“Blaine! I have valuables in here.” Kurt scolded, giggling, attempting fruitlessly to pull his legs in. Blaine chuckled and set him upright on the ground, only to grab his face between the flats of his hands and kiss him, sweet and sound, unraveling the scarf from around his neck so he could touch him just a little bit more. Kurt made a little questioning noise into his mouth, and Blaine chuckled shortly, dropping the scarf on the ground and backing him up farther into the apartment as he popped the top three buttons on Kurt’s tight button down, and spread his hand over the exposed skin, feeling the pulse of his blood, the steady sigh of his breath under his skin as he kissed Kurt eagerly.

“Why are you-?” Kurt started to ask, his head spinning a little wildly.

“So dressed. You’re always so dressed.” Blaine mumbled against his lips, un-tucking his shirt and reaching under it to press against the small of his back, sliding his other hand from Kurt’s chest to the back of his neck and pulled him closer.

“And you never are.” Kurt said, clutching at the material of his tee shirt, feeling the flannel of his lounge pants against him. Blaine got the message and pulled away from his mouth, kissing down his chin, making Kurt roll his eyes, until he got to the underside of his jaw and planting quick, nipping kisses in a straight line along there.

“We’re travelling.” Blaine reminded him when he reached his ear, before sucking a delicate earlobe into his mouth. Kurt threw an arm around his shoulders and leaned into the suggestive touch, humming a moan.

“That’s my point. Every time you step into the world, you represent yourself with what you put on your body.”

“You’re unbelievably coherent.” Blaine said, moving back up to his lips. “Are you intentionally trying to make me feel self-conscious about my making out prowess?” He asked, kissing him determinedly.

“I’m sorry.” Kurt answered, and Blaine’s head fell forward, so his lips, warm with kissing, were pressed to Kurt’s collarbone, and Kurt kissed his curls. “I’m positively dizzy with lust, if it makes you feel any better.” He inhaled. Blaine smelled of shampoo.

“It doesn’t, really. I mean, it’s one thing if a person’s actually dizzy with lust, but another entirely if they tell you they are.” He answered, pulling Kurt toward the sofa, and pulling him onto his lap, adjusting him nonchalantly so Kurt was straddling him. “But why are you not into it? I mean, I can understand if you just don’t want to right now-”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Kurt answered, glancing down at his hands. “We just have to call a cab and get to the station and all that in enough time…”

“Honey. Hush.” Blaine said, pulling him gently down, closer. “Trust me. I’ve ordered a limo.”

“You-”

“I kind of can do that.” He answered, a lilting smile on his face. “I wanted us to have a little more discretion until we get to Ohio.”

“Ah.”

“Just a rule you’ll have to adjust to, love.” Blaine said, leaning up to look him in the eye. “If we start playing, I don’t want you holding back because of mundane things that can easily be dealt with. Of course, if you aren’t turned on or need to safeword, by all means let me know. But if I want this--” Blaine hitched their hips together, making Kurt groan a little—“And you tell me that dinner will get cold, I won’t accept it. We come first. Is that fair?”

Kurt considered it. And realized that yes, it was- because he wouldn’t want Blaine leaving him tied and turned on to go file a tax return, and he deserved the same courtesy.

“Well, yes. But if I genuinely do think we would miss a train-”

“Kurt.” Kurt let his thought trail off to look up at Blaine. “Trust me.” He said, smiling sweetly. “I would never do something that would make you unhappy, like, say, missing a train to meet our parents. Now when we’re old and grey but still making passionate, passionate love, I’ll allow you to bend on this rule, but while my memory is still sharp, you’ll have to trust me.” Kurt wrinkled his nose at that, eyes shining. Blaine leaned up and kissed the wrinkles gently away.
***

“You may have gone a little extreme with this whole thing.” Kurt said, climbing out of the limo.

“Drawback or Bonus when it comes to dating C-list celebrities, depending on the way you look at it. We’re pretty extreme.” Blaine said, tipping the mustachioed driver smoothly as he handed Kurt his rolling luggage.

“You count yourself as C-list?” Kurt asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I am!” Blaine said, mock-affronted. “I’m perfectly C-list!”

“I can recognize most actors on the C-list, and when I opened your file, I didn’t think ‘Oh, there’s Blaine Anderson.’” He shrugged, righting his suitcase and walking alongside Blaine.

“You were blinded by my perfection.” Blaine nodded, holding the door open for Kurt as he stepped in.

“If that’s what you want to call it. Why did we enter this way?”

“It’s around the back. Only accessible if you have a pass. I didn’t want to be followed.”

“Ah.” Kurt said, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Blaine really felt all this caution was necessary? No doubt it was for their personal paparazzi.

“See? I can do things like that. C-list. You just couldn’t tell, you were blinded by my elbows.” Kurt laughed, leaning his head back and slapping Blaine gently on the arm. Blaine grabbed his wrist and held onto it, refusing to let him tug away, and smirking when he tried.

