Blaine watched the slump of Kurt's shoulders, silhouetted against the sudden wash of the living room light as it flickered on, and smiled to himself.

After everything, the blessing that Kurt was here, Kurt was his, was enough to keep his heart from breaking at the loss of his beautiful new world, at the betrayal of his brother.

None of it mattered. And none of it would break him.

Kurt would be his king.

He lingered just a step behind, studying Kurt's long, pale fingers as they curled the edges of his dust-smattered hoodie, trying to tug it off.

Blaine moved to his side silently, taking Kurt's hands in his own, guiding the fabric over his shoulders and running warm, strong palms down his back.

Kurt groaned and rocked on his feet, arching into the touch.

"You're hurt?" Blaine asked softly, and Kurt shook his head once.

"No, just … very sore," he said. "Just. Hoping this works."

"It's a good plan," Blaine insisted, folding the jacket over the counter and returning his attention to the rigid muscles of Kurt's shoulders. "By the sword's power, it will work."

Kurt smiled weakly, his eyes drifting closed.

Blaine studied him for a moment, suddenly overtaken with awe.

"You're so calm, under such an incredible weight," he gushed quietly. "You thought of a plan. You kept control, in the face of everything."

Huffing out a soft, wordless sound, Kurt let his head tip back as he revelled in the relief of Blaine touching him, the warmth of the hands running down his spine soothingly.

"You're going to make an excellent king," Blaine said.

Kurt swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in the dim light. "King…"

"I always feared I would … fall short," Blaine admitted quietly. "That I wouldn't be the king Daltasia deserved. But with you… I feel …" he let out an uneven breath, "I feel like I'm the stronger part of myself. I feel … whole."

Kurt smiled to himself, just a tiny curve of his lips at the revelation in Blaine's voice.

"Has Daltasia ever had two kings before?"

Blaine laughed softly. "No. But perhaps it's time for something new," he suggested.

He could see the restlessness still flickering over Kurt's features.

"The plan will work," Blaine told him firmly.

"It will work," Kurt mumbled to himself, swaying slightly as exhaustion crept over him, and the feeling of Blaine's body so close became as welcoming as a warm bed.

A sudden, sharp jolt of pain made him gasp and flinch away. He tried to steady himself quickly, but Blaine was already bracing him.

"Kurt?" Blaine's face was riddled with concern.

"It's nothing, it's-"

Blaine's fingers ghosted over his back again, sliding over the sensitive spot just below his ribs, and he hissed quietly, unable to keep it in at the red-hot flare of pain.

"Let me see," Blaine said, eyes cast down.

Kurt watched him over his shoulder, wetting his lips carefully before he tilted to catch Blaine's eyes. "I'm fine. Just a little bruised."

"Kurt," he asked softly, eyes lit with a desperate, quiet fear, "please?"

Huffing a gentle breath in resignation, Kurt dropped his hands to his shirt, tugging it gingerly upward. He knew it probably felt worse than it looked, it always seemed to be the way. He didn't bruise that easily.

Blaine caught the edges of his shirt and lifted it from the back, drawing a sudden, sharp breath.

Or, maybe it looks as bad as it feels, Kurt thought to himself, and let his eyes fall shut as Blaine pressed in against him, burying his face in the crook of Kurt's neck and choking back a pained sound.

"I'm still here, I'm alright," Kurt assured him gently, resting his cheek on soft curls.

"I'm sorry-" Blaine's voice was strained, higher than he'd ever heard it before.

"Shhh, hey-" He twisted to press a kiss into Blaine's hair. "I'm fine. But, I should get… cleaned up."

Blaine nodded against him, and Kurt lifted his hand to cover Blaine's reassuringly where it was pressed against his belly, keeping him centred and safe like an anchor amidst the exhaustion.

When he looked down, he narrowed his eyes at the pink burns on Blaine's wrist, the raw marks the rope had left earlier that night.

"That doesn't hurt?" he asked, raising Blaine's arm to inspect the damage.

Blaine nuzzled against Kurt's neck for a moment before he glanced up. "It did," he mumbled. "It… does."

"Come on." Kurt turned, gathering both of Blaine's hands in his own and leading him to his room.

