With his head clear, Blaine returns to his work with renewed focus. He begins to sketch out a broader communications strategy for introducing—or reintroducing—the Elyssians to Apathea as long lost family in need of support and assistance.

After the trip to the museum—which will provide not only information but various media opportunities—theyll make a presentation to be beamed back to Apathea. Wes will need advance preparation for a press conference, so hell need time with it before a public viewing. May have suggestions for edits to make. Back home theyll also need proxies, both credible and diverse, ready to speak on the issue. Blaine doesnt know who yet, but hell be surprised if the Ambassador doesnt have a list.

So Blaine makes his own list, of every question, doubt, and challenge he can imagine coming from not only the skeptical and curious public and media; but also from their hostile political opposition. He needs to provide Wes a starting place from which to prepare appropriate and tactical responses, depending on the tone and origin of the question. The frame of the moral argument must be consistent. They need elegance and clarity, easily digestible pieces that will assemble themselves naturally in the minds of the public.

Its a lot. He wishes he could talk it out with Wes and his staff in real time. This isnt his strongest area, drafting communications strategies for the domestic sensibility. He wonders if it would be appropriate to meet with Elliott and get his input.

Blaines considering an inquiry to the Ambassador when the lights go out. Quietly he sits for a moment, listening. Hears nothing catastrophic. "Lights?" he says to the darkness.

The lights dont come up. Which leaves his only source of illumination the screen of the infotab. Its reporting an error, so the ships network nodes must be down along with the lights. A power failure then. In the dim glow cast by the infotab, Blaine carefully picks his way from his workroom to his bed chamber. The walls have gone dull, blank, and completely opaque. He taps the wall near the door, and gets no response. Fortunately, the hum of the engines remains a constant vibration beneath his feet, so theyre still at warp.

Hes relieved to find the door has defaulted to an unlocked state; he finds a groove on the edge of it that fits his fingertips. It slides open easily. Once its open, he touches his temple and activates the IR overlay for his rig and rolls up the infotabs screen to conserve its power.

The Ambassador is already in the lounge area, a brighter figure in the greenscale gloom. He gets her message on his rig for their delegation to convene here. Another, higher priority message overtakes the display; its from Major Clarington, prompting code alpha emergency response protocols. Blaine declines the suggested action. Its too soon for that. He doesnt want to use metabolic boosters or get his sidearm unless theres an actual, clear danger to confront. Right now its just dark and quiet. Theyre nowhere near the conflict zones.

"All right?" he asks the Ambassador.

"Perfectly fine," she says, sounding—if anything—vaguely bored by the disruption. Unflappable as ever. Its a comfort.

The others come in from the hall without difficulty. Nick and Trent wear thin protective vests and caps. Trent sets a pair of small lamps on the table that illuminate the room adequately. Blaine switches off his low light enhancement and blinks as the color comes back to his vision. He grimaces when he sees the Major, who wears his sidearm while the peace knot on his phase dagger is undone. Across his chest is strapped a satchel that Blaine knows will contain other weapons and gear. Hes wearing a heavy armored jacket, cuisses, and greaves.

"Do you have reason to suspect an attack?" Blaine asks him, keeping his tone conversational. Careful not to challenge.

"Not yet," Hunter says. He puts opens the satchel, takes out an armored vest and cap, passes them to the Ambassador. "Maam," he says. "Please wear these."

She takes them but makes no move to put them on, nor does she ask for Blaines assistance. "Lets not assume the worst, Major," she says. "Well wait patiently until we know something more."

But Hunter ignores her. He passes the next vest to Blaine along with a sonic blaster and a belt with replacement energy packs on it. "I trust you remember your combat training," Hunter says to him. "Keep her safe," he says. "Ill be guarding the door. "Nick? With me." Blaine clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. Exhales the tension in his muscles with it.

