Warmth, pressure. Touch and increasing weight behind it. The light caress of air on bare skin. His back and thighs. Blaine lies naked on his belly.

Everything is dark and comfortably heavy, like being buried in down filled pillows. Muffled and safe. His body feels irretrievably immobile. He could maybe move if he needed to, if he really tried. But as it is, he feels like a mold cast with cooling lead and his muscles lack the impulse to move his limbs.

Similarly, he could maybe open his eyes, but he doesnt want to. His desire is to stay as his is, sluggishly drifting with only vague flickers of consciousness seeking the surface before sinking back down. Like the glistening back of a dolphin. He comes up for a breath—gasps, shudders, and lets himself dive back down. The heat of a palm between his shoulder blades presses him securely into the cushion of his mattress.

The hand slides down his spine, comes to rest in the dip at the small of his back. Then, across the curve of his shoulder, passes hot breath and soft lips. Light kisses drag from there up the slope of his neck.

Weight shifts around him; he hears a rustle, a muted thud, and a sharp snap that makes his muscles jump and his awareness sharpen. Then the hand on his back is gone. He makes a noise, tenses.

"Hey, shh," whispers Kurt behind and above him. "Its me." Warm brush of skin against skin, tantalizing; it thrills and soothes. A cool wet touch at his sacrum, slipping down between his buttocks. It makes heat flare and desire catch.

"Ah..." Blaine sighs and stirs, tries to spread his thighs, but theyre bracketed by Kurts knees and hes held. So he relaxes again, relaxes into Kurt breaching his body with a fingertip. Kurt pushes in so slowly, and Blaine lets his body yield and open, to take and hold that careful rousing touch.

Of course its Kurt, but its simple to let youthful fantasies mingle with his sleep muddled reality, for Kurt to become the anonymous midnight lover he once dreamed up for himself when he was a lonely fifteen year old.

But then Kurt quietly asks (his fantasy lover rarely spoke and never asked), "Okay?" as he works in and out slowly, shifting the angle as he goes, circling with the base of his finger, revolving a steady massage within the gripping ring of muscle. And Blaine has to respond to reality.

"Mmm, yeah," he slurs against his pillow, feebly flexes his spine to emphasize yes.

"Good," Kurt says, and keeps going, steady and easy, and Blaine lets his belly soften, his spine and his mind sink. The twinging pleasure builds incrementally to a deep simmer in his belly. It tangles with his slide back into semi-consciousness; surreal and nonsensical images flash to accompany sensation. Nothing coheres. He just floats along with it.

He wakes fully when Kurt gently withdraws his finger. Blaine groans at the loss, but then contact returns, wet and wide: the gorgeous blunt pressure of Kurts cockhead. A pause on the threshold to ask permission: "Still okay?"

"Please," Blaine mumbles tips his ass up. "Yes."

After that, theres no more falling back toward sleep, theres only the hot—so hot—fat advancing drive in, in, in, until Blaines nearly choking on the fullness of it. Then the searing pull of retreat hauls all the breath back into his body. And then Kurts pushing in again, forcing the air from his lungs in a soft moan. Blaine keeps his eyes closed, curls his fingers into his pillow, and holds on. Lets Kurt do as he wishes and accepts the bliss that brings.

Kurt keeps it slow for some time, a deep relentless drag that seeks and finds every nerve ending, every point of delicious pressure, dredging up swells of ecstasy in feverish billows that rush him like a tempest in one moment—sending him gasping and moaning toward his orgasm—only to recede into gentler wafts, enough to keep him aloft, buoyed in a kind of stasis of pleasure. Each time, Kurt takes him higher, but not quite all the way. Blaine squirms beneath Kurts attention, trying to take hold of that little bit more. Arches his spine, braces his elbows against the mattress, and shoves back, tries to spread himself farther open. "Please, Kurt," he says.

"Oh god," Kurt groans, and his body heat and weight come down upon Blaines back, sweaty and kinetic. His thrusts shorten into grinding twists, screwing emphatically into Blaines ass like hes trying to pry him even wider so he can drive in even deeper. He pants against Blaines jaw. Scrapes a teeth-filled kiss along the edge of it. Bites gently at Blaines earlobe. "So fucking sweet," he mumbles, nuzzles behind Blaines ear, into his hair. Kurt grabs at Blaines hip, holds him in a rough squeezing grip, digging in with his short nails as his movements steady and speed. Sharp, hard shoves; quick and dazzling collisions between their bodies, crimp Blaines lower back and rock his whole body against the bed.

