Though, to be truthful, Blaine privately thought that Kurt genuinely wanted to show off his stateroom, otherwise he could’ve just had Blaine wait out on the deck. Plus, who needed to change their clothes seven times a day?

Kurt Hummel-Sylvester, that’s who. A very relieved and somewhat breathless Kurt Hummel-Sylvester, whose eyes were wider and brighter than they’d been the entire trip, whose face was flushed bright pink from the tip of his turned-up nose all the way down his neck, who kept licking his lips over and over again. It was all very distracting, and Blaine very nearly walked right past the opening door.

“Sorry,” Kurt stammered, tongue sliding out over his lips yet again. Blaine had no idea what the etiquette was for this -- did he have to wait a certain amount of time before kissing him again? Did he have to announce himself -- “Excuse me, Kurt, but I’m going to kiss you senseless again” -- or could he just lean in and do it? And did he really have to wait until the other boy had changed out of his exquisite suit into another equally exquisite one?

“So...this is the sitting room.” Blaine blinked a couple times, then nodded, smiling as he stepped through the door. It was a lovely room, the finest he’d ever been in, without a doubt. He was pretty sure the clock on the mantlepiece cost more than his childhood house in Westerville had. His instinct was to stop and stare, but Kurt was standing there, fiddling with his sleeves and looking nervous and embarrassed -- like the finery was something he was ashamed of.

So Blaine offered an easy and relaxed smile, hands sliding into his pockets as he looked around. “Yeah, this is nice. Cozy. Must be warm in the evenings.” His attempts at small talk suddenly died away when he spotted the piano, sitting innocently to one side, with a pile of sheet music on top. “Woah...it’s beautiful.” He walked over, hesitating before leaning down, hands hovering over the keys, but not quite touching them. Now that he had an actual baby grand right before him, his hands seemed especially grimy and rough.

This effect was only intensified by Kurt reaching out with his smooth, pale, long-fingered hands and plinking at a couple keys. “Do you play, Blaine?” he asked, looking a little more relaxed now.

“Some.” Blaine turned his attention to the stacks of music now. These were a little easier to touch than the keys, being just paper, like he worked with every day. Well...sort of. “...is this autographed?”

“Maybe.” But the gentleness with which Kurt handled the sheet music as he plucked it from Blaine’s hands was answer enough. He cleared his throat, taking the somewhat fragile papers over to a lime green safe that stood in the corner of the room. “David insists on carting this everywhere. He doesn’t trust anyone,” Kurt remarked, more for the sake of talking than anything else. Blaine couldn’t help but notice the automatic nose-wrinkle that came with the mention of Dave’s name. But he pretended not to notice, sitting carefully on the cushioned bench, half expecting it to collapse underneath him.

Kurt spun the dial on the safe one way, then another, automatically. He was honestly a bit shocked that David had even disclosed the combination to him, but it certainly made stashing his more valuable items easier. The precious sheet music was laid gently on a pile of money, which Kurt angled his body to hide from Blaine’s view. He didn’t think the other boy would say anything, but it was obvious already how uneasy the room made him. Kurt didn’t want Blaine to be uncomfortable. He wanted him to be wholly and completely relaxed and at ease and smiling that brilliant smile at every single second.

After a pause, Kurt carefully reached in and grabbed the blue velvet box that was stashed in the safe, hiding is behind his back as he walked back over to the piano. Blaine didn’t really seem to notice his approach, raptly involved in reading through the less priceless sheet music. “I’m just going to go change,” Kurt said for the sixteenth time, before turning on his toes and heading back to his private room.

Blaine had been taking mental notes of the way the sheet music was written, memorizing a certain string of melody or harmony line, thinking of how he could work it into one of his own compositions, but as soon as Kurt left, he stopped making them mental. He rummaged around in his pocket for a moment, pulling out the oft-creased piece of paper with his Titanic song on it. He unfolded it lovingly, then set it on the intricately carved stand, frowning a little at how the cheap paper contrasted. Then, after a quick look around, he cracked his knuckles, shook his hands out, and very lightly, very lovingly set his fingertips onto the keys.

Kurt had just tucked his socks into the section of his suitcase reserved for used clothing, and was sitting on the edge of his bed and massaging his sore toes -- the shoes were too small, he was growing again -- when the music started. He was actually half-convinced that he’d imagined it, but when it didn’t stop, when it grew quicker and louder, moving from slow, almost tentative notes to music that sounded like falling rain, like sunlight, he sat up straighter, moving to the door.

Through the crack in the door he could see the third-class boy quite easily. Blaine was sitting with his back to the door, bent over the piano, hands dancing over the keys, those long, strong, rough fingers moving effortlessly. Kurt had known Blaine’s hands were solid, unshaking, protective even. But he’d never thought of them as graceful.