“Hey, what would you think of a wrist cuff?” Blaine asked after a few moments of comfortable silence in which Kurt relaxed into his grip.

“For you, no. You have too broad a…well, everything, really. It can look really odd on a lot of men, and I’m pretty sure you would be one of them. Besides, it’s getting on winter, and you don’t want to be carrying a cold metal on your wrist, and there’s the silver-gold-leathers debacle. Not worth it.”

“No, honey.” Blaine laughed, and ushered him up to the stand where a woman would take their tickets and let them into the terminal. “I mean instead of your collar.” He whispered in Kurt’s ear, before pushing him forward to the kiosk, letting go of his wrist and leaving it feeling warm and tingling and Kurt had to keep himself from gripping the spot like it was freshly wounded. Instead he slipped his ticket to the woman, and she scanned it, returning it to him and waving him through. He tucked it in the inside of his blazer and watched as Blaine went through the same process, and then tucked it into the pocket of his flannel pants, shaking his curls out of his eyes, and he felt like laughing, as Blaine slung a casual arm around him and steered them to the coffee shop.

It wasn’t until they were both seated at a tiny round table with steaming paper cups and a croissant between them before he mustered up the courage to ask.

“That’s… that’s allowed?” He asked, showing him his wrist to clarify. Blaine shrugged.

“I can’t imagine there are legal ramifications. I mean, I know once you come of age you’re supposed to wear a collar or a dom’s ring to signify, but you will be wearing a collar, just in a different spot. It’ll be easier for you to be discreet at work, It might make you more comfortable with the whole thing… plus, I’d never need an excuse to do this.” Blaine took Kurt’s hand in his and flipped it over, so the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist showed, and lifted it to his mouth, pressing his lips there gently and looking up at him, with a flicker of something in those hazel eyes-

Kurt snatched his wrist away.

“Okay, I get it.” He said, a little breathlessly. Blaine cocked his head. Kurt blushed. And Blaine smirked.

“Good to know.” He said, chuckling.

“I think I might love that.” Kurt answered his earlier question idly, shredding the croissant into bite-sized pieces, and sneaking a peek up at Blaine. “Having a wrist collar. When the time comes.” He added. Blaine nodded. They both knew the time was far away.

“I think I might love it too.” Blaine said, smiling down and popping one of the pieces of dismantled croissant into his mouth.
***
Several hands of gin rummy with a tiny deck of playing cards (“You are an absolute child, Blaine.”), one huge sugar-sanded pretzel (“One pretzel won’t give you an embolism, sweet thing.”) and a few sweet stolen kisses (“Mmm.”) later, Kurt and Blaine sleepily pawed each other out of a nap and wrapped the earphones around their listening devices. Kurt made a mental note to raid Blaine’s iPod later out of curiosity. Their train squealed into the station, and Blaine rocked with the motion of it as he coaxed Kurt’s suitcase out of the overhead compartment before slinging his own backpack on, and Kurt followed him out to the exit. Blaine hopped quickly down to the platform and offered Kurt his hand, which Kurt took to descend.

“I could kiss you in right now. In public.” Blaine said, grinning at him.

“Yes.” Kurt agreed, looking at him. “You could always kiss me in public. You have never hesitated to before.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have wanted to after the article. But now we’re in Ohio!”

“Never thought Ohio would be my safe haven for kissing boys.” Kurt said, a corner of his mouth twitching.

“One boy.” Blaine corrected, pulling him toward the atrium of the station, where they’d pick up the car.

Within fifteen minutes, Kurt was signing a paper and jangling the key in the other hand.

“I’m driving!” He called, grinning up at Blaine. He smiled, and raised his hand.

“Shotgun?” He asked.

“Of course.”

They found their car quickly- it was a big silver number that made Kurt hum happily and Blaine whistle appreciatively.

“This thing is huge.” Blaine said, wrenching himself up onto the seat and buckling in.

“You’re just small, actually.” Kurt answered, backing out of the space and pulling out of the parking lot.

“You just said a few hours ago that I was broad.”

“You are.”

“I’m not!”

“Muscular, Blaine. You’re muscular and have great arms and are incredibly well proportioned for your body type, love.” Kurt sniffed, accelerating as he merged onto the highway.

“That was the most clinical way you could have worded that.” Blaine said, flipping down his sun visor as the car was filled with golden light.
***

“Are you nervous?” Blaine asked, holding Kurt’s wrist, running his thumb over the skin there.

They stood before a rather large mansion- the lawn was manicured, and the house was the foreboding kind that gave one the impression of a family that headed up by a man who was never home.

“A little.” He admitted, looking at the door. It was a nice door. A pretty silver knocker on a light blue door with a pretty silver knob. Blaine squeezed his wrist reassuringly, and pulled Kurt around to face him

“Listen to me. My mother is smart woman with good taste. She’ll love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Blaine kissed his temple. “I won’t lead you astray. Trust me.” Kurt nodded, and knocked on the door.

