Hummel Tires and Lube has never been so busy. Or fancy. Patriotic banners and swag hang along every wall and window, and every bulb is burning. The bay doors are all open to the chilly November night, and the revelry has spilled out with the light onto the driveway, parking lot, and sidewalk. Rented patio heaters keep the worst of the Ohio autumn night at bay, but the champagne is flowing so freely, Kurt doubts anyone is feeling the cold. Local press mixes with the guests, but the main event, his Dad's victory speech, is over, so they're just trolling for tidbits now. Kurt gave a brief interview to a local newspaper. He can barely remember what he said.

Kurt knows he should be happy right now. But he isn't, and he's at risk of failing to pretend otherwise, his smile curdling more and more each time he shakes another hand and hears another name he'll never remember. He's aware of his Dad's hand intermittently on his shoulder, shaking gently every time he tells someone, with unabashed pride: "This is my son, Kurt. He ran the campaign," and, "I couldn't have done it without him," and, "My son's a genius. I owe this all to him," and, "I'm so proud of him."

But he keeps smiling, looking to his Dad with humble and genuine gratitude while mouthing platitudes to the multitude of strangers crowding around to congratulate the man they hope can do things for them in Washington. It feels like it's happening to someone else not him. He feels hollowed out and transparent, like his own defeat today sapped something vital from him. He wants to be happy for his Dad—and he's sure he is somewhere, he just can't find that place—and he is proud, so proud. It's just. He doesn't know what it is. He feels like Sarah at the masquerade ball in Labyrinth: disoriented, unreal, lost in the commotion, surrounded by strangers. Trapped.

Blaine is nearby, or at least he was. He had been talking with Carole and the mayor just moments before, but Kurt doesn't see him now. Finn is somewhere else in the crowd. Kurt spies Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury in a cluster of people he doesn't know. He shakes the hand of an elderly woman with crooked pink lipstick. She leans into him and says loudly, but with a strange air of scandal and confidentiality, "You're a very brave young man." Kurt thanks her and doesn't catch her name. He rubs his palm absently against his thigh as he smiles at his Dad. That's easier anyway, smiling at his Dad. He means that smile.

The crowd is so loud, raucous laughter and cheering and too loud conversation swirling around in such cacophony, Kurt is beginning to feel dizzy. He looks for Blaine, but the navy of his peacoat is hard to spot, and, realistically, Blaine is unlikely to be towering over anyone in the crowd.

Then there's a deliberate, light touch on the back of his elbow: familiar. Kurt spins, and there's Blaine, all soft eyes and smile; the kind meant only for him. It soothes the knot in Kurt's stomach immediately, and his own forced smile widens into sincerity and relief. "There you are," he says. "I was looking for you."

"Here," Blaine says and pushes a paper plate and napkin toward Kurt. "I thought you might be hungry." On the small plate, Blaine has mounded up crudites with a drizzle of ranch dressing, two deviled eggs, various crackers with cheese, and a trio of vol-au-vents stuffed with mock chicken salad. The caterers tried; it's not a bad effort, just uninspired. Kurt wishes he'd been able to organize it himself. At least, judging by the orange color of the yolks, the eggs are free-range.

"I am," Kurt says. "Thank you." He tries to fill his smile with his appreciation, wishes he could lean in and kiss Blaine on the cheek like he wants to. He sees the same desire in Blaine's eyes, as his gaze flicks to Kurt's mouth and then back up with an apologetic grimace. "Enjoying yourself?" Kurt asks Blaine.

"Well, I met the mayor," Blaine says.

"I saw that," Kurt says, picking a carrot stick from the pile of raw vegetables and letting the excess dressing drip off the end of it onto a piece of cauliflower. "How was he?"

Blaine lowers his voice. "Honestly? He's kind of a douchebag."

"That's my understanding," Kurt says, nodding.

"How about you? You're looking a little wan," Blaine says.

Kurt ducks his head. "Yeah. This is not actually my favorite day."

"Yeah," Blaine says. He touches Kurt's elbow again. "Do you want to get some air? I mean, can you leave?"