Sees Trent standing nervously. The light casts his face lurid detail and highlights his fear—no doubt well primed by Hunters leap to heightened vigilance. It—weirdly—reminds Blaine of late nights at the Academy telling scary stories with his fellow students. But Trent blinks and forces a smile before hesitantly reaching up and taking off his armored cap. He smooths his hair back with a shaking hand and exhales in a long rush.

"Maam, are you concerned?" Blaine asks June quietly as he moves to sit opposite her and gestures for Trent to sit as well. Hearing it from her might help calm Trents nerves.

"Caution is wise whenever something goes amiss in space," she says. "But no, not overly so."

The weight of the sonic blaster in Blaines hand is more familiar than hed like it to be. He does remember his training. He checks the weapons battery pack is charged, verifies Hunter has left the safety engaged, dials it back to its lowest setting and sets it, the armored clothing, and the belt on the table.

Then comes the sound of voices in the hall. Hunters voice is loud and challenging though his words are muffled. The tone is enough to pull Blaines spine straight. A softer, placating response comes. Sounds like either Kurt or Sam. Blaine stands quickly. He wills Hunter to be polite even if he cant manage nice. Glances at the Ambassador, who raises an eyebrow and lifts her chin. Blaine goes to the door and opens it—

—to nearly collide with a rather harried looking Sam, who holds in his arms a stack of blankets. He has a lamp mounted on his forehead that casts a broad beam of light. Blaine steps aside to let him in. Behind him one of the girls who helps with breakfast has a covered tray. The metal lid rattles against its base. Her eyes are wide and unblinking and fixed on Hunter who is staring right back at her. His frigid expression is inhuman—and entirely inappropriate.

"Come in, please. Let me help you with that," Blaine says to the girl gently. He smiles and extends his arm between her and Hunter, brushing her shoulder to encourage her welcome. She doesnt let him take the tray, but she does step forward.

Nick nudges the Majors elbow. "I dont think shes got a bomb under there, Major." Nick says.

Inside their rooms, Sam unloads his blankets and several more portable lanterns. Then he addresses the Ambassador. "The ships main generator is offline and the back ups arent coming online as quickly as wed like. Our engineers are working on it. But please dont worry, primary life support is fine, its on a different line, but the temperature may take a downturn before it stabilizes. Were very sorry for the inconvenience."

The girl sets the tray on the table and uncovers it. Its a carafe of juice and a cold platter of fruit, bread, and cheese.

"Are your engineers aware of a cause for the issue?" the Ambassador asks.

Sam shakes his head. "You know as much as I do, Maam. In the meantime, Ive brought blankets, lamps, refreshments and—" he dips his shoulder to slide his arm free of a bag strap. "A few other essentials."

"Thats all fine, thank you, Mr. Evans," the Ambassador says.

"Mr. Evans?" Blaine asks as he takes the bag from Sam, but he keeps his voice soft, since it feels like a more personally motivated query. "May I ask, wheres Master Hummel?"

Sams smile is apologetic. "The main kitchens have lost power too, which means theres a lot of food about to spoil. Hes coordinating damage control. Hes put me in charge here for now."

"I understand," Blaine says.

"Well do our best to get you all a hot dinner tonight," Sam adds. "In the meantime, Ill just be across the hall, so if you need anything to assist either your work or your comfort, let me know." He turns to leave, but then turns back again. "And, Ambassador, if you or your staff are doubting your safety aboard The Galactic Diamond, Id be happy to arrange for the Captain to come address your concerns personally as soon as shes able."

"That wont be necessary," the Ambassador replies. "My men are following protocol, theyll stand down."

Sam nods in acknowledgment and leaves.

"Do you still have that bottle of wine, Trent?" Blaine asks, wry. "Maybe well need it this afternoon."

Trent laughs, but the Ambassador shakes her head. "Just tell the others to come back in, Blaine. Well stay together until the power returns. This isnt an excuse to set down our work. Well settle here and continue to do what were here to do, all right?"

"Yes, Maam."

