"The kid still reeked of tauntaun guts. Han couldnt do much about that. Outside their shelter the ice storm raged. Inside the narrow space, Han and Luke were crammed like wet cargo from Mon Cala--and smelled at least half as bad. Luke was delirious, squirming and moaning incoherently about Ben and the Dagobah system and something called Yoda. It promised to be a long night, but maybe Han could do something about Lukes agitation.

He pulled off his mittens with his teeth and laid a hand on Lukes cheek, as gently as hed calm a frightened dray beast. Lukes skin was clammy and cold--and far too pale. His eyes shot open at the touch, wide and startlingly lucid. Han?

Around them the walls of the shelter rippled and fluttered. "Ive got you, kid. Youre safe."

Wildly, Luke looked about and struggled to sit. Not enough room for it though. Han reached for him, to try to get him to lie back down, and Luke flung an arm against the flexible wall. Then he nearly elbowed Han in the face. What--?

Hey, hey, Han soothed. He pulled Luke close, into a tight embrace to contain his flailing limbs. Luke settled and clung to Han almost instantly. Lukes hair, where it had escaped the band of Lukes cap, tickled Hans nose. This close, Luke just smelled human: a little stale and sweaty, sure, but sweet and warm otherwise. Were safe here until morning, Han said, and the softness of his own voice surprised him. "Just gotta keep you warm, right? Gotta take care of you."

Given the storys rating, Blaines pretty sure he knows where this ones going. The late summer afternoon has bled indistinguishably into early evening, and Blaines stretched out on the sofa, reading some fic Sam linked him, while he waits for Kurts text. These days its hard to find new Luke/Han slash, and Blaines got a fondness for blanket fic, the crucible of it. The inevitability is hot. Itll get him in the right mood for Kurt. He nestles deeper into the cushions and holds his tablet with one hand while he lets his other rest atop his thigh. He runs his thumb along the inseam of his pants and continues to read. Savors how the slow pulse of blood to his groin grows incrementally heavier.

Just as Hans trying to unfasten Lukes jacket--because of course you need skin to skin contact to warm a person--the lock on the apartment door rattles. The door swings wide and Kurt comes in; his arms are laden with bags of groceries and bolts of fabric. He peers around a rectangle of plain calico. "Hey!" Kurt says, smiling. "Sorry I didnt text--I couldnt quite reach my phone."

"Evidently," Blaine says. He tosses aside his tablet and scrambles to his feet. A bag hooked over Kurts shoulder slips, and one of its straps falls to his elbow. The bag yawns open, threatening to spill. Kurt teeters to balance the rest of his armload. Blaine dodges the steamer trunk and gets to Kurt in time to intercept a small eggplant thats nearly slithered free. "Yikes. Let me give you a hand."

"Thanks," Kurt says; hes out of breath from his brisk walk. He catches the edge of the door with his ankle and gives it a light kick to close it. Blaine grabs the closest of the bags looped over Kurts forearms and takes them to the kitchen while Kurt makes his way to the dining room table.

Theres a lightness in Kurts movements and a brightness in his voice as he unpacks his sewing supplies. "I found the perfect fabric for Caroles dress. I know Id talked about raw silk, but then I found this silk charmeuse at a good price, and its perfect. The colors more royal than raisin, but the drape of it, the way it catches the light--shes going to adore it."

Blaine gets the cold items in the fridge and goes around to the dining table. The fabric is lustrous and the color rich. "Its beautiful, Kurt."

"Ill need to make some changes to the neckline, I think? I want to get started on a mockup tonight, so I was wondering? I know its short notice, but would you mind cooking? Or we can order in."

"Im happy to cook. Did you have something planned?" He cant recall exactly. Theyve used all the orphaned ingredients. He tries to think whats left in the fridge.

"Not really. Theres still a bunch of asparagus," Kurt says. "I was going to improvise something with it tonight. So aside from the stuff I just picked up for tomorrows potluck, whatever else weve got is fair game."

