"My dad found out about us."

Blaine sucks in a breath, tosses out one last piece of bread to the ducks. For early February, it's a fairly warm day, and Blaine had taken Kurt to his favorite spot in Central Park, a beautiful spot with a sprawling view of the cityscape. "Did you tell him?"

Kurt shakes his head and chews on a thumbnail. He crosses his legs and nudges the frames of his wannabe Ray-Bans up his nose. "Finn called—he's my stepbrother—and Rachel told him, and then he told my dad."

"Who told you."

Kurt winces at the memory, but nods. "Yeah, he called me."

Blaine sighs and leans back against the bench, adjusting his own Armani sunglasses. "How bad was it?"

Kurt laughs, though it's slightly dry and humorless, and looks at Blaine out of the corner of his eye as a woman jogs past them. "Well, it could have been worse, let's leave it at that. I managed to talk him down, though I think he's also mad because I've been hiding it and haven't called them since before we started seeing each other."

"You haven't?"

"I didn't want to tell him about you yet, and I knew he'd ask if I'd found a special guy yet, and I hate lying to my dad. He was all I had a long time, you know? We've always been honest with each other."

Blaine nods slowly, re-crossing his legs. He doesn't say anything for a minute or so, and Kurt stews in his own maybe I should haves and this was a dumb decisions. It's not that he regrets not telling his dad—in a way, he doesn't, because his dad really is the most important person Kurt has. He'd accepted Kurt when there had been the fear and possibility that he wouldn't, and he'd done his best all those years ago to make everything at least appear okay after Kurt's mom died.

Burt just wants the best for him, Kurt knows. And he doesn't blame his dad for yelling. But, Kurt is also an adult now. He's on his own, he can make his own choices, and he's not as naïve as everyone thinks he is. He didn't accept Blaine just because he's handsome or because he has an account balance with more zeroes than most people could ever dream of having. He'd accepted Blaine because it's not often that Kurt feels like he does when he hears Blaine's voice, or sees a text message from him, or even kisses him.

It's because you love him.

And there's the problem—love. It's what Kurt feels when he looks over now and lets himself leisurely stare at the curve of Blaine's jaw, the slight bump in his nose, the full, softly pink lips. When he sees Blaine, he sees a future. And it is, honestly, terrifying for him. Over the past few days, Kurt's typed it out in text, had opened his mouth in the middle of Blaine talking, but ultimately he'd erased those three little words, had snapped his jaw shut before he could let himself fully think about what he was going to do. None of those times had felt right, and Kurt wants it to be perfect.

He's snapped out of his thoughts by Blaine's hand on his, and he easily slips his fingers through the slots of Blaine's, and smiles. Blaine takes off his sunglasses, squinting against the afternoon sun, and Kurt watches the crow's feet fan out, watches the sharpness of the gold highlighted by the sun in Blaine's irises.

He leans over quickly, steals a kiss from Blaine, and bites his lip as he pulls away. Blaine's fingers flex in his grip, and he isn't sure what he did to get so damn lucky.

"Cheeky," Blaine teases, nudging Kurt playfully. He leans in, presses a kiss to Kurt's cheek. "So was your dad okay with us being together?"

Kurt nods slowly, feeling a little thrill at the acknowledgement of them as boyfriends, at the warm press and memory of Blaine's lips. "I think so. He said he wants to meet you."

Blaine sucks in a breath, chews at his lower lip. "Okay."

"He just wants you to be, and I quote, a 'goddamn gentlemanly saint.' Think you can manage?"

Blaine laughs and scoots closer so that their thighs are touching. "If that's all he wants, I think we'll be okay."

A light breeze picks up, ruffling Kurt's hair. He almost wants to say it now, and now would honestly be as perfect a time as any: there's no one around, the weather is perfect, the view is perfect, they're holding hands, and Kurt feels the words on the tip of his tongue, I love you, I love you I love you I love you—

But then Blaine's phone rings, and he gives Kurt an apologetic look as he glances at the screen and says, "Client. I'm sorry, honey, hold on."

