The next morning, the alarm wakes Blaine, pinging incessantly from inside his head at a frequency to make his teeth ache. Normally he wakes before it goes off—he trained himself to, since he loathes it so much. Its a less than auspicious start to his first full day aboard The Galactic Diamond.

Strange to remind himself that hes not been here even a day. Yesterday felt like a week. Blaine taps behind his ear to silence the alarm, which—in turn—triggers his eyepieces deployment. So he grits his teeth against his irritation as it unfolds itself in front of his view. He sits up to scan the daily schedule thats popped up for him. He doesnt see any changes.

Its a groggy stumble to the bathroom, and the previous day is a whirling blur of fuzzy impressions trying to come into focus. Travel and arrival days are always like this for him—theres so much newness packed into every minute, but yesterday was even more unsettling than usual—and last night. Oh, last night. Kurt. The dance. Their conversation. The favor Kurt asked. (Which Blaine did not attend to last night due to the late hour.)

Kurt.

His name, even imagined silently in Blaines mind—the memory of him. His smile, his eyes, his voice. The way he moved, his elegant clothes, his kindness and openness. The full body draw of him. Taken together—too many details to catalog or name, even if Blaine had the words—it brings an upwelling of warmth, giddy and strangely wonderful. The pulse of anticipation tickles pleasantly in Blaines veins, summons a flush upon his cheeks as he cleans his teeth. Hell see Kurt again soon.

Blaine gets himself showered, shaved, and dressed in a fresh uniform. His hair is perfect, not a speck of lint or even a fine wrinkle to mar his clothing. He adjusts his badge, and remembers when he received it, how proud he was to have earned it. Hes saved the letter from his parents expressing their pride and support. Hed been so excited then, too, for all this meant to him. Not only was it a tangible sign of his success, but a promise for his future. Hed be traveling and meeting new cultures, new people—exploring and learning while he helped build and maintain a better world.

.

He heads out for their breakfast meeting, thirty minutes early as is his routine, so that hell be there and settled before the others arrive. It gives him time to organize, update, and review for the day and to prepare the room for the Ambassador. He prefers to precede the Ambassador herself; he never wants to leave her waiting.

Already, theres a tray with a flask, a teapot, and mugs on the table along with a basket of assorted fruit pastries, which appear to be a flakier and glazed variation on a common Apathean morning bread. The Ambassador likes to start the day with something light. Blaine sits and pours himself a mug from the flask. Its the same beverage as last night, dark, fragrant, and rich. Then he sits and rereads his notes from the day before.

Soon, the Ambassador comes in, looking much the same as always. Blaine gets up and helps her straighten her sash before she sits. "You were very late coming back last night," she says as Blaine makes the tea for her. He cant read her tone. Its not accusatory, but he cant help but sense that shes fishing for something. Hes pleased to see Kurt and his staff received his instructions on how to best brew the rare white tea she prefers. No bitter scent accompanies his pouring of it.

"Yes, I was," he says simply and resists the urge to explain or justify himself for her approval. Hopes the warmth still flushing his body doesnt make itself visible on his face or in his demeanor. His hands remain steady as he selects a pastry from the basket with the silver tongs provided. He puts it on a small plate and passes it to the Ambassador along with a folded cloth napkin.

"I read your analysis this morning," she says, also unreadable, looking directly into his eyes, and Blaine wonders if shes trying to provoke him into a revelation. He doesnt flinch from her scrutiny, tries to banish the irrational fear that she can read everything in his face, all the tumult of last night, see all of his wayward thoughts and behavior revealed in the set of his mouth or the line of his brow.

"I hope it was satisfactory," he says with a placid smile.

"It was more than that," she says. "I appreciated the care you took in your word selection. Very subtle, very astute framing of the issue for the Defense office. You did good work. Thank you, Blaine."

The rush of relief at her generous approval is surprising in its strength. "Im glad," he says.

"I trust youll be able to maintain this level of work while were staying with the Elyssians," she says, and, before Blaine can determine whether theres a tacit admonishment of his late night or a warning in her words, the others come in, and theyre eager to get down to the business of the day.

Then, almost as if on cue, the door chimes and Kurt enters, preceding a linen draped cart, pushed by a young woman in an apron. Atop the cart are plates covered in shiny metal domes. The smell of hot food rouses Blaines appetite, and the sight of Kurt makes him sit straighter in his chair.

