It had started innocently enough at dinner. He’d been listening to Blaine tell a story about Wes and some pot cookies that weren’t really pot cookies when he felt Blaine’s foot graze his under the table. He’d thought nothing of it as he laughed along with Blaine. By the time their dinners had come the grazing foot had become two, Blaine’s ankles pressing against his, trapping his right foot between them. Every now and then one leg would shift sinuously; an action mostly lost on the leather of Kurt’s knee high boots.

But somehow despite the lack of real contact, the limited amount of movement afforded, or the sheer strangeness of the situation, Kurt was ridiculously turned on. For a while he tried to focus on Blaine’s words, but found instead that all he was really watching was his boyfriend’s mouth; the way his lips curled around the vowels, his pink tongue darting out to catch a last piece of spaghetti. Shifting, Kurt tried to force his mind elsewhere; his food, the other restaurant patrons, and finally out of sheer desperation, his algebra homework.

Kurt tried desperately to focus on anything else; he was embarrassed by the strength of his reaction. Blaine was barely touching him, and yet every accidental brush of his foot was like a shock, short circuiting his brain. He felt flushed and too tight in his skin, fingers and lips and eyelids tingling.

This is what you get for taking it slow; it was an insistent voice, one he heard often, low in his brain. He heard it when they were kissing, pressed together on his bed (just a little more, just a few more buttons), when they sat chaste and well behaved during movies (no one can see us, it’s ok to touch, just a little). It was a voice he ignored, all the time. Because it was safer to take care, both in where they touched (rarely in public, it was too dangerous) and how they touched (no more than a few shirt buttons had been breached, he wasn’t ready).

And ok, maybe it wasn’t safety that inspired his reticence to let Blaine touch him beneath his clothes, or anywhere too intimate; that stopped his itching hands from wandering all over Blaine’s beautifully toned body. That was fear; the certain knowledge that he’d do something wrong, that Blaine would see something he didn’t like. That he’d open a door and have to let himself feel it all, exposed and scared and naked and wanting, only to be rejected. And it was terrifying, thinking about all of that because what if Blaine changed his mind? Was repulsed, or worse, laughed?

Kurt knew he had to try, sometime. As patient and wonderful as Blaine was, no one waited forever. He knew that Blaine would wait as long as it would take; he had never pushed for more than he got, ever. Maybe sometimes, Kurt wished he would- that he would push Kurt outside of his head and so much thinking and just make him feel. Because Kurt wanted to feel, so much, all of Blaine. He wanted to feel the truth in the words they so often whispered between kisses, I love you’s soft against the skin of their lips.

There were many nights when he would fall asleep, holding these whispered words close, wrapping them around his shower fresh skin. When his phone would lay next to his head in the dark, after they had whispered goodnight and goodbye and no, you hang up first; and best of all, I love you. As if it could hold the echo of those words and replay them throughout the night, comfort and balm and acceptance. Kurt wondered, sometimes, how he could say them to Blaine, and mean them, and still be so scared. Still be afraid to really trust Blaine. He knew he meant them, but he’d also learned, in the near year of their friendship, how much love could change.

Kurt had fallen in love with Blaine the day he met him. He had fallen hard for the easy swagger, the careless confidence, and the absolute gentle encouragement and understanding. He learned to love Blaine over the following weeks; as a kindred spirit, another boy who could have been crushed, so easily, by all of the ugliness they were surrounded by.

Kurt was so in love by Christmas that it hurt. By the time Blaine had left him, vibrating and strung too tightly after that duet, Kurt could actually feel how much he loved Blaine all over his skin and into his bones. Could feel the understanding that with this boy, he could have something. This thing that everyone else took so easily, threw around and misunderstood. That maybe, he could have someone to hold, someone who understood his love of Vogue and who sang with him and who saw him.

And after the terrible adventure of The Gap, the embarrassment of confessing his feelings and baring himself, just a little, Kurt began to learn just a little about love. About how much patience and work it could take, to love someone. What it meant to love someone even when they were hurting you, especially when the last thing they wanted was to hurt you, but yet somehow, they did it anyway. Valentines Day taught him that love sometimes meant patience, and waiting, and somehow, accepting.

It was Valentines Day when Kurt realized that Blaine might never love him back. That he might have to settle for this friendship; and amazingly, he did. He knew he’d want more, always. The best thing to come out of Valentines Day, for Kurt, was the understanding that he could still be in love, but that every day, every new facet of Blaine he discovered, that love was growing. And that loving Blaine alone could be enough for the both of them.

