Kurt's tongue flicked tentatively against Blaine's navel as his boyfriend panted under him. They'd rushed home today after skipping lunch in favor of the choir room's solitude. All week, Kurt's body had been flooded with molten lava. He'd been boiling since St. Patrick's Day. Puckerman had enforced a Glee Club party to celebrate the day, and somehow, being tipsy with a wide couch at their disposal had turned their still slow tentative motions into a frantic rut every afternoon.

The pace had taken them both by surprise, but neither of them could complain either.

"Kurt, that's– just take my shirt off and stop messing with me," Blaine said hoarsely. His hips arched against Kurt's chest as he kissed up to his belly button and paused. "You're awful."

"You were worse yesterday," Kurt reminded him. "You teased me for hours, remember?"

"Cause we had the time. Your dad'll be home in," Blaine twisted his neck to look at the alarm clock, "ten minutes."

As Blaine shucked his tank top to the floor, Kurt sat back on his heels and unbuttoned his pants. They'd learned quite a bit about this since Valentine's Day. One horribly placed cut had been enough. Blaine's hands shoved Kurt's jeans down his thighs and he pulled him back down on top of him. "Kiss me."

With an eagerness that no longer scared him, Kurt pressed his mouth to Blaine's and settled between the other boy's thighs. It was bliss to have Blaine like this, to arch and groan and shift until their bodies agreed. Kurt rolled himself down against the outline of Blaine's cock through his briefs, until his lower back was strung tight and Blaine's chest shivered against his.

"Love you," he said simply and Blaine said it right back as their lips met again.

Their movements were fluid and reflective after that, grinding and rolling and shuddering against each other as fingers scraped damp flesh and sunk down waistbands. They still hadn't done that, hadn't had enough time to dare. But today Blaine's hands were doing more than skimming the waistband of Kurt's briefs.

Kurt arched up as Blaine's fingers scraped his ass and then gripped. Upstairs, a set of keys jingled in the front door. Blaine's hands squeezed again and urged him to move as Kurt whimpered against his lips and adrenaline slogged through him.

"I wanna watch you," Blaine breathed against his lips as his hands guided Kurt's movements. "Come for me before we're caught."

Head spinning, Kurt kissed him firmly and thrust. The door to his room creaked open as he came, his panting and shout mumbled by Blaine's lips.

"Kurt? Blaine? This door's supposed to be open," Burt hollered. "Finn and Carole are taking us all to dinner at six. I'm gonna get cleaned up."

Voice gone, Kurt slouched down onto Blaine's chest as his boyfriend answered for him.

"Okay, Burt! We'll be ready to go!"

His father grunted and Kurt listened to his footsteps disappear up the other staircase. Against his navel, Blaine's cock pulsed desperately.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked quietly as Kurt's eyes grew heavy. "Um, we've got an extra hour. And, well..."

He tried not to yawn as he raised himself up and blinked sleepily. "I'm gonna blow you."

Blaine yelped, "What?"

"Been wanting to," Kurt murmured as his head drooped down against Blaine's damp chest. "Gonna," he yawned, " do it right now. In a minute, okay?"

"Kurt?"

It was ten til six when Blaine woke him up. He was already changed from his sweatpants and in a nice crisp polo. Kurt looked around blearily and yawned. Then he remembered what he'd fallen asleep during.

"Oh my god, did you– I didn't– I meant to– I still want to suck your dick," Kurt said loudly. But Blaine started laughed and motioned towards the clothes he'd picked out from Kurt's closet. They complemented his own deep purple polo perfectly. "No, I'm serious, I really want to suck–"

"Later," Blaine said, leaning over and kissing him soundly on the mouth. "Shut up, get dressed, and we'll talk about your adorable, but slightly disappointing, nap time tomorrow, okay?"

"You're not mad?" Kurt asked uncertainly.

"Mad that you came so hard you went right to sleep?" Blaine offered. "No, but my, um, dick wasn't very pleased. I used your shower to help with that."

"Oh, sorry," Kurt said sheepishly. "We could–"

"Guys, they're here. Let's go!"

"I'll give you a few minutes, okay?" Blaine said. He kissed Kurt again, longer and softer, before he hustled upstairs.

Kurt sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, staring angrily down at his crotch. "You're awful," he told it. "How dare you– whatever."

"Kurt, come on!"

Dinner that evening wasn't as pleasant as it usually was. Kurt couldn't stop berating himself for falling asleep and Blaine kept winking at him like he thought it was all funny. But it wasn't. At least he didn't think it should be.

