Kurt pulls back, and looks at Blaine with curiosity in his heavily lidded gaze. "Hmm?"

"I…" Blaine starts, has to take a deep breath, because Kurts still holding him so closely, still rocking them together with the music, still making heat and sensation and yearning surge in Blaines blood. Kurts hand strokes gently at the base of Blaines spine as if to soothe, and that feels even more intimate than the press of their hips together.

"I need some air," Blaine says, pushing back against Kurt gently, giving enough resistance to communicate his requirement for space. "Please? Will you excuse me?"

"Yes, of course," Kurt says, and he releases his hold on Blaine, but his eyes cloud with confusion and worry. He touches Blaines temple lightly, as if checking for a fever. "Are you all right?"

"Im a little dizzy," Blaine says, "Im going to step outside." He doesnt wait for Kurts reply, just moves away, forcing his way through the crowd toward the doors on legs that feel brand new.

Once out of the ballroom, the riot in Blaines mind eases with the quiet and the expanding sense of space. He walks with more strength down the curved length of the corridor, only dazedly registering the other people he passes. Its so much cooler out here, too. He cant quite think clearly though. He keeps starting on a thought only for his mind to skip, stutter, and fail. His blood still buzzes with an alien hunger—his whole body aches with it, and the dull throb in his genitals nags at him.

He doesnt have any blocker with him. Hasnt needed it since he graduated and stopped taking it regularly. Meditation has been enough to smooth over any unwanted urges. Unwanted? He chuckles softly at himself.

Its such a strange concept here now, because part of him does seem to want it. But the rest of him? He cant tell if its fear or indignation or embarrassment. (At the feeling itself? Or of not understanding enough of anything to have expected this turn? The briefing reports are all so frustratingly vague. People mince around the topic with euphemisms and lack of detail.

Its one thing for these bodily urges to be socially taboo among Apathean society, but its something altogether different and—potentially—damaging to withhold essential information from the professional people who require it.

Blaine refuses to consider that perhaps this particular context is not altogether professional, not strictly speaking. But regardless, he needs enough information to engage with a culture in his down time and not humiliate himself in the process.

(And, by the gods, hes so unbelievably far from any sense of internal equilibrium, his skin feels too small and his brain too hot and his body so uncomfortably needful and discontent. How does a person find relief for this manner of disturbance? Will it fade on its own? Does he just walk it off?)

"Blaine?" its Kurts voice behind him. "Hey, slow down, will you, please?"

Its only then that Blaine realizes how quickly hes walking. He slows and stops, turns back to see Kurt coming up to him at an easy jog. "Your jacket," Kurt says, holding it up. "And… I wasnt sure if you were coming back?" Apologetic concern registers on Kurts lovely face. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Thank you," Blaine says, and he takes his jacket from Kurt without looking him in the eye. He shakes out the folds, and slips the jacket on. It settles on his shoulders with the exact weight he needs. He exhales. Then he fastens the snaps at the top of his shirt while Kurt watches him.

"Are you feeling all right?" Kurt says.

Blaine chooses honesty. He shakes his head. "No, not really."

"Is it time lag or the food? I hope its not the food. I can take you to the medic if you need—"

"Im not sick. Im just…" He gestures at himself with one hand, and looks up at Kurt, hoping for his understanding.

"Youre just?" A crooked smile appears on Kurts face. "I cant tell if thats an idiom thats not translating well or if youre avoiding answering me."

"Is there somewhere else we can go? To talk privately?"

An unexpected kindness infuses both Kurts demeanor and his voice. "Yes, Blaine, of course we can." Kurt glances up the corridor with pursed lips. "I know just the place."

They take a lift up several decks, and Blaine follows Kurt along a hall that is abandoned at this late hour. "Few people make use of this observation room at night," Kurt says and extends a hand toward a smoky glass door, and Blaine goes in. Inside its cool bordering on cold, dark, and completely silent. Blaine cant even hear the soft background thrum of the ships idling engines. Starlight surrounds them, pale and silver, and Blaine realizes theyre in a raised dome atop the ship, set higher even than the bridge. None of the ships hull is visible, and—with the dark floor beneath them—the illusion is strong that they are standing in the void of space.

"Here" Kurt says and waves toward a piece of furniture hunkering in the low light as little more than a shadow. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

As his eyes adjust to the gloom, Blaine makes out a broad low couch. Its like two long lounge chairs have been fused facing each other. Its clearly designed for two people to sit at ease, facing one another, with their legs sharing the wide middle of the seat.