Kurt had heard the platitudes, about love being patient, and kind; who hadn’t? And even though he hated that sort of thing, clich�d words recycled and used as a second rate analgesic in situations like this, he still spoke them to himself. He repeated the words like mantra, he cloaked himself in the understanding that he had to be patient, he had to be kind, because that was what Blaine needed. A friend, some understanding, someone in his corner. Because even though the image of Blaine kissing Rachel was permanently etched in his brain, in his muscles and memory, Kurt was grateful in a way. For the safety of knowing that even a fight, even hurting and misunderstanding and yelling, were not enough to break their friendship.

It had been work, all kinds of awkward and so many emotions unspoken, fixing things with Blaine after what Kurt had come to call the “Sexuality Crisis of 2011”. But he’d done it. Because he loved this boy; this gorgeously fractured and confused and just utterly ridiculous boy. Blaine’s imperfections- his desperate need to please people, his temper, rarely roused but so hurtful when let loose, only made Kurt love him more. Kurt had learned to see Blaine more for who he was, than for who he projected. He discovered this real boy, riddled with insecurities and loneliness beneath a careful construction. Beneath the mentor, the dapper boy in perfect uniform, the bad advice and earnest desire to change the world was Blaine. And god, Kurt loved him.

Sitting across from Blaine at Breadstix, feeling his skin crawling with need, Kurt found himself wishing he just had a little more courage. He loved Blaine, he really did. And he knew by now, enough to realize that love wasn’t something static. That every day he had found more, unfolding new parts of Blaine and this thing that was them. Kurt thought that maybe he was ready, ready to trust Blaine. He’d been waiting, wanting to find that shot of courage, wanting to tether himself to this idea of trust. Trying to find the words to tell Blaine, a way to show him that he was ready for more, to touch more, to love more.

Blaine was quiet as they left the restaurant. This didn’t worry Kurt; he was quiet too, taking big gulps of the warm July air. It had recently rained, the air felt heavy but clean, and Kurt could smell the summer strong scent of grass and fading sunshine. He’d climbed inside his car, squinting into the twilight and carefully navigating his way toward Blaine’s house as the silence persisted. A little worried, Kurt snuck glances at his boyfriend, who was staring out the passenger window. A sliver of ear and a view of Blaine’s hair, curling and thick, afforded him no answers.

When he pulled into Blaine’s driveway he was surprised by the quick kiss on his cheek; he thought he heard Blaine mumble something along the lines of “See you later” before hopping out and slamming the door on a baffled Kurt. Moving fast, he climbed out of the car, reaching out to snag Blaine’s hand as he crossed in front of the car toward the door.

“Hey, what’s going on? I thought we were going to watch a movie?” He held on when he felt Blaine starting to tug his hand away. Blaine was mumbling again; Kurt wasn’t able to catch any of it; the wind had picked up as the sky had begun to tumble with new storm clouds. It would rain again, soon.

“Blaine, what’s wrong?” He tried to wait patiently for Blaine to look at him, to explain,

“I didn’t think you wanted to hang out any more.” Blaine’s voice was soft, eyes looking at the pavement rather than at Kurt.

“Why would you think that? We’ve been planning this all week, we’ve hardly had a minute alone in days.” He pulled Blaine closer, huffing out a frustrated breath as his boyfriend continued to resist.

“You weren’t listening.” Kurt’s eyes widened at Blaine’s blurted words.

“Listening to what?”

“To me!” When Blaine looked up it was with a strange look; something between sadness and annoyance and genuine anger, “At dinner? You kept staring off at that guy and ignoring me, and honestly Kurt if you are tired of me or something you could just-“

He was cut off by a laughing kiss; Kurt’s lips and warm breath stealing the last of his words. Annoyed, Blaine tried to push him off, but Kurt was the stronger of the two and Blaine found himself pressed up against the side of the car.

“Blaine I wasn’t ignoring you,” Kurt stopped to ghost another kiss over his reticent lips, “I don’t even know what guy you are talking about,” another kiss, more forceful this time, “And I’m pretty sure that I’ll never have gotten enough of you to get tired of you, ever.” The last kiss was gentle, undemanding; a small petition, and when Blaine kissed back it was acquiescence and embarrassment. Kurt’s breath was hot against his skin, seeping into and under and Blaine was unfurling into Kurt’s mouth, fingers tangling into belt loops and holding, just holding on.

“What was going on?” He whispered it against Kurt’s neck, pulling Kurt closer still, his legs tucked between Kurt’s. Kurt laughed a little, turning so that his cheek grazed his. Blaine looked up into the silence; Kurt’s face was red, eyes shuttered.