A woman with a shock of red hair, far-set green eyes, and a maternal air answered the door. When she saw who it was, she beamed, and hopped down onto the porch and threw an arm around Blaine, allowing them to remain holding hands.

“How are you, dearie?” She asked, holding Blaine’s head between his head. “You look thin. And your paler than I left you.” She said sternly. “Nothing a little feeding won’t help.” She took his chin between her fingers and looked in his eyes. “Ah, but there’s a sparkle there that the I haven’t seen in eons.” She let go and patted him on the head before throwing her eyes on Kurt. “And this must be the reason.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Rebecca Callei. Call me Becky.”

“Kurt Hummel.” He answered, smiling politely, gripping her hand. Becky stepped back into the house and used her leverage on Kurt’s hand to pull him in with her. “Come on, then, it’s cold out there. You too, sweet thing!” She called to Blaine. “Anyway, I know who you are, Kurt Hummel. I’m pretty sure you are the biggest stylist up where that one lives, o’course I know about you. So when’s the wedding?” She asked, pulling his hand up and under hers, ignoring Blaine entirely.

“Wh-what?”

“The wedding, dearie. Blaine never brings home his toys.”

“Oh no?” he asked, suddenly curious. “I’m the first?”

“Oh, that’s not what I said. He just only brings home serious boys.”

“I feel like I should have guessed you would be dastardly together.” Blaine said to their backs as Becky waltzed Kurt into the living room and sat him down next to her on a love seat.

“Serious boys?”

“Well, not serious boys as in-” She made a gruff face- “Just boys he was serious about.”

“Were there many?”

“No. I’ve met a few. But you’re the first one who’s going to meet Lena.” Kurt recognized the name of Blaine’s mother, and his eyes widened slightly.

“Is that big?” Kurt asked, feeling like he knew the answer.

“Huge.” She whispered, conspiratorially, giggling a bit.

“Beck, I hate you.” Blaine said from the sofa, stretching.

“I know, love!” She answered, before returning to Kurt.

“She knows who Kurt Hummel is, and likes him, if it’s any consolation. She doesn’t know it’s you, though. I have a feeling she’ll like you.” She said. “You are the same. In the eyes, y’know. In that way people are. Old souls.”

“Oh. Well, alright.” He said, shrugging. She didn’t sound too frightening. Becky nodded, agreeing with his unspoken thought, and then bounced up from the loveseat.

“Well, I should take these-” She grabbed each piece of luggage and slung it over a shoulder or carried it in hand. “-And put them up in your room. And then I’ll send the lady of the house down, of course.” She left before they could thank her, and they looked at each other. Blaine opened his arms, and Kurt was across the room and in them in a matter of seconds.

“I’m sorry. It’s not as big a deal as she makes it out to be. Becky just gets a little enthused. Woman’s a damn saint, caring for mom.”

“Caring for her?”

“Yeah. I mean, it must take a lot. I would have done it, too, if she let me, but no, she told me to follow my dreams and all that nonsense.”

“Smart lady.”

“Yeah. I’m glad everything worked out the way it did. Beck’s awesome, mom’s doing well, and she’s just a few hours away, so I can get down here.”

“I don’t quite understand though- why does she need-?”

“Hello, boys.” Kurt subtly scrambled off of Blaine’s lap, and sat more conventionally next to him, and turned to face Blaine’s mother.

Her hair was raven and pinned up, some soft curls falling free. Her eyes were a bright blue, her skin pale, and the cut of her lips and jaw instantly recognizable to Kurt. She was dressed immaculately, but most noticeably, she wore fingerless gloves with bows on the back of the hand, made of beige leather- the rested on the arms of her wheelchair.

Kurt kept his face smooth, despite the surprise- Blaine hadn’t mentioned his mother was in a wheelchair, but he didn’t suppose it was the kind of thing that you mentioned unless it presented itself in conversation.

“I’m Kurt Hummel, Mrs. Anderson.” He rose, and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Please, don’t stand on my account.” She said, smiling, and Kurt, not sure of what to make of this, took his seat again. “And call me Lena. Blaine has told me a bit about you, but he has not told me that you are Kurt Hummel.” She said, looking at Blaine, who shrugged. “That boy.”

“I haven’t told my father that he’s Blaine Anderson either, if that means anything.” He told her, shrugging a little. She laughed, and wheeled herself closer to pat his hand.

“He doesn’t matter as much. Blaine, that is, not your father.” Blaine laughed, and curled his fingers around Kurt’s opposite hand. He felt suddenly very warm, hands both covered by an Anderson. “But we will talk more over lunch, of course, which Becky should have soon ready. And then of course I get to interrogate Kurt privately.” She smiled at him warmly, and Kurt wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to be nervous or not. He was, just for good measure, but added a winning smile.