It felt like a ritual, somehow. The silence after a battle, suddenly all too real in the wake of a fairytale come to life. Kurt knew he should have been frightened, should have been questioning his sanity at the mere memory of Sebastian emerging from the mirror. But somehow, he felt calm, and sure like he had never been before. He had Blaine. And the plan would work.

He let his body move without a second thought, let the ritual of it take him over. Just the act of being there with Blaine, silent and tranquil as they undressed each other and mapped each other's injuries, felt like something sacred. Something old.

Without the costume or the crest, Blaine should have seemed small again, should have seemed like the same Blaine he'd seen so many mornings, padding quietly down the hall. The same Blaine he'd seen strewn across his guest bed, panting and sleepy in the wake of his first orgasm, lost to the wonder of being alive.

But somehow, stripped of any link to his title or his home, or even his new reality, this Blaine was utterly new. The quiet, powerful amalgamation of the fading prince with the man beneath. The strength in his frame, in his eyes, seemed suddenly overwhelming, and Kurt wondered how he could ever have doubted himself a king.

He ran both hands over Blaine's bare shoulders once they were exposed, savouring the warmth and the sudden thrill at the feeling of firm muscle under his palms. His skin was smooth, unblemished and beautifully tan, and Kurt pondered silently if he could somehow ensure Blaine never wore another shirt again.

He'd seen Blaine without it before - he'd seen him almost naked, of course - but peeling the clothes away with his own two hands had left him trembling at the sheer fact that he could. It was perfect, and heady, and aching under his skin; the need to touch, to feel. To remember.

Blaine watched him as he moved, eyes drugged with exhaustion and honey-sweet, staring at Kurt's mouth, at the curve of his jaw, and flashing with light when he looked back up to his eyes. He let Kurt strip him down without protest, giving in to the silent demands of Kurt's fingers as they swept away the modern day armour of the evening.

He was bruised, but only lightly, with red raw burns at both wrists and ankles, and another on his leg. He seemed content simply to stand, left only in his black brief-shorts, and let Kurt search his body with his eyes and his hands, to find every injury that needed attention, and soothe it.

By the time Kurt had finished and clipped the first-aid kit shut, Blaine was restless, and his arms were twitching by his sides as he watched Kurt move.

Kurt met his stare with a questioning look.

Slowly, taking the invitation, Blaine stepped in and pressed against his body, hands curling into gentle fists around the fabric of his shirt at his sides.

Kurt shivered as the air changed, and the medical, clinical feeling of taking care of someone, of easing their pain, became a sudden rush of dizzying need, coiling tight and hot inside.

Blaine was holding him so lightly it felt like he was barely there at all, but somehow all the same, Blaine was all there was.

Kurt swayed, lost in the deep, powerful scent of him, so close and suddenly his to touch.

Tugging weakly at the edges of Kurt's shirt, Blaine rested their temples together, letting his eyes fall shut.

"Show me," he said softly, fingers grazing over the bruises and scrapes on Kurt's back. "Show me what to do."

Letting out a shaky, long-held breath, Kurt nodded, lifting his hands to unbutton his shirt and letting them fall again as Blaine took over. He wasn't sure if he was shaking lightly from the exhaustion or the pain he couldn't quite feel anymore, numb and sedated in the wake of Blaine's warm hands sliding over his bare skin, pushing his shirt off carefully.

Blaine's eyes raked over his chest, wider than they'd been all night, soaking in every inch of pale skin stretched over muscle and bruise.

His breath was hot when it fell away from him, audible and slow, shuddering on the air as he trailed warm fingertips down the lines of Kurt's chest. He was gentle, reverent and unblinking, caught up in the sudden exploration of another man's body for the first time.

Kurt tried to stay still, tried not to shift under the intensity of Blaine's eyes. He swallowed carefully, waiting, letting Blaine learn him by touch.

When Blaine's palms pressed against his shoulder blades, guiding his body in as he dropped to place a kiss to his collarbone, Kurt whimpered softly; a sudden release of the heat that was building in his spine.

"I'm sorry," Blaine whispered quickly, pulling away only to be caught by Kurt's insistent hands.

"No, that's - that was- good," Kurt explained in a rush, smiling weakly. "That was…"

Blaine's lips pressed together, curled at the edge in his own soft, beautiful smile before he moved closer again, fingers dancing over Kurt's sides, mindful of the graze below his ribs.