Kurts manner of dress and grooming are impeccable, and theres no sign of the late night in either his posture or his face. Hes dressed more modestly than last night, though still, to Blaines eye, provocatively. His steel blue trousers are tight with criss-crossed red laces up the length of the legs that draw Blaines eye. The loose sleeves of his snug red shirt are sheer and Blaine can make out the shape and flex of his muscles. He wears a wide band of purple velvet around his throat from which drapes a fine silver chain with a cloisonne pendant of a fruit tree blossom.

Kurts attention rests first on the Ambassador, and hes all professional charm and manners. He explains the selection of food hes brought while the girl serves them. Hes included the Ambassadors customary preferences of hot cereal, fruit, and a mild fresh cheese (made this very morning as per her offices instruction) and also, hes taken the liberty of selecting a few other other nutritious options from Elyssian metropolitan cuisine that may appeal to her palate—or to those of the delegation. "Additionally, Ive included popular breakfast foods from all your homeworlds," Kurt says, "As well as a few favorites from my own."

Its then that Kurts gaze passes over Blaine and catches, much like his breath does in an instant so brief, Blaine hopes the Ambassador and the others miss it. But Kurts lips part, his eyelids lower, and then, hes recovering himself, blinking wide and broadening his smile, and explaining the beverage selection. The hot drink Blaines enjoying is coffee. Blaine looks down at his hands, folded in his lap, to hide his blush.

"Please enjoy your meal," Kurt says, "Sam will be by after you eat to set you all up with infotabs to interface with the ships network." Then he bows shallowly and pivots to depart with the girl and the cart. Blaine glances up to watch Kurt as he goes and sees, at the door, Kurt pause and turn his head far enough to send a quick, private grin back to Blaine. It feels like a promise.

.

After a night of little sleep, the morning meeting requires all of Blaines effort to concentrate well. It leaves him little opportunity for his thoughts to stray to Kurt, though there are moments when, unwittingly, a flash of the previous night intrudes and Blaine has to steady his breathing and take care to maintain his composure.

Much of the breakfast meeting is logistical, refreshing protocol and etiquette. Nick explains how the Elyssian meeting room will be laid out, how everyone will be seated, the significance of those positions, the mistakes to avoid. The Ambassador provides her instruction, too. Blaine understands his role is primarily to listen and observe, attend to the finer points and the implications so that his analysis may provide insight. Hes tired and, after the misunderstanding with Kurt last night, not as confident as he would prefer to be.

He amends the Ambassadors earlier instruction to be literal minded.

Sam comes in as theyre finishing up the meal. He passes each of them a small infotab. Its a smooth metallic cylinder with an extendable, flexible screen. The device interfaces with The Galactic Diamonds network. Major Clarington rejected a direct link between the ship and their individual data rigs as being too much of a security liability.

"So theres no way for me to send a message directly from my rig—" Blaine touches his temple lightly. "—to someone on the ship?"

Sam shakes his head. "Not with the encryption youre using," he says. "But Ive set up these infotabs to respond to all the standard commands in your language, and Ive translated and modified the interface to something more familiar to what youre used to. Ill show you how to send a message."

He sits next to Blaine and talks him through sending a test message to Mercedes on duty account. Its simple enough. "And heres a directory of all the public accounts on the ship you might need."

Blaine scans the list briefly to verify Kurts account is there: Master of Hospitality. "Thank you," Blaine says.

"Ive installed biometric locks on them too," Sam says, "So each one is keyed to your individual thumbprint." And he shows them all how to activate that feature.

After breakfast, and after Sam leaves, Blaine finds himself with an hour to himself before they head into the round table meeting with Councilor Wright and her people. The Ambassador excuses herself, and Blaine stands to stretch. He stifles a yawn and goes over to the wall panel to open a view port on the exterior wall. Theyre not at warp yet.

Trent joins him. "So how was it last night?" Trent asks softly, as if he doesnt wish to be overheard by the others. "Everyone knows you were late returning."

"Well," Blaine says, resenting in the moment the way his data rig logs so much of his personal activity—whether he likes it or not. And it occurs to him, for the first time, that the medical monitor would have noted his physical state changes too. He hopes, if anyone looks, theyll assume it wasnt anything more than the exertion of dancing. "There was music—including a live performance—dancing of course. I got caught up in interesting conversation."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"It was…" Blaine purses his lips as he seeks the best word to both answer Trent but discourage more pointed interrogation. "Enlightening."

"If you go again, please tell me," Trent says, "The gods know Im not brave enough to go on my own, but Im so curious."

"I will," Blaine says. "But right now," he rolls his head and winces at the tension forming in his neck, and he has an idea. "I think Id like to find out if theres a gymnasium on the ship. After the late night, I could use the metabolic boost. Excuse me," he says.