Kurt sighs and crosses his arms, staring at the city across the lake. He feels relieved, too, because he still isn't sure if Blaine feels the same way. He settles for listening to Blaine talk as he checks his own phone, and when he looks up to find Blaine staring at him in a way Kurt's never seen, open and raw and amazed, Kurt smiles and decides that maybe it can wait for a little while longer. As long as Blaine never stops looking at him like that.

----

It's funny, Kurt thinks. Love is supposed to be this great rollercoaster ride, one you do blind, where you can't see the twists and curves and unexpected corkscrews. But being in love with Blaine...it's like he's been given eyes, brand new ones that allow him to see what had been there all along. It's so obvious that he wonders how he hadn't seen it before, the way Blaine makes him feel secure, safe, like he's holding the universe in his hands and it's all for Kurt. And, at the same time, Kurt's surprised at how normal he feels, like everyone should feel this way all the time, and why hadn't he before?

Blaine deserves to know what he does to Kurt, and Kurt wants to tell him, wants to so badly. He wants to be able to say it every night when Blaine calls, and every morning when Blaine texts. He wants to say it idly, and say it seriously. He wants Blaine to know how serious Kurt is about them, how much he wants this relationship to last.

But that, however, is the terrifying part.

Kurt's still a little mad at Rachel, and he feels guilty at making her walk around eggshells for the better part of a week, but he figures that, if nothing else, maybe she'll learn to keep her mouth shut when it comes to other people's business. He won't be mad forever, especially not with them being the only people in the apartment, but he needs to get it out of his system.

This morning Rachel is gone already when Kurt heads to the kitchen to eat before he goes into work. All that's there is a note on the table next to a plastic-wrapped giant blueberry muffin from the bakery around the corner that Kurt favors so much.

Kurt—

I had an emergency rehearsal for a group project in my dance class, and I'm not sure when I'll be back. If you're still mad at me, I really am sorry. I bought you a muffin because I didn't have time to bake you my "I'm sorry" sugar cookies.

I love you,
Rachel

Kurt smiles, shakes his head and grabs the muffin. Rachel does mean well most of the time, and if Kurt wants to be honest he does miss her. It wouldn't be so terrible to have a heart-to-heart, would it? They could sit down and talk maturely and rationally about, and then Kurt could have his best friend back. He stops by the mirror on his way out, gives his outfit a final once-over, and, still smiling, leaves the apartment.

----

"So, Kurt."

The voice comes out of nowhere, and Kurt jumps in his seat, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his shout. He hadn't heard anyone come in, and when he looks over to see Isabelle standing a few feet away, he knows why. That woman is like a cat, despite her six-inch heels. "Jesus, Isabelle," Kurt gasps, letting his hand flutter to his heart as it pounds fast-fast-fast. "You scared me."

Isabelle laughs and walks forward until she's scant inches away from Kurt's desk, her Trésor perfume blanketing them like a cloud. "Good morning," she says lightly.

"Good morning," Kurt replies, skepticism heavy in his voice. He taps a button on the keyboard, the screen slowly melting from black to the blue of the start screen. He types in his username and password, side-eyeing her the entire time as she looks idly at the pens and post-its on his desk. "Do you...need anything from me?"

"Oh, no." Isabelle waves it away, smoothes down the peplum on her dress, and Kurt nods approvingly at her outfit—not like he'd expected any less, though. "I just wanted to tell you some rumors that I heard last night at the launch of Calvin Klein's new campaign."

"Rumors about what, exactly?"

"Oh, this and that." Isabelle opens a drawer, and Kurt gets the overwhelming urge to slap her hands away. He likes her, but he doesn't like her nosiness. "Mainly things about Blaine Anderson and a very cute young boy."

Kurt gulps, feeling his eyes widen, his hands hovering just above the keys. "W-What about Blaine Anderson and a cute young boy?"

"Just that they've been seen together a lot. Ice-skating, holding hands in the park, kissing...stuff like that. And when someone showed me a picture, imagine my surprise when I should see my favorite young intern, Kurt Hummel, leaving one of the city's trendiest restaurants hand-in-hand with the man responsible for half the model contracts in the fashion industry as of the new 2013 quarter."

