4.

"Are you going to jerk off?" Kurt asks, squeezing Blaines fingers.

Blaine reflexively brings his other hand to his groin, the light touch makes him wince at the keenness of the contact. He hadnt thought that far ahead. He was going to tuck Kurt in and leave him to nap. Kurts gaze is drowsy, but interested. Even after five (Fiver53;) orgasms.

"Would you like me to?" Blaine asks, his fingers follow the line of his cock down to the softer shape of his balls. "Right now? While you... um, watch me?"

Kurt bites into his smile and blinks slowly, but he shakes his head. "Thats a very nice thought, but Im seriously about to pass out and Id rather not miss your orgasm. Could you save it for me, for later?"

"Oh," Blaine says, and it comes out full of air and lacking volume.

"Would you enjoy that?"

"I think..." he says, and he moves his hand off himself, glances down. "I would, yes."

"Wonderful," Kurt says, and his hold on Blaines hand loosens, but he doesnt let go. "Youre okay then? If I let myself pass out?"

Blaine looks up again, nods and smiles. "Yes, Im okay."

##

Blaine closes Kurts bedroom door softly, takes his armload of clothing to his room, and gets dressed. Emotion, thought, and sensation refuse to cohere, leaving his mind scattered and slippery. Nothing feels bad, just jumbled. Probably not enough blood in his brain. He grabs his tablet and heads out to the living area. Reading may help him settle.

But Blaine ends up standing motionless, staring blankly at the apartments interior. He casts his gaze around the room, looking for some kind of cue as to what he should do next. The sense of having shifted outside himself returns. After the intensity of the past twenty-four hours with Kurt, the silence and solitude is bizarrely stifling. So he stands in a kind of unmotivated and fuzzy indecision, trying to resolve the unreal knowledge that he now lives here, that this is his life now—for at least this week. longer he hopes. But he cant shake the persistent sense of being out of place, a houseguest.

The rain has started in fitful, fat spatters against the windows, which are still open. That finally gives Blaine the impetus to act. He drops his tablet on the sofa and goes to close them. He turns back, and his attention falls upon the sacks of fresh produce on the kitchen island. In the heat of the afternoon, the arugula and watercress will be wilting, and the berries softening.

Kurts refrigerator is almost as orderly as his pantry, but it lacks labels. Blaine does his best to discern the pattern of organization. Hes not sure hes distributed the produce among the two vegetable bins appropriately. One seems to hold sturdy items like carrots, peppers, and zucchini , the other more fragile and crushable items like asparagus, fresh herbs, and baby spinach. But hes not sure because theres a Ziploc bag of lemons next to the asparagus. The punnets of berries end up on a shelf next to a pottle of crème fraîche. The poundcake he sets on the counter next to Kurts domed stainless steel breadbox.

Once hes put away everything and folded the cloth bags neatly, Blaines still on edge. He sits on the sofa with his tablet, but doesnt wake it. Instead scans the spines of the DVDs on Kurts shelf by the television. Kurts got a lot of British TV series, comedies and dramas alike. Hes got all of Sex in the City (but not the movies), The Golden Girls, Designing Women, Murder She Wrote, Gilmore Girls, some less train-wrecky reality tv shows like Project Runway and Top Chef. Romantic comedies—all the classics—and dramas, musicals, golden age Hollywood films, various other dramas—historical and political mostly, many films that have been nominated for best picture over the past decade or more. Films of classic and popular novels. A few foreign films—mostly French—Disney musicals, everything Meryl Streep has made in the past two or three decades. A collection of short films directed by Artie Abrams...

Which reminds Blaine of what Kurt said over lunch, that Artie may be interested in working with Blaine on a score for his thesis project. Would it be presumptuous to watch one of Arties films? To get a feel for his work?

Blaine phone gives a sharp buzz from his pocket. He pulls it out and sees its a text. From Tina. Hed promised to call her this weekend, and its already late Sunday afternoon.

"Why do I have to get all your news from Sam these days?" she asks in her text.

Blaine smiles and types a reply, "Because Sams an inveterate gossip?" He sends and then quickly adds and sends another, "Wait, no, that would be you. :P"

"Haha." Tina replies, "If youd keep in touch better, I wouldnt have to ask Sam to dish on all your dirt."