His heart flutters in his chest as he heads into his bedchamber to get his workout gear and a small carrysack. Its true that the idea of a good workout appeals; its often good for clearing his head. But this is also something he can use as an excuse to see Kurt. He uses the infotab to send a polite query to Kurts account. He gets a reply within a few minutes. "Ill come by your quarters and escort you."

Kurts waiting for him by the time hes got his things together. The Ambassador has returned to the sitting area, but the others are gone. Shes reading on her headset, and spares Kurt only the briefest glance of disinterest.

"You requested information about the gymnasium and other exercise amenities on the ship?" Kurt asks, polite and professional.

"Yes," Blaine says. "Ive been sitting so much, Id benefit from some physical exertion."

One of Kurts eyebrow rises a fraction of a millimeter, and his voice warms with amusement when he replies, "Ill show you the way," he says. "Please, come with me."

Blaine follows him out into the hall.

"Are you flirting with me?" he asks Blaine quietly once theyre several meters down the hall.

"I dont think so? But youll need to explain flirting to me so I can be sure."

"Oh, goodness, youre so charming," Kurt laughs, and his eyes shine. "Flirting is… a kind of overture, I suppose. An expression of interest in pursuing some romantic or sexual interaction with a person. It can be simple, like sustained eye-contact, or a touch. Or it can be more complex and playful, like an innuendo in the subtext of ones speech, say, for example, using a phrase like physical exertion as a euphemism for sexual activity."

"Oh, no," Blaine says, amused. "I genuinely want to exercise this morning." (And he notes with some satisfaction that hes correct. Kurt, at least, is not so literal-minded after all, though still refreshingly candid.) "And," Blaine adds, choosing to be candid in return, "I wanted to see you. I was hoping we could spend some time together again later."

Kurt nods and they enter a lift. He gives a vocal command, and it sinks. "Will you come to the dance again tonight?" he asks Blaine.

"No. I dont think Im ready for that again yet. And I may need to be a bit more discreet tonight."

"I understand. So something quieter, then? Just the two of us?"

"That would be my preference. What are our options?"

"You could come to my rooms for a late supper? After your colleagues have retired for the evening and were both at our leisure?"

"And a late supper is—?" Blaine asks with a smile as they exit the lift. "I want to be sure Im not missing some other implication here. In case youre flirting with me."

Kurt laughs in delight, and gestures to indicate the correct direction to take. "While Im open to many things, Blaine, Im not proposing anything more than we share a light meal and conversation."

"That sounds perfect," Blaine says.

"And heres the gymnasium," Kurt says, indicating the wide glass doors at the end of the brightly lit corridor. "Therell be plenty of people inside to assist you should you need help."

"Thank you," Blaine says. "Will I see you in the meetings today."

"No," Kurt says. "The meetings are closed, and politics arent within my realm of responsibilities. Mercedes is arranging your luncheon today, so youll be seeing her."

"Right," Blaine says and looks down, feeling suddenly too awkward and inept in his eagerness.

Kurt seems to sense it. "Its fine," he says. "Im flattered, truly, Blaine. You could have found your own way here using the infotab." He reaches out to touch Blaines upper arm, rubs a slow circle of pressure over Blaines biceps with his thumb. "But Im so glad you didnt."

Blaine looks up, meets Kurts eyes, and they share a long smile. Kurts hand slides down to Blaines elbow. "And in case youre wondering," Kurt says, "That was me flirting." He lets go of Blaine and steps back. "Ill look forward to seeing you tonight. Ill message you the details."

.

The gymnasium is airy and well-appointed. An energetic blond woman in brief attire gives Blaine a quick orienting tour. He suspects she may also be flirting with him. He takes care not to inadvertently flirt back.

Hes getting into a good rhythm on the rowing simulator, centering himself in breath and motion, enjoying the burn across his shoulders and in his thighs, when his priority message alert pings. He deploys his eyepiece and checks. Its the previous days news reports from home. With a sigh that breaks his concentrated breathing, Blaine resigns himself to having to read them while he continues his workout.

Its tempting to put his rig into sleep mode, just for the duration of his gym visit, but its forbidden while on a mission. So he presses onward.

The first day of meetings is always his least favorite. Theres a lot of the diplomatic equivalent of small talk as each party navigates around the other to establish some kind of rapport or flex their power. Its less fraught with Isabelle. Shes open and inviting in a way that is sincere, and the Ambassador, Blaine knows, is interested in helping as much as she can.

