Blaine arrives outside Kurts quarters exactly one minute early. To calm his nerves, he reminds himself they are not courting one another as potential spouses: this is a new friendship. If theres more intimacy here than Blaine has experienced with his other friends, thats because of their different cultural foundations. Hes here to understand those differences better. After all, its his job to learn about and appreciate diversity.

Carefully, he elides the part where the understanding he pursues is less theoretical than it should be and possibly more hands on than it strictly needs to be. Blaine adjusts the open collar of his shirt one more time and smooths a hand over his hair. The minute passes and Blaine presses the panel by the door to announce his presence.

The panel sweeps open and Kurt stands before him. Hes changed his clothes, too. He wears sueded gray trousers that cling to his legs like a second skin and a loose black top with a wide neck that exposes his collarbones and bare neck. Its draped askew, baring the curve of one pale shoulder—a tempting place for Blaine to let his attention linger, but theres a glimmer of pearlescent shine across the tops of Kurts cheekbones and a rosy gloss to his lips that brings Blaines attention to his face. Kurts hair is an artful tousle, thick and glossy. Kurt smiles and it crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"Hi," Blaine says, and he hears his breathlessness in his own voice.

"Good evening," he says. "Come in, Blaine." Kurt steps back, and Blaine steps in as if drawn, magnet like, to Kurt. A hot flush of unhinged desire twists up in his chest so strongly its like a wave of nausea, only he doesnt feel sickened by it, more hollowed out and hungry. He wants so badly to touch Kurt, to feel the texture of his clothes and his skin. He wants to step close and press his mouth to Kurts to feel the gloss of his lips and find out the way they would slide against his own. He wants to feed upon his tender breath and close heat. He aches to trace the curve of Kurts shoulder with his fingertips. He wonders if the strength of the impulse is a remnant from his arousal after his bath.

Blaine clasps his hands together and lowers his gaze politely. "How are you tonight?" he asks. "Has your day been rewarding?"

"I believe its getting there," Kurt says, his smile warm in his voice. "Are you hungry? I understand you missed dinner."

"Starving," Blaine says. It doesnt feel like an exaggeration. Its not just his belly that feels empty. The draw of his curiosity has never felt so ravenous.

Kurts laughter is delightful "Well, I have plenty of food," he says.

Blaine follows Kurt further into his rooms. Its a small, tidy apartment—larger than the one Blaine keeps at home, but not ostentatious. Its uncluttered and crisp, light without being too bright, and airy. The furniture and fixtures are mostly pale neutral colors, shades of gray and taupe, with the occasional arresting splash of warm color: rust, vermillion, and crimson providing accent. Scattered glints of cerulean blue provide contrast. As Blaine looks, he perceives a keen attention to detail. The texture of every surface, the quality of every furnishing, the sparse but careful collections of whimsical ornaments and art that decorate the space. Kurt even has a shelf of printed paper books with embossed leather binding and an old style phonograph with a broad amplifier like an open brass flower.

"Your apartments very nice," Blaine says. He catches the scent of the supper Kurts prepared, fresh with a tartness that catches in the back of his nose and makes his mouth water.

"Thank you," Kurt says. "Please seat yourself," he says, gesturing toward the small table, laden with colorful dishes. "May I get you a drink? I can offer you chilled tea, fruit juice… I could make you a virgin cocktail of some variety. You enjoyed the rose cordial at the reception?" Kurt looks at him thoughtfully. "Unless you want to try some wine? I rarely drink it outside Bacchanalia, but I do have some from home if you—?"

"Chilled tea or water will be fine."

"All right," Kurt says. "Theres water on the table."

They sit. "Despite my having so rudely pried into your old school papers," Kurt says wryly. "I wasnt sure what youd enjoy most tonight. So theres some variety. Help yourself."

Much of the food is cold or room temperature, salads, cheeses, and breads with various savory spreads, dressings, and infused oils to go with them. Theres an array of fruit pâtés, roasted spiced nuts, and grilled vegetables.

"Did you make all of this?" Blaine asks, reaching for the serving spoons resting at the side of a platter of herb scattered summer vegetables. He recognizes most of them: tomatoes, peppers, summer squash, aubergine. The scent of fresh basil is unmistakeable.

"Mmhm," Kurt hums in affirmation. "I had the afternoon off, and I needed to occupy my hands."

Blaine cant help looking at those hands, the contrast of the strength in their lines and the way Kurt holds a knife so delicately, deftly spreading a creamy bean puree onto a slice of bread. He thinks about Kurts hands at the small of his back when they danced and on his arm in the hallway today. And then he thinks about his own hands on his body just a scant hour ago. Its not a leap to imagine Kurts hands on him in a similar way. Or his own upon Kurt. Blaine bites his lip and concentrates on transferring the food from the serving platter to his plate without spilling it.