"Okay," Blaine says. "Ill see what I can come up with."

"Great!" Kurt says. "Thank you, and if I may impose upon your good graces just a bit more..." Kurt reaches for Blaines hand and brings it to his groin. His erection strains the front of his pants. "Something fast, please? I dont want a lot of fuss."

"Of course," Blaine says, "You know Im happy to do that too."

Kurt grins and rolls his eyes. "Im just really keen to get started on the dress and I could do without the stupid distraction." He gestures at his crotch.

"Right, well then." Blaine thumbs the hook of Kurts pants free of its bar. "Dont mind me."

Even with a perfunctory handjob, Blaine cant help but lean in close and touch the tip of his nose to Kurts pulse. Kurts head lists to the side; he shivers and swears and jolts in Blaines hand. Blaine speeds his strokes and breathes deeply, and he thinks, yes, human: sweet and warm. When Kurt mumbles a hoarse, "Close." Blaine drops to his knees to avoid a mess.

Once hes caught his breath, "Perfect," Kurt says. He pets over Blaines hair, and his fingertips linger for a moment behind Blaines ear. Then Kurt sighs through his smile, takes his hand back to himself, and zips up. And thats that.

Blaine doesnt mind; he truly doesnt. If reading some sexy fanfiction got him in the mood for something more connected, that isnt Kurts fault. While Kurt turns back to his project, Blaine goes to investigate the refrigerator.

In addition to the asparagus, Blaine gets out the eggs. Theyve still got half a loaf of pandoro, and Kurts herbs are growing well--Blaine can work with that.

Kurt brings an ironing board out from the hall cupboard. The clatter and screech of him unfolding it is such an unexpectedly familiar and domestic sound. Not one Blaines heard since... Probably not since he was living at home and his mother ironed his weeks worth of Dalton uniform shirts on Sunday mornings.

Shed set up the ironing board in the family room while Blaine sat with coffee and french toast. Together they watched the Sunday morning news shows together. First it was The McLaughlin Group on PBS, and then theyd switch switch over to NBC for Meet the Press. That was back when both John McLaughlin and Tim Russert were still alive. Its a good memory, though it comes with a soft note of melancholy for the permanent markers of the irretrievable past. Not that hed want to go back, but still.

The flash of memory and mortality gives Blaine pause in this moment, standing over a carton of brown eggs, a bunch of asparagus, and the chopping board where hes about to mince some chives. One day his time with Kurt will be behind him.

He lays down his knife and looks over at Kurt, whos ironing the plain calico with sure sweeps of his steaming iron. Theres a smell, too, that Blaine had forgot. Heat on cotton. Its like something old and fundamental, strangely comforting, but he cant quite articulate how.

What of this present moment will he remember the next time he smells a hot iron or hears the metallic squawk of its opening board? Will the memory be good? Will he have regrets? What pieces of what he has now will be lost? Or--for good or ill--changed beyond redemption?

Blaine stops the thought there. He doesnt want to be this moody on a Thursday night. So he turns back to his dinner plan: simple poached eggs and asparagus on grilled sourdough toast with some kind of herb and lemon sauce. A simple salad of sliced cucumber and tomato on the side. Maybe a sprinkle of shaved Parmesan to finish. Should he attempt hollandaise? Probably not. Hes never made it from scratch before, and he doesnt want to risk disappointment. Stick to a cream sauce.

"Do you have tarragon?" Blaine asks.

Kurt sets the iron on its heel. "Weve got some dried in the pantry."

"Thatll do," Blaine says.

They eat at the island, with the calico now having taken over the dining table. The pattern pieces are pinned to it with a rainbow assortment of pearl-headed pins. Kurt unstraps the pincushion--a blue tomato--from his wrist and sets it aside. Then he uncorks an imported sauvignon blanc. Its tart fruitiness enhances the lemon in the sauce and provides a refreshing complement to the richness of the eggs and the cream.

