They waste the rest of the day around Times Square, winding in and out of shops, around people and places, pausing to cross the street, kissing in that second of spare time before they dash across the road, their hands clasped and slightly sweaty between them.

Blaine can't stop grinning; that adorable, dopey, wide-eyed grin which causes Kurt to smile every time he sees it, reminding him of the first time he came to Times Square and how he fell head over heels in love with it, and remembering too the first time he walked down the street holding another boys hand without being frightened.

They end up eating lunch in some swanky little café which is far too overpriced, the service and quality of their food considered, but they're both too distracted to notice or really care, their feet tangling beneath the table as they smile and laugh. And it takes them too long to eat because they keep pausing to laugh and tell this story and that story, to touch the others hand, wrist, forearm. To stretch their willing fingers across the gap between them to just feel the warmth of the others skin as their feet dance unpractised beneath the table.

Kurt finishes his lunch and finds himself watching the curve and grasp of Blaine's fingers around his cutlery. It's odd, he thinks, that he notices these little things with Blaine which he's never noticed with anyone else before. But he notices the fact that Blaine uses the wrong hands for his knife and fork and the awkward angles he cuts at, the way he chews on only his left side. And my god, if these normally unnoticed and overlooked little facts aren't strangely cute he doesn't know what is.

So when Blaine's finished and he puts his fork down, dabbing at his mouth with his serviette, thanking the waitress far too profusely before asking for the bill, Kurt can't help but slip off his loose brogue, creeping his toes up Blaine's shin. Over the hard bone beneath denim, around to the yielding muscles of his calf, up up up, until he bridges the contours of Blaine's knee to slink along the seam of his thigh.

Blaine's eyebrows rise incrementally with every inch closer Kurt gets to his dick, which as usual around Kurt is making his jeans more uncomfortable by the second. Blaine wriggles a little on his seat, picking up his glass of water because he needs to do something with his hands, his thighs parting a little of their own accord, inviting Kurt closer.

Kurt smiles slowly at him, eyes darting down to his lips and back up to his eyes quickly, watching his pupils grow wider, endlessly black. Kurt adds more force along his inner thigh before stroking over Blaine's cock, half hard and straining. He smirks triumphantly when Blaine all but chokes on his water, eyes wide and lip automatically bitten and body tensed, coiled tight with desire and want and can-we-get-out-of-here.

But Kurt just continues stroking over Blaine's cock, eyes locked on Blaine's who looks stunned and speechless and so innocently sexy as Kurt's toes creep incrementally away, back down his thigh, along the line of his jeans before moving up again, until he feels Blaine's cock hardening more against his toes, a small whine and gasp escaping Blaine's throat with the contact.

The bill arrives and before Kurt has time to so much as look at it, Blaine has slammed some notes on the table, stood up, grabbed Kurt's hand and all but dragged him from the café.

They stumble out into the blazingly bright, dazzling light of day and Times Square and are both momentarily stunned. Blaine looks at Kurt and Kurt stares right back, 'what're we doing now?' Kurt silently asks.

And if the way Blaine's hand grabs and grips to Kurt's is any indication he can only guess they're heading home. There is no where in the world Kurt would rather be going.

So they stumble along the street, weaving between people, Kurt shooting smiles over his shoulder, seeing Blaine bite his apple-red lips and wanting nothing more than to sink his teeth into the flesh himself, to feel Blaine hot and hard and wanting against him.

Their hands are twined between them, knotted and coiled and holding tight so as to not get separated as Kurt drags them between hundreds of obsolete bodies, Blaine's thumb thrumming a rhythm against his knuckle. And god it's too much, it's like a clock counting down to a bomb and the bombs about to explode as Kurt bolts around a corner, into a small alley, dragging Blaine startled behind him.

"Where are we-"

Blaine's words are cut off mid sentence as Kurt pushes him against a wall, hard, his back against brick and body against body, lips against lips and moans sucked from chests, so very, achingly willingly. Kurt presses closer, presses his thighs against Blaine's, his hips, his crotch, stomach, chest, hands on his neck, curved to his shoulder, holding him tight and unmoving and Blaine just opens up beneath Kurt and lets him take.