Kurt nods, "Sure, I think so. Somewhere a little quieter may help."

Kurt excuses himself with his Dad and follows Blaine out of the crowd toward the street. They turn left at the sidewalk and walk slowly, side by side, while Kurt picks at his plate. There's not really anywhere to go in the area. It's zoned light industrial for the most part, so they walk down cracked cement sidewalks marbled with brown straggly weeds, past darkened warehouses and showrooms and empty parking lots. The bite of the cold air has Kurt wishing he'd worn a hat. Neither of them speaks until the noise of the party has faded to a murmur.

"I haven't mailed it yet," Kurt confesses. He meant to drop his NYADA application in the box on his way home after school, but he couldn't. It needs to be in the post before four PM tomorrow. He just choked.

Blaine's hand presses against his back, between his shoulder blades. "Do you want me to mail it for you? I can if you like."

Kurt shakes his head. "No. I'll do it. I guess I hoped maybe I'd wake up tomorrow and things would be different. Or, I don't know."

"It's okay," Blaine says, rubbing Kurt's back lightly.

Tears prick the backs of Kurt's eyes. "It's really not."

"It will be," Blaine says. "Look, Kurt, worst case is you take a year off, go to D.C. with your Dad and help him out while you apply to other schools. You could even get into the theater scene there. Get more experience."

Kurt kicks a broken piece of cement toward the gutter and blinks back the burn of threatening tears. He keeps his voice steady. "Where would that leave us?"

Blaine shrugs casually, but, when Kurt glances to him, he sees the streetlights catch on the shine in Blaine's eyes. "Next year was always going to be us apart, Kurt," Blaine says gently.

Kurt can't hold in the tears any longer; he pinches his eyes shut and chokes on a sob.

"Oh, hey, Kurt," Blaine's hand is firm around his arm, and his other hand is sliding up under Kurt's hands, righting the paper plate as it droops in Kurt's grip. "Hey, let's sit down. If I can find a spot."

"It's not that I don't want to leave. I do. So much," Kurt sniffs, letting Blaine steer him toward a low concrete wall in front of a lighting warehouse. "I just, I don't want to leave you behind."

Blaine doesn't reply to that, instead he shrugs off his coat and lays it on the wall for Kurt to sit on.

Kurt laughs at the gesture despite himself. "So gallant."

Blaine smiles. "Never let it be said that I don't know how to take care of my princess."

Kurt snorts laughter through his tears until it turns into giggles. Blaine takes his plate from him and sets it next to them on the wall, and then he wraps an arm around Kurt.

The street is quiet, so Kurt leans into Blaine. "If I end up having to take a year off, maybe I should stay here? So we can still be together. Then we can go to New York next year, both of us."

"No, Kurt. If you have a way out of this town, you should take it as soon as you can," Blaine says. "And I'll be fine. I know it's going to be hard, but we can get through it. I figure if I can go most of my life without you, a school year of simply less of you shouldn't be so bad. Especially when we have so much to look forward to. It'll be like a long run up to Christmas, right?"

Kurt sniffs, and wipes at his tears with his sleeve. "I guess." It's hard to argue with Blaine when he's being so calm and reasonable and sweet.

"And there's phone calls and texting and Skype and Twitter. It's not like we won't be able to spend time together. We'll just have to be creative and make virtual dates."

Kurt smiles. "You make out like it could actually be fun."

"It could be sometimes. Think of the options. We could watch movies together on Netflix, or, if you're feeling adventurous, go hang out in one of those online roleplaying games. Artie could hook us up with something really cool, I bet."

"Are you suggesting a virtual three-way date with Artie that involves hacking up goblins and orcs?"

"What? That doesn't sound awesome to you?"

Kurt muffles his laughter against Blaine's shoulder. "Actually," he says. "It does sound kind of awesome."

"So, you know, we may not physically be together, but we won't be apart."

Kurt nods and sniffles digging into his pockets for his handkerchief. He blows his nose while Blaine stands up.

"Shall we head back?" Blaine asks. "Or do you want me to get my car and come get you, take you home?"