"This is good," Kurt says. "Tarragon was a good choice."

"Maybe a bit too brunchy though?"

"Nothing wrong with brunch for a Thursday dinner."

"That sounds like the voice of experience."

"Oh, it is," Kurt says. "Theres something about Thursdays."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm. Its like your work energy is depleted, but your reserves have started to refill in anticipation of the weekend. But its not like Fridays energy. You cant blow off too much steam. You have to manage your resources. So, comforting, nourishing food like eggs and toast or waffles--or even a good bowl of oatmeal--is extra satisfying after dark on a Thursday."

Blaine considers it. "I like that, your theory of Thursdays."

Kurt preens adorably.

"Its also the best day to go giant hunting. If youre into that sort of thing," Blaine adds lightly.

"Giant hunting?"

"Because of Thor?"

Kurt frowns quizzically and shakes his head slowly.

"Thursday? Its Thors Day."

"Oh, right..." Kurts still looking amusedly confused--or skeptical. Its hard to tell.

"Sorry," Blaine says. "Too much nerd talk?"

Kurt gives a careless shrug. "Which is totally what Thursdays are also for. Apparently."

"Brunch for dinner and nerdery?"

"Why not?"

"In that case," Blaine ventures. "Have you seen the movie?"

"Is there a movie about Thursdays?"

Blaine laughs. "No, Thor."

"Cant say that I have." Kurts amusement is not at Blaines expense, but he remains hard to read.

"We could stream it, after our dinner-brunch, in honor of the day? I promise, Chris Hemsworth will not disappoint."

Kurt tilts his head and looks at Blaine, intrigued perhaps. But then he frowns and purses his lips. "Maybe not tonight? I wanted to--"

"Get back to Caroles dress, of course." Blaine bites down on the reflex to apologize.

"Maybe this weekend? Or Thursday next?"

"Yeah, cool!" Blaine says, with more enthusiasm than is warranted. But he knows this feeling, that urge to share a thing he loves with someone he cares for, to make memories of those experiences, to intertwine more parts of himself with more parts of Kurt. Maybe his confession to Sam was ill-advised; all hes done is give himself permission to moon over Kurt. Or maybe its just the implication that he will indeed be here this time next week.

And Kurt is talking about the dress now, "... this 1958 Dior design thats half inspiring me. Do you think a sweetheart neckline would be too cute for the DC crowd? Or would it hit the right level of nostalgia?"

"I honestly have no idea. Ive been to Washington DC exactly zero times."

"But you have such a great personal style yourself, Blaine. You balance vintage and modern sensibilities while hitting the right kind of classic sophistication."

"Oh. Thank you," Blaine says and his cheeks warm. The compliment is both flattering and incisive, which shouldnt be surprising. Kurts not the sort to offer faint praise.

"So, um, let me show you a photo of my inspiration. Id value your opinion." Kurt shifts to pull his phone from his pocket, he taps through and swipes across a blur of photos and then angles the screen toward Blaine.

Blaine leans over to get a better look. The dress would look at home on a young Elizabeth Taylor or Audrey Hepburn. "Thats very elegant. Timeless, Id say."

"Good, that was my intention." Kurt pockets his phone.

"So," Blaine asks, because hes been wondering and this seems as good an opening as any. "What are your parents doing in Washington DC, if you grew up in Ohio?"

"The last name didnt give it away?" Kurt asks with a mild wince, as if hes embarrassed to have to explain.

Hummel. It dawns on Blaine. "Your father, is he Burt Hummel, the congressman?"

Kurt nods, "Thats him."

"I voted for him."

"Thank you."

"So youre the son he used to mention during the marriage equality fight." It was a regular line in Burts speeches, that his son dreamed of the day he could marry his high school sweetheart in the state where they grew up.

"Yep."

Thats not the only thing Blaine remembers. There was tragedy too, for Burt Hummel and his family. "Oh... so, that was your brother who passed away?"

"Finn," Kurt says. "Yeah, we lost him--gosh--five years ago now."