Blaine makes a loud noise, and its something between a mindless animal snarl and a greedy wordless demand. With Kurts hips ramming against his ass, Kurts chest pressed against his shoulders, Kurts mouth sucking and nipping at the back of his neck, and Kurts legs trapping his own. With Kurts cock stuffing him so fantastically full, over and over and over, hes swiftly overwhelmed, and he comes, with wrenching spasms that nearly make his calves cramp.

Kurt comes soon after with a helpless, bitten off whimper.

He stays inside Blaine, heavy and unmoving but for labored breaths that puff against Blaines cheek. It occurs to Blaine he should say something, but his tongue and his brain dont want to coordinate anything so complex as speech. He reaches back to awkwardly skim his fingertips along Kurts flank, grunts contentedly against his pillow, and wriggles contentedly beneath Kurt to encourage him to stay inside as long as he wants to—hes still so beautifully hard. Maybe Kurt needs to come again and hes just catching his breath between orgasms. Theyll probably need a fresh condom and definitely more lube, but for now, this is nice. Blaine gets an elbow under himself, pushes up and turns his face further toward Kurts—

Only Kurt tenses and says, "Oh, god, Im sorry, I must be getting heavy," and he pushes up, pulls back, slips out of Blaines body, and sighs shakily. Moves away, down and off to the side. But he pets down the sweaty line of Blaines spine as he goes, strokes over the curve of his ass and leaves his hand resting on the back of Blaines thigh.

"You werent," Blaine says. He winces and flexes his feet to stretch out his legs before he attempts any more ambitious movement. Asks, "Do you need more?"

"I—uh. I dont think so? That was pretty—wow. Youre all right? I was trying to go easy but then you..."

With a soft laugh, Blaine squirms and rolls over, and Kurt takes his hand back to himself. "Im vastly better than all right," Blaine says.

He finds Kurt kneeling beside him, and in the dark, Blaine can just make out his smile and the glitter of his eyes. The cock of an eyebrow. "Vastly?" Kurt inquires.

"Vastly," Blaine confirms. He stretches an arm to Kurt, inviting Kurts hand to his own. "That was wonderful, Kurt."

Kurt rubs his own thighs before tentatively reaching back and grasping Blaines fingertips. "It was. But I should clean us up and let you get back to sleep."

"Should?" Blaine asks. "You dont have to go so soon."

"No, really, Im fine now, and Ive got work tomorrow, so I should, yeah. Go." Kurt withdraws his hand and tugs away a hand towel thats got its edge caught under Blaines ass. Blaine had barely noticed it was there. He mustve slept through more than he realized: Kurt undressing him, thoughtfully placing that towel, turning him over. Its a thrill to imagine it all.

Kurt grabs a wipe from the nightstand and concentrates on scrubbing Blaines belly and thighs clean. He doesnt look up, and the vibe between them grows strange, like theres something Kurt wants to say or do that hes not saying or doing, and Blaine checks his impulse to guess. He told Kurt he wouldnt make any more assumptions. So he asks, "Are you sure youre all right?" Glances a touch along Kurts forearm to draw his attention.

When Kurt finally does look up, his eyes are an indecipherable dark glimmer. All Blaine can tell is that Kurts not looking directly at him. Kurt pauses, crumples the soiled wipe in his hand, sets it aside, and doesnt reply immediately.

"Kurt?" Blaine prompts, lifting himself up to his elbows.

With a little shake of his head, Kurt replies, "Yes, I am." He leans forward and kisses Blaine on the forehead. "Thank you," he says against Blaines skin, soft and achingly sincere. He touches Blaines cheek and lifts his head, but his gaze remains lowered, fixed somewhere close to Blaines mouth. "Youre so generous with me, Im very grateful."

Its an odd thing to say. Words of reassurance or endearment are thick in Blaines throat, rising up from his unguarded psyche. He traps them, unspoken. Swallows them back down and doesnt say any of them. Says instead, "Id really like to make you pancakes in the morning. With the blueberries. May I, please?"

Kurt laughs in surprise and says, "I— Yes, okay."

After Kurt leaves but before Blaine drifts back to sleep, he sets his phone alarm, to wake him early enough to have breakfast ready for Kurt when he gets up.

##

"Oh my god," Kurt says around his first mouthful of pancakes. "These are amazing—so light. What do you do to get this texture without unpalatable amounts of baking powder?" Kurt peers at a cross-section of pancake.

"Beat the egg whites separately, and also use confectioners sugar instead of granulated. Technically its a dessert pancake," Blaine says. "More coffee?" He reaches for the French Press and refills Kurts proffered mug. The morning sun lights Kurts irises like shallow tropical ocean.

"Genius," Kurt says with a lopsided pull of his lips. "Good at sex and pancakes. I dont know, Blaine, are you sure youre real?"

Blaine grins and looks down at his plate.

