They’re not drunk.

They barely drank enough alcohol throughout dinner to get tipsy.

And the little they did drink, they burn off laughing and cuddling in the taxi on the way home, making out in the stairwell on the way up to Blaine’s apartment, fighting with the front door because Blaine’s hands shake too much to get the key in the lock the first five times, slow dancing in the living room while they kiss some more, stripping off each other’s clothes to the rhythm of the music, eager to get to bed but not ready for this to end.

To prolong it, they converse while they dance and kiss and undress, exchanging little nothings, a background breath of conversation so it doesn’t seem like they’re there just for sex.

“You know, I love your apartment, Blaine,” Kurt murmurs while he undoes Blaine’s bowtie. “I love all this space. It’s rare that you find someone willing to commit to a two bedroom apartment just for themselves.”

“Well, it helps when you have a ridiculous amount of disposable income.” Blaine chuckles bashfully, working at the buttons on Kurt’s shirt with less success than he would like. “With the market the way that it is, sometimes I feel bad having a spare room just to store my instruments.”

“Are you kidding?” Kurt helps with the buttons, relocating Blaine’s hands down to his belt to speed things along. “I’d kill for my own sewing room.”

“But your loft is huge!” Blaine nibbles Kurt’s earlobe.

“And cold …” Kurt gasps when Blaine’s teeth lightly graze his skin “… and damp. I can’t leave any of my fabrics lying around. Everything would end up moist in the morning. It’s also in a scary neighborhood … and kind of lonely …”

“Oh, Kurt …” Blaine pauses between kisses to look in Kurt’s eyes “… I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Blaine found out on their third date that he and Kurt had a tremendous amount in common aside from being from Ohio. They were both in show choir in high school. They had both been bullied for being gay. They both moved to New York with dreams of someday performing on Broadway.

And they were both lonely.

Blaine lived alone by choice, but it wasn’t something he was used to. He’d gone from living with his mom and dad, to attending boarding school, then one plane ride later, he was alone. He doesn’t regret his decision not to live in the dorms. There are benefits to having his own apartment that far outweigh the benefits of rooming in a dorm. But he’s made one or two stupid decisions because of loneliness.

Decisions he’d rather forget.

Kurt moved to New York with his best friend – a plan they had conceived their junior year - but shortly after, she scored a role on Broadway, which segued into her own TV show. The show was canceled after the second episode, but she had moved to Los Angeles to film it and, since she had an agent finding her work, decided to stay.

She didn’t come back for the rest of her stuff. Kurt had to pack it up and send it to her.

As happy as Kurt was for her, he was sadder for himself. He had lived the dream of moving to New York with his bestie for a grand total of about six months before it ended.

But now Kurt and Blaine had each other. And if Blaine had his way, Kurt would never feel lonely again.

When they’ve gotten as far as they can removing clothes without breaking apart from one another, they stumble into the bedroom to sort out the rest. They trip over pant legs and hop to grab socks, chuckling and giggling and outright guffawing when Blaine’s misstep over Kurt’s feet lands them in a tangle on Blaine’s bed. They kiss and touch and whisper and smile, and all of the anxiety from earlier which caused Blaine’s subconscious slip of the tongue bleeds into obscurity.

Dating Kurt has been so easy. They meld together seamlessly. They complement one another effortlessly.

But making love to him is even more simple. It’s being alive, in all its vibrancy - in its bright colors and its soothing, muted shades; its symphonies and its lullabies. Kurt knows what he wants. It surprises Blaine how much. Blaine fumbles only a few seconds asking, “Did you know how … I mean, did you have an idea of how you wanted …?” while Kurt wordlessly produces a condom and rolls it down Blaine’s length, then a bottle of lube seemingly from nowhere.

It’s like a magic trick, but then everything Kurt does seems magical.

Kurt isn’t shy about asking for what he wants, another surprise considering a confession from days earlier where Kurt mentioned feeling like the sexual equivalent of a baby penguin back in high school, how he felt like puberty didn’t really kick in for him until his second year of college. He guides Blaine’s hands, commands gently, “Touch me, Blaine … there, please … no slower … yes, yes, just like that … now, kiss me …” so that there’s no doubt in Blaine’s mind, no question that Blaine can please him. Because he is, simply by following Kurt’s lead, and Blaine can’t get enough of him. He can’t get enough of kissing him and caressing him, figuring out the speeds and angles that make him beg, make him moan, make him fight to remember words that make sense, and make him forget how to breathe.

Blaine watches Kurt in amazement as he slides over him; watches the faces he makes that revolve around a single, blissed-out smile; watches his eyes as they lock on Blaine’s eyes, becoming more black than blue as he climaxes, full of Blaine’s body and beneath his weight.

“Oh, Blaine.” Kurt mutters the only phrase he can that means anything for the moment. And the sound of Kurt’s voice whispering heavy in Blaine’s ear, its deeply entrenched meaning expressed succinctly using only two simple words, makes Blaine shudder. Blaine had forgotten that something as wonderful as this existed in the world.

He’s so thankful that Kurt came along to remind him.

Blaine slowly sinks in to Kurt when his orgasm builds to the point that muscles start to become useless and cognitive thinking begins to fail. He wraps his arms around Kurt’s torso so he can be as close to him, as one with him as he can be. And even as he starts to fear that he may be crushing Kurt, his weakening thrusts driving into Kurt’s hip bone, he feels Kurt’s arms weed around him and hug. One hand slides down his spine to his ass to push in and hold, and that’s when Blaine lets go.