Utterly entranced, Kurt just about stepped through the door, stopping himself in time to remember that he was wearing nothing but undershorts and blushing bright red as he stumbled back into his room. A hasty look around, and he was grabbing his dressing gown and tugging it on, tying it somewhat loosely around his waist. The music had built to a climax, almost, and he didn’t want to miss it, wanted to be standing beside the piano, feeling the notes and melodies like something tangible, like summertime heat in the air, or a cool breeze, dancing across his skin. As an afterthought, he grabbed the blue velvet box that he’d set on a table by the door, meaning to hide it somewhere. It could go back in the safe, once he’d gotten a closer look.

Blaine didn’t seem to notice him as he slowly pushed open the door and tiptoed across the carpet in his bare feet. The music had changed slightly, the delicacy giving way to something that was more like a heartbeat, deep and resonating. Kurt could feel it in his very skin, like a living thing dancing through his veins, making him want to do...to do stupid things, crazy things, things that involved putting those beautiful hands to other uses.

But he didn’t, mercifully, because that kiss up on the front of the boat had been enough to send his heart thudding wildly against his ribs -- even now, thinking about it had Kurt blushing and breathless. If he attempted to do anything else, he could very well pass out. So he settled for doing an only slightly crazy thing -- he sat down next to Blaine on the bench. There was a good half-foot between them, still, but he was still close enough to feel the vibrations of the piano and the warmth emanating from Blaine in the somewhat chilly room. The fire had gone out, and in the relative dankness, the other boy felt like a living heater, all alight and burning, eyes closed, long eyelashes resting on his cheeks as he played his music.

He knew Kurt was there -- he must, there was no way he could miss the other boy’s presence. But he didn’t seem aware of anything except the keys under his fingertips, not even the paper set up precariously on the music stand. It took some effort to drag his eyes away from Blaine, but Kurt finally glanced over at the paper, frowning slightly. It was the song he’d looked at the other day, the untitled Titanic song -- albeit somewhat edited. The faint pencil marks had been scribbled over with thicker, darker ones, the notes had been slightly altered, tweaked just enough to suit whatever standards Blaine had imposed on himself.

And even with his own personal inability to compose, Kurt could tell it was better. It was somehow both sweeter and stronger than before, the melody a pure and achingly alive thing. Kurt wondered idly if this was due to the notes themselves or the way Blaine played them. If anyone else tried the song, would it sound as glorious? As breathtaking?

After a moment, the song drew to a conclusion, sliding effortlessly back into the light, raindrop-like notes that Kurt had heard from his room, then ending altogether. The last few strains of music hung in the air for a moment, during which time Blaine kept his eyes closed and Kurt realized that he was still clutching the blue velvet box, fingernails digging into it, heart racing for some reason.

“That was beautiful,” he managed finally, his voice sounding rough and hoarse after the heavenly tune. He turned a bit red in the face when Blaine turned towards him, suddenly aware that his dressing robe wasn’t tied tightly enough, was sliding down a bit, exposing his collarbone and leaving his shoulders bare. With a muttered apology, he set the blue box down on top of the piano, then reached to adjust his clothes, painfully aware that the blush had crept down and stained nearly all of the skin on display a dusky pink.

But Blaine’s hands, those wonderful, beautiful, magical hands that could grip tighter than iron and caress gentler than a feather, were moving up, catching Kurt’s wrists gently, before the dressing gown could be adjusted. There was something wild and blazing in the other boy’s eyes, something that drew Kurt like a moth to a flame, holding him spellbound as Blaine guided his hands back to his lap.

“Are you cold?”

The question was asked in a voice that was almost as rough as Kurt’s had been and, too preoccupied with staring into those golden-brown eyes, alit with something terrifying and wonderful, it took Kurt a few moments to even realize it was Blaine who’d spoken. He frowned slightly, then slowly shook his head, unconsciously drawing his lower lip into his mouth, biting at it, a bit nervously. “I’m fine,” he whispered back, telling the truth, because it was suddenly very hot in that room.

Blaine smiled a little, then his hands moved up again, coming to rest on Kurt’s chest, half over the silk dressing gown, half resting on his skin. As impossible as it was to look away from those eyes, Kurt couldn’t help a glance downward, wondering if his skin was really on fire, like it felt. Blaine’s fingers spread a little, dark and rough against Kurt’s snowy skin, touching with a firmness that was unlike David’s method of firmness. Dave touched to control, to possess, to own. Blaine touched to worship.

“Can I...?” His hands were already moving as the words came, whispered, from his lips. His fingers curled around the neckline of Kurt’s dressing gown, then slowly tugged it down, eyes fixed on where the fabric slipped away, inch by inch, until it slid over Kurt’s shivering shoulders to pool halfway down his arms.

Kurt had been without any clothing whatsoever in front of more than a couple people -- albeit only one other time in a situation that was less than innocent. But sitting there, with his neck and shoulders and chest bare and trembling under Blaine’s eyes, he’d never felt more vulnerable, more exposed. He should’ve wanted to pull away, to cover up, to hide himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, almost without his conscious control, he slowly sat up straighter, shoulders rolling back, head lifting a little, not defiant, but not apologizing or ashamed of himself. If anything, he was offering himself, giving Blaine permission to look, to see, even though he was almost certain that Blaine already did and was, in fact, the only one who could really see him.

