At 5:45AM Blaines alarm hums from where his phones tucked under his pillow. Blindly, he fumbles to silence it. For a long moment he lies unmoving in the dark with his eyes shut. The pull to sink back into sleep is a heavy one, but he has to get up. When he reaches to flick on his lamp, his lower back pangs and his limbs move stiffly. He squints at the unwelcome light and tamps down a groan as he sits up and plants his feet on the floor. The 6AM yoga class is going to help, and its the one best suited to his schedule. Hell be back by breakfast, before Kurt needs him. This is a good way to start his day; god knows, his body needs it.

Robotically, he brushes his teeth and goes over his hair with a wet comb. Pulls on sweatpants, a tank top, and a light-weight hoodie to fend off the morning chill. In the kitchen he downs a glass of water from the tap, tucks a tiny pink B-12 tablet under his tongue, and, while it dissolves into saccharine nothing, stares out at the graying sky. Then he pockets his phone and keys, tucks his mat under his arm, and goes.

The quiet morning streets gleam beneath a light dew as the sun approaches the horizon. Streaky clouds grow ruddy against dawning blue. Blaine wakes as he walks. He warms and his muscles loosen, though it feels like hes carrying the whole week with him, a glorious span of new experiences and new friendship—and so much sex. Thats the weight, but he remains eager to bear it. Theres not a single moment with Kurt he regrets: not a touch, not a word, not a glance. And last night— The rhythm of his feet falters at the recollection. His breath comes out in a rush. The whole glossy smear of it, from the bathroom to his bedroom, sets a jitter in his blood and a delectable ache in his chest.

At the gym, he stows his keys, phone, and shoes in a locker, and finds the studio. The morning class is small and aimed at novice practitioners, which suits Blaine. He prefers the atmosphere and energy of new learners, and its been a while since he came to a class.

The morning stretch starts slow and meditative, guided by the instructor's patient voice. By the time its over, some forty-five minutes later, Blaines worked through every muscle group in his body in perfect symmetry. Hes loose and light; his mind clear and centered.

On his way back, he stops at the Italian bakery just as they flip their sign to open. Hed thought to make some mini vegan cheesecakes for tonight, but he cant walk past the scents of the bakerys ovens venting onto the street. He picks up a plum torte for the potluck and a couple fresh cornetti for breakfast. He opts for the ones with cream piped between their layers. The extra calories dont seem like much of an indulgence, considering. The torte suits the theme of the potluck better anyway.

When he gets back to the apartment, Kurts in the kitchen dropping a sliced banana into the blender. He flashes Blaine a smile, which broadens when Blaine hoists the box holding the cake and the paper bag of cornetti.

Kurt rinses his hands off and comes over to take them from him. "Oh, youre brilliant," Kurt says. "I never manage to get out the door early enough to get them this fresh. How was yoga?"

"Really good," Blaine says. "Small class, quiet. Very refreshing."

"Im glad to hear it," Kurt says. "I was just throwing together a post-gym protein smoothie for you."

"Oh, thank you, Kurt," Blaine says. "Let me just go wash up first."

The whizz of the blender follows him down the hall.

He returns to find the corner of the dining table, where Kurts cleared enough space, set for two. Six slices of wheat toast sit upright in Kurts vintage toast rack. At Blaines space is a mug of black coffee next to the smoothie—a surprisingly bright purple. A cornetti is centered on his plate with a fanned out strawberry as garnish. Near the dining table Kurts dress form wears the basted mockup of Caroles cocktail dress. Kurt hasnt yet sat down yet; hes at the sink rinsing the blender. He asks Blaine, "Do you want eggs? Muesli?"

Blaine seats himself and tips a scant half-teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. "No thanks, the toast and this is fine."

"Cool," Kurt says and comes around to join Blaine.

Blaine considers the tidiest way to approach the cream filled pastry. Opts instead to try the smoothie first. Its nice, not too sweet. He says so.

"Its banana and blueberry," Kurt says. "I wasnt sure if youd prefer berries or tropical fruit in a smoothie, so you get both. With yogurt and whey powder for the protein, which I figure youll be needing, with all the demands Ive been making on you."

"Ah," Blaine says and his face warms. He glances down at his plate, and his tongue tangles around his gratitude for Kurts thoughtfulness, an insistence that his body, really, is doing just fine, and his need to express to Kurt how much hes enjoying those demands, specifically the most recent. He picks up his knife. "I, uh, about last night?" Blaine begins. He stares at his cornetti.

"Last night?" Kurt echoes. "Was it the sort of thing you wanted? Or was it... too much?"

In his periphery, Blaine sees Kurts concerned frown. He makes himself meet it. "It wasnt too much. It was, um, amazing. Thats what I wanted to say. You were... fantastic." Blaine fidgets with his knife, debating whether to reveal more detail or leave it simple. "Both times."

Kurt glances down to where hes picking apart his cornetti with his fingers; he sucks a dollop of cream off his thumb. "Thank you, so were you." And then he adds, "I do appreciate the feedback. I like to know whats working for you. Or not working. So, please, tell me if Im too rough or say the wrong thing or, really do anything you dont like."

"I will, and you werent," Blaine says, and finds he doesnt really want to break last night down into its components, not right now anyway. It would ruin the magic. "That was all perfect. I just hope it worked for you too?" Blaine sets down his knife and opts for Kurts method with his pastry.

Kurts lips quirk into asymmetry. "A lot of things work for me, Blaine," he says dryly.