"Oh." Kurt's voice is small, and he shrinks in his chair. "Yeah. About that."

Isabelle is silent for a moment, then she laughs, and Kurt feels more confused than he'd like. She'd sounded grave, somber, as she'd told him the news, and for a moment Kurt was sure that his job was in jeopardy, as was his reputation.

"Kurt! Oh, sweetie, you're not in trouble. Hell, if I could snatch up Blaine Anderson I would, too, but that man is harder to get than the new Chloé bag. This leaves me, and half the people in Manhattan, wondering how you did it."

Kurt shrugs, lips curling into a smile as he ducks his head and stares at his fingers as he types into the Google search bar. He's not entirely sure, either, but he chooses to not dwell on it anymore. He's just happy to be happy, to have a boyfriend.

He says, fondly, "I ran into him. Literally."

----

Mail brings Kenny at exactly ten o'clock, and Kurt is surprised to see a package in his hand with his name on it. Kenny hands it to him, eyebrows raised, and Kurt takes it with a sheepish smile and a brisk thanks. He puts it down on the desk and goes back to look at the file he'd been handed earlier, but Kenny doesn't go away, and after two excruciating minutes Kurt finally gives an exasperated sigh and shuts the file, looking up.

"Is there something you wanted, Kenny?"

"You are a curiously popular person all of the sudden," Kenny replies. Kurt does not like the deceptive, light tone of his voice, nor does he like the suspicion that's edge in there as well.

"I'm a charmer, what can I say," Kurt replies glibly, giving a shrug. "Now can I please finish reading in peace?"

"Don't you want to open it?"

"I can do it later, on my lunch break."

Kenny picks up the package and hands it to him, staring pointedly at Kurt until he accepts with and reluctantly tears it open. The package had been slightly heavier than normal, and when Kurt opens it he sees why.

In his hand is the signature black sleeve for Ray-Bans and in that is a pair of tortoiseshell wayfarers. He sucks in a breath, eyes widening, and cradles them gently. A small yellow scrap of paper peeks out from the case, and Kurt dislodges it, flipping it over to read it.

Kurt—

You can get rid of the ones you were wearing the other day now that you have the real deal ;)

xx Blaine

"You must really be putting out for him."

Kenny's voice knocks Kurt out of his thoughts, and the smile he'd had upon seeing the note slowly slips off his face as he blinks. "I—I'm not."

Kenny raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "Are you sure?" he asks levelly. There is a hint of drawling skepticism in his voice. "Because you're getting an awful lot of stuff. Expensive stuff."

"We're dating," Kurt snaps, suddenly feeling his temper rise. He quickly stows away the sunglasses in a drawer, tries to act like what Kenny's saying isn't bothering him even as it touches over and over on some hidden nerve deep inside him. Kenny doesn't need to pry, to know about Blaine's insistence that he buy anything and everything for Kurt, even when Kurt doesn't ask. He knows how that looks to others, to those who just don't understand, and he doesn't want to discuss it or argue about it anymore.

"Are you sure about that?"

"He asked me to be his boyfriend, and I said yes. Simple as that."

"Nothing's ever as simple as that," Kenny replies. "If he's buying you all of this and you're still not fucking him, then maybe it's a hint. Or maybe Blaine just said you were boyfriends, bought you all of this stuff, to get into your pants." He shrugs. "It wouldn't surprise me, someone like him."

Kurt stares unseeing at his computer as Kenny walks away. His stomach roils, lurches treacherously, and he feels the muffin try to claw its way back up his throat. Kenny can't be right. Blaine can't want...that. They haven't talked about it, and Blaine had never expressly mentioned anything about wanting more than what they have.

But could he be right? Blaine isn't young, and Kurt knows he's a lot more experienced. He can't miss having sex since he's never had it, but what if Blaine does, and this is his way of asking Kurt about taking that next step?

Or...could Blaine really be using him?