The Major and Nick come back in, and at the Ambassadors prompting, they remove their weapons and armored clothing. Blaine helps Hunter pack it all back into his satchel. But Hunter doesnt sit with the rest of them, he stands near the door, stone faced and not at all reassuring in his presence.

Blaine looks at him and wonders just how much of his brain has been replaced with circuitry. The cold efficiency of the military hasnt bothered Blaine much until now, but here, more than any other mission Blaines been on, the most alien being on the ship is technically one of his own people. Fortunately the Major doesnt return Blaines scrutiny.

Blaine settles and returns his attention to their work. Not communications strategies this afternoon, but the Charn themselves. The Ambassador wants to discuss what a hypothetical mediation between the Charn and Elyssia, brokered by Apathea, might look like. Nick looks mildly confused, Trent concerned, but Major Claringtons interest seems piqued. He leaves off his position by the door, removes his jacket, and sits with them. Blaine does his best to consider the scenario seriously. The Ambassador likes to pose these kinds of thought experiments to provoke insight and new perspectives.

And Blaines job is, as always, to provide advice and assistance. He listens attentively as the Ambassador asks Hunter to outline Apatheas history with the Charn. The Major gives the broad brush strokes of Apatheas war with the Charn, how it began—without warning or provocation—and how it ended, with dogged determination, cunning intelligence, high risks, and the largest stellar naval fleet the Apathean economy could construct.

"Admiral Dolloway was your great uncle, Ambassador, wasnt he?" Major Clarington says.

"Its hardly a secret, Major," she replies dismissively. Its common knowledge among both her staff and the public: the man who planned and led the last battle of the war, the one that destroyed the Charn capital ship and its entire assault group, is her ancestor. The Ambassadors family has a distinguished history of significant public service, but she disdains any whiff of status associated with her name. Her work stands on its own merits.

And yet, Blaine looks at Hunter and considers his reminder alongside the Ambassadors hypothetical mediation. Surely shes not considering— No. But theres the matter of the hand written note to the Councilor this morning. Blaine turns his attention to the Ambassador. "Maam?" he asks.

"Mr. Anderson," she says without looking at him, "Would you please find Mr. Evans and ask him to bring us more water?"

Blaine blinks once and then stands smoothly. He inclines his head politely and says, "Of course."

.

Its a relief when the exterior walls finally brighten, flicker, and resolve the streaming starscape outside. Blaine exhales slowly and stares at it as his sense of space expands, like theres more air to breathe. The Ambassador excuses everyone until dinner, from which Blaine then excuses himself.

After the others leave to dine, Blaine showers for his date with Kurt. The Ambassadors earlier dismissal of his attempted questioning still rankles. Once he returned to the meeting he limited himself to only responding to what was directed at him and asked nothing more of his own. Perhaps its simply that the questions he would ask are not ones the Ambassador wishes to address with the others present. Which makes Blaine wonder why have the conversation at all? So he allows himself to entertain—less hypothetically—the notion of attempted diplomacy with the Charn. Is it even possible to arrange some kind of meeting? Or perhaps its simply the attempt thats relevant: a tacit threat of Apathean involvement in the conflict. Even though it could only be a desperate bluff at this point.

The work to be done is not quick, but then, neither are the Charn, and his work day is over. Blaine shakes off the impending frustration creeping beneath his skin and instead turns his thoughts to Kurt, who will be by soon.

Blaine dresses with his customary care, and tries to find a way to add a flourish to his outfit, but his wardrobe is practical clothing and he has few accessories. He makes the best of a pair of casual maroon trousers that are tailored more narrowly than those of his uniform and a light gray cardigan over a crisp white shirt. He leaves the top two buttons unfastened.

He styles his hair more loosely while thinking about Kurt putting his hands in it. Shaves neatly, and even the familiar passage of the razor over his skin seems new. His anticipation grows, fine and sharp.

But when the bell to his quarters chimes, the door opens to reveal Tina waiting for him. Shes wearing a ruffled green top that bares her shoulders and a floaty knee-length skirt with a black, white, and yellow geometric print. Her grin is bright and she presents him with a small bouquet of daisies.