"I don't really want to go back," Kurt says, "but my Dad—"

"He'll understand. He has plenty of people to keep him company. He's a grown-up and a Congressman. I think he can manage without you for a few hours."

Kurt hesitates.

Blaine extends his hand. "Come on, we can watch old Disney movies and make out on the couch."

Kurt smiles and takes Blaine's hand. "My Fair Lady?"

Blaine grins and pulls Kurt to his feet. "My favorite."

They're standing, hands joined, sharing a smile when a car comes by. Kurt lets go of Blaine and steps back, but not soon enough. There's an offensive shout and a thrown plastic bottle that bounces harmlessly past them. The words, they're nothing they haven't both heard before, but yeah, they're harder to ignore.

Blaine's jaw clenches and he looks at his shoes. When he looks back up, his face is hard, but his eyes are tired and sad. "You should walk back with me to my car," he says and picks up his coat, shaking the dust from it.

The look on Blaine's face has Kurt swallowing the smart quip on his tongue about lack of originality in homophobic slurs, because he's heard that one dozens of times. Instead Kurt forces his shoulders straight, and says, "We've got to get out of this town, Blaine. Both of us. No matter what."

~*~

Kurt wakes disoriented and too hot. The clock on the DVD player reads ten past midnight, the television is off, and he's lying on top of Blaine on the sofa in the family room. His mouth is cottony and stale and—ugh—he realizes he's been drooling. "Blaine?" he mumbles, trying (and failing) to get his arms under himself. He only succeeds in wedging his hand down behind the sofa cushions and winces at the feel of the tiny crumbs or grit or whatever linty stuff lives back there getting under his fingernails.

"Right here," Blaine says, sounding alert. He runs his hand from Kurt's neck down to the small of his back.

"Ugh," Kurt says, trying again to move. "How long was I out?"

"Since 'The Rain in Spain', pretty much."

"That long?"

"You needed it," Blaine says, smiling.

"I'm sorry I drooled on you." Kurt half rolls to get his feet onto the floor and stands up with sleep shaky legs. He scrubs at the crusty dried spit on his cheek with the heel of his hand.

Blaine stretches and sits up, brushing his palm down the front of his sweater. "It's fine. You were so peaceful, I couldn't bear to wake you."

The front door lock rattles, followed shortly by the sound of it opening and Burt, Carole, and Finn's voices. Kurt frowns, regretting having not made the most of being here with Blaine alone. He was just so tired. Still is. Kurt looks at the clock again. "Aren't you way past your weeknight curfew?"

"I texted my Mom, said I'd be late. She understood."

"Hi, boys," says Carole, poking her head into the room. "I saw your car in the drive, Blaine. Are you staying the night?"

"Oh, no, I was just keeping Kurt company until you guys got home. I'll be on my way soon." Blaine stands up.

"You're welcome to stay. It's awfully late for you to be driving all that way on a weeknight."

"Oh, well, if Kurt doesn't mind loaning me something to wear in the morning?" Blaine gives Kurt a hopeful, querying look.

"Not a problem," Kurt says, already mentally scanning his wardrobe for things that will both fit and suit Blaine.

"I'll need to tell my Mom," Blaine says, retrieving his bag from the floor and pulling out his phone.

~

Upstairs in his bedroom, Kurt is still groggy from his impromptu nap, pointing Blaine toward his dresser to select his own loaner pajamas, hauling on his own mechanically, and slumping down in front of his dressing table to fumble zombie-like through his evening skin care routine. It's different somehow, having Blaine stay on a weeknight. A glance back shows Blaine settling beneath the covers, smiling fondly at Kurt. It's comfortable. But Kurt tries to avoid thinking about his seven AM alarm, wonders if he can get away with sleeping in a little bit tomorrow. With an extra body to use the shower, if anything he needs to set it earlier. Maybe they should just skip school altogether tomorrow. He's sure he can still fake a tummy ache to fool his Dad.