No. Kurt shakes his head, sets his jaw and opens the file back up. Kenny is wrong, jealous asshole who wishes that his fiancé would buy him extravagant gifts and send appropriately sappy texts messages and voicemails. That's it: jealousy. There's no other explanation.

As much as Kurt tries to force himself to believe it, to not take Kenny's words to heart, he hears them in his head on repeat for the rest of the day.

He's using you.

Maybe it's a hint.

You love Blaine, but Blaine's never going to love you.

----

Rachel's already home when Kurt unlocks the loft's door, and from the acrid smell of smoke and charred tofu, she's less cooking and more mutilating. Kurt's stomach rebels, and he winces, already strung and on-edge from wondering if everything he'd thought he'd had was a lie after all.

"Kurt!" Rachel appears around the corner, and he accepts the hug, squeezing her tight and letting out a sigh. It feels good to be close to someone after the day he's had, and he'll even accept not eating tonight or calling up Chinese again. "How was your day?"

Kurt shakes his head, sighs. He unbuttons his coat and heads to his partitioned-off room, dropping it and his bag on the bed. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Rachel makes a sympathetic noise, then disappears back off to the kitchen. Kurt follows after a moment, cracking his neck. He checks his phone for messages, but he has none, and though he knows that Blaine, as a businessman, is busier than Kurt is, it still makes his heart drop a little more.

"Well," Rachel begins, walking briskly toward him with a small package in her hands, "if it'll make you feel better, this arrived just before you got here."

Kurt accepts it after a moment's hesitation, eyeing it, then her, warily. Blaine's slanted handwriting is on the label, and that little ball of dread grows just that much larger. He's careful in opening it, tearing away paper and tape, and he gasps at the same time Rachel does when he pulls out a robin's-egg-blue box wrapped expertly with a white silk ribbon.

"Oh my god," Rachel gasps, raising her hands to her mouth as her eyes go wide.

Kurt's jaw drops, and he feels his hands begin to shake. Blaine had already gotten him sunglasses, what else could he possibly have bought? And from Tiffany's, of all places? He knows that Blaine had said to just sit back and accept, and Kurt had agreed, but this...this is too much.

"Open it!" Rachel exclaims. "Kurt, oh my god, I'm dying."

Silently, Kurt unties the ribbon, letting it hang from his hand like limp, gossamer curtains, and opens the lid of the box.

Inside is a sterling silver and titanium cuff edged in black and etched with roman numerals in the middle. It's...beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it, Kurt thinks as he stares in awe and slowly lifts it, reverently, from the white silk cushion. He doesn't put it on.

He wants to love it. He wants to accept his first gift from Tiffany's without a problem, but he can't. Kenny's voice is still playing in his head as his ears begin to ring. He can't do this anymore. Not if it's a lie.

"I have to go," Kurt says, suddenly. He turns and rushes to grab his coat, his wallet, pocketing the bracelet as he goes. He runs on autopilot, not hearing Rachel's confused questions as she follows him.

"Where are you—? Kurt!"

Kurt leaves without another word, sliding the door shut hard behind him as he takes the stairs two at a time.

----

When the cab pulls up to Blaine's building, Kurt throws a wad of cash at him, not even sure if it's the correct amount, which it probably isn't, before rushing away, yanking open the doors and running into the nearest elevator. The woman at the desk yells out something, but Kurt ignores her as he furiously presses the top button, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eye to push back the sting of tears.

When the elevator finally dings and the doors slide open, Kurt rushes out. He's almost at Blaine's door when he sees someone walk out, someone tall and blond and gorgeous. He doesn't spare Kurt a second glance as he breezes past, head held high as he accepts the open doors of the elevator. Kurt swallows hard, and he wonders if it had been a smart decision to come here at all.

But the bracelet is heavy in his pocket, and he forces himself to keep going. He needs answers, and as he knocks hard on Blaine's door, he's determined to get them one way or another.

