"I thought you said no going south of the equator?" Blaine whines, because he can hear the sound of Kurt fumbling with his belt, and the last time Blaine checked, both him and his hands had been behaving.

Which means...

"I said you weren't permitted south of the equator," Kurt says simply. "I never said anything about me."

When Blaine opens his eyes, he sees that Kurt has shucked his jeans down to his knees. He clears his throat, because that seems like a better option than blurting out anything right now.

Kurt is wearing a simple pair of black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. It sounds silly, Blaine is aware. They're boxer briefs. They're meant to be form fitting for the sake of working well with the tight pants Kurt is so fond of. Clean lines are what makes an outfit.

...but Blaine is not thinking of clean lines and the sinfully jeans that Kurt is currently kicking off his ankles.

"What about me?" Blaine asks. His mouth is dry.

"What about you?" Kurt purrs back, and since when is his voice capable of that? Blaine can still remember practicing sexy faces and those movies.

"Can I?"

"Can you?"

Kurt's hand is palming lazily over his clothed erection and Blaine wants to replace his hand with his own, but that isn't part of the agreement.

His fingers fumble with the button fly of his own jeans, and Kurt giggles.

"No laughing," Blaine mutters. "You can't laugh when I'm potentially about to take my dick out."

"It's not that," Kurt shakes his head. "I mean, you knew how to work a zipper when you put those things on this morning, right?"

"You're not helpful."

"I'm plenty helpful," he grins. "I found us the perfect technicality."

That’s exactly what this is. A technically. They had agreed on keeping things above the belt after a particularly heated make-out session back in May, and Blaine thinks they’ve been doing a pretty good job of it so far. But they hadn’t planned for technicalities.

Blaine likes technicalities.

He doesn’t ache for anything more. Just because they have the house to themselves doesn’t mean that they should feel obligated to do anything they aren’t ready for. There will always be more time alone together but there won’t ever be another first time for anything that Blaine want to do with Kurt.

But this is a technicality, and a wonderful one at that. It’s one that Kurt seems to be entirely comfortable with if the way his hand is slipping under the elastic of his boxers like it’s the easiest thing in the world is any indication.

And Blaine is still trying to figure out a fucking zipper. Zippers, first invented in 1851 under the name of Automatic, Continuous Clothing Closure, didn’t see commercial success until the twenty century...

“Where’d you go?” Kurt asks softly, the slightest hitch to his voice. It’s the only hint as to what his hand is doing, just out of sight.

“You really don’t want to know.”

“Sounds dirty.”

“It’s really, really not.”

Eventually, Blaine manages to get his hands to work and he shucks his jeans down to his knees. He doesn’t trust himself to take them off all the way without flailing and kneeing Kurt. He’s pretty sure kicking his boyfriend in the balls would mean for an instant revoking of his technical passport south of the border.

Kurt’s boxers are still on. To be on the safe side, Blaine is mirroring Kurt’s actions. He uses him as a guide. He doesn’t know what’s okay, and he doesn’t want to ask, so he watches the way Kurt’s hand is working underneath of his boxers to wrap a loose fist around his cock. He gives it a few testing strokes, like he’s trying to find a rhythm.

“Can I kiss you?” Blaine asks. He rubs the heel of his hand over the head of his dick. When he leans closer to Kurt, his lips part on the end of a whine.

“Uh huh,” Kurt nods. Blaine doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to Kurt’s. It’s chaste, considering their current position. Hips away and hands sneaking under boxers in a way that would make Blaine blush if Kurt wasn’t doing the exact same thing.

Kurt’s breath is hitching, hitching into Blaine’s mouth. Blaine’s mind is a constant loop of Kurt is touching himself, Kurt is touching himself in front of me, oh my god. He wants to watch, he wishes he could watch, but he fears the very moment itself might crumble until he’s waking up all alone to sticky sheets.

But he’s not alone. Kurt’s gorgeous lips, always nipping, always moving are there. He’s warm and solid and there. He breaks the longer, more languid kisses to presser shyer ones to the corner of Blaine’s mouth. It’s grounding, it’s water and Blaine is drowning in this boy.

The only part of Kurt’s body Blaine feels like he can touch is Kurt’s bicep. He gives it a small squeeze, and wonders what he would be like to touch the rest of Kurt. Blaine has mapped out his torso with his palms and lips, but it always stops there. He has an idea of what’s left - strong thighs and calves, a toned ass that he can barely make out through tight jeans and Kurt’s lone pair of sweatpants.�

His cock, oh god his cock. Blaine could see a glimpse if he were to duck his head and peer through his lashes, but Kurt is trusting him. His doesn’t intend to break that trust.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss someone when I come,” Kurt mutters against the corner of his mouth. It’s a simple request. One that manages to be both intimate and startlingly shy.

Blaine has never been one to say no to Kurt.