He shuffles to the bed where Blaine holds up the covers in invitation. Kurt crawls in and snuggles close, covering a jaw-cracking yawn with the back of his hand. He's still feeling discordant and strange, sad and skittish, but Blaine's hand on his waist is an anchor: soothing as it rubs, coming off the edge of his pajama top and skidding up bare skin to Kurt's ribs. Humming in contentment, Kurt lets his heavy eyelids slip down as Blaine leans closer to press his lips to Kurt's.

It starts out chaste enough—a good night kiss—but it doesn't remain that way for long. Blaine's mouth is so hot, his lips firm and soft all at once, his tongue a quick tempting slip along the seam of Kurt's mouth. And then Blaine is rolling Kurt onto his back and following, bringing one hand up to cup Kurt's jaw, gently running his thumb down Kurt's chin to coax him open.

And Kurt opens his mouth, letting Blaine sink deeper into the kiss to suck the breath from his lungs in a thick rush while his tongue slides along Kurt's. When Blaine returns his breath, and Kurt feels it flooding into his chest and reinflating his lungs, it's a strange sensation, unexpectedly intimate. Kurt hums into Blaine's mouth and wraps his arms around his shoulders, holding him close and letting Blaine breathe for the both of them. He doesn't open his eyes, not even when he starts feeling light-headed. He's feeling so loose and languid, and Blaine is so warm and soothing.

Still, it doesn't stop the heat from rousing in Kurt's veins, when Blaine's hand skids up along his ribs and across his chest, fingertips grazing Kurt's nipples. Kurt gasps and cracks open his eyes. Blaine eases up from Kurt's mouth to take a deep breath of his own and turn his attention to the work of his hands. He unbuttons Kurt's pajama top, dragging a ticklish caress down Kurt's torso to his waistband before reversing and going back up. His eyes are heavy with quiet desire when he meets Kurt's blurry gaze. Kurt can't speak, just swallows and nods permission. But Blaine doesn't slide his hand beneath the waistband of Kurt's bottoms as he expects, instead keeps to the long strokes across Kurt's chest and belly, growing firmer and slower and only breaking the rhythmic pattern to slide the edges of his button placket farther apart, exposing more bare skin to his touch.

"Is this okay?" Blaine asks quietly. "I know it's late and you're tired."

Kurt nods again and clears his throat to rasp out a soft, "Yes."

Blaine smiles and lowers his head, kissing softly down Kurt's neck to his collarbone, sucking along the ridge of bone, and Kurt is kneading Blaine's shoulders in encouragement and—

There's a knock at Kurt's door.

Kurt sighs as Blaine rolls back away from him, leaving him cold and bare.

"Who is it?" Kurt asks, though he's sure it's not his Dad or Carole, unless the house is burning down. Since the fire alarm is not going off, it must be Finn.

"It's me," comes Finn's voice. "Are you still awake?"

Kurt forces his eyes wide open (and, oh, that takes effort) and looks at Blaine, who shrugs and arranges himself casually against the pillow next to Kurt.

"Yes. It's open," Kurt says, scooting up and pulling his pajama top closed. He doesn't bother with the buttons.

Finn opens the door, comes in, and closes it behind him. He doesn't say anything straight away looking from Blaine to Kurt uncomfortably.

"Yes, Finn, what do you want?" Kurt asks. It comes out sounding more hostile than he means, but he's ready to be finished with today, and things were getting so good right before Finn knocked.

"I know today was rough for you, Kurt. I worried when you disappeared from the party. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Even though the fraternal concern is touching, it's not necessary. "I'm fine, Finn," Kurt says, "Blaine's been with me."

Finn glances at Blaine, then at Kurt's unbuttoned pajamas, and grimaces. "Yeah, okay."

Kurt really wants Finn to go because he can tell this is going to get awkward, but he doesn't want to be too discouraging. Maybe he can distract Finn from whatever protective urge has him on the verge of glowering at Blaine. So Kurt asks, to reorient Finn's attention, "What about Rachel? Is she all right?"

"Oh," Finn blinks as if he hadn't even been thinking about her. "Yeah, I think she's okay. Sad and stuff, but her Dads took her out tonight, to some sing along something and ice cream."

