thinking altogether.

Blaine is pulling and pushing at him all at once; his hands are tugging the cheeks of Kurt's ass apart; his mouth is releasing Kurt's balls, and he's licking up behind them, along tender, secret flesh: light, ticklish, tentative slips of his tongue. The fiery heat that surges up through Kurt is so overwhelming, he just can't. His brain is a furnace of incoherent turbulence. Blaine's cock slips free of his mouth, and he pants raggedly against Blaine's skin, whimpering wordless pleas for something... Anything.

When Blaine's tongue reaches his hole, soothing over the sensitive muscle with soft, slow licks, it's deliriously dirty, and, god, maybe Kurt shouldn't, but he does, so much: he wants it. Blaine's lips press a kiss to him right there, opening against him, his tongue circling and pressing with gentle insistence. And Blaine is holding him open with one hand, finding his cock with the other and stroking Kurt, complement to the work of his tongue.

The sensation is dragging at his brain like a receding wave, hauling him down into some unfamiliar place to drown him. Kurt doesn't want to resist it, wants to let it take him down. Wants it to last forever, but he knows he hasn't even got a fragment of forever in him. His rough breathing is getting louder and a terrible rasp is infecting every exhale, so Kurt rallies just enough will to find Blaine's cock again, sucking it in, filling his mouth to quiet his moans and anchor himself to the shore. He holds Blaine, pumping his fist as he sucks; it's a blind fumble since every other bit of his awareness is focused on Blaine's mouth, Blaine's hand.

He doesn't even realize he's close. Blaine points his tongue and pushes. As Blaine breaches him, Kurt's orgasm blasts through him like a blitzkrieg. He comes with Blaine's cock in his mouth and Blaine's tongue in his ass. The raw intensity of it terrifies him even as he loses his grip and is swept away.

There's no time to recover or steady himself, for Blaine releases his hold on Kurt's cock and ass and immediately shoves both hands down into Kurt's hair. His fingers sliding over his scalp and digging in as Blaine bucks up against him, begging for his release desperately against Kurt's thigh. Kurt puts everything he's got left into it, and he moans his own relief as the hot pulse of Blaine's climax spills over his tongue.

It feels like his bones have been replaced with overcooked noodles and his muscles with pudding when Kurt lifts himself to roll off Blaine. He's still too hot and out of breath. And overwhelmed. He presses his face into his bedding and lies there, eyes pinched shut and panting, waiting for gravity to reassert itself. He hears the rustle of Blaine moving next to him, hears the rip of Blaine pulling tissues from the box, feels the mattress dip and bow. He still can't bring himself to move or open his eyes. Eventually, Blaine's hand rests on the back of his calf and Blaine's voice comes, concerned, "Kurt? Are you all right?"

Kurt makes a noise against the duvet, but about all it conveys is that he's not completely dead.

"Did I... break you?" Blaine laughs a little, but he sounds worried.

Kurt opens his eyes and turns his head far enough to say clearly, "No." But that's about all of his vocabulary he can access.

Blaine moves to lie down next to him, his face resting on the bed turned toward Kurt, close enough to be blurry. He strokes Kurt's back with one hand. "Hey," he says. "What's going on? Talk to me, please?"

"Blaine," Kurt manages, and he gets his hands flat on the bed either side of his chest and pushes up to all fours and then back to his knees. He's a little woozy, like there's still not enough blood in his brain.

Blaine sits up beside him, both hands touching him, soothing caresses on his arms to take his hands. "Was that—? Was it bad?"

"No," Kurt says quickly. "No, it wasn't bad, it was just a lot." He forces a weak smile. "I wasn't expecting it. It was a lot."

"Too much?" Blaine asks.

Kurt lets out a breath. "Honestly?" he says, and meets Blaine's concerned gaze. "Yes."

"I'm sorry," Blaine says, "I should have asked first. I shouldn't have assumed—"

"No, it's okay," Kurt says. He gestures vaguely. "I just... I think I still have some issues to work through."

"Issues?"

"About." Kurt bites his lips and twists his fingers together in his lap. "Being penetrated? God, it sounds dumb."

"No, no, hey," Blaine puts his arm around Kurt's shoulders and pulls him close as he leans back against the headboard, Kurt half sprawled against his chest. "No, that's fine, Kurt. I just didn't know."

"I. Yeah," Kurt says to his hands. He should have talked to Blaine about this, told him. Then lifting his head back up to look he asks, "Do you want to fuck me, Blaine?"

Blaine doesn't reply immediately. "I don't know how to answer that."

"Try honestly?"

"Then, yes, I do, because I want to share everything with you. But I definitely don't want to if you've got reservations. So, no, not until you're ready, and you want me to."

"And what if I'm never ready?" Kurt twists his neck so he can look up and see Blaine's face.

Blaine glances away and takes a breath. He looks back down at Kurt and smiles; it's sincere: it reaches his eyes. "Then that's totally fine, too."

"Thank you," Kurt says, and snuggles against Blaine. It's wonderful knowing that neither of them is going to have to get up and leave; they can just be together. "What you did to me," Kurt starts after a few minutes of silence. "Is that something you want me to do for you?"

"You mean rimming?" Blaine asks.

"Yeah," Kurt says, the naming of it curdling something hot in his head. "Rimming."

"It's something I've thought about. But," Blaine says with a fond smile, "As always, Kurt. We're not going to do anything you're not completely comfortable with. And from now on? You're setting the pace. I promise that I will hatch no more secret plans to up my game, okay?"

Kurt laughs. "Okay. And I promise to tell you things so you don't have to worry about tripping over my stupid issues." He caresses Blaine's chest, idly circling his nipples with his fingertips. "For what it's worth, it felt really good, so it is something I want to do for you. Just maybe not straight away."

Blaine strokes his hair and doesn't say anything, and it's fine.

The front door shuts, rattling the walls. Kurt looks at his clock. It's just past eleven, and he's so glad he didn't just spend the last hour driving back from Westerville. He tilts his head up to kiss Blaine's jaw. "I'm so glad you're here."

Blaine tightens his arms around Kurt. "Me too."