"Hello, Tina," Blaine says. "I wasnt expecting you. Im afraid I already have plans for the evening."

"Yes, I know. These are from Kurt," she says, putting the flowers into his hands. "Hes very sorry he cant make it. Hell find you once hes finished work, but in the meantime, if you would still like to go out for the evening, Im here to escort you," Tina says.

"Oh, I see," Blaine says and he smiles through his disappointment. "Id like that. Let me find somewhere to put these." She follows him inside while he finds a decorative vase of an appropriate size. He hesitates to leave the flowers on the table in the living area. Excuses himself briefly to put them in his room on top of the dresser.

When he comes back out, he offers Tina his arm. They chat as they walk to the lift. Tina explains that Kurts been drafted into engineering work tonight. Apparently there was a power surge and several older power exchanges on the ship blew. "Everyone says the ship didnt get the maintenance it needed the last time it was docked, and engineering is understaffed. Doesnt seem smart to me. I guess they need all hands in the shipyards or something. But trust me, hed rather be with you tonight than rebuilding circuits or whatever it is theyve got him doing."

"So is there anything Kurt doesnt know how to do?" Blaine inflects the question with humor, but he is curious about the diversity of Kurts skills.

"His father was a mechanic," Tina says. "But hes always been busy like this, with some project or another. He likes working with his hands." The last is accompanied by a tilt of her head. "Which I understand youve discovered for yourself recently."

"Oh," Blaine says; his face flushes with heat and his insides go uncomfortably tight at the boldness of her inference. Strange, too, to realize that a few days ago, her meaning would have eluded him. "I, uh...?"

"Its okay, Kurt told me about you two," Tina says, "in the context of asking me to refrain from any future meddling. You could have told me, Blaine. Im happy for you."

"Thank you."

"And just so you know, in case I gave you the wrong impression the other day, Kurts a wonderful person. Hell be good to you," she says, and Blaine doesnt doubt it.

She takes him to a restaurant aft on the upper decks. Its an elongated crescent shape with its broad exterior curve bowing out into the symmetrical distortion of stars strung out behind them. The floor appears to be some mottled gray stone, polished to a mirror like shine, but its soft beneath Blaines boots. A gleaming black piano rests in the center of the room, and a woman in a sheer silver gown plays—nothing Blaine recognizes, but its an airy, light piece that ripples through the space. The maitred leads them to a table near the center with nothing between them and the view, and its like being seated in an oversized cosmic kaleidoscope.

"This is quite a venue," Blaine says, holding Tinas chair for her.

Tina beams up at him. "I hoped youd enjoy it." She sits with an artful sweep of her skirt and a show of straightening her shoulders. Her smile is amused. "Youre so old fashioned, Blaine. Its charming."

"Are you telling me good manners are out of fashion here?" Blaine teases and sits opposite her while the maitred fills their water goblets with sparkling water.

"Not at all," she says, "Just different. Would you like wine?"

"No, thank you," Blaine says.

Tina grimaces. "I dont know how well I can impress you if you wont try my familys wine."

"Am I being rude?" he asks, "by declining?"

"No," she says. "I understand not everyone likes to partake. Do you make wine back home?"

"Not much," he says. "Alcohol was banned except for ceremonial purposes long before I was born."

"Hmm," she says. "So youll have no appreciattion for the artistry of it, then."

"On this matter, Ill admit that Im lacking in sophistication."

She laughs. "Well, you can learn a lot about wine without getting drunk," she says. "Perhaps I could arrange a tasting for your delegation when we get to the Capitol? I promise to enhance your sophistication."

"Ill be sure to suggest it to the Ambassador," Blaine says.

Tinas smile is bright. "That would be amazing, Blaine. Thank you."

Then follows a quiet lull, wherein a waiter pours for Tina a glass of wine and brings Blaine a pinkish orange fruit juice. "So," Blaine says, looking about the room at the other diners, the high curve of the ceiling, and out toward the beautifully distorted starfield. "This ship, shes unusual for a warship, isnt she?"

