Oh god, what am I doing?

His stomach flipped again, his head swimming in the remnants of his panicky flight from the living room. This was not good.

He almost… No, I almost…

Somewhere between the second and third internal argument about who tried to kiss who, his phone went off.

He dove across the bed quickly to retrieve it. "Hello?"

"Well?"

He slumped, relaxing on the mattress. "Rachel. It's fine, I found him."

"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you," she breathed. "Is he alright?"

"He was fine, he wasn't hurt. He can take care of himself," Kurt answered in his best I-told-you-so tone of voice.

"Fine, fine. You were right. But don't tell me you don't feel better that he's home."

"He's not home, Rachel. He's just staying here while we try to find," Kurt sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, "his princess, or something."

"So you're letting him stay? Oh, Kurt!"

"Shhh," he hissed. "Calm down. It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," she replied. "Look, I'll be home in the morning. I can take him out, get him some lovely new clothes, and you know I can help. Who better to find royalty in New York city than," she seized a dramatic breath, mocking herself, "the majestic tour de force that is Rachel Berry."

Kurt huffed a quiet laugh into his phone, dropping his forehead onto the bed with a thump and letting his head bounce slightly. "Oh god, this is insane. I keep thinking this isn't happening. But it is. He's out there, on my couch."

"The couch?" she asked suddenly. "Why didn't you put him in the guest?"

"It's full of boxes," Kurt said. "I'll clean it up in the morning."

"It was bound to happen, sooner or later," she said.

"What? A real life disney prince showing up in New York? That was bound to happen?"

"Kurt, this is New York. Everything happens here. Have you not seen the movies?" Her voice was still sweet and teasing, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Alright, good night," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow. Bring coffee."

"Love you," she insisted loudly, and he flicked the end button with another roll of his eyes.

Flopping onto his back, he dropped his phone on the side table and stared up at the ceiling. For a long time he tried very hard to think about nothing at all, but he kept coming back to the same place, over and over.

Blaine.

Fractures of memory flooded back to him in waves; warm breath on his lips, strong hands cradling his face, the tiny brush of a mouth against his own. He screwed his eyes shut tight, and let out a soft whine.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

When he woke, he realised he had absolutely no memory of getting under the covers, or turning off the lights. Somewhere between his shower and his morning skincare routine, pieces of the last day began to drift back in; the little girl, hot dogs in the park, racing through the rain, his conversation with Rachel.

He spent a solid two minutes staring into his mirror, trying to determine if the almost-kiss had been a dream before he shook it off, and decided to focus on getting things done. He'd fallen asleep far too early, and the light outside was barely dawn-grey, creeping over the skyline. He had time.

The guest room wasn't quite the disaster he expected. Half of Rachel's boxes had been cleared away already, and the rest was just an old array of designs he'd given up on over the years, left strewn about in rainbow colours across the old bedspread and over the vanity. He tucked them into the wardrobe one by one, trying not to laugh aloud at some of his early misadventures.

He changed the bed covers and packed away the last remnants of the early years of his career, clearing away the gathered dust and opening the windows to let in fresh air.

Kurt had always loved the room itself. It was bright and open, and sunshine fell across the floor in waves, giving it the look of a loft in the middle of a high rise apartment. Something about it felt very natural, warm and homey. The only reason he'd taken his room was the sheer size difference.

Something told him Blaine would probably find it just as wonderful as he found… well, everything else.

He padded quietly back out to the living room, intent on making some breakfast (and already craving the cafe coffee that was probably en route) when he noticed the couch was bare.

He blinked.

"Blaine?"

There was no answer.

He peered across the room in confusion, taking a moment to eye over the discarded blanket on the floor, and the paperback sitting on a side table. He smiled at Blaine's choice of Stardust.

Backing up, he turned and wandered down the hall, listening carefully for the sound of the shower.

"Blaine?" he called again, a hint of worry in his tone.

"Kurt." The voice coming from the bathroom was definitely Blaine, but he sounded strange and strained.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked, sliding up to the door and leaning to glance quickly inside, hoping he wasn't naked again this time.

Blaine was sitting on the side of the tub, still dressed in the clothes Kurt had lent him the night before. His frame was hunched over, hands cupping the opposite elbows, shoulders drawn up.

"I fear I may be ill," Blaine told him seriously, brow knitted in discomfort.