"No, I mean..." Blaine bows his head again, grinning.

"I know what you mean. And yes, it did. Sex with you last night was like haute cuisine for a man whos had to rely too much on fast food and junk." The twist of Kurts shoulders is definitely flirtatious. "I feel like Ive been fine dining all week."

"Thats, huh, very generous, I think?" Blaine says, flattered, though hes unsure how he feels being compared to a meal. "Thank you."

"I use a food metaphor not because I want to do anything kinky with food. Trust me, I dont. But because eating is a relatable metaphor for people who dont share my condition."

Blaine considers and nods. "Oh, yeah, I can see how that works."

"Which doesnt mean a person needs gourmet food all the time. Sometimes a granola bar as youre running out the door is all it takes. Sometimes you crave a healthy salad, other times a bit more decadence." He gestures at the mangled cornetti on his plate. "Sometimes fast food will do so long as you take time to find the best options on the menu. Other times you just get so hungry you end up making a meal of a bag of Doritos Late Night All Nighter Cheeseburger chips. Mostly you just want reliable, nourishing, and satisfying."

"Okay, thats awfully specific," Blaine says. "You realize you have to tell me what the Doritos stand for in this extended metaphor."

"Oh, god," Kurt says. "That would be the desperate rando Grindr hook ups. I dont like Doritos—I feel like garbage after eating them. Dont know if its the pork enzymes or the artificial food dyes."

"Pork enzymes? Ew."

Kurt nods soberly. "I read an article about it."

"Well, then, well just need to keep you fed well enough you dont have to resort to regrettable junk food."

"Considering I deleted my Grindr profile last night, Id say were doing pretty well."

"Oh." Blaine blinks at his coffee and cant stop the pleased smile. Hes responsible for that.

"I hope it wasnt premature? I know it hasnt technically been a full week until tomorrow afternoon."

"No, its really not. Ive been hoping— This week has been great for me, even if I havent got much music written. I like being here for you."

Kurt gives Blaine a fond look. "I like having you here."

Blaine cant speak around the happiness that seizes in his throat.

"Um, so anyway," Kurt says. "Since Im heading in early today, I was going to shower as soon as were done with the literal food. Join me?"

Its becoming routine enough, its sweet Kurt asks. "Of course," Blaine says.

##

A short time later, shower damp and in his bathrobe, Blaine sits on the edge of Kurts bed. "Should I still make the mini cheesecakes for Rachel, do you think?"

Kurt stands in front of the mirror in his bedroom, chin up, with his fingers working nimbly at a second go wrangling his tie into an hourglass knot at his throat. Its an unforgiving knot, and Kurt said hes still learning it. He shrugs and says, "Only if you want to? Id never say no to cheesecake, but Rachel will be fine. Sometimes she likes to cheat a little anyway, especially where dessert is concerned. Makes her feel rebellious. Shed be glad of an excuse." Kurt casts a look back toward Blaine. "So I wouldnt worry."

"No? Okay." Blaine covers a stifled yawn.

Kurts mouth turns down. "Sorry," he says. "I know Ive been disrupting your sleep. Maybe you could take the morning to nap?"

"Im fine, really." Blaine flashes a smile for Kurt. "Its just the early start, and I stayed up too late reading. Ill get used to it."

"Well, I dont want you wearing yourself out." Kurt pulls a gray waistcoat on over his yellow shirt and turns back to the mirror as he does up the buttons. His tie—a bold pewter and gold paisley—looks great. Not many guys could pull off such an unusual tie knot, but on Kurt, its spectacular.

"You look really nice," Blaine says.

"Thank you." Kurt twists to the side to check the line of his waistcoat as his fingers climb the button placket. The fit is trim and flattering. "I like to put on some extra polish for the morning staff meetings. I dont get to many of them."

Blaine stands and approaches Kurt from behind. Touches his shoulder and looks at his reflection. Kurts fingers are quick on his clothes, fastening the last few tiny buttons, straightening and smoothing and checking for flaws. "Will you need something more before you go?"

"Im good," Kurt says. He leans aside to rummage in a jewelry box on his dresser and plucks out a circular cloisonne brooch, considers it. "I have a friend at work whos kind enough to lend a hand if it becomes a problem."

"Oh..." Blaine removes his hand. The weight of his disappointment is a surprise. The idea shouldnt be unexpected. That Kurt has helpful friends is something hes been open about, so its not shocking he has one at work. Its only--Blaine had hoped Kurt wouldnt need them now. The way he talked at breakfast, Blaine thought... Apparently Blaine thought wrong. "Right, yeah, of course."

Kurt turns to face Blaine and peers at him as he pins the brooch over his breast. "I trust thats okay? I know I explained—"

"This isnt necessarily exclusive, I remember." Blaine smiles and lifts his eyebrows, hopes it doesnt look forced. Maybe he needs to hear it though: this is about Kurts trust.

"Okay," Kurt says. Its a little provisional—and mildly defensive. "I dont fuck around for the fun of it. You do get that, right?"

"Yes, I do understand, Im sorry." Blaine also understands having a friend help Kurt out isnt the dire bag of Doritos option. He reaches to undo Kurts pin. It depicts a little cluster of white blossoms against a black background, and its pulled a pucker in the fabric. "I just... um." Want to be all you need, Blaine stops himself from saying; its far, far too much. Too much to feel, and definitely too much to say. He smooths the wrinkle and repins the brooch. He revises the thought and raises his eyes. "I want to be sure Ive done enough for you before you leave."