A few seconds later Blaine is opening his door, a manila envelope in his hand and reading glasses perched on his nose. Kurt blinks, taken aback at this new sight, but he rights himself quickly, shaking his head and staring Blaine down.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, surprised. He opens his door wider, and Kurt can see Blaine's gray sweatpants and black wife-beater. It's shocking to see him so casual, no gel in his hair, no bowties or designer jeans. "What are you doing here?"

But Blaine's voice brings him back, reminds him why he's here, and Kurt steps inside and drops his bag on the wood floor. The place smells warm, like home and apple cinnamon pies as a candle burns on the coffee table. He should probably jump into this slowly, ask Blaine about it rationally—it could take just a few minutes to rip off the band-aid and leave.

When he opens his mouth, though, none of that happens.

"Why was there another guy leaving your apartment?" he asks, clenching his hands into fists at his side.

Blaine sets down the envelope on the kitchen island and takes off his glasses, folding them and setting them on top. "What do you—?"

"The fucking boy leaving your fucking apartment!" Kurt's voice rises, and he doesn't try to tamp it down. "Did you bring him back here to fuck because I wasn't around? Are you fucking him because you're not fucking me?"

"Kurt, what on earth are you talking about?" Blaine looks genuinely concerned, and genuinely upset, but Kurt ignores him. He doesn't care anymore. If Blaine is going to use him, he's going to get out before it gets any worse. "Do you mean Alexander? The blond guy? He was one of my prospective models—he was just dropping off some headshots for me to look at."

"I don't believe you." Kurt had meant for it to come out forceful, but it comes out soft, scared, quiet and afraid. He hunches in on himself, biting his lip, and looks down at the floor.

"Kurt, darling, please," Blaine begins, pleads. "Why would I lie to you about something like that? Why would I need someone else when I have you? I don't care about sex."

"Bullshit," Kurt spits venomously. "Why else would you send me gifts I could have never even dreamed about affording?"

"Because I l—"

"You were my first kiss!" Kurt shouts. The hot, wet heat of a tear slides down his cheek, and the stunned vision of Blaine standing in front of him blurs. He doesn't care that it's not necessarily relevant right now: he'd still never told Blaine, and if he's leaving after this, well...now's as good a time as ever. "You were my first boyfriend, and I let myself fall for it! And then I fell for you!"

Blaine steps forward, placing a hand on Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt jerks back, choking out a sob. "Don't touch me. I'm sick of being used. I'm sick of believing a lie."

Blaine's fingers are gentle when he tips Kurt's face up, and Kurt refuses to look anywhere but the floor until Blaine says, softly, "Look at me."

And Kurt does, reluctantly, feeling the fight gradually leave him. Blaine's face betrays no strong emotion, but Kurt can see the faint shine of tears, the creased furrow of a brow. They stay like that, silent, Kurt's face wet with tears as his shoulders shake, and when Blaine moves slowly in for a kiss, Kurt doesn't stop him.

He lets himself drown in it, falls into the deep end and doesn't try to come back up for air as he wraps his arms around Blaine's neck. The tang of salt and the slick of his tears is between them, ad Kurt kisses Blaine desperately, clinging to him. And then—he knows. This is the moment.

When they pull away, Kurt says it, soft and breathy and slightly broken. "I love you."

Their noses nudge, and Blaine breathes, "You love me?"

Kurt nods, cupping Blaine's cheek as he kisses him again, and again-again-again. "I love you."

Blaine's hand curls around Kurt's neck. "I love you, too," he replies, and Kurt pulls back to see him smiling, soft and genuinely earnest. How could he have doubted Blaine? How could he let himself become so overwrought with made-up emotions like he had, and to accuse Blaine of all of that?

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh." Blaine kisses him again. "Don't be. It's okay. I've got you." He pulls Kurt close, hums out something nameless, and Kurt presses his face into the crook of Blaine's neck, into familiar cologne and detergent and aftershave. Blaine is familiarity now—Blaine is home.

And it's why, when Kurt says it, he means it, he doesn't regret it. He isn't scared, really, not anymore, because Blaine is here. He loops his arms around Blaine's neck, kisses him again, and he breathes it out, soft and barely-there, "Make love to me."