That gives Blaine pause. "Dirt, huh? So what did he tell you?"

"Only that youve moved into a posh loft with a hot guy and youre paying for your rent with sex."

Blaine stifles his grin, but not the impulse to affectionately needle Tina. "Then I guess youre all caught up with me."

Predictably, his phone rings. He answers. "Hi, Tina!"

"Blaine," Tina says flatly. "What on Earth is going on? Tell me."

"Well, I finally found an apartment for the summer, and its amazing," Blaine says, keeping the volume of his voice low. He stands and moves to the end of the room, faces the window. "Ill take some photos for you when its sunny again."

"And the other thing? How Sam said youre paying your rent? Are you some kind of actual literal rent boy now?"

"No," Blaine says. "Its not like that. Its more mutual. Hes helping me, and Im helping him."

"With sex."

"Yes," Blaine says. "He has a health condition that requires reliable intimate management."

"That sounds like the worst pick up line since nice shoes, wanna fuck?"

Blaine laughs, insists, "Its not a pick up line. Its a serious thing, and hes... hes a really good guy."

"Oh, god, you sound smitten. Are you smitten already? I mean, from what Sam said, this guy is pretty gorgeous."

Blaine has to smile at that, but— "Hes great, I like him a lot, but were not dating. Its friendly and were enjoying each others company, but its not—hes not looking for a boyfriend, and neither am I."

"You do realize this is maybe the weirdest thing youve ever done?"

Blaine closes his eyes and exhales, because maybe? Except. "The weirdest thing? Is that it doesnt feel weird at all."

"Wow," Tina says. "Okay. I just—wow, Blaine. I really worry about you sometimes, you know?" Its not unfriendly.

"This is a good thing for me," Blaine says firmly.

"Have you told your parents what youre doing?" she asks, saccharine sweet.

"Of course not, and thats not even worth talking about, Tay-tay."

Tinas sigh rustles the line. "Fine, Blainey-days," she says. "Then explain to me how this is good for you? Getting yourself attached to a guy who just wants you around for sex. Havent you got that t-shirt already?"

"Thats not—"

"And dont tell me you can do this without getting your heart involved. I know you. Youve cried over too many boys whove used you up for me to see how this is going to work out well for you."

"Because its all up front, no ones pretending this is something else. Were on the same page. Thats how its going to work—were being open and honest with each other."

"If you say so." She still sounds skeptical, and Blaine appreciates her protectiveness most of the time, but on this, he doesnt need to be mothered.

"Look, its nice to feel like Im truly helping someone, making a positive difference," Blaine says, and in saying it aloud to Tina, he understands better in his own mind, how hes experienced the difference between his previous unsuccessful relationships and regrettable hook ups, and the current arrangement with Kurt. "Im not being used, Tina, Im being useful. I mean, he appreciates me. Its nice."

"I know how you like to feel needed. Just..." She sighs again, and continues with more gentle concern. "Remember to take care of yourself in all this too, and what you need."

"I promise, I will," Blaine says, and he means it. Hes learned his lessons the hard way, and hes got few illusions left about his own heart. He likes that Kurt seems to have a clarity about himself too.

"And send me some photos, too, all right?"

"Yeah, of course," Blaine says, and theres a more comfortable beat of silence between them then. Blaine—as quietly as hes able—pulls out an empty chair from the dining table, careful not to disturb any of Kurts sewing materials. He sits and watches the patter and slide of the rain against the window. He asks, "So, tell me whats new with you? Did you get that internship?"

##

Its close to five oclock when Blaine hangs up from his conversation with Tina. Kurts still asleep, and Blaines growing hungry. He contemplates the fresh produce in the fridge and decides to make dinner. After their afternoon session, Blaine cant imagine Kurt getting up and wanting to cook, but hes sure to be hungry too. And anyway, its as he told Tina, hes enjoying being useful. Making dinner is another way to help care for Kurt on a day when his condition has demanded so much of his energy.

