He rolled over in bed, pressing his face to the cool edge of the pillow and sliding both arms underneath. Everything was too cold or too hot, his pyjamas were too tight, or they were suddenly too loose and twisted in the most uncomfortable places possible. His knee itched, the small of his back tickled, and his shoulder ached for no reason at all.

Grunting softly in frustration, he wriggled again, trying to find somewhere new, searching for that one little niche where he could relax and forget his body. It had to be somewhere.

Why was he suddenly the wrong shape in his own skin?

Two doors, one hallway.

He blinked at the stray reminder flickering across his repeating thoughts of thirsty, tired, uncomfortable, and rolled onto his back. He peered at the ceiling, pushing a hand through his hair. Two doors, one hallway.

The things between him and Blaine.

It was just the claim, he told himself. It was just biology. He dismissed it with a sigh, lifting himself up to punch at his pillow and settle into it again.

It's not that far...

He forced his eyes shut, drawing deep, calming breaths.

When they'd come back home, they'd found Finn's old room was already made up and waiting. Blaine had carried his bags in hesitantly after dinner, smiling at the dresser and the broad ensemble bed decked in fresh, soft linen; the care that had been taken by strangers, just for him.

Carole had beamed at him all the while, pointing out different things and how she'd hoped he'd like them, chatting endlessly about all that they could do or buy to make the room feel more like home. It took Burt's amused smile and guiding hands to pull her away, and Blaine's breathless admission of endless, heartbreakingly genuine gratitude to make her tear up and scurry to hug him before they left the room.

After too long spent sprawled out on their backs on Blaine's bed talking and exchanging absent, innocent touches, Kurt had to tear himself away. It was late, and as relieved as he'd been that the day was finally over, he still couldn't shake the hesitance to leave Blaine alone.

He'd managed to get back to his bedroom, go through his night time routine and get into bed while his brain came up with random excuses to go say another goodnight.

But he'd stopped himself, forcing the urges away as best he could. Blaine was here, and he was safe, and that's what mattered.

But Kurt couldn't sleep.

The next morning was a haze of half-awake stumbling and shuffling as he dragged on his clothes with weak and weary arms, stopping every five minutes to yawn. Breakfast was relaxed and quiet, comfortable like it shouldn't have been, not with everything that had happened the day before.

But it was, all the same. Blaine was simply there, eating and washing up and brushing his teeth, just as relaxed as if it were old routine.

School became a tired blur of words and random people slipping past his peripheral vision, of surprised faces and unenthusiastic congratulations lost in the sea of too many hours between Blaine being in the passenger seat of his car and the seat beside him at lunch. By the time they climbed back in the Navigator at the end of the day, it was all Kurt could do not to reach out and pull Blaine to his chest.

If we're going to do this, Blaine had said to him the night before, if we're going to be this, we need to just be friends.

Kurt was fairly certain that friends don't pet each other in the school parking lot.

Still, he let his control slip in the in-between moments, when nobody was looking. He let himself reach out and take Blaine's hand, or rest a palm against his shoulder, like an anchor; something to keep him grounded and ease the ever-building discomfort lingering beneath his skin.

Another day passed before he noticed the bags under Blaine's eyes, how sluggish his walk had become, and the yawning punctuation riddled throughout every conversation.

By the third restless night, he was certain there was more going on than just some discontent stirring the markers in his blood.

He tossed and turned into the hours of the morning, catching his clock too often and counting down to daylight without meaning to. If I fall asleep now, I'll still get five hours.

If I fall asleep now…

He dipped into unconsciousness from sheer exhaustion, fading in and out like the real world was a lighthouse; bursts of awareness always dragging him away from the edge of the blissful dark.

When he woke again a moment later, it wasn't to sunlight but sound; a shuffling thump outside his door. For a moment he tried to decide if he'd truly heard it, too tired to tell reality apart from imagination, but shook himself as he sat up.

It didn't matter if it was real, it was a reason.

He threw off his blanket and slid from the side of the bed as gracefully as his sleep-addled brian could manage, moving swiftly to the door and tugging it open to peer down the hall.

The outline of Blaine's shoulders shifted in the dark as he turned in surprise, his shadowed features looking every bit as weary as Kurt felt.

Blaine let out a careful breath, eyes darting sideways and back again. "I can't sleep," he said in a whisper, a sheepish smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

Kurt nodded, leaning against his doorframe. "Every night?"