Blaine's inhale is loud, surprised. "Are you sure?"

"I want you," Kurt breathes. "I've never wanted anyone like this, Blaine. I'm always going to want you, and that terrifies me almost more than sex."

Blaine hesitates, then nods. He steps back to put space between them, and when he holds out his hand, Kurt takes it immediately. Their fingers lock, Blaine's broad knuckles against his slender ones, and Blaine says, solemnly repetitive, "Are you sure?"

Kurt takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and nods. He looks at the stairs that he knows leads to Blaine's bedroom, and he looks at Blaine's face, at the loose, gray-flecked curls, honey-drip eyes, the slick pink mouth, and he knows. He's ready. He's—not scared, nervous, but he's ready.

Blaine leads them up the stairs, and once they reach the top, just shy of a closed door, Blaine pulls him close again, kisses Kurt until he's breathless and panting and flushed. "I love you," Blaine murmurs, and Kurt doesn't miss how his face lights up, how his lips curved specially to form those three little words, and Kurt giggles, feels giddy and light, and says it right back.

Then the door is opening and Kurt only has seconds to take in the crisp white of Blaine's carpet and walls, the dark burgundy of his duvet and curtains, before Blaine's hands are on his face and he's kissing him again, deep and dirty, and Kurt gasps when Blaine slides his tongue in, nips at Kurt's lower lip and draws it out before sucking.

He's dizzy with arousal, with this overwhelming desire to have and take, and he twists, grabbing onto Blaine's tank top, and then they're falling onto the bed, springs creaking as the plush duvet fluffs up around their bodies. Blaine laughs, a huff of air against Kurt's lips, and Kurt smiles as Blaine settles on top of him, wobbling unsteadily until he's situated.

Blaine leans down, presses a kiss at Kurt's throat that makes him sigh and tip his head back. "Hi."

Kurt's hands tangle in Blaine's hair, and he bites his lip as he says, "Hi."

Blaine stares down for a moment, silent, before saying, "I really am so, so lucky."

"You're just saying that because you're about to get laid."

"I mean it," Blaine insists. "You are...you are everything to me, Kurt."

Kurt swallows against the lump in his throat, blinks back the sting of tears. He runs his hands over the smooth skin of Blaine's shoulders, over the defined muscle and coarse hair of his chest. He'd never thought he'd be here, in bed with someone like this, and feel so full of emotion, of love, that he might burst if he doesn't express it somehow.

Blaine drops his body weight down onto Kurt as they kiss, and when Blaine shifts, grabbing Kurt's thigh to hike it up around his waist, Kurt feels, for the first time, Blaine's hard cock rub against his own. His body jolts, eyes rolling back, and Blaine kisses down his neck as he gasps. "Oh—god."

Blaine's tongue drags over salt-slicked skin, teeth sharp as he nips, but he doesn't suck a mark before he's sitting up and easily stripping off his shirt. Kurt gapes, doesn't care that he is as Blaine's muscles flex under his skin. He reaches up slowly, touches the subtle bumps of abdominals, the slight definition of pectorals. He thumbs over a nipple, and Blaine's back arches, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a tiny moan; Kurt's next touch is bolder as he runs his hand down Blaine's torso, following the dark trail of hair until it ends at the waistband of his sweats.

"You're gorgeous," Kurt says. His eyes stray to the slight bulge of Blaine's cock under his sweats, and this time, instead of apprehension, he feels excitement, an eagerness he's never felt before as the twisting, hot claws of arousal become more achingly insistent.

Blaine smiles, sliding his hands up under Kurt's shirt. The touch of fingers at the soft skin of his stomach has Kurt arching reflexively, gasping, and Blaine slowly pushes it up until Kurt gets the hint and sits up, stripping it off. He tosses it off to the side and falls back to the sheets, parted-lipped and wide-eyed. "What are...?" His voice squeaks, and he trails off, flushes and clears his throat. "What now?"

Blaine doesn't reply; instead, he slides down until he's straddling Kurt's thighs. He keeps eye contact, doesn't break it as he reaches down and cups Kurt through his jeans.