So Blaine goes to the fridge and considers the contents. Finds everything he needs for a light meal: fresh linguine with crème fraîche, lemon, arugula, and chili. The rest of Kurts kitchen is just as meticulously organized as his pantry, and he has good quality tools. Blaine takes note of where he finds everything so he can return it all after. Kurts Japanese hybrid chef knife is so sharp, Blaine could shave with it. It makes quick work of the small amount of prep he has, and soon enough, Blaine has all his ingredients ready and waiting for a sign of life from Kurt. When he hears the click of Kurts bedroom door, he fills a stainless steel pasta pot and puts it on the stove to boil.

Kurt doesnt emerge immediately though; Blaine hears the rush of water in the pipes, and he turns down the stove until Kurts out of the shower. When the water shuts off he turns up the stove and hopes his timing will be right. He sets two places at the island, turns on some lights to banish the deepening gloom as the sun sets behind the rain clouds, and grabs a couple bottles of water from the fridge.

Finally, Kurt ventures out, his hair damply mussed, wearing a lightweight teal green hoodie over faded, loose jeans. His bare feet scuff a whisper over the wood floors. "Hey," he says and pauses, frowning confusedly at Blaine. He drags a hand through his hair and blinks. "Whatre you doing?"

Kurts tone of voice is not what Blaine expected. He smiles anyway, "Oh, um. Making dinner?"

Kurt doesnt return the smile. Instead his frown deepens. "I didnt ask you to do that."

"No—I thought you might be hungry when you woke up. I thought itd be a nice thing for me to do."

"Oh..." Kurt says and he comes into the kitchen, hugging himself while peering critically at the bowls of ingredients waiting to be combined with the pasta. Blaine prickles with self-consciousness, but carries on: the linguine is nearly done, so Blaine adds the arugula to the pot of boiling pasta, just long enough to wilt it.

Blaines phone bleeps and he grabs the pot with oven mitts, takes it to the sink. Kurts still frowning and not saying anything more. Blaine bites back a reflexive apology, but he cant stop the doubt sinking in his belly. "Was it a mistake for me to cook tonight, Kurt?" Blaine tips the pot into the wide colander, glances over his shoulder to Kurt.

"You used the arugula?" Kurt asks.

"Yes?" Blaine transfers the pasta and arugula from the colander into a glossy red serving bowl he found on top of the fridge. Tosses in the lemon and cheese and doesnt let the tremble of his hands show. It smells amazing and looks beautiful. Blaine wants to be proud of his effort.

But Kurt doesnt seem to notice. His voice is brittle when he speaks again. "That was for a lentil salad I was going to make tomorrow night. The crème fraîche was meant to go into a zucchini soup, and the linguine—" Kurts shoulders are a rigid line. "That was for tonight, but I was going to make it with asparagus and a watercress pesto."

"I didnt realize you had plans," Blaine says, and, yes, perhaps an apology is appropriate here. "Im sorry. I shouldnt have assumed—"

"No," Kurt says. "I really wish you hadnt. I wish youdve asked me before you started."

"I wanted to surprise you," Blaine tries to explain, careful not to sound like hes arguing or making excuses.

Kurt nods and stares at the bowl of pasta, blinking furiously while his lips press into a thin unhappy line. He looks like hes about to cry, which is startling and not at all what Blaines aim had been when he started. Concerned, "are you okay?" Blaine asks.

A shudder and a deep breath, and Kurt tips his head back, forces a weak smile and swallows hard. "I know it may seem to you like Im overreacting, but..." Kurt blows a stream of air out through pursed lips and doesnt look at Blaine. "This is... challenging for me. My kitchen is my sanctuary. No matter how crazy other things get, here—at least—Im usually in control."

Understanding comes with a pang of sympathy. "I dont know what to say," Blaine says. "I didnt mean to intrude on your space. Ill... um, Ill make sure ask you about anything else in the future, before I make any assumptions. Im very sorry, Kurt."

"I know," Kurt says, and casts a fleeting glance to Blaines face. "And I appreciate your good intentions. Youre very sweet, and no ones done something like this for me in a while. Its a kind gesture." But then he grimaces and his tone turns humorlessly wry. "But I guess the honeymoon is over already, huh?"

"Not for me," Blaine says to reassure, but then his confidence falters into a burst of fear. "Unless youre saying this is a deal breaker?"