"How do I… I want to …" he breathed, ducking his head. "I want to heal this, can I make it - go away?"

"No," Kurt said simply, shivering with the sharp stab of sympathy he felt at the hurt look on Blaine's face. "It'll heal, in time. For now just… here-"

He tipped and reached out a long arm to flick open the kit, to gather the antiseptic and the warm cloth he'd brought from the bathroom. "I can't reach it, can you…?"

"Turn around," Blaine said as he took the cloth and cream, waiting while Kurt shifted on the spot to face the other way.

Blaine's hands were gentle and strong, sweeping over the graze and cleaning it carefully in light strokes at Kurt's instruction.

Kurt felt his body relax gradually while Blaine worked, and then all at once felt the lingering tension release and drift out of him like a plug had been pulled somewhere inside.

Everything is going to be alright.

When Blaine finished, Kurt could hear the clip of the first aid kit, could hear it slipping shut on the side table before powerful, strong arms scooped around his waist and crossed over themselves. He shuddered lightly with the relief, the sudden, perfect press of Blaine all around him, warm skin on skin, engulfing him completely. He felt his skin prickle into goosebumps as Blaine pressed soft, wet kisses in a pattern down his shoulder.

"I love you," Blaine whispered, his voice barely there.

Kurt hummed quietly, settling back into Blaine's embrace and letting his eyes flutter closed.

His overtired mind stumbled over thoughts that would normally rise him to panic; your fiance is holding you, your fiance that you've known for two weeks, the man who walked out of a fairytale.

You only just kissed him and now you're leaving everything for him.

The thoughts came like a dull drum, simple and unfettered by the worry he knew should have been there. But it never came.

"I love you, too," he said, and rocked on his heels as Blaine drew him tighter, pressed a hot, open mouth to his neck, and up across the shell of his ear.

You're leaving everything for him, the dull voice repeated on a static monotone.

Kurt sighed softly, lips parting gently as his body rippled with shivers of slow, heady pleasure under Blaine's exploring hands and mouth.

It doesn't matter, he thought.

I would do anything.

Blaine turned him carefully in his arms, both hands lifting to cradle his jaw as he slipped their mouths together in a slow, sensual rhythm, pressing in, sucking gently on his tongue and claiming him.

Kurt leaned into the kiss and wrapped both arms around Blaine's neck, quietly hungry but too tired to do more than taste him as slowly and deeply as he could. His heart flooded his chest with a radiating peace as he finally understood the reason for the absence of fear.

I would walk off the edge of the world for you.

He felt Blaine's hands fall away, felt them slide over his hips again, dropping to his legs. In a flash of sudden movement, Blaine dipped and slid both hands inside his thighs, drawing him up off the ground and locking their bodies together.

Stunned at being lifted off his feet, Kurt started to protest, but his body moved with out him, legs coiling tight around Blaine's hips as he held his weight and craned to kiss him again.

This is real, his heart reminded him.

He felt lightheaded at the weightlessness, the sudden, overwhelming ache of gratitude that came with being protected and cherished by someone so completely.

When Blaine lowered him down onto the bed, peeling away the covers, he let his arms fall either side of his head at angles, chest rising and falling like a tide.

Blaine balanced on hands and knees over him, dipping to press kisses across his collarbone and up the pale column of his neck as his head tipped back against the pillows.

He wondered absently if anything else would ever matter again, anything that wasn't Blaine's hands and Blaine's mouth, the feeling of their bodies together, intertwined, innocent and passionate and raw. He felt numb and alight all at once, down to the bones of him, sinking into the mattress under a perfect weight as Blaine settled down over his frame.

Sliding between Kurt's legs, Blaine rested his cheek to Kurt's heart, closing his eyes and listening to the slow drum of his body. So much of them was too real, and too fleeting, with only a day before it all disappeared.

Blaine shifted, found Kurt's lips again, soaking in sweet, languid kisses as they held on to each other, content to sleep still tasting each other if they had to.

Kurt couldn't remember the last thing he'd said aloud, and he didn't care, lost in the bedframe of his lover's body and content to let the night wash everything else away.