"Every night."

With a sympathetic tilt of his head, he met Blaine's half-lidded eyes with a soft smile. He reached out his hand, and chuckled to himself when Blaine's entire frame slumped in relief.

As he watched his Sub shuffle sleepily towards him to take his hand, Kurt was struck with a sudden dull ache. Something about Blaine in this state - lost and sweet and so utterly vulnerable with exhaustion - left him sore inside.

He let the door click shut behind them, hands moving to Blaine's shoulders to guide him over to his bed. Like a half-asleep child, Blaine flopped onto the mattress and burrowed his face into the pillow, ass half-raised in the air at an awkward angle before he finally flattened. Kurt barely managed to keep himself from laughing aloud.

When he settled in to his side of the bed, Blaine had turned over, and Kurt found his hand again, open and waiting for him against the cool sheets.

Just the weight of the hand in his sent a radiating peace through his body, and he felt the gradual pull, the sinking comfort that had been missing all those nights before.

He rolled his head on the pillow, watching Blaine's profile as his breathing evened out to a soft rise and fall, and sleep took him under.

Kurt traced his thumb over Blaine's fingers, blinking very slowly, fighting to stay conscious and keep looking just a moment longer. His gaze lingered on the darker shadow of the fading bruise by Blaine's eye, and he held back the urge to lean over and press his lips to it softly.

He's here. He's safe.

When Kurt woke again, it was to birdsong and Blaine's arms around him, head pillowed on his chest. He smiled, raking a hand through the tangle of curls in front of him and letting his gaze drift absently over the bright white of the ceiling bathed in sunshine.

His bladder quickly reminded him that lingering wasn't an option, and he held back a groan at the blare of his alarm clock, right on cue.

"Mrrphsh," Blaine murmured against his chest, letting out a soft grumbling noise and snuggling down tightly. "Five more-mphrsh."

Kurt chuckled. "School," he said. "We have to. Come on."

Tension tightened Blaine's body for a moment at the sound of Kurt's voice, but it fled just as quickly under the brush of a warm, gentle hand down his back.

"I slept," Blaine mumbled.

"So did I," Kurt said. "Finally."

Blaine rolled back, stretching carefully and fixing him with sweet, sleep-drugged eyes as he propped himself up on an elbow. "I'm sorry for the- bed invasion, I didn't mean-"

"We should keep sleeping here," Kurt cut him off, and rushed to explain at the surprised look he received: "I think… it's the only way we're going to get any sleep. And I'm okay with it. If you are."

Blaine seemed to hesitate for a moment, narrowing his eyes, almost as if he were trying to decide whether or not he should say what he was thinking.

Kurt waited, unmoving, until a timid smile tugged at the edge of Blaine's lips, and he nodded back.

"We should get dressed," Kurt insisted, pulling himself up.

Blaine flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, holding Kurt's pillow over his face.

"I know, I know. Come on," Kurt said as he turned and swatted at Blaine's legs playfully. "Up."

Dropping the pillow and scrunching his nose in reply, Blaine followed the soft command, dragging himself out of the bed as exaggeratedly slowly as he could and laughing when Kurt smacked teasingly at his arm.

With a parting, mocking purse of his lips in Kurt's direction, he padded over to the doorway to make use of the other bathroom.

Kurt couldn't help but watch him go, sighing in quiet relief that somehow, even after claiming, even after his life was wholly uprooted and his world turned upside down, he was still the same Blaine. His Blaine.

He's your best friend, a voice inside reminded him.

The smile fell from his face.

Don't screw this up.

He was in the shower and staring at the wall tile with unfocused eyes when he decided it was actually very simple. It was easy. They were friends.

Friends hugged. Held hands. Friends could sleep in the same bed, it didn't mean anything. It didn't have to be anything complicated. They could do this.

Blaine was more important than some fleeting, dizzying feeling in his stomach and his head and his heart. And he'd already come close enough to ruining his life.

You turned him down when he wanted you. You took him when he didn't. This isn't fair, you can't fall in love with him now.

Kurt's eyes widened, and his loofah hit the shower floor with a wet, echoing smack.

Oh god.

He shut the taps off, scrambling for his towel and trying to focus on anything but the twisting feeling in his gut and the single word playing on frantic repeat in his head.

He skipped the bulk of his morning routine in favour of freaking out.

Halfway through pacing his room and getting dressed, he caught the tiny knock at the door and whirled around with wide eyes.