The mornings sex follows soon enough, while the dishes still litter the counter. In the shower, Kurt leans back against the tiled wall with his eyes closed and Blaine takes his cock in hand. Steady strokes, not too quick at first, but speeding up to honor Kurts request for speed and efficiency. Blaine watches Kurt flush and arch and gasp and come. It takes less than five minutes, and then Kurts reaching for this shampoo and scooting aside to let Blaine rinse his hand off in the jet of water and slip his washcloth from the rail.

"I could blow you?" Kurt says as he works up a lather in his hair. "If you like?"

Blaine lowers his facecloth and looks at Kurt. The offer is sincere, of course, but Kurt will be wanting to start work. "Rain check?" Blaine says.

Theres some relief in Kurts smile as he rinses his hair. "Save it for me for later, then?"

"I can do that," Blaine says, and then he takes his turn washing his hair while Kurt steps out and dry off. From where it rests beside the sink, Kurts phone rings.

With a sigh, Kurt reaches first for his robe and then for the phone. "And so it begins." He leaves the bathroom, closing the door softly, before he answers.

##

Once dressed, Blaine grabs his tablet and ventures to the living room. At the dining table, Kurts set up with his open laptop, papers and sketchbook, and bluetooth headset. Hes talking to someone on the phone about (as far as Blaine can tell) an upcoming charity reception at the Guggenheim, and he doesnt look up.

Blaine sits on the couch and searches for recipes to make use of lentils, zucchini, and fresh mint. Settles on a salad with brown rice, which he saw in Kurts pantry, and he sends the recipes link to Kurts personal email. Within seconds, Kurts email notification bings from across the room. Blaine watches Kurt check it, click, scan, and then look up at him with a smile and a thumbs up.

Dishes next. Mindful of disturbing Kurts work, Blaine takes his time to avoid a surplus of clanging and clashing. Then he heads back to his room to plug his headphones into his keyboard and log on to his NYADA student account on his tablet. He scrolls through the stock video clips the professor has uploaded for students to score, clicks on the first one that catches his interest, plays a few melodies to try to capture the mood evoked by the imagery of a wing of Canada geese taking flight from a fallow field in a sunrise lit fog. He watches the clip over and over, tinkers with the keyboard, pencils a few notes, hums a counterpoint.

And he startles when a sharp knock on his door comes. Blaine swipes his headphones from his ears and calls out, "yes?"

Kurt opens his door slowly. "Am I interrupting?" he asks.

Blaine hits pause on the video playing and shakes his head. "Nothing too serious," he says. "Just hunting for my muse this morning."

Kurt leans against the door frame and tilts his head, smiling. "Is she often elusive?"

"Still trying to find her way here from Manhattan, I expect," Blaine says.

"Give yourself some time to settle in," Kurt says, and then his gaze ticks off Blaine and his smile diminishes. His hand drifts to his belt buckle. "Ill be heading in to the office soon, so I..."

"Oh!" Blaine pushes back his chair and stands. The clock reads quarter to twelve. More time than he realized has passed. "Of course. What would be best?"

"Your mouth, please?" Kurt says, pinching at the outside seam of his trouser leg. "Can you keep it... tidy?"

"Yes," Blaine says. "Come in and sit down?"

The tension slides from Kurts shoulders and his smile regains its strength. "Thank you," he says. He unbuckles and undoes his fly and sits on the edge of Blaines bed. Blaine kneels and puts his hands on Kurts knees.

He takes more time than he did in the shower, to try to keep Kurt from getting too hot and sweaty and in need of a second shower before work. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the warm weight of Kurts hand on the back of his neck, the speed and depth of Kurts breaths, and the tension growing in his thighs.

He swallows everything and stays down until hes sure Kurts done. Then he goes to tuck Kurt back into his underwear but hesitates. He takes a breath for himself before he looks up. Kurts leaning back on straight arms, his eyes are closed, and his expression is placid, his lips parted around even, deep breaths. "Another?" Blaine asks.

Kurt shakes his head and slowly opens his eyes. "Thank you, Blaine, no." Kurt stands quickly, tucking his shirt tails into his pants and zipping up. "I need to get going."

"What time should I expect you back?" Blaine asks as he follows Kurt out. He hovers a little uselessly while Kurt gathers his satchel, laptop, and other things he needs from the dining table.

"Um," Kurt says. He glances up from shuffling some loose printed pages together. "Usually, I get back close to nine. Theres a friend at work who... helps me out sometimes when I work late. But Id rather come home to you, so seven-ish? Ive already cooked the lentils and rice for dinner, theyre in the fridge. Theres some curried chicken salad in there too, second shelf down in the green glass container—organic free range—if you want that for lunch. And help yourself to more of the pound cake, and coffee or tea or juice. Please be at home, just—"

"Dont use up your dinner ingredients. Its fine, Kurt. Ill be fine." Blaine says, and he holds the door for Kurt as he hoists the strap of his bag over his head, settles it on his shoulder, and pivots to leave.