It was three days before they had a real chance to talk, and for once, it wasn't talking that resolved their dilemma. The moment they stepped through the front door, Kurt shoved Blaine back against it and dropped to his knees.

"Kurt?" Blaine said in alarm. "Are you– what are you doing?"

The squeak in his voice made Kurt pause at Blaine's zipper. "I'm sucking your dick," he said bluntly. "Just like I said I would."

"But in the entryway?" Blaine said as Kurt slowly started palming over his boxers. "Can't we do this in your room, like always?"

"I can't press you against a door down there." Kurt beamed up at him and pushed Blaine's sweater up to kiss his navel.

"But there's walls," Blaine said weakly. "Kurt, please."

Kurt paused, his fingers tracing Blaine's growing erection as he looked up. Another surge of guilt trickled through him. "Sorry. I just, I really want to, and I feel so stupid for falling asleep the other day and–"

"Let's go downstairs," Blaine cut in. He buttoned his pants and hitched his bag up again. "Come on," he said as he offered Kurt his hand. "We'll talk and then you can press me against a wall of your choice."

Suddenly anxious, Kurt let Blaine lead him downstairs, where they set their bags on his desk and then took seats on the bed. Facing each other, knees to knees and hands clasped between them. Safety zone. Nothing said here was said anywhere else.

"Look, I'm not mad about the other day," Blaine began. "I'm really not," he added at Kurt's disbelieving look. "Disappointed kind of, but not mad. It happens. Like, I get it. But I don't want you to force yourself to take us to another level if you aren't ready just because you're guilty."

"I'm not, well, I am," Kurt admitted, "but that has nothing to do with me wanting to blow you, Blaine."

"Doesn't it?" Blaine argued, suddenly tilting his chin up. It was an annoying habit Kurt was growing less fond of. The voice and tone that said Blaine was much older and wiser when he was actually just as clueless as Kurt. "Look, I don't think you're–"

"I'm not a kid you can boss around," Kurt snapped suddenly. He dropped Blaine's hands and glared at him. "I want to suck your dick because I want to, not because I feel guilty about falling asleep on you. Okay? Just because you've had fifty years of time more than me doesn't mean you know what I want or am ready more than I do."

Blaine bit his lip and settled his hands in his lap. Kurt almost felt guilty for saying it, but it was true and Blaine knew it. He'd known it since he'd tipsily jerked Kurt off a week ago.

"Sorry," he muttered, uncrossing his legs and sliding off the bed. "I just don't want to rush you and last week... it was great, wasn't it? But it was– it was too fast."

"It wasn't for me," Kurt told him suddenly. "We've been making out for two months and, I dunno, I want to explore more and that was more. I want to share more with you and feel more and–"

The truth of Blaine's hesitancy, of his insistence that Kurt wasn't ready, trampled over Kurt like a stampede. It wasn't a question of either of them wanting more, or of Blaine treating him as a inferior. Blaine was scared. Scared of becoming as close as they physically could and then leaving him alone in thirteen weeks.

"Blaine," he said slowly. Kurt caught his hand and pulled him back to the bed. "I am ready. I know you are, too, and I want you to stop treating me like you're afraid I'll break or you'll damage me or whatever else you're scared of just because you have to leave. I want us and only us in every way. Got it?"

Kurt watched Blaine, the tremble of his throat and the sag in his shoulders. He couldn't turn away and back out, but he was too worried to move forward either.

"I don't mean to hurt you," Blaine said. Those words encompassed everything. The pain of the coming summer, the end of a romance only starting to truly grow beyond adolescent, and the longing of a boy, a simple, ordinary boy, that Kurt swore everything he'd yet to discover about himself to.

"I know," Kurt assured him. "Part of love is hurting. Sometimes," he added quietly, "sometimes it's the biggest and longest part. Like with my mom and dad. With us before long. But that doesn't mean we stop letting what we have be what it is. I love you, I want to share my entire world with you, and that means sucking your dick."

Blaine snorted so hard around his tears that he choked. "Tomorrow," he whispered. "I think I've killed the mood for today."

"Yeah," Kurt agreed as he inched in and hugged Blaine around the shoulders. "But I'm going to keep having this talk with you until I can't. If I'm not ready or scared I'll say it, just like I have been, but I need you to keep doing the same. About everything. That's what boyfriends means, right?"

"No, that's what best friend-boyfriends means," Blaine said. He leaned back into Kurt's arms and shut his eyes. "I'm sorry I ruined you wanting to suck my dick."