"Im sorry, I had no idea."

"Thank you, we still miss him." Kurt looks out the window for a long moment. The sunset ripples brilliant saffron gold across the tops of the buildings. "But anyway, my dad does his best to keep my name out of the papers and off the air. He never wants me to be a tabloid story. The press have been really great about respecting that, and I try to keep it quiet at my end, as best I can. I dont advertise the family connection. And like you, most people dont guess."

Blaine nods. "Yeah, its good they leave you alone. I dont think Ive ever seen a photo of you in the paper." It seems like something he would have noticed, seeing Kurt, even in blurry newsprint.

"Anyway, thats why Im being fussy about this dress for Carole. Even after three re-election campaigns, she says she feels like a bumpkin alongside the other DC wives. I promised Id make her something new and elegant for the fourth."

"In purple?"

"Yeah, well, the first thing I figured I should avoid are kitschy combos of red, white, and blue, right? But the red and blue are still present in the purple, which is her best color, and Ill have her accessorize with white. A patent leather clutch, pearls, a wedge sandal with an ankle strap--that sort of thing. Im not sure about a hat. Or gloves."

"Yeah, hmm, the wrong hat could verge on a Churchill Downs look."

"Ha, oh god, yes, youre right." Kurts eyebrows rise for a moment. "Okay, nixing the gloves too--thats probably too WASPy or British anyway. Hat may be weather dependent, but Ill keep any potential hat modest--for sun shading purposes only. No passive aggressive power peacocking. Carole hates that." Kurts smile turns easy as he takes a sip of wine. His blue eyes are warm as he considers Blaine. "So what about you and your family? They still in Ohio?"

"My parents, yeah. I have a brother in LA. Hes an aspiring actor, but hes kind of terrible? Just dont tell him I said that, if youre unfortunate enough to meet him. Hes just finished filming a minor part in Sharknado 7."

"Wow," Kurt says. "Theyre making a seventh one? I didnt even know thered been six of them."

"Yeah, well, the worst thing is? Ill be expected to watch it and then tell him what a powerhouse performance he gave as, I dont know, National Guardsman number four."

Kurt stifles a laugh.

"You think Im kidding! Hes convinced its going to be his big break. I mean, his last credited role was a murder victim in a web series, so..."

"Well." Kurt picks up his glass. "Heres to your brother jumping the shark in only the most literal and cheap CGI sense."

Obligingly, Blaine takes a drink, and he thinks, so far, the memories made here will be fond ones.

##

The soft knock at the bathroom door comes just as Blaine is rinsing toothpaste foam down the sink drain. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and straightens. "Yes?"

"May I come in?"

"Sure."

Kurt enters the bathroom with a shadow of a smile and a sharpness in his eye. He wears his red and white striped pajamas again, and he holds up a butt plug, a blunt elongated teardrop shape in glossy black. Not too long; not too fat.

"Ah," Blaine says. Anticipation is a pleasant squeeze in his gut. "Youd like me to wear that tonight?"

"If youre feeling up to it?"

Its been two days without penetration, and if Kurt werent offering, tonight Blaine might well be asking. Hes ready for it. "Yeah," Blaine replies. "I am."

Kurts gladness shines. "You want me to leave it for you to put in, or... would you prefer me to do it?"

"Would you, please?"

"All right, just, you know, bend forward some?"

Blaine tips forward and braces a hand either side of the sink. The porcelain is cold under his palms. He keeps his eyes up and meets Kurts gaze in the mirror as he steps behind Blaine. They share a smile.

Kurt sets the plug and the lube on the shelf beside the sink while he draws Blaines pajama pants down to slump about his ankles. Goosebumps scatter across Blaines bared skin.

"Spread your legs a little?" Kurt asks.

Blaine complies. His breathing comes loud in the close space; now, he hangs his head and closes his eyes.