"Thank you again," Kurt says, his smile flashes a little too bright, and then hes gone and Blaine exhales.

The taste of Kurts semen is still upon Blaines tongue. He goes to the fridge to get a blue bottle of water. Walks over to the window as he takes a swig. Lunch hour bustle fills the sidewalks and the street. He spots Kurt rounding the corner with his satchel bouncing against his hip; his orange and black butterfly print shirt is bright in the crowd.

A smile bends Blaines lips and then a huff of quiet laughter parts them against the cool neck of the bottle. Its not amusement but—he laughs again, properly—happiness. "Okay," he says to himself. Hes been living here for just over 48 hours, has known Kurt just over a week, has been responsible for—Blaine walks back to the kitchen and tries to catalog each one—seventeen or so of Kurts orgasms. "Not bad," he says.

So this will be his summer. Gorgeous apartment with a gorgeous man whose company he enjoys and who values his presence and care. Good sex and friendship without the mess of mismatched expectations. Someone with whom he can be honest. It would be perhaps too cynical to wonder what the catch may be. After all, hasnt Kurt told him already? The honeymoon wont last, the demands on his time and on his body will become less enjoyable.

But not yet, not even close. For three months, Blaines confident he can sustain this with enjoyment. Whatever reservations he had at the start, when he replied to Kurts email, are gone. This is something he can do and he can do it well, something he can do with pleasure. And at the end of three months? Perhaps thatll be the real catch for him. But theres no point trying to time travel. For now, he has more than what he needs for his own summer plans.

But before he returns to his keyboard, he gets his phone and takes some photos of the loft to send to both Tina and his mother, to whom he owes an update. The diffuse morning light is pretty, and Blaine doesnt use any filters before he resizes the best images and attaches them to two emails. He writes his mother a brief message to go with: "Finally! I found a great apartment in Brooklyn with a great guy who had a spare room going. Its a bit farther out than Id hoped, but the neighborhood is safe, near the Navy Yard." He closes with an inquiry about her garden club and a question about what she and Dad will be doing for their anniversary next month. Hits send and feels like hes done his filial duty.

Tina replies to his email with a single question. "Wow, nice. Are you *sure* this guys not an ax murderer?" Blaine replies with an eyeroll emoji.

He has two texts from Sam on his phone too, leftover from this morning when he had his phone off: "got a shoot wed near ur new digs," followed by, "Shall we do lunch?" Sams affected British accent (inspired by, Sam says, Maggie Smith on Downton Abbey) on the last sentence is easy to imagine.

"Yes, lets. I shall wear my best frock coat," Blaine replies, saying the words out loud as he types them.

He makes himself a sandwich and more coffee, eats at the island while looking through free-to-use clips on YouTube, decides he really doesnt want to score cat videos, and then rewatches the one with the geese a few more times while he hums the melody hes already composed, wondering if itd sound better on strings than piano. After he washes his plate, hes still not had anything really spark, so he sends Kurt a brief text, "Okay if I watch your DVDs of Arties stuff?"

"Go for it," comes Kurts prompt reply, followed shortly by, "Just dont judge me too hard when you get to the Vogue video remake, okay?"

Interesting. "You realize Im going to watch that one first now, right?" Blaine sends back.

Its a minute before he gets another text from Kurt: "And here I thought youd be gentlemanly enough to say youd skip it." He adds a winking smiley and a simple exhortation, "Enjoy!"

Smiling, Blaine grabs the remote and the disc and gets set up to watch. The "Vogue" video (featuring a Coach Sylvester as Madonna) is on the menu of the oldest disc, dated eight years ago. So Kurt and Artie were in High School together too? Blaine sits back on the sofa to watch. Mercedes is in the video as well, and a bunch of attractive dancers of both sexes who look too old to be high school kids, but Kurt is... Kurt is, even at sixteen or seventeen, beautiful.

"I thought you said you were a nerdy late bloomer?" Blaine texts with his thumb as he rewinds the disc and replays a fleeting shot of Kurt, posing glamorously in black and white, a fan ruffling his hair as he moves through his pose in slow motion with his lips forming a perfectly seductive shape on the lip synced, "Oooooh." Hes younger, yes, pale and smooth and soft cheeked, but—

Blaines phone vibrates: "Dont underestimate what a nice suit, clever camera angles, and fuzzy filters will do."