"You have." Kurt places his hand over Blaines, and Blaine can feel Kurts heartbeat beneath his palm, a little fast but steady. "And Id rather make it home, but sometimes..." Kurt grimaces. It serves better than an unnecessary apology.

"You dont have to explain," Blaine says. "Im glad youve got such good friends."

Kurts smile returns and his hand falls away; he steps toward the door. "So I should be back around two?"

"Ill be here."

They say their farewells, Kurt hoists his satchel over his shoulder, and Blaine crosses the hall to get dressed. Maybe Sams right: its simply too much oxytocin thats got him feeling like he has some greater stake in Kurts heart.

##

Blaine gets Kurts text at ten minutes until two: "OMW. Ill need you when I get there." Blaine lets himself take a moment to feel both relief and anticipation. He covers the muffin pan in which hes got a dozen no-bake mini vegan cheesecakes ready to set in the freezer. Once theyre in, he washes his hands, strips off his shirt, and grabs a sturdy cushion. He kneels on it near the door so hell be the first thing Kurt sees.

The door opens, and Kurt pulls up short. "Blaine?" His eyes grow wide and he flushes. "Oh, youre..." He lets his satchel slide off his shoulder.

Blaine rises up and pushes Kurts hips back against the door until it snaps closed. He shuffles to follow and plucks at Kurts belt buckle. Kurts keys fall from his hand and clash upon the floor. "I said Id be here," Blaine says, and then he swallows Kurts cock with an eager moan.

Whatever reply Kurt mightve made is lost to breath.

Blaine sets to work, sucking long and hard, up and down, mustering as much speed and energy as he can; hes still learning what gets Kurt off fastest. With his mouth, he tries to mimic the way Kurt fucks him after Blaines come and Kurts focused on reaching his own climax.

"Jesus fucking cricket," Kurt says. His head thunks against the door and his hand cups the back of Blaines skull. But soon, his fingers twitch and then grasp, breaking the hold of Blaines product and squeezing through his hair. Its a dull, good pain, like deep muscle massage, and it feels wonderfully covetous. Blaine hums his appreciation.

"Fuck thats good," Kurt whispers. "Blaine." He hunches over as he comes, and his grip twists tight in Blaines hair. It leaves Blaines vision blurry.

Blaine needs a moment to compose himself before he looks up. Kurts eyes are closed and his mouth hangs slack. Blaine tucks Kurts softening cock back into his fly, and Kurts eyes open. He shuts his mouth, swallows, and looks entirely too serious.

"Jesus fucking cricket?" Blaine says. "Really?"

Kurt covers his face with his hands and cracks up.

After that, they soon turn to the business of preparing for their friends arrival. Kurt changes and gets started on making a moussaka, littering the counter with shiny eggplant, tomatoes, zucchini, tightly capped brown mushrooms, onions, and tomatoes. When Blaine offers to help, Kurt accepts. "Would you prefer vegetable prep or béchamel sauce making?"

"Id like to try the vegan béchamel," Blaine says. It would add to his repertoire.

"Its pretty forgiving," Kurt says. "If you can make a classic béchamel youll be fine."

And so Kurt picks up his knife, and Blaine peruses the recipe before he gets his ingredients out. Looks basically the same as the standard, but for minor substitutions. He and Kurt make easy conversation over the incidental and quotidian details of their days. Kurt bemoans a delay on an article due to a high maintenance photographer, and Blaine tells him about some progress he made that morning on a short piece for his music portfolio. Its comfortable enough, Blaine makes a decision that, once made, seems an obvious thing.

"Your mention of fine dining this morning reminded me—in an entirely literal way—could I ask a favor?"

"Hm? What sort?"

"My parents are coming to the city for their 35th wedding anniversary to see a matinee show and have a fancy romantic dinner after. They asked me to help find a restaurant. My mom actually wanted to go to Tavern on the Green—"

"Which closed years ago. Though theyre going to reopen it as a restaurant."

"I know, so, she told me shell pay for me to go to a couple fancy restaurants and scope them out for their suitability for their anniversary dinner."

"Nice work if you can get it," Kurt says.

"I hoped you might be able to recommend somewhere?"

"Ill ask Isabelle, my boss. She knows everyone whos anyone in this city, I swear." Kurt says. "Reservation in your name, I presume?"

"For two," Blaine says. "Im meant to take a friend." A pause of hesitation. He could ask Sam, but he expects Kurt would appreciate the food more. "You want to come with?"

Kurts knife stills. "Me?"

"Youre helping me out, so it only seems fair."

"Well then, who am I to turn down a free dinner at a four star restaurant?"

They get the moussaka in the oven with plenty of time to spare, and once the kitchens tidied, Kurt hauls a vacuum cleaner and a broom from the hall closet and presents them to Blaine. "Ill take care of the bathroom if you can go over the floors out here?"

So Blaine docks his iPod into Kurts stereo, puts on his old playlist of songs The Warblers covered. From halfway down the hall Kurt yells, "Is that Katy Perry? God, the nostalgia." Blaine laughs and sets to clearing the furniture off the rug. He sings along as he works, stepping through lazy renditions of the choreography hell likely never forget as he maneuvers the vacuum over the rug, and then the broom around the wood floors.