Blaine's hands are everywhere, wanting everything and every part and never satisfied as they feel their way over every slip and slope of Kurt's body, the juts and angles of his bones and the delicious, rounded tightness of his muscles, strong arms which hold him pressed against the wall. His hands settle on Kurt's tiny waist, down to his hips, slinking an inch below the fabric of his jeans as his body arches and my god, they're in the middle of the street, filthily making out against a brick wall and Blaine has never been so turned on in his life.

Eventually Kurt pulls back, after a million seconds and minutes and maybe even years, and he looks at Blaine with wide blown pupils through the filter of his lashes, his breath hot and sweet and heady on Blaine's lips when he whispers, "I want you."

"You have me," Blaine replies instantly, staring readily upwards, his body still caught between the firm, hot, yielding press of Kurt and the inescapable wall. Kurt smirks against his lips, his jaw, neck, collarbones as he sighs and sinks impossibly closer.

"Let's go home," Kurt suggests into Blaine's kissed-warm skin, as if they hadn't already been heading there.

But Blaine just nods, willing and wanting and pliant in Kurt's hands.

Kurt drags him from the wall, along the street and down steps and onto the subway, and it's literally heaving, bodies and more bodies, shouting and talking and music played too loud through earphones. So Kurt drags Blaine in front of him again, kisses his ear, "stay close," he says, as if Blaine would go anywhere.

They wait for their train and it's cramped and cluttered, which is just another excuse to stay inseparably close, pressed side to side, hand to hand, arm to arm, their bodies thrumming to the rhythm stretched taut and quivering between them. The train arrives and they bustle on and end up in the corner of the carriage, Kurt's back pressed into the right angle, Blaine caught in the slight V of Kurt's legs.

Blaine back is against Kurt's chest, ass to crotch and neck to lips and Kurt takes advantage of the situation. He slides an arm low and loose around Blaine waist and holds him close and can't resist slipping his lips along the hem of Blaine's shirt, along his sun-kissed skin, salty with sweat and sweet with shower gel, intoxicatingly enticing.

Blaine turns in his arms all of a sudden, caged in the angle of Kurt's spread legs, so gladly imprisoned as he steps forward, looking up so unknowingly, naively, innocently gorgeous, wanton and willing and Kurt feels his dick grow harder in his jeans, feels his hands tense at his sides and his breathing become shallower. Kurt never thought innocence would really be a thing for him, but with Blaine stood untouched and touchable in the cage of his limbs, long lashes and big eyes and fuck me hips, it takes all of Kurt's self control to not push him up against the sliding door and just absolutely ravish him.

But he doesn't, he can't, and the journey passes painfully, achingly slowly, their eyes catching and hands lingering and longing to stretch and touch and pull and god, it's never taken this long to get back to the apartment before.

But then they're there, the announcement calling their stop and Kurt throws his manners out the proverbial window as he pushes and shoves through the crowd, drags Blaine to street level, kisses him in the bright, open, ever-seeing daylight which swims around them and marvels at the shocks of desire which spark down his spine. As if he hasn't kissed Blaine a hundred times already.

They walk home quickly, in silence but for their hearts thumping in their ears, the howl of the city around them. Through the main door, into the elevator, lips and hands roaming unrestrained for the half a minute before Blaine drags Kurt by his lapels out, through the door, fiddling with the keys and dropping them on the floor.

The door slams shut of it's own accord as shoes are kicked from feet, flies fiddled with, undone but jeans not quite removed before Blaine pushes Kurt hard against the arm of the couch, making him topple, heaving Blaine's hot body on top of his.

And they're finally where they want to be. Together and alone all at once, the apartment empty and quiet and their bodies willingly succumbing.

They kiss, fast and filthy, lips and tongues and teeth and Blaine's on top, his weight wonderful and heavy and perfect against Kurt who spreads his legs, lets Blaine slot into the gap as his tongue slides along the seam of Kurt's lips, forcing it's way inside.

And Kurt likes it. Kurt likes that he's taking charge, likes that he's on top. Kurt likes being pressed down, held down. He likes Blaine's hands on his skin and lips on his skin and Blaine's crotch pressing down and fuck, he should not be this close already. He should not be moaning quite so loud and begging quite so insuccintly and fuckfuckfuck when did Blaine learn to lick along the tendons of his necks, teeth closing around an earlobe as his hands run over his skin, rough and ready beneath Kurt's top.