Kurt felt a surge of protectiveness and worry at the state of him, suddenly seeming so small and vulnerable.

"We were out in the rain last night," Kurt realised aloud. "You probably caught a cold. Do you feel warm?"

Stepping in, he reached out and brushed light fingers over Blaine's forehead, checking for a fever. Blaine's eyes were sweet, honey-golden and full of gratitude, staring up at him in the morning light as his palm rested over his forehead. He didn't have a fever.

Kurt gave him a gentle look of concern, and realised at once how frightening being sick would actually be for someone who'd never experienced it before. Suddenly your body is sore, your nose running, your throat hurts. God, it'd be terrifying.

"I don't know," Blaine shook his head quickly as Kurt pulled his hand back. "My hips feel terribly strange. And…" He lifted his arms.

Kurt's eyes shot up to the ceiling the moment he realised. "Ohhh… oh. Okay. Um."

Oh god. He's hard.

"That's… there's… you…" Kurt stumbled over words, flustered and lost, and scrambling for a coherent sentence.

Blaine searched him for a moment, uneasy. "Kurt?"

"I - I should go," Kurt backed up a little, eyes flicking everywhere he could possibly look that wasn't at Blaine, "and let you," he waved a hand as he turned, "take care of … that."

Blaine's face pulled tight in hurt, and he curled both arms around his chest again, whispering to himself; "What's wrong with me?"

Kurt froze in the doorway at the sound of his voice.

On a shaky exhale, he let his eyes drift closed.

He knew that tone of voice.

It was the same one he used to use - just a young boy standing in front of a mirror, lost in his own body, terrified of what happened when he looked at other boys. What's wrong with me?

He worried his lower lip for a moment with his teeth.

You'd be scared as hell, the scolded himself. If you woke up one morning and your body was doing something it had never done before. And nobody would tell you why.

Seizing a determined breath, he turned around, falling into a crouch to meet Blaine's eyes.

"There's nothing … wrong with you," he said softly, trying to keep his voice even.

Blaine searched him again, his eyes still huge and scared.

"It's normal, here," he clarified. "Here, it's … normal. It happens, some mornings. It's not wrong or … bad. Come on," he held out his hand and let Blaine take it, rising to his feet.

He lead them out of the bathroom, snatching a box of tissues on the way.

"I'm not ill?" Blaine asked, padding along quietly behind him.

Kurt didn't trust himself to look back without looking down, and that would just be another world of awkward. He kept his eyes straight ahead as they made it to the guest room.

"No, you're not sick," he said carefully. "This is your room, for while you're here."

Blaine stared, slack-jawed, at the brightly lit bedroom, gaze trailing over the soft bed in the centre, lined with a deep purple quilt cover and huge, fluffy european pillows. The vanity was dark mahogany wood to match the wardrobe, and the walls were soft cream.

"It's beautiful," Blaine breathed. "It… it reminds me of home, actually."

Kurt smiled weakly, still trying to figure out exactly how to take care of their predicament. He spied the waste bin in the corner, and released Blaine's hand long enough to retrieve it and sit it by the bed.

"Here's what we'll do. You need to learn how to… take care of yourself. When it happens," he said, voice shaking slightly as he tried to ignore the flush creeping over his cheeks.

Blaine nodded his understanding. "How do I do that?"

Kurt took another careful breath. "It's a private… thing. Something you do on your own. In private."

Blaine blinked at him, confused. "Why?"

"It's … a long story. Just for now, I can…" He rubbed his face, ignoring the myriad of voices in his head demanding to know what the hell he thought he was doing, "I can talk you through it, just. Here-" He passed him the tissue box.

"What are these for?"

"Cleaning up," he said quickly. "Afterwards, you clean up with these, and put them in the bin there," he pointed, moving back out the door and taking the handle. "I'll be on the other side of the door."

Blaine's eyes flashed with surprise. "You're leaving?"

"No, I'll be right here," he said, patting the door. "Just listen to my voice."

Nodding once, Blaine watched as the door slipped closed.

"Can you hear me?" Kurt asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Alright, find some… comfortable place to sit down. On the bed is fine."

There was a moment of quiet, followed by a tiny yelp. "Incredible. It's so soft. We don't have beds like this in Daltasia."