Hes moved on to dusting the shelves by the TV when Kurt comes out, barefoot, in a water spattered faded t-shirt and athletic shorts (his cleaning ensemble, he explains). He carries a steam mop with him for the kitchens tile floor. He gives Blaine a little wave after he plugs it in and shimmies along to the music. Its an odd combination of sexy and dorky, especially when he adds some over dramatic jazz hands.

But Blaine nearly falters in his singing when Neon Trees "Animal" comes on, even though this playlist predates his knowing Kurt even existed. He doesnt want to be weird, so he turns back to the shelf, picks up a palm-sized iron raven figure to wipe down, and keeps singing, albeit more softly:

"Here we go again
I kinda wanna be more than friends
So take it easy on me
Im afraid youre never satisfied"

Singing this song doesnt have to mean anything; his life is not a musical. But then, Kurts voice joins his, light and clear, providing a rising harmony, and it almost feels like it must be.

"Here we go again
Were sick like animals
We play pretend"

Delighted and surprised, Blaine turns, and finds Kurt making the most of his steam mop as an impromptu dance partner. Its the first time Blaines heard him sing, and its beautiful.

"Youre just a cannibal
And Im afraid I wont get out alive
No, I wont sleep tonight"

It seems the peculiarly specific relevance of the song isnt entirely lost on Kurt, but his approach is humor. His dancing becomes increasingly comical, with him miming a snarling, clawing cat, obscenely swiveling his hips, and making some high kicks to rival a Rockette.

Which all results in Blaine laughing too much to hold enough breath to keep singing. Particularly when Kurt lewdly humps the back of a chair. He notices Blaines amusement and shimmies over, beckoning, with arched brow and cocked finger, for Blaine to join him. "Oh oh, I want some more," Kurt sings. He snags Blaines waistband and tugs him near.

"Do you now?" Blaine asks. He tosses the dust cloth toward the shelf.

"Oh oh, What are you waiting for?" Kurt nods and sways close. The transition from comedic to sultry is swift. Kurt rubs the heel of his hand down the line of Blaines fly. He stops singing and says, "We have thirty minutes before anyone arrives. Come fuck me, please? Nice and quick... and just a... just a little dirty?"

"Just a little?" Blaine drags a fingertip down the side of Kurts neck and watches him shiver as he nods again. Then he lets Kurt drag him toward his bedroom by his belt loops.

##

After the sex, theyre cleaning up in the bathroom together. Blaines rinsing semen out of his shirt and Kurts inspecting the side of his neck and the vivid hickey Blaine gave him.

"Im so sorry about that," Blaine says. But hes not wholly sure he is sorry. When Kurt fell to his back and pulled Blaine down over him, it brought them close in a new way, as if something in the song had in fact worked some magic. Finding himself so close to Kurts crooked grin and darkening eyes, with Kurts hands so urgent on his body, guiding him inside with little prep beyond lube, kissing Kurt wouldve been the most natural thing. Instead Blaine buried his face against Kurts neck and kissed him there, where it made Kurt quiver. He nipped and sucked as he fucked, and that—the sucking—that really worked. Kurt came ferociously hard and helplessly sudden. And that, in turn, really worked for Blaine.

Kurt shrugs, one shouldered, and grins at Blaine in the mirror. "That orgasm was totally worth it."

Blaines gratified to hear it; Kurt grabs a tube of concealer.

"Anyway," Kurt says as he dabs the stuff on his skin and purses his lips. One layer wont be up to the task. "This makes me feel all high schoolish again, like Im getting away with something. Its fun."

"Yeah, I remember hiding my first hickey from my mother. It felt like such an accomplishment, just having it. Part of me wanted to show it off, but... well, not to my mom."

The doorbell rings. Someones early.

"Dang," Kurt says. Looks at Blaine, whos still shirtless. "Ill get it."

##

Its Dani whos there when Blaine comes out. Her hair was blonde last week; today its teal blue and pulled into a pair of braids. Kurt spots Blaine and makes a show of relief. "And now Im going to go get a scarf."

He brushes past Blaine to go to his room.

Dani laughs—affectionately. "Hes pretty proud of that love bite," she says by way of greeting.

"Ah," Blaine says. He counts the number of deli containers Danis produced from her canvas bag and goes to the cupboard to get some serving dishes.

"Hes not usually. Just so you know." From her shoulder bag, Dani produces a tall bottle of ouzo. Sets it on the island with a clunk and then sidles past Blaine to grab three highball glasses.

"Hmm?"

"He hates it if a guy he hooks up with leaves marks on him."

"Oh." Blaine frowns. He fans out the gray linen napkins next to the stack of salad plates. Is he being corrected? "Okay."

Dani cracks the top on the ouzo and pours generously into the bottom of each glass. "Get me some water from the fridge, please, babe?"

"Of course." Blaine snags a couple blue bottles and slides them across the island toward Dani.

She tops up each glass with the chilled water. "But youre not a hook up, is why I mention it. Thats the point, right? I like to see him smiling like that."

Ah, all right. "Me too."

"And you?" Her grin turns sly as she pushes a glass of ouzo and water into Blaines hand. "You look well."

"Thank you?"

"Glad to see youre holding up."

At that Blaines cheeks heat. "Um, yes, of course." He looks toward the hall to see if Kurts on his way back yet. How long does it take to put on a scarf?

"Blaine, relax," she says. "Im just messing with you, but Ive known Kurt for a while now. I love that boy like a brother, but I know how he can be. So Im glad youre doing okay."