Kurt doesnt seem to notice his lapse and keeps talking. "For a time when I was younger, I considered studying to become a chef," Kurt says. "Cooking relaxes me, and its a wonderful outlet for creativity. But—" He sighs. "I couldnt manage the routine day-in day-out of doing it professionally. I enjoy more opportunity for varying my days. So its more of a hobby now."

"And you find this variety in your current job?" Blaine asks. Serving guests seems like it could run to the routine fairly easily. "It doesnt get tedious, catering to strangers?"

"Not at all," Kurt says. "Its a constant challenge, getting to know such diverse people as guests, their tastes and preferences, learning how to make them most content while theyre away from their homes and working. It can be stressful for them—for any of us. So to understand the different ways people exist in their lives is my goal, to ease that disconnection and stress as much as I can? We all seek comfort and stimulation, want to avoid distress, but were so diverse in the various ways we do that, you know?" He looks up at Blaine, his gaze asking for indication of Blaines understanding.

"Yeah," Blaine says. "I find that kind of challenge in my work, too. I know its very different from what you do, but I get what youre saying. I have to study to understand the diversity of other cultures and individuals, and then sort of… translate it for the Ambassador and the others in our delegation while also finding ways for us to translate ourselves to them, not just linguistically, but culturally. Its… always challenging. Im always learning. Never a boring day, just the occasional too long one." Blaine smiles and holds Kurts gaze.

Kurts answering smile is long and stretches into a silence between them, but its easy with their accord. "And how has today been for you?" Kurt asks, and its accompanied by a soft flutter of his eyelashes and an alluring coloring of his cheeks.

"Today is one that I thought was determined to be too long, but now that Im here with you, it feels unfortunately brief. I dont wish for it to be over."

"Oh," Kurts smile widens in evident pleasure. He cocks his head. "Are you sure youre not flirting with me now, Blaine?"

"No, Im not sure at all."

The way Kurts breath catches and stutters in his throat is a surprising reward. It doesnt stop Blaine from feeling flustered in return. Hes not accustomed to affecting another person in this manner, or so easily.

"The food is excellent," Blaine adds, returning his attention to his plate. "I havent tasted vegetables this fresh since I was planetside last summer."

"The produce is all grown on the ship, so you can thank our gardeners for that. What youre eating is is my grandmothers ratatouille, the recipe was handed down to her from her grandmother, and many great grandmothers before her according to family legend. The secret is in the preparation of each individual vegetable as well as the precise blend of herbs—just a hint of lavender."

"Its delicious," Blaine says.

They talk more, about Kurts growing up on Lima, his other career dalliances as he calls them—stage performer, fashion designer, chef, interior decorator, journalist, playwright—all of which led him to this point, where hes been most happy. "So far anyway," he amends. "And you?" he asks Blaine. "Is this what you always wanted to do?"

"Mostly, yes? Ive always wanted to do something important, something that contributes to the world, something that helps people. So I always knew I wanted to go into government service. The Diplomatic Corps was my highest hope, for the freedom it offered to travel and learn and meet new people. Ive been very lucky," Blaine says. "To find this much success so early in my career."

"Im sure youve more than earned it," Kurt says. "I feel we may be alike in this. My position here? Its usually held by people with far more experience than I have, but I seem to have a talent for it. Isabelle has been good to me."

"Youre making all of us very comfortable on this mission," Blaine says. "And speaking only for myself, Im definitely finding my stay… stimulating. Thanks to you."

"Now whos being bold?" Kurt asks softly, but hes looking at Blaine with more than friendliness in his eyes. An unspoken question burns there. "Shall we retire to more comfortable seating?"

"Please," Blaine says.

.

In Kurts lounging area, they sit on a sofa together. Its wide and low, yielding beneath Blaines weight and velvety to his touch. Kurt leans near him, his bent elbow resting against the backrest, his fingers tangling idly in his hair. "You smell good," he says. "Did you try the bath tonight?"

"Yeah, before I came to see you."

"And how was it?" Kurt asks, and theres an intent sort of sweetness to the way he asks, as if this question is vitally important and Blaines experience matters to him.

"It was relaxing," Blaine says, smiles as he feels his face warm beneath Kurts closer attention. "Definitely pleasant."

"And after, were you able to find your climax?"

"I—um—you mean an orgasm?" Blaine asks, and Kurt nods. "No. I didnt. I dont think so."

"So you didnt masturbate?"

"I touched myself, " Blaine says. "But I was interrupted before I could find a functional technique. Honestly, I wasnt sure how exactly to go about doing it, how, um, I should touch myself differently to experience a peak?" Blaine looks down, feels the comfortable flush of enjoying Kurts company overwhelmed by the less pleasant burn of embarrassment. He tries to explain, haltingly, "My, ah, genitals are very… sensitive. I didnt want to— I was afraid I might hurt myself by doing something wrong."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt says, and he straightens his arm to place his hand over Blaines shoulder. "Theres no need to be ashamed. You wont hurt yourself. But you truly dont know, do you?"

"No," Blaine says. "I really dont. But I want to learn."