"Kurt, are you okay?"

Blaine.

"I'm fine!" he called out, tugging his sleeves up and securing a suspender clip.

"Cause it kinda feels like… you might be having some kind of existential crisis in there," Blaine ventured carefully from the other side of the door, and Kurt caught the tiny hint of amusement in his voice.

With a huff of laughter, he let his shoulders drop. "Come in."

Blaine pushed through the door, eying him for a moment. "You sure about this bed thing? You know we don't have t-"

"No, no," Kurt cut him off, waving a hand. "It's … not that. I'm just..." He glanced around. "Fashion crisis," he lied.

Chuckling, Blaine let the door slip closed behind him and raked his eyes up and down Kurt's figure slowly, taking in the tight black jeans and knee-high boots, paired with a half-untucked Henley and hanging suspenders.

"You're about three layers short of normal," Blaine teased. "So that's probably why."

Kurt shot him an amused glare.

"I like it," Blaine insisted, sticking out his chin. "I like the more," he waved a hand, "layer-lite you."

"You don't like my outfits?" Kurt straightened in alarm.

"No, no!" Blaine waved both hands in the air defensively. "I love them, it's just - this is more… like the you that I see. It's … warm, and casual and… with less layers, I mean, I feel closer when…" His voice trailed off as the blush rose slowly in both cheeks.

Kurt smirked at him softly. "Uhuh, go on."

Blaine ducked his head, and Kurt couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright, I'll go with this," he said, unwilling to admit that was the plan in the first place. "Come on."

He slipped his hand into Blaine's on his way to the door without thinking, and the tiny flare of panic rose in him again before Blaine fell into step and followed silently, calm as ever.

It's going to be fine. He doesn't know. Just act normal, he told himself.

Wow his hands are soft. And warm. How did I not notice that his hands are soft and warm?

Catching himself, Kurt wondered absently how he'd somehow turned into a thirteen year old girl overnight.

It took everything he had to push the giddy, butterfly-inducing thoughts from his mind at every shared glance as the day went on, trying not to grin dopily and give himself away whenever Blaine smiled at him. Or spoke to him. Or breathed in his general direction.

You're an idiot, Kurt Hummel. What is wrong with you?!

He made it through the day mostly unscathed and with few slip-ups, with the mortifying exception of almost missing his chair when he sat down at lunch. But Blaine had just finished his early swim practice at the time, and his hair was wet, and his eyelashes seemed so much longer and darker than before, and when did Blaine start to look like that, when exactly did that happen?

The only distraction came in the form of an low, irritated murmur filtering through the din, and Kurt realised soon enough it was coming from the table of jocks. He kept an eye on them as they ate, all too aware of the glares that were fixed on Blaine's back.

A large part of him wanted to reach out and swipe away that one drop of water clinging to Blaine's temple, wanted to glare back at the jocks' table defiantly, pull Blaine into his lap, and make it very, very damn clear who he belonged to.

He smiled darkly when one of the jocks caught him looking, and, before he could think about what he was doing, slipped an arm around Blaine's waist.

It was instantaneous at the touch; Blaine rocked against him, settling into his side without so much as a pause in his conversation with Rachel about modern vs. classic theatre.

It's as easy as that, a voice in Kurt's head told him smugly. He's already yours.

He forced the voice away as fast as he could with the same old reminder. He's your best friend.

But come dinner that night, all his willpower had slowly bled away, and he found himself leaning on his elbow, chin in his hand, staring at the back of Blaine's head every time he carried another handful of empty dishes to the kitchen.

"Kid," Burt said, dragging him out of his reverie.

"Hmm?"

"You wanna tell me what's up?"

His gaze darted to the doorway. "Fine, Dad. I'm … fine."

Burt rocked back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest and waiting patiently.

After a long drag of silence, Kurt met his determined stare and let out a huff. "I'm that obvious?"

"Like a freakin' neon sign," Burt insisted.

Kurt sighed. "I don't know, Dad."

"Is it Blaine?"

Kurt shifted in his seat at the sound of his name, eyes flicking to the kitchen again where Carole and Blaine had started the dishes.

"That'd be a yes," Burt answered himself.

Drawing a deep breath, Kurt tried to figure out how to put the feeling into words. Words that he could say aloud to his father, no less.

"I don't know," he began softly, shaking his head. "I don't know if … I did the right thing."