"Yeah," Blaine says and he considers the cloudy mix of water and ouzo. "Im fine, its been good so far—intense but good."

"Awesome." She tinks her glass against Blaines and then lifts it in a toast. "To intense but good."

Blaine laughs and answers with a raise of his own. "Ill drink to that." The anise flavor is sweet in the cool water, but the alcohol is warm going down. Its strong stuff.

"Now, lets get this all onto plates."

Danis brought a bunch of meze from her favorite Greek deli: a couple salads and enormous white beans in tomato sauce, hummus, a lentil-based variation on the traditional lamb balls, bite-sized spanikopita, olives, stuffed grape leaves, and small red and yellow peppers filled with goat cheese—and enough pita bread (still warm) to go with all of it.

"This is a lot of food," Blaine says.

Danie drizzles olive oil over the hummus shes artfully swirled into a spiral. "Oh yeah, Im planning on taking leftovers home with me."

"Fair enough." Blaine looks for a small bowl to set by the olives to collect pits.

Dani makes up a plate with a little bit of everything and sets it between them. "You have to eat when you drink ouzo," she says. "Kurt says youre from Ohio too?"

Turns out Dani is from Kansas. They chat in the kitchen about music and being gay and escaping small town USA. "How are your folks with it?" she asks him.

"Theyre okay," Blaine says. "Okay with the abstract idea at least? Theyve made it pretty clear they dont really want to have to see it though, you know?"

"Yeah. That sucks," she says. "Mine? They kicked me out after they caught me making out with a girl. Just like that. No conversation, just get out. I grabbed my guitar and got a ride to the Greyhound station. Came straight here, to the city. Like a dream. I never looked back."

"Thats awful. Im sorry," Blaine says. As strained as things can be with his parents, theyve always had his back. He never feared being kicked out or disowned. When his parents come, maybe he can tell them hes grateful for that. Maybe it would help. "But Im glad youre here now—you seem okay."

"Oh yeah, life is sweet. But Im not gonna lie, its been tough at times. New York can be a bitch, but I was lucky. I met some good people early on, and coming heres the best decision I ever made for myself."

In the not uncomfortable silence that follows, Dani pours them each another glass of ouzo. The first one went down pretty easily—and fast. Blaines already feeling fuzzy at the edges. Kurt comes back, wearing a completely different outfit: slim black painted jeans and a gray boatneck tee with sleeves so snug it looks like hed tear seams if he flexed. Around his neck hes got a black kerchief neatly folded and tightly knotted. He takes the glass Dani hands him.

Maybe its the vague ouzo haze, but the black band circling Kurts throat only serves to draw Blaines fascination: the contrast with Kurts pale skin, the break in the lines of the tendons stretching from below his ears to the expanse of his exposed collarbones, the bob of his larynx as he swallows. Blaines caught staring. Kurt winks at him over the rim of his glass and tilts his chin as if to improve the angle for Blaines viewing.

"Oh," Dani says, looking between them and pointing a finger at them each. "Did I interrupt sex? Do you guys need to finish something?"

"No," Kurt says at the same time theres a knock at the door.

Blaine takes the obvious out: "Ill get that."

Its Elliott and Rachel. Elliott bears a hefty Websters unabridged dictionary with a tagine balanced atop. Rachel carries flowers and a square insulated bag.

"We went with North African food," she says. "So we have a Moroccan tagine, Egyptian kushari, some brik from Tunisia—with tofu and pine nuts instead of egg—and Libyan date filled cookies. I made the cookies."

"I made the rest," Elliott says. Rachel pouts, and Elliott adds, "With Rachels help."

"Elliotts teaching me to cook," Rachel says to Blaine. She hands Blaine her bag, which he sets on the counter, and then she goes to retrieve a trumpet-shaped Deco vase from under the kitchen sink for the flowers she brought—a simple bouquet of Siberia lilies—and gets the kitchen shears from a drawer.

Kurt takes the tagine from Elliott and brings it to the stove. Sets it on a cool burner while he sets the oven to preheat "Thirty minutes?"

"Yep, thanks." Elliott sets the dictionary on the steamer trunk and accepts a glass and plate from Dani. Rachel declines a drink as she turns to unpacking her food.

Elliott swaps Blaines iPod for his own. "I threw together a sort of Mediterranean themed playlist—well, as close as I could get with what I had." It starts with Édith Piaf singing "Non, je ne regrette rien."

Sam turns up next with a massive tray of lasagna, a box of cannoli, and his guitar strapped over his back. "None of this is vegan," he says. "Sorry."

Shortly after that, Mercedes brings a bottle of Spanish wine and paella. "Hey, Sam," she says with a demure little sparkle. Sam sparkles right back.

Meanwhile, Dani produces another bottle of ouzo, though the first ones not quite empty.

"Kurt," Mercedes says, "You were right about the paella, my first one burned. This is less authentic, but its good so..." She shrugs and sets it on the stove next to the tagine. "I found those fake shrimp you love, Rachel."

The kitchens getting crowded, so Blaine takes Rachels flowers to the console table near the door so their fragrance doesnt interfere with the food.

Artie rolls in last with a six pack of Egyptian beer, a jar of olives, and a bag of pita chips. "Sorry guys, ran out of time. But I brought To Catch a Thief which was filmed on the French Riviera."