Blaine swiftly unbuttons Kurt's shirt, reveals his chest and sinks his lips over the flush which has spread over Kurt's body. He pinches a nipple, sucks pale skin into his mouth, moans when Kurt bucks up, presses his own hips down in return as Kurt's eyes roll back. Blaine's nails are short but sharp on Kurt's shoulders and down his chest and along the tender, sensitive skin of his stomach, so close and so far and so so so good and so not enough and oh-

Blaine's hips are pressing down, hard cocks rubbing together through denim and cotton and impatience and Kurt's hands skate down the slope of Blaine's spine, forcing their way beneath Blaine's jeans to cup his ass, to feel it firm in his palms, hard when he tenses as he thrusts and Kurt's neck falls back, exposed and exponentially increasing his pleasure with every tender-rough touch, as he bucks and arches and moans and wants

Because Blaine is so good above him, small and nimble but heavy, broad palms, sharp fingers, rocking hips and wet, roaming tongue, in Kurt's mouth, down his neck, around his nipple, everywhere all at once and Kurt can't keep up. His head is full of every touch and drag, every breathy gasp and moan and the sharp shoots of desire fissuring through his body, the smell of Blaine around him and his taste on his tongue and the dark, tangled mess of his hair as he presses his lips in worship down Kurt's sternum.

Kurt arches off the couch, over and over, pressing and wanting more, taking more, moans escalating in length and growing in volume and it just seems to encourage Blaine, whose body speeds up above him, hands everywhere and lips and tongue and teeth just tasting Kurt's skin, his hips canting and his dick pressing and his ass the perfect fit in Kurt's palms. Fire unfurls down Kurt's spine and a haze swims around the edges of his vision as he breaks and twists in the air and chokes on a moan.

He comes in his jeans for the first time in years with Blaine breathing and heaving, hot and heavy in his ear, hips rolling and pressing as Kurt's stomach muscles convulse, body writhing and head fallen back, eyes closed, lips open, welcoming Blaine's tongue as Kurt's hands tighten around the ass in his hands before he slumps, sated and sleepy and settled.

Blaine's hip roll one, two, three more times, his kiss turning to a gasp on Kurt's neck as he comes, long and drawn out and quivering against and above and around Kurt before be collapses in a heap, against the body beneath him, hot and loose and pliant, Kurt's heart beating beneath his ear.

Silence expands between them, comfortable and encompassing, and Kurt's hands slip from Blaine's jeans and settle on the small of his back, inching the fabric of his polo up the smallest degree to rub the bare skin there, downy with hairs and damp with sweat and Blaine mumbles something incoherent and garbled into his chest.

"What'd you say?" Kurt asks, voice gruff from moaning and low from exhaustion.

"You came first," Blaine repeats, turning his head gently to smile almost proudly at Kurt, stretching his back and unintentionally pressing his hips against Kurt's, making them both wince with the unwelcome wetness.

"Mm," Kurt mumbles into his hair, "I did," he says, unable to deny the truth, breathing in Blaine's smell and practically drowning in the now familiar scent. "I don't think I've come in my pants since I was a teenager," Kurt laughs.

"Same," Blaine deadpans, nuzzling his nose against Kurt's neck and feeling the vibrations of Kurt's laughter against his lips as he kisses the skin there.

Blaine's hand is splayed unintentionally over Kurt's heart, and in his palm he feels it beat, slowing down to normal as they both relax. A hand cards through his hair, long fingers and slightly scraping nails and he practically purrs beneath Kurt's touch, rolling his neck to press his head back further. He catches Kurt's eye and can't help but giggle, tucking his head into the crook of his neck and running his hand down the warm slope of Kurt's ribs.

"I know we left in a bit of a rush," Blaine starts, "but I really enjoyed Times Square," he admits.

Kurt laughs again, stroking down Blaine's neck as he replies, "I'm glad," is all he says.