“Your stupid feet.” He felt Kurt’s embarrassment, and wrapped his arms around the thin frame that was plastering him to the side of the car, “You were playing footsie with me under the table, and then you had your ankles wrapped around mine and I know its dumb,” Kurt had tucked his head into the crook of Blaine’s neck. He kept thinking about Blaine, soft and needy under him, and that voice in his own head, insistent and ready (just a little more). About trust and love and how those were big things but that every big thing they had together had started so small. A song. A bird. A kiss.

So maybe this meant there was something bigger, something more, on the horizon. But he wanted. Yes, he was scared, but all he had to do was take one small step, just say these few words, and Blaine would catch him and Kurt knew they would be in it together, and wasn’t that what trust was? His words came fast, spilling under the edge of Blaine’s t-shirt collar and brushing up against his skin, “But it was…I was getting so turned on, I couldn’t even think straight.”

Blaine’s eyes popped open, a startled laugh escaping, “What? Really?” Kurt was nodding and later Blaine would wish he could have had a minute, to pause and examine this, because these words, they were so many things. He was turned on and curious and so, so warm he was sure Kurt would feel the heat coming off of his body. And he was kissing Kurt, lips hard and hands framing Kurt’s face and his heart was a wild thing inside of him.

Because it meant so much to hear Kurt say that. Blaine knew that Kurt was scared; he felt it in the way that Kurt’s body would shift, soft at first then more winding, tighter and tighter, as they touched carefully. It was in Kurt’s watchful eyes, appreciative but cautious, unwilling to show too much. Blaine wanted to be able to really think about this, to savor this- something as simple as Kurt trusting him enough to admit that he was turned on. To say the words, telling Blaine that he wanted him. But Blaine wasn’t thinking, not at all- Kurt was showing him now, hands hard at his hips and shaking against him, tongue tracing behind his ear, and low, so low, whispering (I want you, love you, want you Blaine, want you now).

One hard shudder and Blaine was moaning, rough voice catching, lost into the deepening night, and oh god, Blaine really regretted not asking Kurt about his strange behavior at dinner because they were at his house and his parent’s were home and this was so much, too much to just pack away and put away and go inside and watch a movie. Which was an impossibility now, not with Kurt like this, kissing him like Blaine was air, and Kurt was so deliciously vulnerable right now, open in a way Blaine had never seen or felt before. Blaine could feel him, oh my god, he could feel Kurt hart against his hip, and there was no power on earth that could break Blaine away from this boy now.

Weakly, Blaine pushed Kurt away from him, skin tingling where Kurt’s teeth had bitten, lips wet and he was so, so hard. He stared at Kurt; they stared at each other, silent. It was starting to rain a little and Kurt was shivering, although not from cold. Blaine realized he was panting, eyes on Kurt’s lips, feeling Kurt’s hands on his arms, gripping, Kurt’s torso and pelvis pressing him into the car. He waited, testing the strength of his response, of Kurt’s response, feeling the weight of Kurt’s trust, heavy and warm in his hands.

“Get in the car.” It was past ten- his mother was in bed with a novel and his father, if he was home, was most likely in the study. Neither was likely to have noticed Kurt’s car in the driveway just yet. Moving fast, Blaine opened the driver side door, climbing over the console and ignoring Kurt’s exclamations as water dripped onto the leather.

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it, just drive before my parents realize we’re here.” Blaine wiped at the drops carelessly, turning to mouth along Kurt’s neck, up toward his jaw. Kurt smelled fucking amazing, some combination of products and skin that was unraveling him way too quickly. Blaine sucked hard, just above Kurt’s collarbone, ignoring Kurt’s protests, stopping only to direct him to a dark cul-de-sac in the neighborhood. The car bumped the curb as Kurt tried to park, hasty and desperate as Blaine reeled him in for a kiss, pulling Kurt roughly toward him.

“Leave the air on.” He was already unbuttoning Kurt’s shirt, running his hands under it, pushing it down Kurt’s body. Kurt was catching up quickly, pressing hot open mouthed kisses to Blaine’s jaw; he stopped as the gearshift caught him just under his ribs. Blaine moved to un-tuck Kurt’s undershirt, feeling his own erection press against the seam of his jeans, and when his hands finally found skin he was groaning, shifting and pushing himself harder into Kurt’s mouth until suddenly Kurt was pushing him away.