Then its a flurry of activity while Kurt and Sam move chairs, and Mercedes grabs condiments from the pantry. Crowded around the island, everyone serves themselves meze and drinks while the other food reheats. Dani pours Blaine more ouzo while Kurt passes him a glass of Chianti. He stares at the two glasses, all the food, and the people around. He absorbs the music, the ebb and flow of conversation, and the anticipation of games and movies yet to come. He leans against Sams shoulder and shares his happiness via a smile that feels wide and easy and good.

Sam smiles back. "You okay, man?" Sams voice is low, his words only for Blaine.

"Hmmm?" Blaine asks, rebalancing himself upon his stool.

"You look a little glassy."

"This is my third glass of ouzo, thanks to Dani, who keeps topping me up," he says. "And I probably dont need this." He nudges the wineglass by his plate. "But Im great, a little buzzy and loose, you know?"

"Uh oh," Sam says. "Be careful."

A glance over at Kurt, whos chatting animatedly with Rachel, warms Blaine even more than the alcohol. "Not actually a problem here."

Sam laughs.

Later, after dinner, but with the dishes still cluttering the counters, Kurt sits with Elliotts dictionary spread across his thighs as he flips through it. After less than a minute he places his finger on a page and says, "Okay, the word is sacque. Thats s-a-c-q-u-e." Theyre playing the dictionary game—its the older, free, DIY version of Balderdash, and its the third round.

Everyone sets to thinking up and scribbling down their own definitions for the word, while Blaine lags a moment to just look at Kurt, much as hes been doing on and off all evening. Its a mystery how Kurt can make reading and spelling a word so alluring. Kurt looks up from where hes bent over his paper, copying the correct definition out of the dictionary, and Blaines caught again. But Kurt smiles at him broadly before he turns back to writing. Blaine soon becomes fascinated by the bounce of Kurts hair and the coppery shine of it under the floor lamps glow.

"Right," Blaine says to himself. He needs to stop staring like a lovesick teenager. He writes the word sacque on his scrap of paper. Has to close one eye to steady his vision. He prints slowly and carefully to keep his handwriting legible. Now some kind of plausible definition. Thats the goal: convince others to choose your definition over the correct one and then discern the correct one for yourself. He hasnt managed to score yet, but then, he is on his fourth (or fifth?) drink. Probably not a good sign that hes lost count, but Danis been refilling his glass before its empty, so its been hard to keep track. Its like shes been trying to get him drunk.

Anyway, a definition. He needs a definition. Something with some specificity might work best. He thinks a moment longer—realizes Kurts waiting on his paper—and writes, a little messily, a small, typically rosewood spoon for serving cracked peppercorns. He folds the paper and passes it to Kurt, who gives him a quizzical tick of an eyebrow before shuffling Blaines definition in with the others.

Kurt takes a moment to scan them all silently—winces and bites back pained laughter at one—shuffles again, and then reads the definitions out loud.

For the most part, theyre plausible sounding, bar two. The worst of which has Kurt clearing his throat and fighting to keep the strain from his voice. "French slang for, uh." Kurt breaks off, presses his lips tightly together, and frowns. He rallies and starts over: "French slang for scrotum?"

The room descends into groans and laughter and Artie declaring, "For the record, that one is not mine."

The last one Kurt reads is Blaines, and he does his best to maintain his best poker face. Worries now that hes overdone the details and wont fool anyone into picking his. Kurt goes over the definitions a second time, glares at Artie when he asks Kurt to read that French one just one more time, and then they go around the room to vote.

Blaine ends up with two points for having his definition chosen, but Kurt announces, "Well, none of you guessed the right one, which was a loose fitting coat, jacket, or cape. Congrats to Mercedes for getting the most votes, and thank you, Dani dearest, so very much, for making me read the word scrotum with a straight face." He screws up her bit of paper and throws it at her. She shrieks with laughter and bats it toward Elliott, and the dictionary passes to Rachel.

The game ends in a three-way tie among Elliott, Mercedes, and Artie. Kurt gets up to make some decaf coffee and set out dessert while Dani packs up dinners leftovers and Elliott clears the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Watching Artie set up the BluRay player and TV to play the film, Blaine sort of drowsily nestles into the corner of the sofa. Artie mutes the TV as it loops through its starting menu and then rolls about to adjust the lighting in the loft.

Probably he should get up and help with something, Blaine thinks, so he does.

Kurts now in the dining room showing Mercedes the mock up and Blaine helps Elliott with the dishes. Hes moved on to washing the tagine, so Blaine collects the rest of the emptied serving dishes and Mercedes paella pan by the sink. Dani packs rubbermaid containers into the fridge and takes her bag with her own leftovers to rest by the door. While Blaine dries whatever Elliott passes him he watches Kurt and Mercedes. Mostly he watches Kurt, whose passion for his project is evident and gorgeous. Lacking filter, Blaine ends up saying out loud to himself, "God, hes beautiful."

Elliott glances over and replies with, "Yeah. He is."

Meanwhile Sam starts fiddling with his guitar and lands on singing "Human Nature," which charms the hell out of Mercedes, who promptly abandons Kurt in the dining room to go sit in the living room. The song soon turns into a Michael Jackson medley sing-a-long. Rachel intercepts Kurt and drags him back into the dining room corner to chat. Kurt ends up opening a window high enough they can climb out to the fire escape.