Its fairly clinical, Kurt slicking up his fingers and inserting them into Blaine, gently coaxing his body to relax in advance of the plug. Its clear hes not aiming for Blaines arousal. Regardless, the entire situation kindles a heat under Blaines skin. His heart throbs strong in his dick. He flushes hot and cant stifle a soft reedy moan.

"Feeling okay?" Kurt asks, concerned. "Too much?"

"No... Im just, uh, doing a lot better than okay."

"Ah." Kurts fingers change their attitude, they slow and seek, pressing and rubbing to make electricity trip along Blaines nerves. Blaine shudders and whimpers. Kurts breath goes quick and shallow.

"Go ahead..." Blaine says. "Go ahead and fuck me now. If you want."

"If?" Kurt huffs a laugh. He reaches, one handed, past Blaines shoulder to open the medicine cabinet, fumbles for a condom and ends up upending the entire box into the sink.

"I didnt... um... want to ah-assume." Blaine rallies some manual dexterity and tears a condom free, passes it to Kurt, and stuffs the rest back into the box. Kurt pushes the mirrored door closed. And Blaines gaze catches in Kurts reflected one. He sees how darkly Kurts eyes burn, and its highlighted in a strange way by the mirrors reversal of Kurts features. The way it reveals the mild asymmetry of Kurts face lends a fresh intimacy to the fractured fire in his gaze.

"Its a safe assumption." Kurt eases his fingers free and looks down to where he gets the condom on himself. "Especially for you."

"For me?" Blaine asks faintly, just as Kurt nudges his wet cockhead up against Blaines anus, and theres that beautiful ache as his body opens. The friction makes his skin prickle wonderfully.

"Yeah," Kurt says, all full of air and heat. He grunts softly as he pushes in, slow and smooth. It makes Blaine rise up to his toes and tighten his grip on the sink. "Nice to actually want someone," Kurt says, but he doesnt give Blaine time to reflect on his words, for he pushes in again, this time sharper: a decisive, blood-thrilling jab. It skips a shock up Blaines spine.

God, he likes it so much, how Kurts just that little bit taller, how taking him like this tugs at his sacrum with all the animal bliss of soothing a deep, hard to reach tickle. It reminds him of the first time Kurt fucked him.

"Oh, thats... uh... really good," Blaine mumbles. Using his grip on the sink--and trusting it to take his weight--Blaine pushes himself up to take the strain off his toes. At his back, Kurt is so hot, pressing closer as Blaine shifts up; Blaines cock bumps and catches the cold edge of the sink. He winces. It takes some extra concentration to steady his wrists. Inadvertently, he tips forward, and Kurts quick to catch him around the waist.

"Whoops, steady there," Kurt says. He pulls Blaine against his chest and props his chin upon Blaines shoulder. "Hang on... let me just..." Kurt moves both hands to Blaines hips and takes much of the weight of Blaines lower body, and Blaine lets gravity settle him into Kurts hold. His lips caress the nape of Blaines neck, and he says, a little breathless, a lot sweet and soft, "Ive got you, all right?"

Blaine head swims hot; his ass throbs full; and his heart seems to simply tip over. "... okay..." He loosens but doesnt relinquish his hold on the sink. He still needs to keep himself from mashing his face into the mirror. His toes dig curl against the grooves between the floor tiles. "Okay," he says again.

"Yeah?" Kurt straightens and strengthens his grasp.

"Yeah."

"You want to come now? Or wait til later?"

His bodys been wanting it since Han took off Lukes coat. "Now, please, Kurt."

Jerky and quick, Kurt fucks him.

"Oh god..." Blaine grits out. He wont last long like this. Its building tight and bright and heavy in his belly already. His face feels numb, his body muzzy at the edges, but inside is sharp flares and sweet fizz. He tries to hold on to something more. But its futile. Kurt has him, inside and out. "Please," he says. Doesnt even know exactly what hes asking for.

Kurt yanks him back onto his cock, hard. Blaines heels meet the floor. "Fuck." He shoves back to meet Kurts next thrust. It packs even more irresistible heat into his balls and the deep root of his cock.