Burt nodded lightly. "Let me guess," he said. "You want him, but you won't do anything about it, 'cause you think he deserves a better Dom than you?"

Kurt blinked at him in surprise.

"How did you-?"

"That feeling usually hits around three or four days in," Burt cut him off. "Every single time."

Kurt wet his lips. "But he does. He deserves someone he wants."

"He wanted you enough to present in the first place," Burt shot back. "Before he even knew you. That kinda says it all."

Kurt shook his head. "No," he said softly. "He… he deserves someone better."

"Better than what he knows he wants? Kurt, that's-"

"He deserves somebody who would have accepted him the first time," Kurt said sadly. He sat back in resignation, fidgeting with the table cloth.

"You were surprised," Burt insisted, leaning forward on the table and tapping at it with a pointed finger. "Kurt, anybody coulda had that reaction. It doesn't mean anything."

Kurt pressed his lips together tightly, gaze flicking to the doorway and back again.

"You wanted to, didn't you?"

Kurt met his father's eyes.

"The second time," Burt said. "You're the one that got him to present."

He nodded tentatively, aware of how bad it could look. Doms weren't supposed to initiate. But all he'd done was draw him to the ground - Blaine had lifted his hands, of his own free will.

"So what's the problem?"

Kurt drew and held another deep breath, thinking for a moment.

"You remember," he said carefully, "how I told you I never wanted a Sub?"

"You wanted a boyfriend," Burt acknowledged, nodding. "I know."

"I have a Sub, Dad," Kurt said with a shrug, trying not to let his emotion show on his face. "One that I… I think I'm…" He cut himself short, unwilling to say it out loud. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Kurt," Burt said firmly, dipping his head to stare directly at his son. "Who in the hell told you he can't be both?"

Kurt blinked at him, stunned.

He let the words play over in his head through the rest of the night, let them tangle up in his thoughts and twine around the strong, thrumming awareness of how Blaine made him feel. The moment Blaine had settled in bed beside him that night, he'd closed his eyes, breathing evenly, still trying to understand what was happening to him.

For so long, the two had been completely separated in his mind. Claiming a Sub had always been a physical thing. It was about sex and ownership, and all the things he always thought he didn't want any part of.

But having someone, having a boyfriend, was the thought that kept him awake so many nights, lost and sore with longing. He wasn't stupid. He knew a boyfriend would, by nature, have to be a Sub - but the romantic in him had kept the two forced at opposite ends of his mind for so long, the way they bled together now left him lightheaded.

Blaine was his.

Why couldn't he be both?

Maybe he doesn't want to be, a voice reminded him.

Wide awake and staring at the shadows on the ceiling, listening to Blaine's breathing and stroking soft fingers over the back of his hand, Kurt decided there had to be a way to know for sure.

It was Saturday when he found one.

Blaine had spent the better part of the morning unpacking his music collection and pouring over Kurt's, laughing and smiling up at him from the floor excitedly with every new discovery of something he hadn't heard, or something they mutually adored.

For Kurt, the idea wasn't a lightbulb or a sudden epiphany that struck him to the core, but rather a calm flicker of conscious thought that slipped in when he wasn't looking. The knowledge, the physicality, of how to find out.

He watched Blaine for a moment, lips parting in surprise.

It couldn't be that easy, surely.

But there it was.

What if I'm right?

Kurt drew himself up to his knees on the bedspread, nervous, rocking back on his thighs and still watching carefully as Blaine sorted through CDs.

What if you're not just my Sub?

He wet his lips, peering at him for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to go about it. It was just one thing, one simple thing, and he would know.

What if you were made for me?

"Blaine," he said softly.

Blaine glanced over at him, brow lifting in reply.

"Come here."

Blaine straightened slightly, blinking at him, stunned by the sudden command.

Pointing to the bed with his eyes, Kurt nodded once.

As he climbed onto the bedspread, Blaine suddenly seemed smaller, like he had that first day. He rested on his knees with both shoulders drawn tight, arms together in front of himself, eyes flashing nervously.

When Kurt shifted closer, Blaine drew a sharp breath, and his eyelashes fluttered briefly as he tried to understand what was happening.

"Blaine," Kurt said again, and met his gaze as he looked up. "I want you," he said, "to sit perfectly still."

He nodded jerkily in reply, trying not to fidget, eyes unreadable but so different now than they had been a moment ago.