"God, no," Kurt says firmly, shakes his head. He unfolds his arms and reaches out and rests his fingers lightly at the edge of the counter beside Blaine and continues more gently, "No, Blaine, not at all. But Im, lets say, very aware of my own limitations as a human being, and how much fun Im not sometimes."

What Kurt offers is not an apology—Blaine neither expects nor requires one—but it is, in its way, a kind of salve, though Blaine wishes he could erase the note of self-deprecation in it. He tries to assuage it anyway, wants Kurt to know this is okay—that he is. They are. "I think... its good to know our limitations. And were still getting to know each other. So, please be patient with me while we figure this thing out?"

"Ill do my best," Kurt says. "Please believe that."

"I do," Blaine says, and he risks reaching out to touch Kurts arm. "Come on, do you want to sit down? I think youll like what Ive made. Plus, therell be plenty of room for dessert if you still want to make that ice cream."

Kurts huff of laughter and brighter smile is all Blaine needs to banish his lingering worry. "I do," Kurt says, and, "okay." And his face relaxes into cautious good humor and relief. "The pasta does look good, but youll have to help me figure out what to do with all my mismatched ingredients this week. I cant stand to have things be orphaned or go to waste."

"I can definitely help you with that," Blaine says.

"And if you want to cook sometimes—maybe we can come up with a schedule?"

"Yeah, that sounds smart," Blaine says, "Id like that." He watches Kurt as he settles carefully on one of the stools while Blaine serves them both. "How are you feeling anyway, after... ah, this afternoon?"

Kurt smiles and his cheeks pinken; he takes a plate of pasta from Blaine. "Aside from my unfortunate and unscheduled kitchen related anxieties, I slept well and Im feeling pretty relaxed in the whole sex-drive department." He rolls a forkful of linguine neatly against his soup spoon. "And nothings too sore, not yet anyway."

"Oh, good. I was afraid Id hurt you, in the heat of everything. Im not usually comfortable being that... rough."

Kurt shrugs and shakes his head. "Im not hurt," he says. "And Im sure it sounds awful to say that Im used to it, but—Im used to it. A little discomfort sometimes, its just how it goes."

"Im sorry," Blaine says.

"Dont be," Kurt says. "I dont want you to be. I just sometimes need—" He waves his laden fork in vague illustration. "For it to be too much. You did well." Then he takes a bite of the linguine, and his eyebrows rise while his eyelids flutter. He chews, savors, and then lets out a mumbled, "Oh my god, this is amazing?"

Pleased, Blaine grins. "So are my kitchen trespasses forgiven?" he asks.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Dont push your luck," he says, but he returns the grin.

##

"All right," Kurt says, after theyve finished dinner. "Its been a long day, and Ive not been at my best, so... why dont you go shower—take your time—while I make dessert? Ill make up for all the drama when you get back?"

"You dont want help cleaning up?"

"No. Ill clean up later, when were done making more mess. Itll be fine for now."

"Sure, okay," Blaine says, and he sets down his dirty plate next to the sink and heads for his bedroom to get his toiletry kit.

"Oh, and Blaine?" Kurt calls after him.

"Yes?" He looks back.

"Be thorough, hmm?" Kurts smile is kinked with suggestion.

"Yeah," Blaine says, an eager curiosity rises to warm his blood. "Okay."

He does take his time, and he is thorough, washing himself inside and out, trimming and shaving anywhere on his body that could use the extra attention—or anywhere Kurt may wish to pay extra attention. He uses his cologne sparingly, and combs his hair back into daytime order. Anticipation has him semi-hard by the time he gets back to his bedroom. Dresses in plaid sleep shorts and a brief matching robe. Skips putting on a t-shirt, but wraps and ties his robe closed securely. Then he goes back out to see what Kurts up to.

From the kitchen Kurt greets him. Hes uncorking a slender bottle of German Riesling. The main overhead lights are off, and its just the shaded pendant lights over the island and the floorlamps in the living room providing illumination. A gray fleece blanket drapes the couch. Its kind of (Maybe?) romantic.

Kurts smile is quick—either nervous, or hes started to get restless; Blaine cant tell tonight. "Whats all this?" Blaine asks as Kurt comes around the island with a tray. Hes got plates with thick slices of lemon pound cake, and scoops of magenta-swirled ice cream in squat martini style dessert glasses. Theres a pair of white wine goblets and the bottle of wine. Kurt sets it down on the steamer trunk at an angle, using its edge to push aside the covered pottery bowl that rests in the middle of the trunk.