"That's great," Kurt muttered to himself, leaning back against the wall. He took a calming breath, and wet his lips. "Alright, then… just," he winced, "take down your pants, but - slowly. Don't hurt yourself."

He listened for any kind of reaction, trying not to imagine every fine, minute, perfect detail of what was happening on the other side of the door. Focus. This is about helping him.

"Oh my."

Kurt tried not to laugh. "Just kind of… take a hold of it. Gently. With one hand."

"How?"

"Like…" Kurt rubbed frantically at his eyes. "Like… holding your sword." Like holding your sword, oh my GOD, what am I doing?

There was a pause.

"Then what do I do?"

Kurt swallowed roughly, letting his eyes fall shut and forcing down the smile that was threatening to spread across his face. Oh my god, grow up.

"Just kind of… stroke up and down? Lightly. Be gentle," he instructed on an uneven voice. "Do what … feels good. You'll know when you find it."

"I don't understand, it feels - OH!"

"Theeeere it is," Kurt said, sliding down the wall to the floor.

He sat in the quiet, waiting and strumming his fingers on his leg as the minutes passed. He rolled his head against the wall, watching the patterns of sunlight and shadow, trying to ignore the different images flicking over in the back of his mind, illustrating every little thing that might be happening on the other side of the door.

The way his breath would be coming too quickly, soft puffs of air over his parted pink lips, his head tipped back, eyes closed and lost to the rush of sensation.

Stop it.

The slide of his broad, firm hand over himself, squeezing and slipping up sensitive skin for the first time, slowly getting rougher and more needy. Hips jerking, shaking and trembling, the way his head would loll to the side, the whimper as he slowly came undone.

Enough. Oh god, stop thinking about it.

Kurt twisted on the ground, shifting at the uncomfortable rush of heat pooling low in his belly and trying desperately to think of anything else.

He forced his thoughts back to work, to the models on the runway; the long insect-inspired dress jackets from the last show, and the longer women under them. His breathing slowed, and calmed again, and gradually he wandered back to thoughts of the newest showcase and the next spring line.

His work thoughts were interrupted with a spark of imaginary conversation, tinted with his current situation. So, Hummel, what did you do with your time off?

Oh, nothing. Spring cleaning. Spent some time in the park. Taught a cartoon prince how to jerk off. The usual.

With a snort, he covered his face in his hands to keep himself from laughing aloud at the lunacy of it all.

A sudden, strangled, beautiful cry came from the other side of the door, almost like music until it broke and faded away.

Kurt straightened. "Blaine?"

Silence.

He swallowed, shifting on the floor carefully to listen at the door.

There was a tiny rustle of movement, the cardboard drag of the tissue box and the slight squeak of the bed frame.

Pulling himself to his feet, he knocked gently. "Blaine? Are you… covered up? I'm coming in."

The door swept open gradually with his gentle push, and he peered inside, worried he'd moved too soon.

Blaine was spread out on the bed, panting and breathless, staring up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. His pants were pulled up haphazardly, barely clinging to his hips, and his shirt was twisted halfway up his chest, exposing the long, smooth line of his belly and the underside of his ribs.

Kurt felt the tell-tale heat flooding in again, and squeezed against it, willing it away.

"H- how do you feel?" he asked carefully.

Blaine's eyelashes fluttered, and his mouth dropped open for a long moment before he spoke. "I didn't know it could do that."

Kurt muffled his laugh with his palm, shaking his head fondly.

The thump of the front door closing made him jerk to attention, and he glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Rachel's voice, calling his name.

"Oh, crap," he said softly, turning his gaze back to the boneless prince on the bed. "Blaine?"

Blaine's head rolled to the side, and he blinked once very slowly, staring up at Kurt with an adoring smile. "Yes?"

Kurt's heart fluttered in his chest at that look, at the beautiful face gazing up at him like he was the only thing in the world.

"Rachel's here," he croaked. "She's uh… she's going to take you out today, to help you … look," he told him, shifting back to the door. "You might want to shower, and get dressed. I dried your clothes, they're in the bathroom."

With a weak, lazy nod, Blaine watched Kurt slide out the door and pause.

"Oh," he said, leaning back in. "Remember, this is … private. It's not something you… talk about."

Blaine gave him another quick nod in understanding before the door finally closed.

Speeding down the hallway to intercept his roommate, Kurt tried to look as innocent as possible.