"Don't move, no matter what," Kurt commanded firmly, and Blaine dipped his head in silent acknowledgement.

Kurt shifted his balance back and forth between his knees, reaching out a hand to brush light fingers over Blaine's face. He followed the path with his eyes, watching the ripples as Blaine's breath hitched in his throat, catching the surprised flash of his pupils.

It was always meant to be this easy, it's why we're made this way.

He trailed the pad of his thumb down the line of Blaine's profile softly, fingers ghosting over his face with the motion. He felt strangely unselfconscious at the act, and the nervous, flipping feeling in his stomach began to melt away.

His thumb caught on Blaine's lower lip and lingered, swiping gently. The eddies of heat building under his skin left him dizzy, and he panted quietly as he leaned in and brushed his lips over Blaine's.

It wasn't a kiss, just a graze of soft skin, but it was sweet and heady like nothing he'd imagined. He did it again, slowly, mouthing at Blaine's lower lip and feeling him tremble under his fingers as they cupped his jaw.

The third time, it was a kiss.

His eyes fell closed as his body moved without him, pressing their lips together tightly and seizing a loud breath. He pressed in, sweeping his tongue over Blaine's lower lip and licking at his mouth softly until Blaine opened up underneath him, letting him in.

It didn't even take a full second.

The rush came too fast, and threw him off balance as Blaine whined into his mouth and wrapped himself around his body, kissing him back for all he was worth.

Kurt settled into his lap, bringing both arms up to fist handfuls of curls, tipping Blaine's head back to kiss him deeper as he rocked against him, lost in the taste of him and the explosions in his blood firing in bursts of more, need, want, own.

Mine.

He sucked at Blaine's lower lip and pulled away with a wet sound, shaking, cradling his head in both hands.

"You kissed me back," he said breathlessly, struggling to keep his voice even.

"Of course I kissed you back," Blaine said with a laugh, eyes dark and beautiful, brimming with stunned disbelief.

"Oh god," Kurt pressed another kiss to his lips, faster this time, "you kissed me back."

"Ku-" another kiss, "Kurt, what-?"

"I told you to sit still, and not move," Kurt whispered, closing his eyes and resting their foreheads together as he tried to control his breathing. "You broke a command to kiss me back."

Blaine blinked rapidly, trying to understand. "You thought- you thought this was just about being your Sub?"

Kurt nodded gently, just enough for Blaine to feel it.

"Kurt."

"Kiss me," Kurt commanded, voice thick and dark with everything thrumming in his veins.

Blaine met his mouth again, firm and eager, and more than happy to obey as they rocked back on the bed and collapsed in a heap, mouths still locked together.

"Oh god," Blaine moaned, tearing his mouth away as Kurt fell on top of him.

"What?"

"It's just-"

Kurt dropped a soft kiss to the side of his mouth, working his way down his jaw. "What is it?"

"You- the weight- it's-"

"I'm too heavy?" Kurt asked, stunned.

"No, god, no, perfect, good, oh god," Blaine babbled, head twisting against the mattress.

Kurt's eyes widened. He'd forgotten that part of their lessons, had swept it away with all the other little facts that he thought he'd never need.

The pressure of a Dom's body on top of a Sub is overwhelmingly pleasurable for the receiving party. It is comfort, it is being owned, at its most absolute.

He shifted his hips back, settling down more firmly and watching Blaine writhe as he pressed another line of kisses up his throat.

"Blaine," he whispered.

"Hnng-"

"We're going to lie here, and I'm going to kiss you," he insisted evenly, "for," his eyes trailed up to the clock, but he didn't lift his mouth from Blaine's skin as he mumbled against it, "at least the next few hours."

"Mmmmf-" Blaine agreed wordlessly.

With a smirk, Kurt lifted his head to gaze down at him with bright, adoring eyes.

Blaine blinked dopily up at him, mouth open and kiss-swollen, eyelashes fluttering intermittently as he managed to put the words together. "You want this?"

"I want you," Kurt told him firmly. "I have you."

Blaine's eyes fell closed, and he let out a sound that sounded like a sob of relief. "Kurt."

"Shh," Kurt whispered, lowering himself down to press another soft kiss to Blaine's lips. "I've got you."

Blaine moaned softly, sinking into the mattress and reeling with the intensity of his Dom's weight on top of him. They relaxed into the slow, easy rhythm; mouths moving together, arms coiled around each other, content and spread out in the late morning sun.