Tina cocks her head. "A warship?"

"I mean, shes very comfortable. Even our commercial ships arent this luxurious," Blaine says.

"Shes primarily a government liner that operates in the inner worlds, and we arent a martial society," Tina says, and Blaine doesnt miss the defensive note in her voice. "I dont know why youd expect her to be some kind of battleship."

"Im not criticizing," he reassures. "But I was thinking about what you said, about her not getting the maintenance she requires. Could she fight, do you think?"

"I have no idea."

"Im just wondering, what would happen if— Never mind. Its a hypothetical, and its work related and maybe not the most appropriate topic of dinner conversation?"

Tina exhales a laugh. Her shoulders relax and she takes her napkin from the table. "At the end of the day, Im not a starship designer or a military strategist. I could tell you anything youd like to know about music or wine or sex or many other arts, but I dont know very much about war."

"But you are politically minded," Blaine says.

"I am."

"What would you do, then, if you were calling the shots."

"Ah, I see your hypothetical is actually quite fantastical." She grins.

"Im just curious," Blaine says. "Youre a well informed citizen outside a lot of the current process, but you have some strong opinions and thoughts, and Id value hearing your perspective."

She looks at him curiously. "May I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Is this a conversation youd be having with Kurt, if you were with him tonight?"

"Oh, um, maybe? I dont know."

"This is your time off. Id hoped wed get to know each other better tonight, Blaine, as friends."

"Ah," Blaine says, glances down. "I have been rude then."

A server brings them a platter of assorted bite-sized savories to share. The aroma of some unfamiliar herb combination makes Blaines mouth water. He waits for Tina to choose her own before he spears a plump, filled dumpling with his fork. Its fresh and fragrant.

"You havent," she says. "Im not uninterested, but, I dont know. Normally Id be wanting to pick your mind, but this week has been a hard one, and tonight, Id like to leave some of the seriousness behind us for a little while. Id love to learn more about you. All I know is your job, that you like music, and youre spending a lot of time with Kurt."

Its more than most people know about him. His professional life is most of what hes accustomed to talking about.

"So, I dont know. Tell me what it was like growing up for you?"

He glances down at his fork, attends to selecting another dumpling with a different shape and a different, spicier filling. "Theres not much to tell," he says. "My childhood was very orderly. My family home is near the city, my mother works at the Office of Environment and Sustainable Technology and my father is an exogeologist with the Colonial Office. I studied hard and was accepted into the government service track at sixteen and graduated from the Academy with honors. Ive had a good career working with Ambassador Dolloway since then."

"Model citizen, huh?" Tina says. "Im sure theres more to tell. I cant believe youre really that boring."

Blaine shrugs, but laughs.

"And this is why we drink wine sometimes, Blaine," she teases, "to lower our inhibitions and lubricate our conversations."

"What about you. Tell me about growing up on Lima."

She grins. "All right, Ill show you how this is done." Tina takes a sip of her wine and tells him tales of growing up on a vineyard—she tells him not only about grape varieties and soil and altitude and sunshine, but of the hot dry days leading up to harvest, the long days of work during—"There are so many things we prefer not to automate," she says, "Its art as much as science and craft, and my father always says, art requires human instinct and intuition."—and the long parties after. She easily transports Blaines imagination to the fragrant summer nights, the weariness and happiness, the satisfaction of a job well done, the music and ease of good friends.

She tells him about helping her parents process the grapes, the fine attention and important details. Its all far more complex than Blaine expects, and she makes it fascinating. And then she tells hims about chasing birds off the ripening fruit as a small child. "Of course we do have automated systems to discourage the birds safely and humanely, but somehow, when I was four, I thought it was my job. So it was me and our dog Millie. We were very serious about our duties."

"I bet you were adorable," Blaine says.

"Oh, we were," Tina says, but sadness shades her smile.