"Maybe you should go send her a text," Kurt suggests.

"Yeah, I'm sorry to bother you guys. Good night."

"Good night, Finn," Blaine says with a little wave and a smile Finn doesn't return.

Kurt sighs, and once the door has closed behind Finn, he slumps back into his pillows, "Could his timing have been worse?"

Blaine is silent for a moment before answering with a firm, "Yes. Definitely."

Kurt huffs a short laugh. "You're right. But I would have told him to go away. I should have just told him to go away anyway."

"Hey, this is the downside of having a brother," Blaine says. "At least he cares about you, Kurt. That's a precious thing."

"Yeah, I know," Kurt says. He lets his eyelids droop and feels his fatigue yaw fresh in his skull, a heavy darkness tugging at the back of his brain. "Just liked what you were doing."

"Then it's good I remember where I was," Blaine says with a goofy eyebrow waggle. He moves over Kurt again, his hands warm as he spreads Kurt's pajama top open, once more exposing Kurt's skin to the cool air. Then he lowers his hot mouth to the base of Kurt's neck, licking into the hollow between his collarbones, and there's nothing goofy about that.

"Mmmm," Kurt mumbles, "that's nice." He wraps his arms loosely around Blaine, sliding his hands down to his waist and squirming to get a little farther beneath Blaine's body.

"Yeah?" Blaine asks.

"Yeah," Kurt sighs.

"Then," Blaine asks, lifting up and shrugging Kurt's arms from around him. "Do you mind if I...?" He takes Kurt's wrists in his hands, lifts and pushes Kurt's arms to fold them loosely upon his pillow over his head. "I mean, is this okay?" His eyes are wide, his pupils contracted in apprehension as he holds Kurt's wrists together gently, a grip Kurt could easily break. "Can you keep your arms up here while I take care of you?"

Kurt's heart thuds a heavy beat, seems to stop, and then resumes, even and quick. He nods. "Yes."

Blaine smiles, his gaze softening. "Okay," he says. "Just relax. You can close your eyes if you want to."

"What about you?" Kurt asks as Blaine starts unbuttoning his own top.

"What about me?" Blaine asks, flicking the open plackets of his pajamas back, baring his chest to Kurt's appreciative view.

"I'm not going to be much use to you," Kurt says, letting his gaze rove lazily over Blaine's exposed torso. "Especially after." His eyes dart back up to Blaine's. "What do you want me to do for you? To get you off?"

With a chuckle and a small shake of his head, Blaine answers, "Nothing, Kurt. I just want to make you feel good." He cocks his head. "I'll take care of myself if I need to." And Kurt feels a sharp thrill at that thought. "Unless that would be weird for you," Blaine finishes.

"No, not at all," Kurt whispers, finding it difficult to source enough breath for any volume. He lifts one arm to comb his fingers through Blaine's hair, soft now that Blaine has brushed it loose for bed. Then he lets his arm fall back to where Blaine set it. "So I just lie here?"

"That's the idea," Blaine says, skimming his fingertips across Kurt's chest, scribing a figure eight between and around his nipples until Kurt sucks a sharp breath and feels his skin pimple. Then Blaine leans back in and kisses Kurt with his hot mouth and pliant lips, and Kurt lets his eyelids slip shut.

It's nice—more than nice, but there's certainly an element of pleasant and soothing and nice to this—to close his eyes, relax, and let himself be taken care of. It feels, perhaps, a little overly self-indulgent, a little hedonistic. But he's just so comfortable, and he's so tired, and Blaine is so present and tender. It's what he needs after this hellishly awful day, and so maybe it's okay to accept it from Blaine, the tenderness and care.

He lets Blaine kiss him however he wants, which is deep and slow with more of the strange, shared breathing that makes Kurt feel like he's slipping down into some kind of heady dreamland. Kurt surrenders to it, trusts Blaine to breathe for him. When he starts to feel the burn of oxygen debt stuffy in his chest, Blaine is already easing up, letting him have little sips of fresh air from the small spaces between their mouths. And then Blaine's mouth is drifting, soft and gentle, from his lips to his jaw, then up along his cheekbone to his temple, forehead, brow, the other cheekbone, back to his jaw, down his throat, this time not lingering at his collarbone, but moving further down, pressing kisses everywhere and licking lazy spirals around his nipples. Kurt breathes and shivers and lets out another quiet hum of contentment.

