When Kurt awoke the next morning, he was flat on his back, and Blaine was tucked up against his side, his head on Kurt's shoulder, top of his head resting under Kurt's chin. Blaine felt so good to Kurt, compact and muscular with all the accoutrements of man. It took every ounce of willpower not to roll into Blaine and press his chest against the other man's as his hands explored every hill and valley of Blaine's body.

Kurt wondered what his problem was. He was not a cuddler. He could barely stand foreplay. His ideal intimate moment was just enough kissing to get an erection, a quick blow job, and never seeing the other guy again. It was perfect for him. Now there was this…stranger, who he wasn't even sleeping with (well, he was sleeping with him every night, it seemed), and all Kurt wanted to do was hear all of his stories while he held him and stroked him and explored every crevice and rise covered with beautiful, olive-tinted skin. Kurt wanted to tangle his fingers in Blaine's crazy curls. He wanted to grab those luscious ass cheeks with both hands and squeeze until Blaine gasped. He wanted to put his face to Blaine's neck and bite along Blaine's jaw line, feeling his beard stubble against his tongue.

Suddenly, the urge to touch was irresistible. Kurt put a hand lightly on Blaine's ribs and moved his fingers down a bit, gingerly exploring the dip at Blaine's waist and the beginning of the rise of Blaine's hips. Then he stilled his hand and began rubbing small circles with his thumb on the exposed flesh of Blaine's hipbone where his t-shirt had ridden up. Kurt felt his own bones melting.

When Blaine's eyes opened and he pulled his head back to look at Kurt, Kurt pulled his hand away as though he'd been scalded.

“It's okay, Kurt,” Blaine said in a gentle voice, “you can touch me if you want. I want you to.”

“No,” Kurt moved away from Blaine so that they weren't touching at all. “It's not that simple.”

“Is it because you don't know me very well?”

No. That's usually a bonus.

“No, it's…I'm sorry I was groping you. I'm really embarrassed. Can we not talk about this?”

A look crossed Blaine's face. Hurt? Disappointment? As quickly as it was there, it was gone, and Blaine gave a small smile, “Sure. Let's get up; I'm starving.”

They pulled on hoodies and shuffled upstairs to be greeted by Carole and a large stack of steaming pancakes. Burt was sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper that he folded and set on the floor when the boys entered the room. “Morning, fellas.”

“Morning, Dad.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hummel.”

“Did you sleep well?” Carole asked, putting a pitcher of hot maple syrup and a butter dish on the table.

“Yeah, I slept great,” Blaine answered.

“Mmmmm,” Kurt hummed noncommittally.

“What's on the travel itinerary for today?” Burt asked.

“Chicago,” Kurt answered. “I thought we'd leave after noon. With the roads cleared, it shouldn't take us more than about four hours—five on the outside.”

“You're staying at Sam's?”

“Yeah.”

“And all his weird roommates?”

“Yeah.”

“Bring your own food,” Burt recommended.

Blaine looked puzzled at that, but no one filled him in.

Kurt turned to Blaine and said, “Blaine Anderson, I would love for you to accompany me to Chicago.”

Blaine smiled, “Kurt Hummel, I would love to accompany you to Chicago.”

This time it was Carole's turn to look puzzled, while Burt's eyes narrowed and he looked thoughtful.

Sometime after a group lunch at Breadstix and a fond farewell to Carole and Burt with hugs all around, Kurt and Blaine were back in the car, heading northwest to Chicago.

“So tell me about Sam.”

“Well,” Kurt began, “we met in high school after his family moved to Ohio from Kentucky. He moved to New York the year after I did and became a mildly successful male model. He dated one of my friends for a while, but that didn't work out, and when his modeling career was over because he reached the ripe old age of 22, he and some of his has-been modeling buddies moved to Chicago and opened a gay bar—well, more of a nightclub, really.”

“Is he an ex?”

“Sam? No,” Kurt laughed, “although it's not like I haven't had some fantasies. He's smoking hot with a chest you want to eat lunch off of.”

“Oh,” said Blaine in a small voice. Then he continued, “Are you sure he's going to be okay with the two of us crashing at his place, because I could…”

Kurt put a hand on Blaine's thigh, “Blaine, it will be fine.”  Kurt thought about it for a minute, “Um, but we're probably going to have to share a bed again.”

When Blaine replied to that with, “Good,” Kurt looked at him in surprise but said nothing.