"Youll find blankets on the couch if youre cold. Im going to order some refreshments for us, and then Ill join you," Kurt says.

Blaine settles himself at one end of the couch and finds a soft throw to pull over his legs. He arranges the cushions behind himself and tries to find a comfortable way to sit thats neither too slouching nor too stiff. The design of the couch makes it a challenge, and hes not certain he finds a reasonable compromise, but he does make himself comfortable enough.

After spending some time tapping at a panel summoned on the wall, Kurt comes and sits opposite him. In the dark, Kurt is luminous in silver and white, and his eyes are dark gleaming shadows fixed upon Blaine expectantly. "Now we may speak comfortably," Kurt says. "Would you like to tell me whats troubling you tonight?"

Blaine takes a moment to rehearse the words before he speaks them, to make sure hes speaking the truth to Kurt. That seems important, and more than that, he wants to. He wants to shift the strange weight from his heart into words, rather than simply internalizing it to deconstruct it later and convince himself it doesnt matter the way he knows it does. He takes a breath, relaxes his shoulders and throat, and speaks: "I realized I maybe shouldnt have come to the dance. I was curious, but I didnt know it would be like that. I didnt expect that we would become so intimate. I didnt know that would… happen."

"We danced together," Kurt says, and theres no judgment in his voice (and thats a relief). "Thats not what you wanted? To dance with me?"

"It was more than dancing," Blaine says. "For me anyway." As he meets Kurts gaze in the dark, it feels as if the heat still hasnt quite left his face.

"Well," Kurt says, slowly, "I admit, dancing is among my favorite forms of foreplay, so Id hoped it would lead us to—" He breaks off with a realization dawning in the shape of his open mouth. "Many Apatheans abstain from sexual relations outside of marriage," he says as if quoting a report.

"Many?" Blaine echoes. "Its actually a lot more than many. Most? Nearly all? Theres not one person of rank in government service who doesnt."

Kurt bows his head then. "Ive made another mistake," Kurt says. "From the way you looked at me, the way you seemed so receptive to my flirtations, I believed we had a mutual attraction that you were interested in exploring together. I assumed—incorrectly—that you were not among those in your society who choose to practice celibacy."

Blaine laughs softly, partly at himself—for there are still things he doesnt understand, the full significance of the words Kurt uses (flirtation is an unfamiliar one) or the precise context (receptive?). He explains his own assumptions: "I believed we were going to talk, and you were going to give me a tour of the Garden."

Kurt exhales a huff of amused breath through his smile to echo Blaines laughter. "Oh. I thought youd know from your preparations and research, Blaine. The Garden is a place people go to make love in the evenings."

"Oh," Blaine says, and then, as understanding sinks in more fully (for he can successfully parse the phrase make love): Kurt had propositioned him for physical intimacy, and he had, in his failure to understand, said yes. "Oh."

"You truly had no idea?"

And its that, the entire absence of even an idea—the way he so completely missed the significance of their interactions that rouses Blaines frustration. Though he tries to temper it, he can hear it in his own voice when he responds, "Im beginning to suspect that a lot of the preparation I did was based on heavily censored and limited material."

Kurt doesnt miss it. "That makes you angry?"

"It does, yes. I dont like being kept ignorant. I cant do my job well if I dont have all the relevant information."

"I suppose someone in your ministry didnt think this was relevant information," Kurt says lightly, as if he wishes to defuse Blaines frustration, but then he cocks his head adds more sympathetically, "But it is relevant to you?"

"Very much so, apparently," Blaine says, and he summons a smile for Kurt, which Kurt returns.

The silence between them isnt uncomfortable, and thats pleasant, to feel some ease in Kurts company, especially given the difficulty of the situation theyre navigating. It makes Blaine grateful they can speak this candidly. He understands, then, the true value of the Elyssian honesty. Theres no dissembling or elision for proprietys sake. No information being obfuscated to maintain a false illusion. Its refreshing.

Its in the lull between them that the door trills and a young man comes in bearing a tray. He doesnt speak, just sets the tray down upon the couch between them. Upon it is two mugs, an insulated flask, and an oval plate with what appear to be sugar dusted fritters. He bows briefly and departs.

"May I ask you something more personal?" Kurt says once theyre alone again. He sits forward to offer Blaine the plate of fritters, "The beignets are best warm," he says.