"Tomorrow is only a day away," Kurt sang cheekily. They both giggled and laid back against the pillows. As Blaine settled against his chest, one hand rubbing over the wrinkle in Kurt's moustache sweater, Kurt flipped the television on to an oldies cartoon station. It played a lot of shows that Blaine loved, but that Kurt only knew by name. Yogi Bear laughed his way onto the screen as Kurt stroked Blaine's back in time with Blaine's hand on his chest.

"Blaine?"

"Hmm?"

"There's, um, something else I've been wanting to talk to you about more," Kurt said slowly. "It's almost April and, well."

"Well?" Blaine repeated, looking up at him. His hand stopped stroking Kurt's chest.

"About Lee," Kurt said quickly. "What happened with you and Lee."

Blaine sat up and said nothing for a few minutes. His eyes were fixed on the television as Kurt bit his lip and tried not to squirm. If he did Blaine would push his question aside again. He'd ignore it another day longer when those numbered days were dwindling. Kurt would be lying if he said he didn't have them marked on his calendar. He did. Every single day from the day they'd kissed lost something, and soon there'd be nothing of them left.

"We used to watch this together," Blaine said suddenly. "When we were kids. He'd sleep over at my house of Friday nights and we'd get up early to watch cartoons. Woody Woodpecker was his favorite. I loved Rocky and Bullwinkle and Yogi Bear. We did that until high school."

Kurt moved closer instead of saying anything. Talking, interrupting wouldn't urge Blaine on. If anything it'd halt him and spin him back around. He hooked his arms around Blaine's chest and his chin over his shoulder.

"I figured it out pretty early, you know? It wasn't that hard for me to realize that having a crush of a guy wasn't considered normal and that it wasn't a once in a lifetime thing. I didn't know how to tell anyone. I didn't have the words to explain it without it sounding wrong," Blaine said quietly. "I had a crush on him. He was my best friend and he still wanted me around after everyone didn't. I- I kissed him one day, on the cheek, when we were hanging out in the woods. I didn't say a word to him again until–"

Blaine stopped, his body trembling against Kurt as he shook his head and looked back at the screen. "I taught him piano so his mother would stop shouting at him for not practicing and he taught me to hit a baseball over the fence. I hit my first homerun with the bat they beat me with."

Kurt swallowed and shivered. The very idea of anything that Blaine said was almost impossible to imagine, but for Blaine there was no imagination involved. It was simple and real, like the arms around his chest and the television in front of him. Kurt held him tighter and kissed his cheek.

"He could have stopped them, couldn't he? He was just scared of them and me liking him and it was all so stupid," Blaine spat suddenly. "Why didn't he say anything or help? It can't be that terrible to have your best friend kiss your fucking cheek."

"It isn't," Kurt said after a moment. "For me, it's been the most wonderful moment so far. It wasn't your fault. None of it was."

"I know," Blaine sagged and leaned back into him. "I've had enough time to realize that, I think. But I just– does he still hate me? Did he even care after he helped beat me to death? Or care that he just stood there while–"

Blaine stopped again and this time he didn't continue. Kurt held him for a long time, rocking and kissing his cheek, jaw, and the soft spot under his ear.

It was a long time before Blaine fell asleep and an even longer time before Kurt felt safe enough to slid off the bed and open his laptop. Lee Atkins. That was the name from the old newspapers he'd looked through. The wonderful football star of McKinley in 1960. Surely, there was a chance he was still alive. Most people lived into their sixties. He started searching.

The next day, Kurt's head was swimming as they settled down in their first block class together. Lee Atkins. Blaine's once best friend turned murderer turned professional football player for Dallas until he'd torn his ACS or ACL or something Kurt didn't understand. Then he'd moved back to Lima and that was the last he could find of him. There was no trail online, no people randomly bumping into him and taking pictures. It just ended like so much else had.

Throughout the day Kurt stole glances when he could. Blaine seemed okay for the most part, a little brighter, less stiff, but there was a dark pudge under his eyes that told Kurt his nightmares weren't finished. Neither of theirs were and his own came barreling along during when he was late from the cafeteria to his math class upstairs.

"Watch it, queer," Karofsky thundered as he knocked Kurt sideways into a closed door. The handle rammed right into his hip and Kurt hissed as his bone throb. "These halls are for real men."

"Real men don't hang out in the closet," Kurt snapped before he could stop himself.

This time his butt ended up being dented by the door handle.

"What'd you say to me?" Karofsky snarled. He was inches from him now and Kurt's stomach squirmed.