“Oh, God,” Blaine moans, cumming inside Kurt’s body. (In a condom, but still. It might lessen sensation, but it doesn’t block out Kurt’s heat, or his tight squeeze.) “Oh, Kurt. Oh ... God …” Blaine mumbles into the soft skin of Kurt’s neck, breathing him in and breathing out moans of his name. “Oh, Kurt … Kurt …”

“That’s it, baby.” Kurt massages the nape of Blaine’s neck, laying kisses against skin whenever it comes within reach of his lips. “Oh, Blaine …”

Blaine buries his face into Kurt’s collarbone, breathing fast against his chest as Kurt continues with soothing strokes up Blaine’s back, kneading twitching muscles till they begin to relax. With each breath, Blaine loosens his grip and raises his head. God, that was good for him - better than he remembers it being with anyone else, and sure as hell better than masturbating at home alone. But he needs to know …

“So …” Blaine pants, hoping that the words he wants – suave words, romantic words – will come. But, unfortunately for Blaine, unless he’s singing, words are rarely ever his friends “… what did you think?”

Kurt looks at his anxious boyfriend, calms his own breathing. His smile, which had been blinding before, becomes blasé. He shrugs. “It was fun.”

Blaine’s jaw drops. “Just … just fun?”

Kurt’s mouth twitches in the corners. “Fun’s not a bad thing, per se.”

“I …” Blaine suspects he’s being teased, so he doesn’t argue. He tickles. Kurt squirms to get away, but Blaine’s on top of him, weighing him down.

“Blaine!” Kurt cries, throwing his head back with laughter.

Blaine takes advantage of his exposed neck, not just with kisses, but with zerberts. “Just fun, huh?” Blaine remarks between Kurt’s squeals. “That’s all?”

“No, no, no, I was joking! I was joking!” Kurt exclaims. “It wasn’t just fun. It was amazing. You’re amazing, and incredibly sexy, and completely mind-blowing.”

Blaine stops his assault. He lifts up on his hands and knees. “Really? You’re not … you’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not just saying that,” Kurt says, pulling Blaine’s body back down. “I swear. You’re wonderful and awesome and talented and … and …” Kurt’s attention is suddenly pulled by the sound of Blaine’s phone buzzing on the bedside table, wondering how and when it even got there “… you’re getting a text message, I think.”

“Hmm …” Blaine reaches over, not budging an inch off Kurt’s body in order to get it. He looks at the message on the screen and groans. “Oh, give me a break.”

Kurt scowls. “Is it him?”

“Yeah. Dammit! I told him to stop texting me.”

It didn’t take long after meeting Kurt for Blaine to figure out how his catfisher might have gotten his phone number. The week prior to him receiving the text messages, he’d put up a notice on the student bulletin boards at school trying to sell a few old guitars. That was the only way he could think that anyone could get his number. He didn’t even have it listed in the student directory.

Unfortunately, Blaine couldn’t change his phone number without throwing his life into a huge upheaval. Besides, he still wanted to sell those guitars. He’d have to put his new number on the notices and, if the catfisher was persistent (which they seemed to be by the amount of new Please, text me back, Blaine. We need to talk messages he got in a week) they’d still be able to get a hold of him.

Blaine went to the police. They said they would look into it if they had time, but that more than likely they wouldn’t be able to help him. They recommended he block the number and report it to the donotcall registry as well as his service provider. They also told him to record any incident of further contact just in case.

The officer assured Blaine that catfishers rarely ever come after their victims in real life. The odds of anything but a few annoying text messages coming from this were slim.

If Blaine ignored them, they should just go away.

It was the lengthy verbal equivalent of a shrug.

Blaine did as they suggested, blocked the number and reported it, but that only stopped the messages for a couple of days. Soon they came back from a different cell phone number.

Blaine has been ignoring them, but they’re still frustrating.

“Here. I have an idea.” Kurt holds out his hand for Blaine’s phone. “May I?”

“You may.” Blaine hands Kurt his phone, no idea what he has planned.

Kurt switches it to camera mode. He scoots closer to Blaine and puts an arm around his shoulders. He raises the phone up, adjusting until they’re both in frame. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” Blaine smiles wide for the camera.

Kurt snaps the picture. Then he attaches it to a message and sends it on its way.

“There. That should give whoever-never a clue that you’re mine now.”

“Let me see.”

Kurt hands Blaine his phone and Blaine checks the sent messages. There he sees the picture. It’s a really good picture, if he does say so himself, even if the two of them look like they’ve just run a marathon, hair sticking out, faces flushed, obviously naked even though all he can see is their bare chests. Underneath the picture, Kurt had typed:

Don’t contact Blaine again. He’s very, very busy making love to his devoted boyfriend so kindly fuck off. Hugs and kisses, the real Kurt Hummel.

Blaine nods in approval. “I think so,” he agrees, setting his phone aside. “Devoted boyfriend, hmm?”

“Absolutely.” Kurt rolls over onto Blaine and kisses him sweetly. “Hopelessly devoted.”

“Hmm, I like that,” Blaine says.

“Me, too.”

“So …”

“So …?”

“Your message did say that I am very, very busy making love to my boyfriend.”

Kurt wiggles his eyebrows. “It did say that, didn’t it?”

“It did.”

“Well, then. We’d better get started,” Kurt suggests, eyes dark, smile even darker, “but this time, I get to be inside of you.”

“Oh, God,” Blaine moans, Kurt sealing his intentions with a kiss.