Seeing them going outside for a private conversation, that kind of makes Blaine wonder about things, like what Kurts talking about with Rachel—which is, from what hes gleaned about Rachel, probably Rachel—but theres part of him that wonders if its maybe about him, because Dani wont be the only one in Kurts corner whos interested to know how this has all been going for Kurt. And, huh, if Elliott agrees that Kurts hot, and Elliott is, himself, pretty damned hot, then... Blaines booze-emboldened just enough to ask Elliott, "You and Kurt? I mean, are you one of his helpful friends?"

"Nope," Elliott says. "It was one of our band rules. No sex or romance. He didnt want us to pull an ABBA or a Fleetwood Mac."

"Right," Blaine says.

"You have to understand how grand our hopes were for One Three Hill at the start. Even though, in the end, we didnt really last much beyond a year—for reasons no more complicated than other demands on our time. But by then, that rule had become something important for both of us to honor as friends."

"Ah."

"I offered. Once. When I believed it would get him through a rough time, but hes..."

"Stubborn?"

"Proud," Elliott says. "And also, fiercely committed to preserving an inviolable space within our friendship. I appreciate and respect that a lot."

"That—yeah, thats a really great thing to have with someone." Blaine considers Sam and how important and safe their relationship has been for him. Even—and especially—when he was half in love with Sam. There was a night Sam asked if he wanted to kiss him, because Sam was curious and in a weird place of vulnerability between the end of one terrible relationship and a confusing nonstarter of another, and his modelling career had stalled. Blaine suspected Sam was just looking for some validation, but Blaine feared the resulting confusion; hes never regretted saying no.

"I wouldnt trade what weve got for anything," Elliott says. "Even though, sometimes, I think itd be easier on him if he didnt feel like he had to keep proving to everyone how strong he is."

"Everyone needs a safe place to be weak." Blaine agrees.

Elliott gives him a look, like hes taking his first good look at Blaine, and he smiles. "Exactly."

##

The apartment is dark and theyre about half an hour into watching the movie when movement catches Blaines attention. Its Rachel, returned from the fire escape. Shes got a plate with a slice of plum torte, a mini cheesecake, and half a cannoli. Dani scoots over to make room for Rachel to sit beside her on the floor amongst a cozy nest of pillows. Blaine looks back to see if Kurts followed Rachel in. Sees Kurt in the kitchen, quietly tidying things by the amber illumination of the under-cabinet lights.

Blaine watches him for a little while, transfixed by the highlights and shadows upon Kurts jaw, cheek, and brow; and the way Kurt concentrates on what hes doing—and doing it slowly, like a meditation. Blaines seen the film before. The draw to go to Kurt is strong.

If Kurts not come over to sit, then maybe hes not in a state to rest. Its when he starts needing relief that hes least able to be idle. It was about this time last Friday that Kurt asked for Blaines help. So Blaine slips out from under the casual drape of Sams arm and heads over. His vision and balance are a little out of sync at first, but its not enough to impair him. His mind, at least, feels clear even if the rest of hims still a little floaty and buzzy.

Kurt glances up at him with a quick smile. And, yeah, Blaines not wrong. He recognizes that smile.

"Hey," Blaine says softly. He gets himself water from the fridge.

"Hi," Kurt says. Hes handwashing dishes that could easily wait to go into the dishwasher.

Blaine keeps watching Kurt as he uncaps the bottle and takes a long drink. Kurt watches him right back. "I wanted to tell you how hot you look tonight," Blaine says.

Kurt sets down the bowl hes drying. His smile kinks and his eyes gleam like molten glass. "Ive noticed you staring."

"Yeah," Blaine says. Its the sort of frank observation that might normally make him stammer in embarrassment or apologize, but Kurt seems, if anything, pleased. "You make a very compelling spectacle," he adds. He sets the bottle down and moves closer, puts his hand at the small of Kurts back.

Kurts body heat is vivid and the fabric humid. His spine curves into Blaines touch as Kurt turns to fully face him. "Good," he says.

Over in the living room, the volume of the film is more than loud enough to cover their conversation, and no ones attention is anywhere but the screen.

"Looking at you makes me want to touch you." Blaine runs his hand up to Kurts shoulder blade and brings his other hand to Kurts collarbones, drawing a line along to the dip in between, glazing Kurts skin with the damp remnants of condensation from Blaines water bottle.

"Just touch?" Kurts voice is a little high and faint; his eyelashes shiver and his blink comes slow.

Blaine lets his fingers stray to the kerchief knotted at Kurts throat, where hes been aching to touch all night. He curls his fingers under the fabric to draw it down and reveal the bruise he made. "Its a place to start," Blaine says.

"And then?"

"Then..." Blaine cocks his head and pushes his fingertips up the line of Kurts throat until his fingertips brush the hollow below his ear. Kurts lips part and he shudders. "Id like to take the time to find all the places that make you quiver like this."

"Blaine..."

"Not to tease," Blaine says. "I wouldnt tease you, Kurt. Id make you come. Id make you come as much as you need—as much as you want, until you tell me to stop, but I—" Blaine drops his hand to Kurts groin, presses and circles his palm firmly over Kurts erection.

"Oooh," Kurt sighs, and he sags into Blaines embrace. "You...?"

Blaine checks again that theyve not acquired an audience and then leans near to speak softly and clearly into Kurts ear. "God, I want to savor you."

Kurt utters a shocked little sound, and his hips jerk against Blaines hand.

Encouraged, Blaine touches his lips to Kurts earlobe, whispers, "Have I told you how much I love sucking your cock?"

A barely audible drawn out moan from Kurt then. He grinds hard against Blaines palm and Blaine rubs faster, rough friction. Kurts breath rasps beneath Blaines lips.