Kurt is quiet for a moment, contemplating Blaine. "If I told you to mimic the motion of fucking with your hand on yourself, would that help?"

"Fucking? Kurt, I dont know that word. I can try to guess, look it up in the dictionary, but even then, I dont know anything about sex beyond the most basic facts of how a man and a woman reproduce. And neither of us is a woman."

Kurts frown is slight but unmistakeable. "I could show you an instructional video of a man masturbating—they show them to us in school when were of an appropriate age to start learning about sex."

"No, I dont want to watch a stranger or a video for children. Thats too…" Too much emotion threatens to clamp Blaines throat closed, and he feels a twinge behind his eyes. Hes not going to cry over this. Especially not when Kurt says theres no reason to be ashamed, but Blaine hates not knowing; it makes him feel like a child. And hes not a child. He definitely doesnt want Kurt treating him or thinking about him as such. Even so, hes not sure hes thinking entirely clearly when he asks, "Id prefer that you show me, Kurt," Blaine says, an he looks up, forces his gaze and his words to be steady and firm. "Would you?"

Kurt looks stunned. "Oh, honey. Yes. That would be both my pleasure and my honor." He stands and offers Blaine his hand. "Lets go into my bedroom."

.

Even more than the public space of the apartment, Kurts bedroom is a reflection of him. Here, the light is gentler, the surfaces more inviting, the colors less saturated, more subtly harmonious. Blaine stands still, looking at Kurts bed and all the implications of being in the bed of another. A canopy drapes the bed, making it appear an inviting haven for both rest and physical intimacy. The palest blue sheets are folded back neatly from the pillows. They look like the finest, dense cotton for the way they gleam under the warm lamp light. Across the bottom half of the bed is a luxurious looking faux fur blanket in silver tipped white. "How do you imagine this going?" Kurt asks him. His hand rests upon Blaines back as he stands behind him.

"I dont know, thats why Im asking you to… show me."

"Well," Kurt says, and he moves to step around Blaine, to between him and the bed, and he turns to face Blaine. His fingers catch at the bottom edge of his loose black top; they begin to lift it up, baring the pale muscled planes of his lower belly. Kurt pauses in lifting the hem of his top. Whether its in temptation or hesitation, Blaine doesnt know. "Do you want to watch me?" Kurt asks. He takes a step back toward the bed. "Or would you like me to talk you through touching yourself? Or something else?"

"Um," Blaine says unhelpfully.

In the absence of his answer, Kurt lets the hem of his shirt drop, reaches out an inviting hand, and says, "Lets just take it as it comes. Will you come lie down with me?"

Blaine presses his lips together, takes Kurts hand, and nods.

.

Lying supine on Kurts bed, even fully clothed—having lost only his boots and socks—Blaine feels watched again, and not by Kurt, whose attention is lightweight and patient as he stretches out beside Blaine on his side, head propped in his hand. The sense of being observed like some kind of lab specimen is hard to shake. The others will be asleep, surely, but Blaine knows thats not a true barrier to protect his privacy. Like the previous night, everyone will know.

He stares up at the wan light filtering through the lace canopy over Kurts bed and frets over the decision he wants to make. Its a kind of rebellion he never thought hed truly consider. But then, he never thought hed be considering this either, physical intimacy with a man he just met. Marriage certainly hasnt been a priority in Blaines thinking. Hes know for most of his life that he enjoys the company of men, but hes not felt a desire to adopt a child with someone, and raising a family is generally the purpose of marriage. Plus, hes young, career focused. But this isnt marriage or an overture toward it. He reminds himself again: this is not a courtship but a strange variety of friendship. This is— A headlong rush into something new, something forbidden, something he wants more the more he tries to resist it.

Its only reasonable, then, to stop resisting and satisfy his curiosity. But that also means a level of secrecy and potential deception Blaines never before considered. He touches his temple and his eyepiece deploys.

"Hey, am I losing you?" Kurt asks him.

"No," Blaine says. "Sorry, I just need to um."

Kurt frowns. "Do you have something else you should be doing?"

Possibly yes, but Blaine wont admit that. He explains simply, "I want to turn this off before we begin. To avoid interruptions."

"Okay, good. I dont want you distracted," Kurt says, oblivious to the fact that the true distraction is this thing theyre about to do, wanting Kurt is his distraction.

Blaine gives his rig the command to shut down, clears the warning screen that advises him not to, and submits to a confirming retinal scan. Then he holds his breath as the projected view screen fades into transparency and the eyepiece folds back in on itself. Blaine blinks at the depth of the silence in his head, the way it expands in his psyche like the first cool breath of autumn at the end of a long summer. The background processing of the rig is never intrusive, but its there, like a hum at a frequency just on the edge of hearing, or vague movement at the farthest edge of ones peripheral vision. Its gone now, and hes alone within himself. Unobserved by anyone but Kurt. Hes with Kurt.

"All right," Blaine says, turning his head upon the pillow to look at Kurts lovely, patient face. "Im all yours."