"It's nice to be able to go with someone who's actually into like, Broadway and that," Blaine mumbles into Kurt's skin. "I mean, Coop would've gone with me but… I dunno," he shrugs and shifts a little above Kurt, "it's just better with someone who's into the same stuff," he tries to explain.

Kurt hums in agreement beneath him, happy to have made him happy. "Speaking of your brother," he says, tilting Blaine's face up to look at him, "we should probably get moving; I doubt he'll be much longer."

Blaine grumbles something under his breath before reluctantly detangling himself from Kurt, scrunching his face at the dampness in his underwear. "We should probably wash our pants as well," he suggests, as Kurt stands up, stretching his arms over his head and laughing again.

Kurt's shirt is still unbuttoned, exposing his long chest, accentuated when he stretches, pink nipples and the rungs of his ribs, warm skin stretched tight over the bones and Blaine gawks for a moment, feeling his cock begin to stir again as he stares at the sharp angles of Kurt's hip, unintentionally licking his lips.

"Too soon tiger," Kurt says through his stretch, watching Blaine's eyes roam hungrily over his body before Kurt pulls him by his shirt forward, sliding their lips together one final time. He shiver involuntarily as Blaine's hands slip over his bare skin, settling on his waist, fingers curling, thumbs rubbing just beneath his ribs.

"For you maybe," Blaine breaths against his lips, surging up onto his tiptoes for more.

But Kurt just laughs, holding him back with hands on his hips. "You're impossible," he says with a smile.

"I think the word you're looking for is insatiable," Blaine responds, settling for his neck instead, decorating it with kisses.

"Dork," Kurt rolls his eyes, pushing him away again, unable to wipe the grin off his face. And Blaine just smiles back, laughter in his golden eyes as he bites his bottom lip, and Kurt is struck again by how unknowingly, sinfully beautiful this boy is.

/

"So what big adventure have I missed out on today?" Cooper asks not long after getting home, jacket thrown over a chair before he wanders through the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and gulping it down.

Blaine fills him in on their day, leaving out certain details of course, getting over excited as he talks and ignoring his brother's numerous eye rolls, the glances Cooper and Kurt share when he gets particularly enthralled in his story.

When he finishes Cooper's grinning like an idiot, shaking his head at Blaine's enthusiasm. "Did you take the subway?" he then asks, glancing between the two of them. Blaine leant against the sofa back, Kurt on his laptop at the dining table they never use.

"Yeah, why?" Blaine asks, still smiling.

"Kurt, d'you remember Danny?" Cooper asks, turning to face Kurt.

Kurt stops typing mid word, his stomach beginning to churn unexplainably. "No…" he replies, looking up slowly, "Danny who?"

"Danny from my linguistics class? You met him at New Years I think."

Kurt's eyes narrow infinitesimally, staring at Cooper where he's stood waiting for an answer. "I remember him," he eventually replies, "why?"

Cooper does a weird half-shrug, takes another gulp of his beer, before replying, "I saw him earlier when I was leaving the library, he said he saw you on the subway."

Kurt's heart plummets through his feet as a lump rises in his throat, his fingers tense atop his keyboard and the rush of blood in his ears is almost deafening. But his face remains stoic, his expression blank, and he resists all temptations to dart his eyes over to Blaine, who he's pretty sure he saw almost fall from where he's perched on the sofa back.

"He did?" Kurt replies, struggling to keep his voice even as dread swims in his stomach.

Cooper nods, hazards a look at Blaine who more by luck than anything else just looks confused, not like his heart is pounding a hundred beats a minute as it really is. "Yeah," Cooper begins, "both of you actually," he glances between them again quickly, "he was being kind of weird to be honest," Cooper finishes, scrunching his nose slightly. And if Kurt wasn't on the verge of a heart attack he probably would have found it strangely adorable how similar the two brothers are.

But now's not the time for noticing similarities between the two of them.

"Weird how?" he asks, turning his attention back to his computer screen, trying to act uninterested. Out of the corner of his eye Kurt sees Cooper shrug before replying.

"I dunno," he scrunches his face again, looks over at Blaine and back to Kurt, "said you guys were like, all over each other or something."