"Thats it," Kurt says. He drapes himself over Blaines back and skims his fingers over Blaines ribs and around to brush across his nipples and dig into his pecs. Kurts hips beat a relentless tempo against Blaines ass.

Blaine sets his teeth and works for more. Its a strange moment to be grateful for the endurance and coordination dance class has given him as he snaps his pelvis back to take each sweet push.

Against the knob of Blaines spine, Kurt gasps and mumbles, "Good boy. Show me how you like it."

"Like this," Blaine says. "Love it like this."

"Show me how much."

Its not hard to let an orgasm take him. And then its just as simple to hang in its trailing, tingling lassitude, open and yielding, until Kurt finds his own satisfaction.

But before he pulls out, Kurt asks, petting down Blaines spine soothingly, "You still want that plug tonight?"

Blaine trembles under Kurts hand. It takes two attempts to get enough air to achieve an audible volume: "Yes, please." Blaine wants to hold onto this feeling as long as he can. Wants too, to take the plug as a place holder for Kurt, a reminder of the continuity of Kurts desire and Blaines fulfillment of it.

Kurt withdraws, and then comes the toy: cool silicone, wet and smooth, a gentle push. It goes in easily and settles into a comfortable presence. Its good its not any bigger though, Blaines nerves are stripped raw from the way Kurts just fucked him. He shudders and relaxes.

"Good job," Kurt murmurs and he wipes the excess lube from Blaines skin, crouches to pick up Blaines pajamas, and then tugs them back up over his hips. "Okay?"

"Yes," Blaine says. He flexes around the plug to verify its seated securely. He pushes up from the sink and straightens as he turns to face Kurt. "Okay."

Kurts teeth snag his bottom lip, and he cups Blaines jaw with his palm. His eyes still hold heat, but its banked for now. "See you soon, then."

##

In bed, Blaine picks up his tablet. His desktop rotary fans hums on low setting from where its perched on his windowsill. The window is open a crack to let in the cooling night air. Hes still abuzz with arousal, more psychological than physical: an intangible simmer at the edge of his mind that blends recall with anticipation. Meanwhile, on Hoth, things are certainly heating up for Han and Luke:

Lukes breath comes in rapid puffs against Hans neck. "Han," he says, faint and low. He pulls himself closer, and though his bare skin where they touch is still cold, Hans sure theres heat rising beneath it. Through the tight weave of Lukes briefs its damned obvious. With each ragged exhale, the kids dick pulses and stirs, harder each time. "Please?"

"Youre gonna be fine," Han says, awkwardly petting over Lukes tangled hair. What in this bleak icy hell is he supposed to do here? Being close like this, skin to skin, his own bodys not shy about taking the cue.

Now, Hans never been all that fussy about taking opportunities for physical affection when they come to him. Galaxy knows hes taken advantage on occasion, sometimes pressed his case more than a gentleman strictly should. But he tries to never leave a person worse for the knowing of him. And if Chance sometimes has other ideas, well, he can usually convince himself he did right by himself at least. Got to look out for number one or the rests not much use. Not the most honorable code, but its kept him and Chewie alive this long. Cant shake the tickle of dread that its all catching up to him though. Too many bounty hunters on his tail of late. Debts to pay. Times like this he regrets not having been a better man.

The flash of conscience will likely pass, but its not helping much now with a mostly naked body against him that belongs to someone Han could never bear to disappoint. The kid looks at him like hes a hero sometimes. And, maybe, yeah, he is a little bit. He got a medal anyway. And maybe he likes the version of himself Luke reflects back to him. Maybe he wants to be that guy full time. Maybe--if he gets through all this--he can be.

"Please, Han... I need..." Lukes bodys so pliant and inviting against his. Itd be easy to give the kid what hes asking for. Do a good job warming him up, too. But while Han doesnt want to tell Luke no, hes got to be sure hes saying yes to the right thing.