"Hey," Blaine types back. "Youre adorable and very pretty and, I would even say sexy if that didnt make me sound like a total pervert now, but if wed been at school together? I wouldve asked you out."

"You dont have to flatter me to get lucky. Remember, Im a sure thing."

"Whatever :P," Blaine texts back. "Youre lovely in this."

Its a while again before he gets a reply. "Thank you, Blaine."

And Blaine leaves the conversation there. Kurts at work, and hes been pushing the bounds of propriety with flirtatious texts. So he sits and watches through the rest of the disc of Arties early high school work. Most of it features the Glee club, and some of it is... Blaines not sure what to make of "Run, Joey, Run". It must be satire, but a young Miss Rachel Berry delivers her performance around her three different Joeys with such intensity, Blaine cant be sure.

He gets the next disc, clips Artie used in his application to the film school, and settles in to be inspired. Ones that catch his attention he watches a few times muted. Much of the work is, in some ways, overly mannered for Blaines taste--a bit too post modern--certainly designed to impress. But Arties got a good eye for of proportion, light, and movement. Blaine considers one short piece in particular. Its five minutes of a wobbly hand-held camera following a scruffy dog along the shabby streets of downtown Lima as he goes about his canine business. Its got no score, just the ambient sounds of the city and the dogs claws clicking on the pavement. Blaine stops the disc, leaves it in the player, and heads back to his keyboard to pick out some threads of emotion without looking at the video directly, just to score his memory and impressions.

##

Some hours later, when his phone rings, Blaines still sitting at his keyboard, absorbed in what hes working on: hes got a few pages of staff paper filled in. Blaine hauls his brain out of writing space and reorients himself. Notices the lack of sunlight behind his curtain as he reaches for his phone.

"Hey, Kurt."

"Hi." Kurts voice is clipped and breathless. "Im walking home from the subway, and Im going to ah... need you fairly promptly when I get there, so I wanted to give you a heads up?"

"Okay, see you soon," Blaine says, and Kurt hangs up.

Blaines not sure what exactly to expect when Kurt comes in—what hell want. Blaine will aim to be ready for all options. Its about a fifteen minute walk from the subway, so hes got time. He heads to the bathroom to freshen up, strips his clothes off in favor of his short plaid robe, and then wonders if hed be better off waiting in his room or Kurts. To avoid presumption, he decides his room. Hastily, he tidies up his work space, gets the lube out, and puts a condom on the night stand. Figures Kurt will be more likely to want to fuck him than get fucked, if hes got any soreness leftover from yesterday.

Blaine leans back, opens his robe, and spreads his legs. He slicks up his fingers and starts to prep himself. It feels both self-indulgent and bold. He strokes his cock with his free hand while he pushes in with three fingers. Hes rushing himself, but he knows he can take it. Kurt didnt sound like he wanted to wait.

The sound of the door comes, and then Kurts voice, "Blaine?"

"Im in my room," Blaine calls out.

He hears the decisive snap of the lock, the thud of Kurt dropping his bag on the floor, and the clatter of his keys in the aluminum platter on the console table near the door. The clunk of his shoes coming off follows, and then his soft footfalls approach, quick and even. "I need to wash my hands and—" Kurt leans into Blaines doorway, one hand braced on the jamb.

His eyes widen and he sways forward. "Oh... you..."

"Hi?" Blaine says. Kurt stares wordlessly, and Blaine stops moving. He lets go of himself and eases his fingers out, brings his knees together as he reaches for a tissue. Scoots up against his pillows and wipes the lube off his fingers. "Uh, I wasnt sure—?"

"Let me just..." Kurt cuts him off and jerks his thumb in the direction of the bathroom. "Ill be right with you."

Blaine fidgets with the edges of his robe and waits for Kurt, whos stripped down to his briefs when he returns. He crawls up onto the bed, looking dazed and hungry. Gets close and hesitates to touch. Hes not looking at Blaines face, but at his midsection.

"Was that too much?" Blaine asks.

"What?" Kurt blinks and looks up.

"For me to... start without you. I didnt mean to assume—"

"No, no, not at all. I—" Kurt touches his belly, near his navel, and his lips twitch wider. "It was a wonderful way to be met."

Relieved, Blaine returns the smile. "So, um... How do you want me?" Blaine asks. He aims for seductive but it comes out too thin.

"Could I, please... have your mouth first and then your ass?"

"Oh..." Blaines skin prickles hot. "Yeah... how shall we—"

"Can you—hands and knees?"

"Yeah... yeah." Blaine shrugs off his robe and falls forward, to all fours, facing Kurt, as Kurt kneels up and shuffles close. Blaine reaches for Kurts hip, opens his mouth, and pulls him in, as far as he can, sucking long and hard.