Its a lot to lose, Blaine understands. "Youve actually... changed my mind tonight," he says. "May I try it?" he asks, gesturing at her glass.

"Oh!" She smiles in delight. "Would you like your own glass or just a sip from mine?"

"A glass would be fine, but just a little bit."

The waiter brings him a glass and pours a couple centimeters worth of wine for him. He finds it both more sour and acidic than he expected, but it lingers with a complex rich fruitiness thats not unapealing Tina prompts him to describe the flavors, and he does his best. Its fun, and he doesnt feel intoxicated, though the warmth of the wine going down blooms pleasantly in his body.

"And every wine is different?" Blaine asks. Its hard to imagine, infinite variations on a single beverage.

"Oh, yes," she says. "Theres so much to explore and learn, if youre interested," she says.

"I dont know if Ill have time to pursue any serious study," Blaine says regretfully, and he examines the light hitting the warm gold of the remaining wine in his glass, tips the bowl of the glass toward his nose to see if he can find the notes of peaches and honeysuckle Tina assures him are there. But his regret leads him back to Kurt and how theyre missing the night together. He wonders how Kurts doing, if hes had a dinner break or if hes working straight through mealtime. Should he have sent a message before he left with Tina? To thank him for the flowers? But the lack of a message from Kurt may imply a wish to avoid interruptions so that he may accomplish his work efficiently. Blaine will wait.

"Then just enjoy it while you can," Tina says. She lifts her glass toward him in a toast. He meets it, clinks his glass against hers and drains the last of the wine from his goblet.

"So," he says as he sets his empty glass back on the table. "Will we be attending the concert after dinner tonight? Or has there been a change of plans?"

"Id love to take you," Tina says. "Kurt reserved two seats."

.

The Auditorium, rather than the stage Blaine expects, is a space into which one ascends via a spiraling staircase into a broad illuminated dome above them. The gallery circles the entry in concentric rings on a gentle incline. Tina leads him to a pair of the reclining seats. Theyre wide and deep with broad arms that double as tables. Blaine sees a few couples sharing a single such chair, some wider couches accommodate larger groups, and seeing others embraced, his whole body pangs for Kurt. Blaine goes to lower himself into his seat beside Tina and flinches at how the surface yields beneath his hand. Its fluid, but viscous. Some kind of gel. And its warm beneath the sueded surface.

Tina watches him, amused. "It wont bite," she tells him as he pushes against it with his palm to see if it ripples. It doesnt. "Theyre deigned to both resonate with the music and conform to your body."

"Sounds comfortable," Blaine says, and they settle into their seats. Blaine wonders if he were here with Kurt if they would be sharing a chair together. A waiter brings them drinks. Tina has wine, this time a deep ruby red one. Blaine just asks for water. The lights dim, and the music starts, accompanied by an elaborate three-dimensional light show beneath the dome above them. Abstract patterns that spiral and writhe with the sound, unfurling like ribbons, filling the empty air around them. Mesmerizing.

There are erotic elements to the music as well. Or elements Blaines finds erotic: his bodys response is undeniable. And other parts that tighten poignant emotion in his throat just because theyre beautiful. Its ancient music from Earth, written for a chorale to sing in a cathedral in worshipful exultation. The layers of voices interleave in complex harmonies, some soar in such clarity and intensity, tears prick in Blaines eyes. Its as if the music is striking his body like an instrument. He feels the voices within him, pulsing and vibrating and thrilling along his nerves until hes breathless and enthralled.

The warm cradle of his seat makes him feel like the edges of his body erode away into nothing and hes just a consciousness suspended within the music, and the music within him.

.

The quiet after the concert is like a sensory inversion, a palpable muffled pressure in Blaines head. He and Tina walk in silence and Blaine blinks in the relatively brighter light of the corridor, trying to reorient his disheveled mind. "I heard the ship may need to divert to the closest station." Tina says, breaking the silence. "Which could delay our arrival at the Capitol, but Im sure youll get some official memo or update to your schedule."