"I really..." Kurt bends to pour the wine. He passes Blaine a glass. "I want to help you feel relaxed and at home here. I dont mean to be difficult and proprietary, and Im grateful that youre here, Blaine. So I thought maybe we could relax on the couch with our dessert, watch a movie—your choice—and just... take things from there?" Then he casts his gaze around the room, returns his attention to Blaine, bites his lip with a wince. "Or is this too much?"

"No, no," Blaine says. After all, he realizes, hes spent innumerable similar evenings with Sam and (or) Tina: dessert, drinks, a movie. They just didnt begin with either the hope for or the promise of sex. "It sounds like a wonderful way to spend the evening."

"Great," Kurt says, smiling widely in relief. He hands Blaine a glass. "Then," he says, holding his glass up in salute. "Heres to getting through our first whole day together?"

"I can drink to that." Blaine clinks his glass against Kurts, and they both sip their wine.

"So theres everything you can see on the shelf there," Kurt says, tipping his glass toward the shelf of DVDs. "And I have a Netflix subscription. Or anything youve brought with you would be fine too."

Nothing too heavy in theme or drama, Blaine decides. Hes not sure what Kurt will be in the mood for, but he wants to keep everything comfortable and fun. Maybe a musical, something to sing along with. He scans the shelf and My Fair Lady catches his eye. Cant go wrong with a classic like that. He pulls it off the shelf, shows Kurt. "How about this?"

"Audrey Hepburn. Perfect!" Kurt says; he settles at one end of the couch and picks up the remote while Blaine puts the disc in the player.

##

Their dessert dishes and wine glasses are empty and Blaines zoned out into a comfortable repose, when—after "On the Street Where you Live"—Kurt reaches for the remote. He pauses the movie and turns to Blaine, and Blaine rouses himself from his food and movie induced haze. He can see, in the wan illumination from the television screen, that Kurt isnt pausing for a snack break. Still, Blaines first impulse is to speak: "I sang that for my NYADA audition," he says. "The Harry Connick Jr. arrangement on piano."

Kurt smiles—seductive and quick—and leans into Blaines space, puts a hand on his thigh and slides up under the edge of Blaines short robe. "I auditioned with Not the Boy Next Door," Kurt says lightly, as if the information has no bearing on anything, and his hand moves from Blaines thigh to his groin. "Didnt get in though." Kurt thumbs over the swelling pulse of Blaines cock. Pleasure jolts sharply.

"Oh..." Blaine says dumbly, for the blood in his brain has other places to be.

Kurt makes short work of the tie to Blaines robe, and then hes got his fingers curling into Blaines waistband and he presses a kiss low on Blaines belly. Then—somehow—Kurt slides from the couch to kneel on the floor without losing his grip on Blaines shorts. He raises his head to ask Blaine, "Lift up?", and Blaine pushes up his hips, curls his spine as he settles, scooting his ass closer to the edge of the sofa. "Just relax, and let me take care of you, okay?" Kurt says. Blaine nods, and soon, with efficiency and confidence, Kurts got Blaines boxers slumped around his ankles and Kurts opening his mouth around Blaines cock: snug wet slide and clever hot tongue, and even though Blaines head still spins with the speed of Kurts seduction, its such a welcome bliss.

Unhurried now, Kurt sucks and slides and plays over the head of Blaines cock. He doesnt take Blaine deep, but instead finds a crazy repeating pattern of motion and rhythm that builds with sluggish intensity. All Blaine can do is lean back and marvel. Not only at the agility of Kurts tongue, but also at the sight of him. Last night had been so dark, but now Blaine can see. Kurts eyes are closed and his eyelids are unmarred by tension. Hes calm, as if this is some kind of erotic meditation. His dark lashes quiver against his pale cheeks and the flushed pink of his lips alternates between sweet yielding mobility and a tight sucking grip. Blaine watches the bob and fall of his loose hair over his forehead.

"Beautiful," Blaine murmurs, and he reaches to touch Kurts temple, pushes a lock of hair with the back of his finger. Traces over the curve of Kurts ear with the edge of his knuckle.