"Oh god," Kurt says. He curls over Blaine, pushing down his spine to his tail bone with one hand. "That feels so good."

Blaine hums his agreement.

And then Kurts reaching farther, down between Blaines buttocks and his fingers find Blaines slick hole. He rubs and presses and pushes in with one, fucking Blaine with just the tip while Blaine slides up and down his cock. Its a delicious tease of sensation. Blaine groans helplessly and his knees skid wider. He swallows around Kurt hungrily, moves faster, sucks harder—wants Kurt to come in his mouth—and soon—so he can turn around take him in his ass. He moans around Kurts cock, tugs at Kurts hip to encourage him to move.

"You want me to fuck your mouth?" Kurt asks.

Blaine nods, best he can and hums his affirmation.

Two fingertips hook in his ass then, fucking more roughly and with haphazard rhythm, and Kurt moves his hips with cautious force but sure rhythm. Blaine takes it, sucking noisily and hard while grinding back against Kurts hand. Kurt uses his hold on Blaines ass to tug, urging him forward as he thrusts into his mouth. It makes Blaine feel weirdly compressed and caught between the competing stimulation. It doesnt take long for Kurt to come.

"Oh god," Kurt says, shuddering and pulling his hand free. "Please, oh, god, I need..."

Blaine tosses the condom back to Kurt and turns around. Gets more lube on his fingers and pushes them back inside himself while Kurt gets the condom on. Then Kurts cock is pushing in, right alongside Blaines fingers, and hes gripping Blaines wrist, holding his hand just there, palm flat against one ass cheek, two fingers jammed in his ass. Kurt fucks him jerkily, with his dick dragging inside and along Blaines knuckles.

"So good," Kurt says. "So good, Blaine."

Blaine collapses to one elbow and presses his forehead into the bedding, rocks with Kurts motions, lets Kurt make use of his body, and loves every damned second of it. His orgasm winds up deep and sort of ticklishly, just at the edge of his grasp. But no less inevitable for it. His thighs shake violently when he comes. And after he does, Kurt pulls his hand free, takes Blaines hips in twin tight grips, and fucks him hard and quick. The forceful thrusts crumple Blaines spine, and Kurt plows him down into the mattress until Blaines flat on his belly, pinned and blissfully helpless and Kurt comes too.

"Blaine," Kurt says, and his teeth graze the back of Blaines shoulder as he shivers through his aftershocks, grunting softly as he works through a final few deep churning thrusts, swiveling his hips as if seeking every last measure of release possible.

Much as he did overnight, Blaine reaches back for Kurt, gets as good a grasp as he can upon Kurts sweaty skin. "Will you stay in me," he says. "Just for a little longer? If you can? Please?"

"Yeah," Kurt says. And like last night, hes still hard in Blaines ass, but hes not seeking another orgasm. He works his hips languorously, just feeling and filling, and Blaine goes boneless beneath him, wallowing in the afterglow, well-used and wonderful.

Eventually, Kurts hips still and relax, but he doesnt pull out. "Have you ever worn a plug?" Kurt asks him.

Blaine stirs and turns his head. "You had one in that first night when you came to me."

Kurt presses back into him firmly, holding deep and still; Blaine shivers and feels the stretch wonderfully. "Yes, but thats not an answer to my question," Kurt says.

"Ive used them as foreplay and while, uh, jerking off."

"Okay," Kurt says. "I was wondering if youd like to wear one to bed for me?"

"Oh... I dont know? Ive never worn one that long."

"Its just that... you seem to like this," Kurt nudges his hips forward again, and Blaines breath catches. "Being full. Being open?"

"I do," Blaine says.

"I could put one in you now. See if you like having it in while we have dinner?"

"Oh," Blaine says, and he shivers as Kurt finally pulls out of him, deliberate and slow, letting him feel every millimeter of the slide. "All right."

"Stay just as you are," Kurt says and pads off across the hall.

Blaine waits, unmoving, with gooseflesh pimpling his skin and anticipation coiling in his chest and gut. Kurt returns quickly and as he approaches the bed says, "I have three for you to choose among," he says, "unless youd prefer that I pick one for you?"

"Your choice," Blaine says and he closes his eyes.

"Do you want to see it first?" Kurt asks.

"No," Blaine says. He folds his arms to pillow his head and smiles, keeping his eyes shut. "Just... put it in. I trust you."

"Okay," Kurt says, and he hums thoughtfully and speaks as if to himself. "Well, this ones not really for sleeping, though its fun to wear while youre moving around. Maybe well save that one for another day." A clank of something hard and metallic on his nightstand. "And this one," Kurt says, "is, hrm, rather distracting in its dimensions. Probably not the best place to start." A duller thud follows. "So well go with the still pleasurable but somewhat less ambitious one."