"Real men don't hit people either," Kurt pressed. He'd never stood up to him when his knees were knocking or when he was so close he could smell the tacos on his breath from lunch. "Or shove them just because of who they are. My dad taught me that. He's taught me that the best thing you can ever be is honest with yourself."

Karofsky took a step back, his eyes streaked with a muddy fear Kurt understood. In a way they were the same, but in some many others they weren't. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kurt side stepped him on his wobbly legs and adjusted his books in his arms. "I think you know, or you can figure it out," he said. "You're smart enough to realize what's wrong and dishonest and whenever you need to be honest, me and Blaine are ready to listen."

"I'm not–"

"Ready," Kurt cut in as he started walking away. "I'll see you at lunch tomorrow."

He hurried around the corner and paused outside his class even though he was late. That was some ground work. Maybe. At least he'd said something instead of nothing or everything with his fist. It was more than Blaine had managed so far at any rate. If he was lucky, they'd get somewhere and nobody would have to go through Blaine's life all over again. Not with David Karofsky.

Kurt took a few deep breaths, calmed himself a little, and opened the door.

The suddenly flurry of Kurt's wedding planning enthusiasm carried Carole and Burt into April. Ever since the engagement, her future stepson had been sitting her down and talking her through all the details that could possibly be planned ever. Kurt was thrilled and gushing and ready to sit for hours for every little detail. Carole, however, wasn't. When she'd married Chris, it had been a quickly, cheaply planned event because being with him and committing themselves had meant more to either of them (and their wallets) than plates and food and bouquets.

She'd never dreamed about a wedding in the same way Kurt had. Carole had never thought out the details or sighed as she snuck down the magazine aisle at the grocery store to look through bridal magazines as a girl. But Kurt had. He had folders and binders and color palates from the hardware store meant for painting. Marriage, true love, and a commitment for life celebrated in full, expensive glory was something Kurt craved and the more she looked with him, the less she wanted to.

How much of these dreams now featured Blaine as the man exchanging rings with him? Had Kurt stopped to realize the glass floor under them wasn't a floor at all?

"You've settled on autumn, right?" Kurt was saying as Blaine talked Finn through making lasagna at the counter. Burt was still at work, running late because of an emergency.

"Yes, November seventeenth," Carole said, her eyes drifting from Kurt's eager face to Blaine showing Finn how to measure garlic. "I was thinking something simple. Burt and I would like it to be simple. Nothing huge or anything. Probably reds and yellows."

Kurt beamed, ducked under the table, and heaved yet another plump binder onto the table. It creaked as he added it to the rest. "This is my November colors and themes binder. Oh, I was hoping you'd pick November. It's one of my favorites."

"Finn, no, don't," Blaine laughed and held Finn's hands away from the pot of boiling water. "Here, use these to put the noodles in so you don't splash us." He handed Finn a pair of tongs and directed him through the process.

God, she was going to miss him in June. He'd be gone forever; he'd miss their wedding; he'd miss someday with Kurt and maybe a wedding of their own. Kids, friends, family. All of that was, and had already been, taken from him. Before long, Kurt might take himself away from that by choice.

As Blaine and Finn boiled lasagna sheets and Kurt talked her through seasonal options for bridesmaid dresses and flower arrangements, Carole tried to block out the horror slowly misting over her mind. This beauty she'd stepped into was ending soon. Her and Burt and Finn would be okay, but Kurt's devastation would slash each of them in some way. How could the people in the Between have ever thought this was a good idea? There was overwhelming joy, but it skidded right down to the ocean floor and left Kurt alone here to drown.

"Kurt, honey, let's settle on dresses another day," Carole said as Blaine and Finn stuck the assembled lasagna in the oven and headed into the living room. "You go hang out with Blaine and Finn, okay? I'm just too tired to think about all of this today."

"Are you sure?" Kurt wilted a little as she caught his hand and stopped him from his eager paper flipping. "All right, this weekend then?"

"Sure, or tomorrow when you get home from your date," Carole said as Kurt started shutting binders. "It's just been a long day. I'm ready to relax and do nothing for a while."

"Yeah, all right," Kurt agreed. He shut all of the binders and folders and stacked them back up in the corner. When he was finished they were waist high and little tuffs of paper were poking out. "Carole? Can I ask you something?"

Carole smiled slightly, fully prepared for a barrage of embarrassed questions about sex. She might not be as adamant about the bedroom door as Burt, but she wasn't clueless either. Kurt and Blaine had been dating for almost four months now, and while it was typically quiet when she got here, she'd heard enough little groans and creaks over the television downstairs to realize chaste kisses were a thing of the past.