And under the direct and open gaze, it was Blaine’s turn to blush a little, to turn away and seek something else to look at, the back of his neck turning the same color as Kurt’s face had, minutes before. His eyes finally rested on the blue box and, clearing his throat, he reached for it. “W-What’s this?”

“A necklace,” Kurt replied, calmly. Suddenly the urge he’d had to hide his wealth didn’t seem so desperate. If Blaine was effected like this just by the sight of him only partially shirtless, he was pretty sure the diamond wouldn’t bother him. In fact, after Blaine just examined the box for a moment in bewilderment, Kurt reached out (after pausing to push up his sleeves) and opened it, before removing the enormous brilliant blue gem.

“Oh. Wow,” was Blaine’s commentary as Kurt held it up for perusal. “It’s...yeah, it’s something.” Then, after a somewhat awkward pause which included a good bit of fidgeting -- “Is it yours?”

That made Kurt laugh a little, messing with the clasp of the necklace for a moment -- it was tricky and tended to pinch if it wasn’t fastened properly. “I’m not really the gaudy jewelry type, Blaine,” he replied with a little wrinkle of his nose.

Blaine turned even redder, if possible, then reached out to fiddle with the necklace himself, getting it undone quicker than Kurt had anticipated. “I only meant...well, it...it matches your eyes,” he concluded, looking somewhat disgusted at his own sentimentality. To cover, he gestured at the mirror across the room, then, when Kurt turned towards it, slid the necklace so the bright blue diamond rested right over the first-class boy’s heart. “See?” Blaine murmured, meeting Kurt’s equally bright eyes in the mirror and fumbling with the clasp. “Same blue...”

Kurt was about to reply when Blaine’s fingers slipped, and the tricky clasp of the necklace pinched the back of his neck, hard enough to draw blood and a sharp gasp of pain. Kurt’s hand flew up to grab the blue diamond, but Blaine was quicker, tossing it back in the box as if it were nothing more than a bit of costume jewelry, all his attention focused on Kurt.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Blaine stammered again and again, hands coming up and almost instinctively rubbing up and down Kurt’s arms, from his shoulders to where the bunched up fabric began. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s oka--” Kurt began, before breaking off in another, softer gasp as Blaine leaned forward and pressed his lips to the tiny mark the necklace had left, kissing away the blood with a fervency that made Kurt’s heart stutter in his chest. Blaine only seemed to realize what he was doing mid-kiss, glancing up over Kurt’s shoulder, the two of them locking eyes in the mirror. But when the wide blue eyes held no disgust, no fear, nothing but surprise and a bit of that enthralled pleasure he’d seen up on the deck, Blaine relaxed, moving away only to press another, gentler kiss to the back of Kurt’s neck.

He meant to say something then, looking at Kurt’s face in the mirror, feeling his soft skin, warm and shifting and sweet-scented under his hands, pressing tiny kisses up and down the nape of his neck, but all that came out of Blaine’s mouth were two of the most honest words he’d ever spoken -- “You’re beautiful.”

Kurt’s somewhat startled expression melted a little, softening into one almost like affection. He’d heard it before -- of course he had, many times, even once or twice accompanied with kisses and caresses. But he’d never believed it before. “Thank you,” he replied, softly, eyes half-closing under the gentle attention Blaine’s lips were giving to his neck.

Blaine pulled away enough to smile, then murmured against Kurt’s shoulderblade, hands still sliding gently up and down his arms, “Will you do something for me, Kurt?”

The nod came almost instantaneously, with such a firm, eager sort of look that Blaine had to chuckle, softly, dropping one last chaste kiss to Kurt’s shoulder, then gently turning the other boy to look at him. He offered a somewhat sheepish smile, then nodded at the piano, looking almost hopeful. “Would you, ah...sing? For me? With me? My song? I mean...I’ve never had anyone sing it before, s-so it might not even be singable, and there are no words, but you could just...hum? Maybe you could--”

Kurt was smiling halfway through this rant, and now he finally reached up, setting his fingertips on Blaine’s lips and silencing him with a soft laugh. “I’d be honored to,” he said, fluttering his fingers a bit, then sliding one hand to rest on Blaine’s shoulder and nodding towards the piano.

And if Kurt had thought the melody sounded beautiful before, or if Blaine had thought he’d perfected the tune as much as he possibly could, the sound of the notes and Kurt’s soft, sweet, clear voice, blending in perfect harmony in the opulent first-class suite, with the two young men sitting side by side, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, every breath of Kurt’s tickling against Blaine’s ear, every movement of Blaine’s fingers felt under Kurt’s hand -- that convinced them that they should never make music alone again.