"Kid, you gotta be more specific."

At that Luke surges up to cover Hans mouth with his own. Its full of frantic hot breath and clumsy wet tongue. Even messy, unpracticed, and off center, Lukes kiss is the hottest fucking thing on the whole fucking planet. Until he wriggles a hand down between them and squeezes Hans cock, anyway. And that seems a clear enough answer.

"Okay," Han says, "okay." He rolls to his back bringing Luke over with him to lie on top. He just hopes Lukes not going to look at him too differently come sunrise. With one hand, he takes Lukes chin and guides him into a second, more controlled kiss. His other hand scoots low to peel Lukes briefs away from the luscious swell of his ass. Desperately, Luke rubs his cock against Hans hip. The hungriest whimper catches low in his throat.

Blaine lets his tablet tip backwards. He stares at the ceiling and tries to catch his breath. This is not, ultimately, going to help him get to sleep, and he does actually need to sleep. He wants to get to the early yoga class at the gym, and Kurt will be coming for him later--the promise of that rests full in his ass.

He could jerk off, but he wants to save it for Kurt. Blaine sets his reading aside, double checks his phones alarm is set, and turns out his light. He turns his pillow over and rests his cheek against its cool surface. He thinks about kisses, the needful sort that drown you in your partners desire. Eventually, he falls asleep with one hand curled loosely around his half-hard cock.

##

"... cant believe you slept through all that," is what wakes Blaine. The whispered words tickle his ear. Visceral craving surges in his blood.

"Mmph?" Blaine flinches and queries, and though he tries to open his eyes, his eyelashes catch against something and he sees nothing. Kurts close—close and hot and touching him all over, around, and heavy inside. Hes on his back and his ass is full, not of the plug he fell asleep with, but Kurts cock, grinding into him with such deep, tight scintillating pressure. "Oh... oh my god."

"Awake now?" The warmth of Kurts breath recedes and Blaine shivers at the cool that replaces it.

"Oooh, yeah," Blaine groans and twists beneath Kurt, seeking friction. His hands scramble to find Kurts skin, his ribs, the hot silky span of his back, the dip and crest of his spine, the breadth of his shoulders. The fabric over Blaines eyes sets faint bands of tension over the bridge of his nose and brow.

"Wait a sec... wait." Kurt squeezes Blaines hip, holds him until he quiets.

"Okay," Blaine says. Veiled in darkness he releases his tension and breathes. In the stillness, the fog of sleep billows in his consciousness, but his arousal is burning it off fast.

"Give me your hands," Kurt says. The weight and heat and contact of Kurts body all shift, but he stays rooted snug inside. His thighs flex under Blaines, and Blaines calves tighten at his waist. Kurts grip comes strong above Blaines elbows as he pulls Blaines arms from their seeking embrace. Then his hands slide to pin Blaines wrists above his head. Its entirely irresistible. "There," Kurt says and his heat comes near as he gradually puts more of his weight behind the hold of his hands, pressing Blaine down with his whole body. "Keep them there. Dont move."

"Kurt..." Blaine pleads. The immobility in his ass is maddening.

"Shh," Kurt says. "You dont need to talk either." Theres the mildest hint of tentativeness there, as if Kurts still resolving some uncertainty in this role.

So Blaine releases a voiceless sigh of surrender and nods: acceptance, encouragement, and invitation. He lets himself fall into his own old fantasy of compelled (but no less eager for the compulsion) obedience. Pretends, now, that he has no voice with which to speak, and no will to resist his lovers commands.

"All you need to do right now," Kurt voice draws even nearer, low and rough. "Is be still and take me."

Blaine nods again. His whole body says yes. Kurts breath puffs warm across Blaines lips. And that, more than Kurts cock, holds Blaines attention. Their mouths are so close; Blaine wants very much to say, "Go ahead." Except he cant. Instead he parts his lips to signal his receptivity.