Blaine's hands join his mouth upon Kurt's skin, tracing the arcs of each rib, scattering ticklish fingertips over his belly, and then they're at his waistband, skimming just beneath it, working the elastic lower. As close as Kurt is to drifting off into that murky place between wakefulness and sleep, it doesn't stop his hips from rolling up toward Blaine's touch, doesn't stop the gusty sigh that morphs into a low, rumbling moan as Blaine tugs his pajama bottoms down to his thighs, freeing his erection and baring his hips. And then Kurt senses movement, and then nothing. Blaine's hands and mouth are gone.

He opens his eyes a sliver to see Blaine sitting up, ducking his shoulders, one at a time, free of his pajamas. There's something about that, just that movement, that directs yet more blood in a hot, pleasurable rush to Kurt's groin, though he's been hard since Blaine kissed him the first time.

Blaine catches his eyes and grins at him. Kurt smiles back. A grin would take more energy and concentration than he's got. He's too much swathed in the quiet thrum of his sleepy arousal. He didn't know it could feel like this, so easy, but no less potent or wonderful for the lack of urgency.

And then Blaine's hands are back on him, at his hips, his thumbs running in symmetry over the curved jut of his hipbones, and Blaine is lowering his head to press his lips to the base of Kurt's cock, and Kurt's eyes slide shut again just as his mouth falls open. His fingers twitch with the impulse to move, to tangle themselves up in Blaine's hair, but Kurt has enough of his consciousness remaining, he quashes the urge and lets them remain, still and relaxed, upon his pillow.

Blaine's mouth is just as temperate and tender on his cock as it's been everywhere else, slowly working along his length, up to the head, before Blaine closes his lips around the head and slides down with barely any suction and a quiet tongue. Kurt's breath stutters out; there's nothing temperate about the sharp blade of heat slicing through his belly. But without muscle tension and movement of his own, there's a fidelity to his pleasure as it builds, an exotic and vivid new sense of how his body can respond to Blaine's touch. It's the first time Kurt thinks about it, really imagines it; and it's just a brief flashbulb from his unguarded subconscious, but it's real within his mind: Blaine inside him, Blaine fucking him.

It's getting harder to stay lax beneath Blaine's hands and mouth, the languid haze is evaporating, and Kurt can't help the tension now growing in his belly and thighs, or the quickening of his breath, or his breathless, needy whimpers. Blaine retreats from him again, leaving him too hot in his own skin, damp with perspiration, and aching.

"Blaine," he complains, opening his eyes and squinting at the light.

And Blaine's hand is at his cheek, and Blaine is leaning in close, but not close enough to kiss. "Shh, I've got you, baby," he says in a low, sex drenched voice, smooth as dark chocolate ganache.

And Kurt gets it. "Oh, god," he mumbles, and, "Please. Do something."

Blaine bends nearer and kisses him softly, and then Kurt is watching him as he pushes his pajamas down his thighs to mirror Kurt's and then slides his hand under the pillows to find the lube. Blaine squirts a generous amount of slippery gel into the palm of his hand, spreads it between his hands to warm it, and then reaches for himself with one hand, Kurt with the other. Once their cocks are good and slick, Blaine wipes the rest off on his belly.

With dark eyes and a slow smile, Blaine crawls over Kurt, hovering above him for one long moment of anticipation, in which Kurt can do nothing but stare up at Blaine slack-mouthed, before Blaine lowers himself down, covering Kurt with his body, bringing their bare skin together, and crowding their erections alongside one another, snug between their bellies in soft, slippery heat. "Okay?" he asks.