Captain Dupont presents, in greater detail, the military challenges and requirements. Elliott explains the political barriers, and Isabelle speaks of her goals for the process. The Ambassador offers the initial aid she can, and so it goes. Mercedes brings a hot Apathean style lunch to them. Its relief to Blaines stomach to be presented with simpler, nourishing food, even though hed been looking forward to trying something new. Thus fortified, they work through the meal and into the evening, missing the dinner hours altogether.

By the time they break up for the evening, Blaine has a headache, and is wishing he could pry the chips of his data rig directly from his head and flush them down the lavatory. Theyre running hot after the constant heavy use during the negotiations, and he can feel them vividly, at his temples, around the rim of his eye-socket, and at the base of his skull.

He gets to his room feeling drained and restlessly irritable in equal measure. And its still two hours until his supper appointment (Date?) with Kurt. He considers getting as much more work out of the way as he can so that hell have nothing pressing when he visits Kurt. But the burning throb in his head discourages such intentions. Hed like to change out of his uniform, too.

And Kurt may ask him about the bath—did Blaine do his favor? He doesnt wish to disappoint Kurt, so Blaine goes into the bathroom and considers the tub. He taps the panel to fill it, and finds the lavender blend bath oil—relaxing to the mind, Kurt had said—he drizzles the recommended amount under the flow of water. The fragrance fills his nose pleasantly. Blaine inhales deeply of the seductive scent. Then he stands to undress.

Gingerly, he lowers himself into the warm water. Hes not dialed the water as hot as Kurt had recommended, but too much more heat while his rig cools seems unwise, so the water is just at blood temperature, which is nice. Settling into the water and closing his eyes, Blaine breathes to relax, much as he would during a meditation session. He directs his attention to the feel of the water surrounding his body. The sensation is light, the movement of the water only slightly more substantial than a breeze, but smooth and languid.

He lays his idle hands upon his chest. Touching himself isnt that strange, but usually its a practical touch, to clean, to dress, to groom. He begins slowly, lightly drawing his fingertips across his skin. Over his pecs, down his abdomen, and back up again, one hand down one arm, and then alternating. Its pleasant, vaguely ticklish and alluring. His hands move to his thighs then, as far as he can reach, and then he hesitates at his groin. The light contact has been enough for him to feel a ghost of the pleasure he experienced while dancing with Kurt, but not enough to make his penis—or cock as Kurt called it—erect.

Perhaps that requires the touch of another, not his own. Maybe he doesnt have the requisite skill to arouse his own body sufficiently—or to give himself an orgasm. But then, Kurt had suggested he move to the bed for that. Blaine checks the time. He still has an hour; hell make a good faith attempt for Kurt.

He gets out the bath and dries off, but instead of dressing, goes nude to his room. Even alone, it makes him feel overexposed, like someone may be watching. He double checks that the lock on his door is engaged, and then he lies down on the bed.

The covering is smooth against his bare skin, and he shifts his arms and legs against it to better experience the softness against his body. After the bath, his sensitivity seems heightened. He turns his face to rub his cheek against the silky cover of his pillow, and he closes his eyes again to think of Kurt and the inspiration he offered: a kiss. Blaine touches his lips with shy fingertips to help recall the memory. And now he feels it, the way his pulse beats lower, the way the heaviness gathers between his legs. His other hand he slips down, open-palmed, and Blaine drags it up the thickening length of his penis.

A deeper, warmer pleasure ripples through his body at that firmer touch, his penis jerks against his hand, and Blaine gasps at the strength of it. Yes, this is how it was dancing, pressed against Kurt. Only this is more acute for directness of his own touch. The skin of his penis is hot and smooth beneath his palm. It feels… good. Definitely good.

And yet, hes still unsure how to proceed. How will he know when he reaches a peak when even this one touch feels better than anything hes experienced before? Does he need to touch himself differently in order to find it? He brings his hand up further to the tip of his penis where the flushed head of it peeks past his foreskin. Even a feather-light touch there on the exposed glans is too much: sharp enough to make him flinch. He lets his hand drop to his side, useless and uncertain. He doesnt want to do this wrong or risk harming himself. There must be a correct technique.

Hes lying there, staring out at the starfield and considering how to best proceed when his rig pings again. Blaine nearly swears; the wrench of it so discordant. He sits up to check. Its the latest strategic notes from Hunter. Hell need to have read them by the morning, which, given his imminent plans with Kurt and Hunters verbose and hyper-technical style of composition, doesnt inspire Blaine to return to his attempted masturbation. The mood is shattered.

Hell get dressed and go to Kurt, and if he has the opportunity to ask for more guidance in this personal matter, he will. And after that, hell read Hunters notes and do his work. Hell squeeze in some sleep somewhere.