"Sounds good." Blaine grins, and he hears the snap of Kurt opening the lube, the wet squirt and suck of the bottle as Kurt squeezes some out.

"Its blue," Kurt says. "If youre wondering—a kind of a shimmery baby blue."

"Sounds pretty," Blaine says, "Im sure itll complement my complexion."

Kurt snorts a laugh and his hand is warm on Blaines ass, gently parting his buttocks and touching the wet rounded tip of the plug to Blaines hole. Its soft and smooth and goes in easily—what feels like an inch of length the width of a large finger—before catching and stopping at a narrowing. Its a negligible presence, but a more promising thickness nestles against his anus. Blaine imagines a series of graduated fused beads. He wonders how many therell be. The next, wider section slips in easily too, sending an electric shiver through him. That stretch he feels more; hes still so sensitive after being fucked.

"Good?" Kurt asks.

"Mmhm," Blaine says.

The third bead makes him gasp. Its closer to the girth of Kurts cock, and the way it gently opens him as its widest part eases in—and then abates—sparks a delicious twinge to linger. Beneath Blaines belly, his dick throbs its agreement.

"I like this one too," Kurt says. His smile is easy to imagine. He pushes again—one more bead, and the stretch is greater, undeniable and wonderful. "There you are," he says.

But then, instead of letting go, Kurt tugs, dragging the plug slowly back out, and that sensation—of being stretched open again, but from the inside out—makes Blaine outright groan. And then the next smaller bead slips out, and the next, and the last, until just the tip is pressed against him again and Blaine feels empty and aching. He flushes hot and squirms, barely stops himself from grinding his hardening cock into the bedding.

Then Kurt pushes them all back in—all at once—one firm shove to fill him back up, a gorgeous ripple of widening sensation, and Blaine feels the flat base of the plug flush against him, caught between his buttocks—narrow enough to rest comfortably, but he has to take a breath to calm his reflexive shuddering.

"I could fuck you with this thing," Kurt muses. "I bet youd love it."

Panting, Blaine catches his breath and lifts his head to look over his shoulder at Kurt. "Youd win that bet."

Kurts smile is slow and pleased. He taps the base of the plug once before taking his hands back to himself. "Maybe later. You know what?" he says, glancing from Blaines ass to his face.

"What?"

"That color does bring out your eyes," Kurt says. He grins impishly and gives Blaine a light swat across his upturned ass.

"Ah!" Shock stalls any other verbal response. The impact ricochets along the length of both the plug and Blaines cock.

Then Kurt stands, looks down at Blaine with warmth in his eyes, and collects the two unused plugs from Blaines nightstand. "Im going to shower and then Ill make dinner," Kurt says. "Would you get dressed and set the table for us, please, Blaine?"

##

Its close to nine by the time theyre sitting down across the corner of the dining table to the lentil salad, accompanied by a plate of bruschetta and a bottle of a dry Pinot Grigio.

"This is nice," Blaine says. Outside the lights of the city street replace the sun. The flare of headlights waxes and wanes in the steady pulse of evening traffic. Kurts put some music on low volume, a shuffled playlist of Broadway diva standards. Blaine takes a forkful of the salad and shifts on his chair as he chews, putting his weight more directly on the base of the plug and feeling it shift inside. Its been in for about an hour now, and while its not been overly intrusive while he was helping Kurt with dinner, sitting makes him feel it much more vividly. Not so much in terms of overt and physical stimulation (though he could enhance that simply by grinding against the seat of his chair) as it is an increased awareness of his own body as a sexual vessel, kept now, ready for Kurts next use. Its hard to think about much else.

"How is it?" Kurt asks.

Blaine blinks back to refocus on Kurt, whos looking at him intently. "Its good," Blaine says. "Im getting used to it."

"Has it got too much lemon? I just eyeballed it."

"Oh—no. I mean, the food is good too. I thought you meant the, uh, the plug."

"That was going to be my next question," Kurt says. "You like it?"

"I think so," Blaine says. He swivels his hips to verify. "Yes, I do."

"Good," Kurt says.

##

One and a half glasses of wine later and a second helping of salad, Kurts leaning his cheek into his palm, blinking slowly, and asking him, "So did you want to tell me about your old midnight sex fantasy."

The mild buzz of the alcohol, good food in his belly, and the irrefutable presence of the plug holding him in a persistent half-aroused state that has his body humming with a deep and patient kind of desire—it makes it easier to answer. "It was when I was young and lonely—virginal and hormonal with no real prospects back in Cowtown, Ohio."