Theyre well past the boundaries of personal, so it doesnt make sense to decline Kurts request. "Sure," Blaine says, and he takes one of the round pastries. "Youve already read my school records. I dont imagine I have much to hide from you at this point." He grins so Kurt will understand that all is forgiven. Then Blaine bites into the beignet. The sweetness of the sugar clings to his lips and falls away beneath his fingertips. The crisp freshly-fried surface gives way to a tender, fluffy interior. Blaine reaches for one of the cloth napkins on the tray before he ends up covered in sugar. "These are delicious," he mumbles. Hes not remotely hungry after the lavish dinner, but the flavor and texture of the beignets rouses a craving for more. A second bite reveals a tart jam center.

Kurt grins back and pours a aromatic beverage from an insulated flask into the two handleless mugs. He passes one to Blaine, and leans back. Thoughtfully, he blows across his own drink before he speaks, "You chose celibacy in order to pursue your career? Is that correct?"

Blaine wraps his hand around the smooth heat of the ceramic mug, swallows his mouthful, and wipes his lips neatly. He shakes his head and replies, "No, its, uh, Ive never thought about it like that. It wasnt a choice."

With a frown, Kurt asks, "How is that even possible?"

"Um, well," he begins, unsure how to explain if Kurts baffled. He rests his mug against his thigh. "When puberty came, my parents took me to the doctor, and I took blockers throughout my adolescence just like every other child. Ive never not been celibate."

"Blockers?"

"Its, ah, medicine to stop the bodily urges, so were not distracted by them when were so young and need most to devote ourselves to our studies."

"Bodily urges? You mean sexual desire?" Even in the dark, Blaine can see how Kurts eyebrows rise.

"Yes," Blaine says, the heat of a flush rising up his neck at Kurts direct words. "Thats correct." He takes a sip of the beverage, finds it bitter and rich, a complementary contrast to the sweet treats.

"So are you telling me that youve never experienced sexual pleasure?"

"No."

"Not even with yourself?" Kurt asks, incredulous but without apparent judgment. He nibbles at a beignet. "Many of my friends who choose celibacy still masturbate."

"Masturbate?" Blaine asks. "I dont know that word."

"Its when you touch yourself, your own body, for pleasure," Kurt explains, so frankly again and without the weight of criticism: theres no repudiation of Blaines ignorance, just information offered. Blessedly, it doesnt aggravate Blaines embarrassment—instead he feels relieved.

"No," Blaine says. "Ive actually never even heard of people doing that."

Kurts lips press into a grimace. "That… all seems rather harsh to me. To do that to children? To take away your potential for natural desire and the experience of pleasure as you mature? You truly didnt have a choice in the matter?"

"No, I didnt. I was a minor in my parents care. It—" Blaine swallows hard. "All children go through this, Kurt. Its not unusual."

"Not here. Thats so strange to me. And what about now? Do you still take these blockers?"

"No," Blaine says, more quietly, "I havent for a few years now."

"Then," Kurt says slowly, "could you choose something else for yourself? Now?"

"I…" Blaine says, and he frowns. Its not something hes ever questioned. "Its not done."

"That sounds very passive. You dont seem like a very passive person to me."

"Im not, but this is something different. Intimate—sexual—misconduct is the sort of thing that ruins reputations and ends careers."

"Misconduct? You say that as if sex is a crime."

"Its not a crime, its just… very taboo and reserved for the sanctity of marriage."

"What about people who dont desire marriage?" Kurt asks. "Are they expected to live their lives without experiencing the joy of sharing themselves with another?" The questions challenge Blaine, but Kurt is more curious than aggressive. Exchange of cultural information, especially on topics this sensitive, is valuable.

So Blaine answers as best he can, with what hes been told his entire life. "It doesnt serve the common interests of society for people to selfishly indulge their desires in that way. We understand how disruptive the pursuit of sex can be, how much strife and lost effort it results in. Its—the lust for it—considered a kind of madness."

Kurts expression grows horrified. "You say we, but what do you think? Do you agree?"

But the challenge Kurt presents Blaine is not merely cultural but personal—and immediate for how Kurt has made him feel this night. No easy abstraction or rote reply will suffice. "Im not sure what I think right now, Kurt."

"Do you believe its selfish? To share pleasure with someone?" Kurt asks with more urgency. "Because I dont. I believe its very generous and compassionate. Its certainly not madness, Blaine. Pleasure is the highest good we can attain. What possible quality can a life have without it?"