Blaine gasps, small and shocked and to Cooper it sounds indignant, while to Kurt he knows it's fearful. Because Kurt feels the same. Feels the same wave of dread wash over his body, fear settling low in his stomach, anticipation making his hands shake and his jaw clench and his throat dry out. He turns his head slowly to look at Cooper, stood waiting for a reply, and Kurt hopes more than anything that his expression doesn't betray him to the war of emotions raging in his body.

"'All over each other?'" he repeats, words quiet and throat dry as he furrows his brow, trying to act confused when really he just feels sick. Because is this it? If Cooper knows, then it's all over.

No more kisses and smiles and touches. No more hands on Blaine's supple, warm body, over his skin and through his hair and around his dick. No more tangled limbs and giggles into necks and lessons in how to elicit the most beautiful sounds from Blaine, learning what makes him moan high and long, what makes him gasp.

"Yeah," Cooper replies, "he said you were bo-"

Kurt speaks over him swiftly, not needing to hear the details of what this friend may well have seen, "what the fuck Cooper," Kurt half-shouts, trying to hold onto the bravery and anger which has flooded his body. "Can I ask where we were when we were apparently 'all over each other'?" Kurt sneers, gritting his teeth in what he hopes is a realistic portrayal of offended.

It seems to have worked though, if Cooper's startled face is any indication, "don't shoot the messenger Kurt, jeez. Said you were on line F," he shrugs again, glancing round at Blaine, who looks like a child watching his parents fight, eyes wide, knuckles white where they're gripping the sofa back.

"We weren't even on line F today," Kurt scowls, rolling his eyes as he turns back to his laptop, heart still thundering in his chest as he tries to lie his way out of Cooper's accusations.

"Why would you use a different line for Times Sqaure?" Cooper asks, frowning a little.

"We ended up walking quite a way for lunch so we had to get a different line, why does it matter what frigging line we got?"

"Alright Kurt, sorry, jeez," Cooper replies, shooting Blaine a 'what's up with this guy?' look. "It's not like I believed him anyway, no need to be a dick about it," Cooper says, rolling his eyes at Blaine, who opens his mouth as if to speak, and quickly closes it when Kurt talks.

"I am not 'being a dick about it'," Kurt sneers, turning his attention back to Cooper, "I just don't like being accused of stuff I haven't done. Especially not because of a guy who hasn't got the common courtesy to check the people he's talking about are actually who he thinks they are," Kurt says in a huff, moodily shuffling on his chair, biting his cheek as he turns away.

"Why are you so angry about this?" Cooper asks, putting his beer down on the table beside Kurt's laptop, causing him to look up.

And Kurt stares up for a few seconds, into the face of his best friend, Blaine's older brother. And for the first time he wonders how Cooper would react if he knew. Not that he wants to find out.

"I'm not angry about it," Kurt says, trying to calm himself down now the initial threat of discovery seems to have worn off. "I just can't believe you believed him," he then says, looking away again, not quite brave enough to maintain eye contact.

Cooper laughs, picking his beer back up and sauntering over to Blaine, "I told you I didn't believe him," he says with a smile and another eye roll. "Not like little Blainey here is exactly your type anyway," he says, ruffling Blaine's hair and laughing loudly when his brother squirms away from him.

Kurt looks round again at that, sees the small smile which stretches Blaine's face when he looks at his brother, feels his own heart lurch at the way that same smile disappears as soon as he looks away, morphing into a frown, the corners turned down slightly. His hazel eyes slink slowly up for a second, locking with Kurt's, a strange, indecipherable shine in them before he blinks away rapidly.

Instead of saying anything in response though Kurt just laughs half heartedly, unable to take his eyes off Blaine, who looks suddenly smaller and more vulnerable than Kurt's ever seen him. Kurt watches the splay and grip of his hands where they remain holding the back of the couch, the way his curls fall loose over his forehead, the twitch of a fake smile when Cooper hip bumps him.

And Kurt wants nothing more than to go to him, to tilt his face up and kiss away his frown, to tell him Cooper has no idea what he's talking about and to make sure Blaine knows he's beautiful and wanted and definitely Kurt's type. But he can't. So instead he turns away and tries to focus on the email he was writing and distract himself, but no matter how hard he tries he can't help but wonder how Cooper would react if he was to find out.