"God, yes," Kurt says. His arms ache to move around Blaine's shoulders, but he's not sure that's what Blaine wants, so he leaves them, tense and twitching, above his head. Just as well, since, as Blaine lowers his head to nuzzle into that sensitive spot just under Kurt's jaw near his ear, he slides his hands up Kurt's ribs to his arms and closes his hands around Kurt's biceps. Kurt can't keep his eyes open, or his mouth closed as he pants for more oxygen. Then Blaine starts to move, rolling his hips down hard with a little sharp kink up at the end of the motion.

"Oh, fuck," escapes Kurt's mouth, and his eyes are rolling behind his eyelids. The heat and slick friction is maddening, as Blaine rocks and slides against him. He can feel Blaine's cock, right there, moving next to his, so hard and heavy. And Blaine's mouth is sucking hot at his neck; Blaine's hands flexing tightly around his arms.

Kurt doesn't last long, and he wishes—oh, he wishes—he could have. He's coming with a shocked gasp before he's truly conscious of it. It surges up within him so organically, like he's spilling out everywhere, all around him, not just from his cock. It's amazing, but it's over far too quickly.

As he winces with the hypersensitivity that follows, Blaine lifts himself up, kneeling up over Kurt and bringing one hand to his cock. Kurt opens his eyes and is snared by Blaine's fogged gaze. Blaine strips his fist along his length quickly, with no pretense of performance or interest in drawing it out. Kurt watches, stares, gluts his vision on it, tries to memorize everything about it before Blaine comes. When he does, hot stripes of semen paint Kurt's belly, mixing with Kurt's own.

"Jesus," Blaine says, when he's done, shaking through aftershocks above Kurt. "Kurt," he warns, his gaze sliding down to Kurt's belly to evaluate the aftermath. "Don't move."

But Kurt has to move, for as Blaine leans for the tissues, the mattress bows and tilts Kurt, and all that mess is on the move, sliding toward his waist, about to spill all over the bed. Kurt tries to damn the flow with his hands, and starts laughing. "Oh my god," he says, too loudly, "that's a lot of spunk, Blaine."

Blaine grins and tries to hush him, but Blaine's own answering laughter is making it impossible for him to make a proper 'shh' sound. Kurt can't cover his mouth to smother his laughter, and his chest aches with the effort to reduce the volume. He ends up squeaking.

"Shut up," Blaine manages, affectionately, between chuckles, tearing fistfuls of tissues and dropping them on Kurt's belly. "Do you really want your parents seeing you like this?"

Kurt shakes his head. His eyes are watering with mirth, and there's slippery stuff oozing between his fingers. He's not even sure why it's so damned funny, but it feels good, another necessary release from the day he's had.

They get the worst of it wiped up and in the trash, but Blaine decides they need warm water and soap before he's happy letting Kurt fall asleep. He tugs his pajamas back on and creeps from the room down the hall to the bathroom. Kurt waits with a sheet pulled over himself, pinching it up in a tent above his soiled tummy. He doesn't want to have to change his sheets tonight.

Fortunately, Blaine is not disturbed on his outing, and he returns after a few minutes with a warm, soapy washcloth. Although the gaiety has woken Kurt up, he can feel his fatigue still lurking close enough behind his eyes. As Blaine gently cleans his hands, stomach, chest, and groin, Kurt feels his body quieting back toward sleepiness.

"All done," Blaine says, getting up to put the washcloth in Kurt's hamper. He turns back and crawls onto the bed, reaching to button up Kurt's top and then help him tug his bottoms back up. "How do you feel?" he asks, smoothing down the front of Kurt's pajamas.

"So much better," Kurt says. He lifts his hand to Blaine's hair, coils a lock around his forefinger before slipping free and carding through Blaine's curls, dragging his nails across Blaine's scalp and making Blaine's eyelids flutter. "Thank you."

"Ready to sleep?" Blaine asks, twisting to lie down alongside Kurt, an arm draped over his waist.

"Completely," Kurt says, and turns away from Blaine to reach for his lamp. He switches it off, and Blaine spoons up behind him.

In the morning, Carole cooks them scrambled eggs on toast, and, by the time they get themselves to school, they've missed homeroom and first period. Blaine looks fantastic in Kurt's red jeans and black sweater.