But its not Kurts mouth he gets. Kurts thumb drags over Blaines bottom lip, and Blaine dares to slip his tongue tip out, to taste the salty dry pad of it.

The catch in Kurts breath is audible, and he swears softly. He thumb passes again, slower and slick. Emboldened, Blaine strives to suck it between his lips. Kurt hums and lets Blaine have the tip of it. Blaine flicks and slides his tongue as if it were Kurts cockhead.

"Oh..." Kurt exhales. He sounds fascinated.

Blaine moans and sucks harder, but keeps the rest of himself still. He will be a patient vessel.

"God," Kurt says, devastatingly sweet now. His hips bear his weight forward, curling Blaines spine. "My gorgeous, greedy, perfect boy." And then Kurt pushes his thumb further in and presses Blaines tongue down. His fingers curl under Blaines chin and hold him that way. "Youre so good for fucking." Kurt proceeds to do just that.

And Blaine very much is good for fucking, and he knows he is. He feels the truth of it in Kurts heat, hears it in his breath, and savors it in the strength of Kurts long, sure strokes. Kurt slips his thumb free of Blaines mouth and sweeps the dampness across Blaines hot cheek. Its absence leaves Blaine gasping and dry-throated. His fingers twitch, longing to reach back and pull closer. He aches to speak, but he does neither, for theres pride in the denial. When at last Kurt comes, beautifully and soundly, its with relief in his shaking muscles and sweating skin.

But he doesnt stop. Kurt pushes deep once more, and holds hard and fast. Its no less demanding. His fist closes around Blaines cock. "Come for me now," he growls as he tugs, a rough and rapid blur. Blaine sobs at the wrench of it, as if his orgasm were a physical thing Kurt might grasp and haul, by brute force, from the fibers of Blaines body. He cries out, reedy and ragged, his ass gags on Kurts cock, and his own spits hot and wet upon his belly and chest.

After, its as though Blaines ability to speak leaves him for good. He sinks into the bliss of his release as Kurt pulls out. He floats in the sweet succor Kurt gives him: his hands are mild now, rearranging Blaines limbs back to comfort, cleaning him up, and rubbing along fatigued muscles. Then, back to his normal manner of voice, Kurt says, "Thank you, Blaine."

At those words, Blaine knows he should speak, should say something in exchange, to thank Kurt in kind. But he cant quite. His orgasm has stolen his strength and emotion clogs his throat. He does manage to smile, though.

For his part, Kurt plays along. He touches Blaines temple, at the edge of the blindfold, and says, "Close your eyes and count to ten before you open them. Then youll be free."

"One," Blaine exhales without sound beyond the airy rush of the vowel. Kurt lifts Blaines head and undoes the knot, careful not to tangle or pull Blaines hair.

"Two," Blaine says, hoarse but clear, and Kurt draws the fabric away from his face.

"Three," Blaine whispers through the catch in his voice, and Kurts weight leaves the bed.

"Four," and Blaines sheet settles light and cool over his naked body.

"Five," and by then Kurts gone.

Blaine keeps counting, and at ten he opens his eyes.

Moonlight sifts through his curtain and casts satin silver highlights across his room; Kurt surely looked beautiful in it. Blaine rolls to his side and hugs his spare pillow like a teddy bear.

He wishes Kurt stayed longer, considers even getting up and crossing the hall--if only to say thank you. But then, that would fall outside the bounds of the fantasy. And that was, really, pretty amazing, for all the ways Kurt matched Blaines old daydreams and for all the ways Kurt surprised him. He can still taste the salt of Kurts thumb on his tongue. In the gloom Blaine grins and settles into the warmth of knowing Kurt cared enough to listen, cared enough to do it.

So what if the adolescent fantasy was marred by its inevitable resolving back into his reality of being alone? This isnt that: his bed may be empty, but hes not alone. Kurt sleeps in the next room, and Blaine will see him at breakfast. Tomorrow is Friday, and it will be a good day much like each day this past week has been.