At that, Kurt opens his eyes and releases Blaine from his mouth. But he doesnt leave Blaine bereft of touch for long; he takes over with loose strokes of one hand. Then he quirks both an eyebrow and a self-satisfied smile. "I want to rim you. Do you enjoy a mouth on your ass?" he asks.

"Oh, I—" In an instant, Blaine flushes dizzingly hot and has to glance away from the directness of Kurts gaze for a moment. Its not something Blaines done often or recently—or always with unfettered enjoyment. But this doesnt seem like previous times. how it was with Sebastian or with that one weird hook-up. Blaine trusts that Kurts going to get him off tonight, and Kurt looks like he genuinely wants to put his mouth on Blaines ass, and Blaine wants him to. Blaine looks back, finds some breath, "Uh... yeah," but finishes more weakly than he intends, "Sure."

"Sure?" Kurt echoes and queries, raising one eyebrow higher and lowering his parted lips to mouth softly at Blaines balls as his fingers work lazily over his cockhead. He holds eye-contact, pins Blaine in place with the intensity of it.

"Yes," Blaine says with more volume, and Kurt cocks his head and licks, inquisitively, as if he wants more affirmation from Blaine. Blaine shivers, tries to slow his speeding lungs, and adds, clearly as he can while heat twists up fast and tight in his belly, "I do. Please, Kurt."

Kurts tongue curls off Blaines skin and Kurt hums approvingly. "You shaved. Smooth. I really like that." Kurt lets go of Blaines dick, rests his hands on top of Blaines tensing thighs. And the way Kurt looks at him...

Blaine blinks at the ache of lost contact on his dick, and his head swims in the burn of his anticipation for more and different stimulation. "Oh," he says with numbed lips. "You said to be... ah, thorough." Its like Kurts somehow set a fire under his skin. His whole body smoulders hot. And as he waits for Kurt to move or speak again, all of his awareness draws in, focuses upon Kurt: Kurts desire, Kurts approval. Kurts intentions for him. Kurt. "I just want to be good for you," Blaine whispers. A terrible confession to make so baldly and so soon, something he shouldnt say maybe—shouldnt truly let himself feel, not as deeply as he wants to—but after the near mistake of this evening, and after talking to Tina, he knows the longing in his heart for what it is.

"You are," Kurt says. Two simple words, spoken easily: they land profoundly. And Kurt shifts then, to coax Blaines legs up, untangles his ankles from his boxers, and pushes Blaines thighs apart. Blaine offers no resistance. "Such a good boy," Kurt says with a lopsided, knowing grin, and though its indulgent—or perhaps because it is—Blaine responds with his whole body, tension melts from his muscles and his awareness seems to float, light and tethered only to the immediacy of this. Kurts thumbs catch at the tender inner base of Blaines buttocks, spreading Blaine and pulling at his skin, exposing everything, and Blaines heart thuds. His arousal flares with fresh urgency, and a small cry snags in his throat, muffled, childlike. The heated weight of Kurts lust fractured gaze thrills him. "Would you hold yourself open for me?"

Blaines helpless to anything but comply. In this moment, anything Kurt might ask of him, hed do his best. He holds himself open, and Kurt lowers his head.

Its just a light, barely-there flicker of contact at first. The ticklish brush of Kurts nose behind his balls and then, lower, the delicate edge of Kurts tongue, soft-slick, neither quick nor slow. A strange, heady pleasure, it makes Blaine yearn for things impossible to hold. But ephemeral sensations slip past with time, marked in heartbeats and fingertips and lips. There, perfectly, in a singular flash of beautiful pleasure, and then gone forever. On to the next moment.

And the next is gratifyingly more, the wider spread of Kurts tongue, more pressure and contact, concentrated and certain, but no less tender. Though hungry now, increasingly so. Passing shallowly, over and over, plying Blaines body open. Eventually pointing and probing, and then seeking more deeply, dazzlingly so. Almost too much feeling to contain inside, but not enough to break free. Hes held, right on the verge.

Blaine hears his own moans like they dont even originate within him. Feels more vividly, the vibration of Kurts needful groans, pressed and fed into his body. Kurts restless hands beg and bruise upon his flesh, and Kurts desperation grows as his tongue jabs in, quick and erratic now, striving and straining to satisfy his desire, but Blaine knows this cant be enough for either of them.