Kurt exhales in a moan, low and resonating, and he grabs at the sheets as Blaine squeezes, then rubs, slow and just the perfect side of rough. Kurt moans again when Blaine's hands go for his button and zipper, and his stomach twists up tight as the snick of metal echoes under his own pants. This is really happening. Blaine is really undoing his pants and pulling them off and tossing them to the floor.

Blaine's sweats follow seconds later, and Kurt stares at the hard line of his cock against the light gray of his boxer-briefs. "I want to..." He swallows hard, wets his lips and lets his eyes flicker up to Blaine's, finds that Blaine's are dark, hooded, that his lips are parted and shining wet, that his cheeks are flushed. "Can I touch you?"

Blaine takes Kurt's hand, scoots forward and guides it to his lap; Kurt lets his palm curve over Blaine's cock, sucks in a breath as he feels the twitch of hard flesh under his hand. He rubs over the head, the bulge of Blaine's balls, and asks, quick and stilted and still slightly uncertain, "Can I—I want to suck you off. Please."

Blaine shakes his head, and Kurt deflates for a moment before Blaine's leaning down to kiss him again, trailing a hand between them to rub over Kurt through his own underwear before slipping the waistband down and taking him in hand. "Tonight's all about you, baby," Blaine says against his lips.

When Blaine sinks his mouth down around Kurt's cock for the first time, Kurt shouts, arching up and grabbing hard at Blaine's hair. His eyes squeeze shut, and he wants to watch, wants to follow the bob of Blaine's head with his eyes, not just with his hand, but he knows if he looks it'll be all over. So he listens: the sucking-slurping noises of Blaine's mouth, the hungry inhales as he pulls off to lave his tongue over the length of Kurt's cock, then sinks back down to the circle of his fist.

And Kurt doesn't realize it until Blaine pulls off, tugs Kurt's underwear down, then his own, that he's been babbling, "I love you, oh my god, Blaine, I love you so much, I love you I love you I love you—"

He's cut off only by Blaine, by the sure firmness of his lips, the slick slide of his cock against Kurt's hips as he settles between Kurt's legs. He props himself up on one hand, runs his fingers through Kurt's hair and looks down. "Are you ready?"

"I'm so ready," Kurt murmurs, pulling Blaine down to kiss uncoordinated over his jaw, the scratchy stubble of his cheek. "I want you to fuck me. I want you."

Blaine is quick in stretching him, nimble fingers slick and working in, one by one, until Kurt's body yields and he's desperate for more, fucking down onto not enough, please, I need you. He bites onto the heel of his hand when Blaine's fingers brush over his prostate, and he has to bite his lip again to keep from crying out when Blaine slides his fingers out and reaches for the condom.

Kurt watches him roll it on, and then Blaine's hand is on his face. Kurt nods, knows what Blaine is asking without needing to hear it, and holds on to Blaine's bicep as he slowly pushes in.

Blaine groans, lets his head fall forward. "Oh, baby—"

"I love you," Kurt gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as the ridge of Blaine's cock stretches him, then the long, thick length of him as he finally slides fully in. He cradles the back of Blaine's head, pulls him down, and Blaine presses slick lips to Kurt's shoulder, his throat, his jaw, his lips. "Tell me you love me, please."

"I love you." Blaine doesn't hesitate. "I love you, Kurt, so much."

Kurt grabs Blaine's hand and brings it to his chest, over the fast, hard thump-thump-thump of his heart. "You do this to me. You make my heart beat so fast. At first I was scared, because I didn't know what to do. I'd never felt this way before. But then...I knew. I realized I knew it all along. I love you. I'm in love with you."

Blaine breathes out shuddery, lips parted, cheeks flushed. His eyes are bright, wondrous as they shimmer with the faint mirage of tears, and he looks at Kurt like it's the first time all over again. Slowly, he leans down, and slowly Kurt lifts up, meeting Blaine halfway as their mouths seal together, lips sliding languidly as Blaine shifts, pulling out before sliding back in.