"Right," Kurt says. "High school."

"I made up this man—this character, I guess, to fantasize about? He would come into my room at night and... seduce me while I slept."

One of Kurts eyebrows rises. "Is that a politic way of saying hed sneak in and have his wicked way with you?"

"I..." Blaine smiles through his blush and looks down. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Were you scared of him?"

"No, never. That wasnt part of it. He made me feel safe and... desirable."

"Hmm. That sounds nice. What did he look like?" Kurt asks, tipping his glass this way and that, circling the wine in the bowl of his glass. Its smudged with fingerprints.

Blaine shrugs. "I, um, I dont know? I never saw his face and he rarely spoke except to tell me what to do. But, somehow, he always knew what I wanted, and I imagined that he kind of... fed off my pleasure? Like an incubus, I guess, but he wasnt harming me." Blaine laughs self-consciously. "And of course, I was special—no matter how much pleasure he took from me, I always had more to give him, and the more he got from me... the more satisfied he was. So he kept coming back, night after night."

Kurt gaze is dark and steady. "What sort of things did he do to you?"

"Sometimes hed blindfold me—like when the moon was full, so I wouldnt see his face. Or hed tie my hands or legs. Sometimes hed paralyze me with a word and the only way I could move was if he moved me. Hed get me close to coming in different ways—to build up my arousal, so hed have more of my pleasure to consume. Hed get me so desperate for it Id..." Blaine trails off, heat rising under his skin at the memories, of lying in the dark at fifteen, getting himself worked up in his own mind before hed let himself touch himself. In his ass, the plug seems bigger than ever, and his cock is uncomfortably stiff within the strict confines of his jeans.

"Would you beg for him to let you come?" Kurt asks softly.

A flush warms Blaines cheeks. "Yes." Hed beg the darkness in fervent whispers and have his hands clenched tight into the sheets, begging himself, really—and only then would he give in.

"Mmm," Kurt says. "Thats hot."

"Is it?" Blaine asks. "Its so fantastical."

"Imagining you like that? Oh, yes," Kurt says. "And arent our fantasies where were allowed to be fantastical? I mean, isnt that kind of the definition?" Smiling, he reaches for the wine bottle, offers Blaine more, which Blaine accepts. Then he tops his own glass up, sets the wine bottle down and sucks a dribble of wine from his forefinger. "So that was you at... sixteen or so, huh? Fantastical and inspired," he says, and then he cocks his head, a little shy, and his voice changes to something more tentative. "Did you mean what you said earlier, in that text? About how if wed been in high school together, how you wouldve asked me out?"

"Oh," Blaine rubs his lips together as he nods, shy himself now, of meeting Kurts eyes. "I probably shouldnt have said that?"

"No," Kurt says, "I mean, its okay, I wasnt offended. And honestly, even sixteen year old me would have been happy to have known twenty-one year old you found him sexy."

"Right," Blaine says. "Because you were already..."

"Having a surplus of sexual need? Yes." Kurt shakes his head, wry. "It was a nightmare. I got my first handjob from a girl who was very kind and very generous about offering such things. It was before I was really out, and I..." Kurt blows a stream of air through pursed lips. "Yeah. That was a super fun time."

"Im sorry," Blaine says.

Kurt snorts and rolls his eyes, "God, dont be. Its not like you had anything to do with it."

"No, but... it kind of makes me wish that I had been there? That Id known you then, somehow."

Kurt looks at him flatly. "You wouldve been twelve, Blaine."

"No," Blaine says, laughs. "I mean, if wed been the same age at the same time, you know, and Idve asked you out."

Again, Kurt shakes his head, this time firmly. "Its a nice thought, but please dont actually wish for that," Kurt says, his amusement fades, and his eyes shimmer too bright.

"Why not?" Blaine asks softly.

"Because." Kurt swallows hard. "I was so desperate then, you have no idea. I would have fallen in love with you and clung to you so hard you wouldve suffocated. I would have broken your heart and mine. Wed have ruined each other—broken up and never seen or spoken to one another again," he says, and pauses for breath, staring down into his glass.

"Kurt," Blaine says, and he reaches a hand halfway across to Kurts space and leaves it there, feeling useless and clueless. Hes got the urge--the completely wrongheaded urge--to tell Kurt that, no, it wouldnt have been like that between them. It would have been good and fun. But theres no way to know, no real point to be argued. At sixteen he probably wouldnt have been brave enough to ask Kurt out anyway. He exhales heavily through his nose and reaches for his glass instead of Kurts hand.

But then a weak smile flickers across Kurts lips, and he looks up at Blaine, still a little sad, but sweetly sincere, "So far, I like this version a lot better."