"I could do it right now, right here. No one would see. No one would know. Id be so quiet and good for you."

Kurt stiffens and shudders and makes a muffled, strangled noise deep in his throat. Blaine feels the pulse of him coming. Which wasnt exactly Blaines aim, but its still gratifying. Hes amazed as he pulls back to see Kurts face, wants to be sure this is okay.

And they are still, blessedly, completely ignored.

"Are you—?"

"Bedroom," Kurt growls. His grip is tight around Blaines wrist.

##

Kurt locks the door behind them. "You cant just say things like that," he says. Its half laughter, and the rest fractured, unrelieved arousal. He hauls off his t-shirt, leans back against the wall, and yanks his belt open.

"Well, I wasnt just saying anything," Blaine counters. He moves in close and unbuttons Kurts pants. "I fully intend to put my mouth where my... wait." Blaine frowns. "How does that one go again?"

Kurt laughs. "How drunk are you?"

"Not very anymore. Not too drunk to blow your whistle." Blaine lowers himself to his knees and opens Kurts fly.

"No no no, dont call it that, I hate that song."

"Me too," Blaine says. The damage seems contained to Kurts underwear. He shimmies Kurts jeans down and coaxes Kurt to lift one foot at a time so Blaine can pull off his shoes and the legs of his jeans. He sets them aside and then peels Kurts soiled underwear away, taking care not to smear his thighs with semen as he draws them down. Kurts cock and balls shine wet.

"Oh my god, that feels so gross," Kurt complains as he steps out of his underpants.

"Sorry," Blaine says. He uses the dry part of Kurts briefs to dab at the edges of the mess.

"Its okay, yet another retread of adolescence—coming in my pants like Im fifteen, geez."

"I dont know," Blaine says. He kisses, open mouthed, the tender skin of Kurts groin at the juncture of pelvis and thigh. He sweeps his tongue to collect a smear of semen and takes hold of Kurts erection with his hand, pinching over the slippery tip of it as he jerks even and loose. Swallows and says, "It was pretty hot."

Kurts huff of laughter quickly turns to a relieved moan. Blaine scoots his knees apart and sinks a little lower, angles his head to get at Kurts balls with his mouth. He sucks them softly and keeps the pull up Kurts length steady. Its only a little awkward.

"Ugh," Kurt says, or some syllable closely approximating it. But its an encouraging sort of sound, and Kurt parts his thighs and cants his hips. So Blaine opens more widely, sucks one of Kurts testicles into his mouth and hums around it. Uses his tongue to maneuver the other in as well, and then his mouth is full and his heads swimming with Kurts taste and smell: sex and sweat and semen. "Blaine... god. Im gonna... oh god—"

Blaine hums again and speeds his hand. Feels Kurts balls lift and spasm in his mouth, and he presses his face up as Kurts comes over his hand. But Kurts breathing still has a frantic edge to it, so Blaine lets Kurts balls slip from his mouth and kneels up, licks up the salty length of Kurts cock, and swiftly sucks the crown into his mouth. He keeps moving his hand, heedless of the mess of it. Hes got Kurts come all over his chin and cheeks and fingers. Its filthy and wonderful.

"Fuck," Kurt says. And then his hand is a querying weight at the back of Blaines head. "Would you... take it deeper? Please?"

Blaine pulls off long enough to offer a raspy, "Yeah," and then he goes down again. He opens his throat and edges down carefully until Kurts cock has nudged past his soft palate and hes managed not to flinch. He takes the rest with more confidence until theres no more to take and his breath stops. He inhales as he draws back, and then he sinks back down and swallows around Kurt.

"Thats it, honey," Kurt whispers. With both hands, he holds Blaines head to guide the length of his strokes and his speed. As Blaine adapts to Kurts suggested rhythm, Kurt begins to rock his hips, meeting Blaine and gradually adding force to each thrust.

But Kurt never tips over into being rough, not while hes doing this. He doesnt push too far, is mindful not to choke Blaine or make him gag. And its that consideration that lets Blaine relax even more, until the driving pump of Kurts hips and the deep drag of his cock become trance-like, and Kurts doing all of the moving. Blaine closes his eyes, focuses on staying pliant and receptive. He takes it and takes it and takes it—feels like he could take this for hours.

But Kurt doesnt need hours to come again, and he does—more quietly this time, with more resolution in the deep sigh he exhales at the finish. He slows and stills and withdraws from Blaines mouth. His hands, gently cradling Blaines head between them, let go. Without that support, Blaine bends his neck, looks down, and breathes. Realizes, almost abstractly, that his own erection has faded. He just stopped caring about it while he was focused on Kurt.

Kurt slides down to the floor and stretches his legs out on either side of Blaine. Then he reaches for him, two fingertips under his chin to tip Blaines face up. "Hey? Are you okay?"

"Yes." Blaine blinks the excess moisture from his eyes. He rubs his lips together to restore a sense of mobility, but can tell his attempted smile wobbles anyway. Tells himself he needs to stand up, wipe his face, straighten his clothes. Help Kurt clean up...

But he cant quite. Hes caught by an unfamiliar softness to Kurts expression: a looseness at his jaw, a roundness to his eyes and cheeks—an innocent openness. It reveals, deep in his gaze, the tenderest compassion.

"Come here," Kurt says softly, and he draws Blaine near, pulls him against his chest, wraps his arms securely around Blaines shoulders, and holds him.