"I brought caffeine! Do you love me?" she asked brightly, sweeping through the living room to wiggle a cardboard tray at him.

"I do," he said eagerly, gathering his cup and swigging it. "Oh, god yes."

She eyed him carefully, sitting the cardboard tray on the kitchen bench as they both stopped to lean against it.

"What?" he asked, noticing her stare.

"You're shaking a little, are you feeling okay?"

He tried for a calm smile, suddenly aware that the giddy aftermath of the morning probably left him looking slightly manic. "I'm fine. You know me. Not used to not working."

"You need to take more time off," she insisted, fussing with her jacket.

"Two days is more than enough."

"So how is he?" she asked, peering down the hall and spotting the quiet prince padding towards the bathroom. "Blaine! Good morning!"

He smiled dopily and lifted a hand in greeting before he met Kurt's eyes. A sudden blush rose in his cheeks, and he ducked his head, slipping into the bathroom quietly.

Rachel fixed Kurt with a stunned, calculating look. "Did he just blush?"

Kurt shook his head innocently, sipping his coffee. "What? No."

"Kurt."

"It was probably just a trick of the light," he lied, waving a dismissive hand. "You're seeing things."

"Kurt. He looks different. Why does he look different?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Kurt."

"Fine," Kurt snapped. "There was a… situation."

She squealed quietly, clapping both hands together and pressing them to her mouth. "I knew it! Did you kiss him? Please, tell me you kissed him!"

"What? No!" Kurt glared at her, ignoring the blush rising in his own cheeks at the memory of the night before. "No, there was no kissing."

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Why not?"

"Rachel, the man just walked out of a fairytale, the only thing he's missing is the sassy horse," Kurt said. "He's looking for a princess, remember?"

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Fairytales change. The details don't matter, the story stays the same."

"Since when are you an expert?" he asked, taking another sip.

"Every little girl with big dreams is an expert in fairytales," she told him. "You just need to stop wasting time dancing around Prince Charming and start dancing with him."

"What does that even mean?" he asked, incredulous. "Look, I have to get these sketches done or Macy will kill me. The ball's less than two weeks away and I haven't even started on that yet."

"Oh, the ball!" she said excitedly, bouncing on the spot. "I forgot about that, they finally roped you in. Oh, oh!" she tugged on his sleeve frantically. "You know who would fit right in at a ball."

He glared. "Don't even start."

She grinned at him, swaying back and forth. "Uhuh. Okay, well I'll take your prince off your hands for today. But only on one condition."

Kurt eyed her carefully.

"When we get back, you have to tell me what you're not telling me," she insisted.

He sighed heavily.

"Kurt."

"Fine," he said, and rolled his eyes at the excited squeal he got in reply.

"Lady Rachel, it is good to see you."

She leaned back, smiling brightly at Blaine as he wandered into the room. Back in his royal attire, he should have looked the same as he always did, but Kurt could see it. That one little side of him that had changed completely, shy and sweet and hesitant, tucked behind his eyes.

"And you too, good prince." She curtseyed. "You'll be coming out with me, today, if you like?"

Blaine's gaze drifted between the two of them, and he smiled softly at Kurt for a moment before his eyes dropped. "I would like that, yes."

Rachel smirked at Kurt, and he swallowed in a flash of panic when he realised; she could see it, too.

"Come then," she said grandly, moving and offering Blaine her bent arm. "Shall we?"

He beamed, slipping back into his princely manners as he linked his arm with hers. "Of course, my lady." He bowed slightly as he passed. "Kurt."

"Have fun," Kurt offered weakly as he watched them move toward the door.

In the silence that lingered behind them when the door clicked shut, he sighed again, sinking his frame over the kitchen bench. His near-empty coffee cup skidded over the cool marble, and he stared at the label without really looking at it, his mind reeling.

What did I just do?

He closed his eyes at the sudden rush of Blaine that came crashing down again in spectres of imagination; panting, writhing, moaning and stroking himself, sliding on the bedspread, coming undone for the first time in his life while Kurt sat on the other side of the door.

His body squeezed tight against the ache it stirred inside.

Well, a voice in his head supplied, I guess he's a real boy, now.

He laughed brokenly, thumping his head once on the bench and straightening up. Work, he decided. Forget it all, and work.

With one last fleeting glance to the door, he wandered back down the hall.