Blaine makes a noise of affirmation.

"Did you enjoy it?" Tina asks. "The music?"

"It was..." He tries to find the right word for what it was. Settles on, "extraordinary."

"Im so glad!" Tina says. "And now we have options," she says. "We could go to the spa or to the Dance or see if Sam and Mercedes are in. Or—? What would you like to do?"

"Actually, I think Id just like to head back now," Blaine says, his head is still swimming, muzzy and light. It could be the music, or it could be sleepiness. "I could use an early night."

"Oh, I bet. Spending your nights with Kurt hasnt been very restful, huh?" She winks.

Blaine blushes, looks at the toes of his boots as they walk.

"Hey," Tina says, "Why do you look so embarrassed?"

"I suppose I am embarrassed."

Tina frowns at him, confused. "I dont understand why. Kurts not someone to be embarrassed about."

"No, Im not embarassed by him."

"Then...?"

How does he explain simply? "In my culture, my conduct with Kurt would be considered—at best—irresponsible."

"Irresponsible?" Tina stares at him. "Thats absurd."

"Im increasingly inclined to agree, but my situation is what it is. Some things are hard to shake off."

"So... if youve been celibate until now, then Kurts your first experience with sex and intimacy?"

Blaine nods.

"Blaine, if this is your first affair, if you ever want someone other than Kurt to talk to about it, I want you to know you can talk to me, okay?"

"Thats kind, thank you," Blaine says. "And I hope you can appreciate that my position requires that I be discreet about such private matters."

"And you should know, youre lucky to be with Kurt. He understands how much it matters to be with someone who will take care with you through your debut."

"Debut?"

"Your first sexual relationship."

"That sounds rather formal," he says. Kurt hasnt given him any indication of such. But he wonders.

She shrugs. "It can be for some people, I guess? But not always. Everyones different."

He wants to ask how it was for her, but its such a personal question, he cant quite bring it to his tongue. Besides, theyre close to his quarters. So he nods, and says, "I understand."

"I had a lovely time tonight, Blaine, thank you," Tina says as they come to a stop by the door.

"As did I," he says, and hes unsure what protocol—or good manners—requires, but he leans in to kiss her cheek, and that brightens Tinas smile beautifully. "Good night," he says.

.

Blaines trying—and failing—to sleep. Tina said Kurt would come find him when he could, but the night is moving toward the next days morning, and Blaine knows he does, in fact, need the sleep. His mind, left idle, skitters irretrievably toward memory and anticipation and curious daydreams. Beneath his covers, but over the fabric of his pajamas, Blaine cups one hand over the semi-hard swell of his penis. Hes trying to recall the precise feel of Kurts penis in his hand, the texture and heat and weight of it. Hes considering masturbating. The thought alone is enough to flood his body with aching want. But its not quite enough to banish his reflexive hesitation.

Thats when his infotab dings with a message. It must be Kurt, Blaine scrambles for it, where it rests on his nighttable, nearly bumping it to roll off onto the floor in his haste. "Are you awake?" Kurts message says.

"Yes," Blaine replies with shaking fingers and unsteady breath.

"May I come in?" Kurt asks.

"Oh," Blaine says to the room. He didnt expect Kurt to come here, but rather to suggest a place to meet. Blaine doesnt question it though; he slides out of bed, moves quickly out to the main lounge area and to the door. He scarcely breathes, not wanting to make any noise to wake the Ambassador. He feels like an errant child, misbehaving, to let Kurt in now, like this. When hes dressed down for bed. It would be a scandal were he seen. That doesnt stop him. The danger thrills him, and he opens the door for Kurt.

"Hi," Kurt says quietly. His gaze is weighted with fatigue and affection. Hes dressed simply, snug velvety black trousers, soft shoes, and a loose knit white sweater with a wide v-neck. Blaine can tell hes not wearing anything beneath it. Atop his head is a brimmed cloth cap set back on his crown that makes his face look younger. Hes so beautiful, every time more than Blaine remembers.