"Oh, god, Kurt, would you... unh... you can fuck me now." Blaine says, surprising himself, for the words are dredged from some unknown reserve of verbal coordination.

Kurt stops, turns his head and breathes hard against Blaines sweat-damp thigh until he stops trembling. "Yeah," Kurt says straightening. Hes gorgeous, all glassy-eyed and wet-mouthed. Swollen lips, red cheeks, and clumsy hands. "I really need to... do that." He hauls off his hoodie, tosses it aside, and then twists to reach for the covered bowl on the trunk. Carelessly, he bumps the lid aside to pluck out a ribbon of condoms and lube. He passes Blaine the lube. "Can you do you? While I—?"

"Yeah," Blaine says, and takes the bottle, flips the cap and drizzles slippery gel over his fingertips. Braces his heels against the edge of the sofa, and takes his hand down to himself, pressing in roughly with two fingertips and gasping as he shoves in as far and as fast as hes able.

Kurt unzips his fly, pushes down his jeans and underwear, and tears a condom off the roll. Rips open the foil, but fumbles with the latex disc as he squeezes it out. It flips between his fingers, falls. He swears and catches it, but ends up having to hold it up to the lamplight to double-check its up the right way before rolling it on.

With his free hand, Blaine passes him the lube, and Kurt makes hasty use of it. And then he shuffles forward, one hand guiding his cock, the other heavy and hot upon Blaines shin. And then his cock is there, nudging Blaines fingers out of the way. And then driving in thick and uncompromising, and oh god.

##

After, but not long after. After saying Kurts name and watching his face as he came. Coming himself, so helplessly and wonderfully. Then getting up on wobbly legs, laughing and taking turns in the bathroom, getting dressed again. After all that, Blaines back in the kitchen with Kurt, drying dishes as Kurt washes. And his helping Kurt clean up the kitchen, Blaine understands now, is an act of trust. Hes still buzzing from the sex. Doing dishes together in the afterglow is oddly, comfortably good.

"So," Kurt says, peering sidelong at Blaine as he twists the dishcloth into the bowl of a wine glass to clean it. "Did all of that work okay for you?"

"You mean the sex?"

Kurt laughs. "Yes, the sex."

"I loved it," Blaine says, smiling and feeling unexpectedly soft and shy as he says it, warming at the admission.

"Even—um." Kurt stops and lets the cloth fall into the dishwater while he rinses and then sets the glass upside down on the dish rack. "I wondered. You kind of hesitated when I asked you about being rimmed."

And the pleased warmth turns to raging heat, flooding Blaines face. He reaches for the glass, but only manages to say, "Oh, uh."

"Given the color you just turned," Kurt says, affectionately enough, but cautious and sincere in inquiry. "Is there something I should know. I mean, was that all okay with you?"

Blaine bites his lip and concentrates on drying the glass in his hand. "Yes. It was, I promise. Ive just had mixed experiences with... that."

Kurts still looking at him curiously, so Blaine reminds himself theyre being open and honest with each other. Thats how this works. He continues, haltingly, because these arent things hes ever put voice to. "My first boyfriend, he wasnt really into it? But hed do it to get me relaxed. Um. When we started doing anal, sometimes it took a while for me to be ready for him, so that was..." Blaine frowns. "Um, nice of him? But, not really something he liked doing. More of a means to an end, I guess."

"Okay," Kurt says, unsmiling, but interested. "And other times?"

"Only one other time, really," Blaine says. "Among my more regrettable hook-ups. The guy was— He approached me on the dance floor, and the way he looked at me... I was definitely interested." Blaine sets the dry glass aside and reaches for the plate Kurts just set on the rack. "We danced, and he wasnt shy at all. Leaned in and told me straight up," Blaine takes a breath, fortifies himself to repeat the words. Putting on a deeper drawling voice helps, "Youve got a gorgeous ass, babe, you gonna let me eat it?"

Kurt winces and nods. "Just like that, huh? Ive met a few of those guys. Gotta appreciate the directness though."