Kurt wraps his legs around Blaine's waist as Blaine lets his hand fall to the bed, forehead creasing as he fucks in steadily, their skin slapping mutedly together where it echoes in the openness of the room. "Oh, god. Blaine—fuck. Harder. Please, harder."

Blaine grunts, low and primitive, and he obeys, speeding up his hips until the bed creaks. He sinks his teeth into Kurt's shoulder, sucks a mark there that he soothes with his tongue, and his voice is frayed as he says, "I love you."

"Say it again," Kurt groans, digging his head back into the pillows as he arches up into Blaine's next thrust, wraps a hand around his cock to ease the need of orgasm.

Blaine's lips trail up to Kurt's ear, and he tugs on the lobe before whispering, "I love you."

One more tug of his hand has Kurt coming with a high-pitched moan, clenching around Blaine's cock as his body arches, twists, before falling slack against the bed. He turns his head toward the pillow as Blaine continues to fuck into him harder and harder until he's finally tensing up and moaning as his hips stutter, cock pulsing as he comes into the condom.

When Kurt turns his head Blaine kisses him as their bodies buzz with numbing static, and Kurt can feel the stretch of his lips against his own. "Wow," Blaine says, and he pulls back to slide out, keeping his fingers tight around the open end of the condom until he can slide it off and tie it. He reaches for the box of tissues, wrapping the condom in one and handing the box to Kurt, who takes it with red-flushed cheeks. He wipes off his chest and holds the tissue awkwardly until Blaine takes pity on him and laughs, getting up and tossing everything into the trashcan.

He snuggles in close to Kurt when he gets back to the bed, and Kurt lets himself bask in the afterglow, staring up at the high ceiling as he lets it all sink in. He's had sex. He's not a virgin anymore. He loves his boyfriend, and his boyfriend loves him back.

"Oh my god," he says.

From beside him Blaine laughs, low and sated, and he nuzzles against Kurt's shoulder, rubbing a hand over Kurt's sweat-slicked chest. "My thoughts exactly."

"I want to keep saying 'I love you,'" Kurt says, "but I don't want to wear it out."

"I love you," Blaine says, kissing Kurt's shoulder. "Hey, speaking of...where's the bracelet I got you?"

Kurt stiffens, remembering why he'd come here in the first place. He shakes it off, though, as a thing of the past, a stupid misunderstanding. "It's in my jeans pocket." I was going to throw it in your face and storm out before you saved me from myself. "Why?"

But Blaine is already up and rotting through Kurt's jeans until he finds it and draws it out with a triumphant noise. When he gets back on the bed and all Kurt does is give him a confused look, Blaine raises an eyebrow and holds it out. "Look at it."

Kurt takes it and does, looking at the numerals and the shine of the platinum and titanium, at the letters on the inside...Wait. Letters. Kurt looks up at Blaine in shock before he's flipping the cuff around; there, on the inside in curving, etched letters, are those words, those powerful words Kurt had been so scared to say.

I love you.

He looks up again, and Blaine is looking at him, smiling softly. He looks so proud that Kurt is afraid he might start crying again. Blaine gently takes the cuff from him, urging Kurt's arm up. Kurt lets it hand there as Blaine eases the cuff on, then kisses at the prominent bone. He glances up through his lashes, and Kurt's stomach flips, somersaults, does anything and everything as his heart begins pounding again. This is what you do to me.

"I was hoping it would surprise you," Blaine says. "I wanted you to know how I feel."

But Kurt doesn't listen as he moves forward, closes the space and kisses Blaine as a few tears slide down his cheeks. He cups Blaine's face, slides his palm over stubble and yielding skin as their mouths move. "I am so in love with you."

The warm heat of a tear hits Kurt's finger as Blaine says, "I love you, too."

Then, suddenly as they pull away, Blaine asks, "Do you want to stay the night?" A sly smile, then he adds, "I've always said this bed was too big for just one person."

Kurt laughs, runs his fingers through Blaine's hair and admires the glint of his cuff in the light. "Yes. I'd love to stay the night with you."