"You know you can ask me anything," she said simply. "And it'll stay a secret, too, if you want it to be. Unless you're hurting someone or yourself, of course."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure," Kurt agreed distractedly. He straightened the top few binders as they started to slid and fiddled for a few moments. "It's, um, well, it's about Blaine."

Carole glanced towards the living room, at the dark tufts of Finn's hair and the gleaming expanse of Blaine's just poking over the top. Distracted by a baseball game if that bat cracking meant anything. She tried not to beam at Kurt's back as he continued adjusting the binders until they stopped sliding.

"If you need condoms, there's free ones at the clinic in Col–"

"What?"

Her smile trickled into a frown as Kurt spun around. His mouth was wide, his eyes surprised blue discs as he fidgeted and stared.

"You aren't–" Carole halted and looked from the gleam of Blaine's hair to Kurt's thin, embarrass-burnt face. "I just assumed. Sorry."

"We haven't– we aren't even– it's about someone from his past," Kurt finally said. He worked his jaw like his tongue was rusted with the same embarrassment still glowing on his cheeks. "One of his, well, they were friends for a long time until... His name's Lee Atkins. I want to find him. For Blaine."

"Sit," Carole said quietly as Kurt twisted his hippopotamus brooch and shifted before her. They both settled down at the barren table, Carole fluid and lose, Kurt tense as a compressed coil. It was several moments before either of them spoke. "Tell me about them."

For twenty minutes Kurt quiet, stuttering explanation toddled across the table to her. The story of two young boys becoming friends and growing up together until one of them, realized something inescapable about himself. Then the ultimate horror: hearing that Lee had helped give them Blaine fifty years too late. By then end of his story, Carole was both horrified and at a loss for how she was meant to help. She was older than Kurt, certainly, but she hadn't been alive at that time, so how could she help Kurt find him?

"The last I've been able to find was about him suffering an injury for football," Kurt said. "He moved back here after that and, as far as I know, he's still here. He'd be pretty old by now. So, I was wondering if you could find his address of something in medical records or anything about him."

"Kurt, that's illegal," Carole said flatly.

"It's," Kurt faltered and his eyebrows lowered desperately. "I can't find anything on him anywhere, Carole. Please, I just–"

Carole only shook her head. "I could lose my job if I do something like that without authorization. I'm sorry, Kurt, really, but there's not much I can do."

Her almost stepson shriveled across the table and nodded. "Sorry. I don't want to get you in trouble, I just thought if I could find him and let them talk, it might help both of them. It was stupid."

"It isn't," Carole said gently. "It's a wonderful idea, but it could hurt Blaine a lot, too. Sometimes knowing is harder to cope with than wondering. I– look, I'll see if there's some way to get it approved, but I'm not guaranteeing anything."

"Really?" Kurt's smile burst onto her like sunlight. He nearly leapt over the table to hug her and by the time he let go, Burt was in the doorway, pulling his jacket off and eyeing them suspiciously.

"If this has anything to do with doves and glitter at the wedding you can forget it, Kurt," Burt said sharply. "I'm not having glitter-shitting doves flying over my head, okay?"

"But Dad–"

"Not happening."

Kurt still grinned as he stood up and pecked Carole on the cheek. Together, they watched him flounce off to the living room where Blaine and Finn's voices were a dull hum.

"Do I want to know?" he greeted.

Carole shook her head and gave him a playful nudge in the gut. "Nothing to worry about. Just a little Blaine and Kurt secret."

"Sounds like a whole engine full of worry to me," Burt rumbled as she hugged him.

"No, something with Blaine's past, that's all," Carole leaned up and kissed him. "Kurt wants to find someone, if he's still alive."

"Hmm," Burt rumbled. "So what's for dinner? I heard Finn was in charge."

"With Lieutenant Blaine's guiding hand, yes," Carole said. "Go get cleaned up. It'll be a while."

Burt grumbled and shuffled off. Carole watched him go, a pit of anxiety knotting tighter in her stomach. Time was running out in so many ways, just as it was gaining ground for them. It felt wrong that her and Burt were getting to continue their life together, to start a marriage in their forties, when Kurt and Blaine's growing love was so close to being stabbed out like a cigarette.

"Finn, stop! No, we'll kiss if we want to!"

"But your elbow's in my face," Finn said loudly as Blaine chortled and Kurt aimed his foot at Finn's face.

"There's a whole loveseat over there for you," Kurt insisted as Blaine's head popped up from under Kurt. "Couch is ours."

"Mom! Kurt and Blaine are trying to make out in my lap!"