"Well, except Im pretty sure this guy? Was the inspiration for at least one Sex and the City B-plot. I mean, I was there to get laid, but I was kind of tipsy, so my decision making might not have been the best, but he was kinda hot and into me, so I let him take me to the bathroom, and... uh."

"Not good?"

"Good to start with? He turned me around and pretty much did what he said he was going to do. And after my boyfriends general reticence, his enthusiasm was incredibly hot. I was really turned on, and so was he, but... heh." Blaine pauses and rubs the back of his neck. "The short version? He jerked off while he was down there, came all over me and my pants, said sorry, and then? Just... left."

"Left you hanging?"

"Yeah, which is... That can be hot in the right circumstances." Blaine gives Kurt a quick smile. "But he didnt explain and he didnt come back. I waited for a while? Longer than I should have probably. Thinking maybe he was just going to get some paper towels or something to help clean up his mess, or he needed to get a condom, or... I dont know what I thought. But no. He didnt come back, and I was... I had to pull myself back together and walk out of that stall all strung out with this random guys jizz drying all over my pants."

"Oh god," Kurts nose is wrinkled in equal parts horror and humor. He covers his mouth with both purple-gloved hands. "Blaine, thats awful."

"It was..." Blaine huffs a long sighing laugh. "So freakin weird, I mean, who even does that? Rim and run?"

Kurt laughs behind his hands, but then puts on a super serious, stentorian movie-voiceover-guy voice: "The Rimrunner."

Which makes Blaine laugh too. He adopts a similar theatrical voice, poses with hands on hips—mindful of the dishtowel—shoulders back: "By day hes a mild mannered barista who knows just how you like your latte, but by night, he skulks in the shadows, searching for the perfect ass to feed his obsession. His victims call him—dun dun DUN—The Rimrunner!"

"Coming this fall," Kurt deadpans, but amusement lights his eyes. "All over you."

"Oh my god," Blaines laughter surges up hard enough he has to put down the dish towel. He gasps and clutches his belly. Leans against the counter. When he can speak again, he looks at Kurt, returns his amused and fond smile and says, more soberly, "You know, Ive never told anyone that story. Its just so—" Blaine was going to say humiliating, but Kurt cuts him off.

"Amazing," Kurt says. "Its amazing, Blaine. Hes like some sad, apologetic ass-vampire. You and your ass survived his depredations. Be proud of yourself."

Blaine cant catch his breath after that.

##

"Oh, hey," Blaine says to Kurt, whos standing in the hall as Blaine comes out after brushing his teeth for bed. Kurts in short red and white striped pajamas. They make him look adorably boyish.

"Hi," Kurt says softly, as if he doesnt wish to wake someone. He gestures toward the bathroom door. "Just going to wash my face and brush my teeth too," he says.

"Right, Blaine says. "Um, since youre here, I was wondering—do you try to keep a schedule overnight? Should I set an alarm and come to you?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No. I prefer to sleep for as long as I can. After the day weve had, Im planning to sleep like Im dead until my dick decides to resurrect me."

Blaine laughs. "Okay, thats fair."

"Youre okay with me coming in whenever?"

"Oh, yeah" Blaine says. "Last night, that was—for me—really hot."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm, old adolescent fantasy come to life, you know?"

"Oh, intriguing. Youll have to tell me about that one sometime."

"Yeah... um, so, really Kurt, its fine. You dont even need to, uh—" Blaines grateful for the gloom of the hall, otherwise Kurt would see his blush. "You dont even need to wake me up first. You can just come in and... get started."

"Oh," Kurt says. It comes out like a sigh of revelation. Or Blaine can easily imagine it as such. "Youd be okay with that?" Kurt asks to verify.

"If youre okay with it, then I am, absolutely." And even with the heat of embarrassment at speaking of his desires so frankly, Blaine finds it remarkably easy with Kurt to speak of them. Hes never experienced this kind of comfort with someone hes slept with. He takes it as a good sign, confirmation that this is good for him. Good for them both.

"I think, yes, I could definitely be okay with that."

"Then Ill look forward to seeing you in several hours," Blaine says, feeling even more confident in the mild flirtation. He steps back toward his bedroom. The sooner he goes to bed, the sooner Kurt can come to him. "Sleep well, Kurt."

"Good night, Blaine."