"Hi," Blaine replies, and Kurt comes to him. Kurts hands are on Blaines face immediately, and he kisses Blaine with fierce desperation, inhaling through the kiss, without breaking the seal of their lips. Theres too much clothing between them. Blaines hot. Kurts even hotter.

"Missed you," Kurt says breathlessly, against Blaines cheek. "All day." He drops his hands to Blaines shoulders, smooths down his arms to his elbows. "Im sorry its so late, but I wanted see you. I just showered and came straight here."

"Im glad you came. I wanted to see you too." He takes Kurts hands in his and tugs him in. "Can you stay a little while?"

"Id love to," Kurt says, and Blaine leads him to his bedroom. Here is maybe not the best place for this. Though the liklihood of something requiring his professional presence at the current hour is slim. Not impossible though. But the Ambassador would never come in to his room unannounced. He thinks he can keep this discreet. And anyway, he should enjoy this while he can.

After making sure his door is locked, Blaine sits on the bed, but Kurt remains standing, having taken his hands back to himself to undress. Hes lifting his sweater to unfasten his pants, and hes asked Blaine to just wait and watch. Blaine sees the fatigue in the way Kurt moves, loose and heavy, lacking his usual precision. His smile is sweet but tired, and his face is drawn. He drops his cap on the floor with his trousers, runs a hand through his rumpled hair. The corner of his mouth kinks in enjoyment of Blaines attention on him as he pulls his sweater over his head. Then hes gorgeously nude and crawling into Blaines arms, all smooth, warm skin and hot kisses as he straddles Blaines lap and pulls at the buttons of Blaines pajamas.

Kurt hums into a kiss and speaks against Blaines mouth. "I had such plans for you tonight," he mumbles ruefully.

"Anything you want to do is fine," Blaine replies. Kurts ardor and the pliancy of his body is so enticing, whatever Kurt wants now, Blaine wants it too. Moreso as Kurt pushes Blaines pajamas open and down his arms, and presses him to his back to pull his pajama bottoms off while Blaine scoots toward the center of the mattress. Soon enough, theyre bare skin to bare skin, open mouth to open mouth, and Kurts knee is pressing between his thighs. His cock nudges the join of Blaines hip, and Blaines cockhead catches and rubs against Kurts belly. The way their bodies come together so easily, with such simple desire, by instinct and Earths ancient design. Of course theyre both human. Blaine could never doubt it.

But Kurt breaks the kiss to stifle a yawn against Blaines shoulder. "Ugh, but Im so bloody tired," he mumbles as he drags his lips over Blaines collarbones and the tension in his body wanes as his weight settles against Blaine more solidly and he stills. "You feel so good."

Kurt starts moving again, lazily and with haphazard rhythm. Hums sleepily against Blaines skin as his kisses slow to lethargic nuzzles. "Dont let me doze off on you," he says. "I didnt come here to sleep."

Blaine strokes up and down his spine, soothing, encouraging. "I wont," he says, presses a kiss to Kurts hair, and then he adds—he hopes—flirtatiously, "How would you like me to keep you awake?"

Kurt huffs a laugh through his nose, but his eyes stay closed. "Youve a clever boy. Im sure you can think of something."

"I can think of a few things," Blaine says, and carefully he rolls Kurt to his back and extracts his arm from beneath his shoulders. He props himself above Kurt and watches his hand on Kurts chest, brushes his fingertips across Kurts pink nipples and feels how they contract beneath his touch, watches Kurts skin pimple and his eyelids shiver. His lips part and he sighs his pleasure. Blaine warms with more than arousal—more than affection. Its some deeper sense of gratification at Kurts trust, at the way hes responding to Blaines touch. "But if theres something you would especially enjoy, youll need to tell me," Blaine says. "I dont really know what Im doing."

Kurt slumps into the bedding with an approving smile and cracks one eye open. He reaches up and touches Blaines lips with his fingertips. "How about you show me what was on your mind this morning then, hmm?"