Blaine blinks, startled by Kurts sudden vehemence. Its not something hes thought deeply about. Its always been discouraged to entertain even a thought. "I dont know," he says. "I havent any knowledge or experience."

"You have some," Kurt says.

"I do?"

"Tonight," Kurt says. "Did you enjoy dancing with me?" Kurt asks. "Did it feel good?"

"I… It was very intense," Blaine says, and the recent memory comes with a swoop of disorientation. "It did feel good," he confesses in a whisper, and he lowers his gaze.

"Your body was so hot against me," Kurt says, his voice soft with the recollection. "And your cock was so hard against me. I heard the noises you made. Do you believe I was selfish to evoke those good feelings within you?"

"Kurt," Blaine whispers. "No." But he makes himself look up to be snared in the intensity and heat of Kurts regard.

"Did you know you blush whenever our eyes meet?" Kurt asks.

"Yes," Blaine says, and he holds Kurts gaze. It feels rebellious and delicious—and completely terrifying.

"Youre getting hot again, arent you? Right now, even in this cold room. Youre getting hotter, just from this, just us talking and looking at each other."

"I am," Blaine confesses, and though Kurt hasnt moved from his end of the couch, he seems so much closer, taking up all of Blaines awareness.

"Is your cock getting hard again, too?" Kurt asks, gently, as if he knows how these words press at Blaine. "Now that youve had a taste of how amazing your body can feel?"

"This is very intimate," Blaine says, but he refuses to look away, for this is something to be faced. He doesnt want to remain so ignorant. "Youre very bold to talk to me like this."

With a self-conscious twitch of his lips, Kurt glances away and then back. "I simply want you to understand that you do have a choice, Blaine. Here with me at least, you have a choice. I would show you so many beautiful things. So much pleasure." Kurts smile is easy, open. "If you wanted to choose that with me."

"I dont know," Blaine says. "Maybe I do want—something. Maybe. Im curious, but—" Blaine breaks off with a sigh. He turns the half-eaten pastry in his fingers. Its cooled down.

"You dont have to make a decision tonight," Kurt says, and he sets aside his mug to lean forward, tucking his knees beneath him and reaching to place a hand upon Blaines thigh. "I dont wish to pressure you, and I understand if you need some time. But would you consider doing me a favor?"

The weight of Kurts hand sends a thrill up Blaines spine, and now hes the curious one. He lets himself be curious. "Whats that?"

"Take a bath? The lavender blend is relaxing to the mind and stimulating to the body. Take yourself to your bath and let yourself linger. Let yourself feel the heat and the caress of the water, let your hands wander upon your own skin. See how it feels."

"I can.. Yes, I can try that," Blaine says. A bath is extravagant but not without utility.

"And afterward," Kurt says, his voice lower and his smile tilting into a line that beckons to something deeper within Blaine. "You could lie on your bed without getting dressed and consider giving yourself your first orgasm," Kurt slides his hand up Blaines thigh to his hip, and he moves closer. "And then maybe, if you like? You could tell me about it."

"Orgasm?" Blaine asks softly in the shrinking space between them.

"Is that an unfamiliar word for you?" Kurt is so near Blaine can make out the blue of his eyes.

"Yes, Im afraid so," Blaine says. "Im sorry, I feel so ignorant not knowing the right words."

"Theres no shame in not knowing a thing. Only in rejecting it without attempting understanding," Kurt says. "Its a peak of physical pleasure. When we have sex, its often—but not always—the goal. I believe our first orgasm is a wonderful gift to give ourselves. Its important to know our own bodies, so that we may come together in enlightenment, not ignorance."

Blaines heartbeat rises in his throat, making it difficult to speak with much volume. "I can definitely respect that," Blaine breathes.

"May I offer you some inspiration?" Kurt touches Blaines shoulder and moves in even closer. "Id like to kiss you, if I may?"

"All right," Blaine whispers.

Kurts fingertips are light upon Blaines cheek. And then he leans in, breathless and soft-lipped to press an achingly tender and terribly brief kiss to Blaines mouth. The fleeting tease of contact leaves Blaine as stunned as if hed suffered a blow to the head. A fresh taste of sugar lingers on his lips, making Blaine crave again, but different things, darker things.

"Ill see you tomorrow," Kurt says as he withdraws from Blaines space. "Ill find someone to escort you back to your quarters now. Sleep well, Blaine, and think of me?"

"I— I will."