“What-“ Blaine’s protest was cut off by Kurt’s finger on his lips. Blaine was so turned on he couldn’t even think, not pausing before taking Kurt’s finger into his mouth, nipping lightly at it before sucking, hard. The whirring noise of the seat reclining was almost lost as Kurt moaned, low and full and Blaine ached. He could see the effort, as Kurt pulled his finger and hand away, shaky and flushed, then climbed awkwardly into the backseat.

Once there he turned to pull Blain back with him. Despite the lack of room, they managed to shift and push each other, kissing again now, until Kurt was semi stretched on the bench seat with Blaine pressed hard up against his lap, legs straddling him. Blaine could still feel the memory of Kurt’s soft skin under his fingers, and wanting to feel it again, moved away a bit, pulling Kurt’s undershirt up and off. Blaine’s hands were full of Kurt, moving over him, and Kurt’s body was art, it was fucking amazing and Blaine would be happy to spend an hour just learning out to touch him, but Kurt was tugging at Blaine’s clothes, and everything was moving so fast, so fast and he was swept up in the rising water.

There was a moment, a small pause, as Kurt pulled him closer; suddenly Blaine could feel the long line of Kurt’s erection through layers of clothing, too many layers, and Blaine couldn’t help himself from pressing against Kurt, the soft whine a plea for more friction, for more and more and just a little more. Kurt’s mouth was an insistent thing, hot against his skin and panting, voice cracking and hands hard at his hips, and he was whispering, please, Blaine, please. When Kurt stopped moving, fingers tracing down low, just at the top of Blaine’s jeans, Blaine stopped moving too, and for the seconds inside that pause, he looked into Kurt’s eyes. He looked and Kurt’s eyes were yes, and his lips whispered yes and his fingers felt like yes because they both needed so much more.

Then it was soft moans and rolling, roiling into one another, clumsy fingers unbuttoning pants as they pushed up and into one another; it was laughter at bumped elbows and Kurt’s whispered curses as they built this delicious friction, skin and skin and Blaine everywhere, sliding and undoing and untangling him. Blaine’s voice in his ear, panting Kurt’s name, a litany of love and lust, worshipful and full of awe (KurtKurtKurt, oh my god, Kurt). It was wishes for more light so he could see, so he could memorize every detail that Kurt was exposing, delicate-tender and fiercely beautiful.

And it hurt, hurt in a good way, because this was trust, no hesitation at all as they crossed over so many lines, as they pulled into each other and pressed against each other and loved, and loved, and loved so hard. It was a moment, two boys lost; bruises Blaine would find on his hips later, where Kurt had clamped down, long fingers pressing and pressing and gasping into his skin as he came, a long moan breathed into Blaine’s open mouth and then Blaine was gone, coming shameless and needy all over them both.

Kurt came down quickly; his first thought was gratitude that they’d removed their shirts- they’d have been ruined otherwise. Which was followed quickly by the realization that he was shirtless. With Blaine. Covered in come. Blaine was limp against him, still breathing hard, skin heavy, sticking to his. When Blaine shifted, moving away and wincing at the mess, Kurt looked down, shocked and embarrassed to find that they were more than shirtless and wow, they had blown right past several steps he thought would have taken much longer to get to. And wow, really wow, that was Blaine’s cock. And his. They were still pressed up against each other and holy shit. Holy shit, this was his life.

Kurt fumbled for the box of Kleenex he kept in the backseat (not for that, thank you very much, but because his nose seemed to run perpetually in the winter months), sure that it was kind of creepy to just stare at Blaine’s cock (even if that was really what he wanted to do), wishing there was more room and more lights and time. So much more time to touch, and to taste (oh my god, to taste), and he could feel his face, bright red with embarrassment but he didn’t care because the wanting for these things, this boy, was so much bigger than anything else. He finally located the Kleenex, by which time Blaine had melted back against him, mumbling I love you’s into Kurt’s neck, and Kurt was thinking about loving Blaine and the way his body just felt so alive, so connected and right, when he realized suddenly where they were.

“Blaine.” He tried to push Blaine off him, but Blaine was still floating, relaxed in the afterglow, heavy on top of him. “Blaine, come on you have to move, we’re in on a street, in the car. Anyone could come by.” Kurt moved fast, wiping them both off with a hasty efficiency, tugging his shirt on and frowning as he scanned outside. It had been stupid, getting carried away like this. They both knew better; this sort of thing wasn’t safe for them and they knew that.

By the time they’d clamored back into the front seat, Blaine was flushing a deep apologetic red, and Kurt was smoothing his hair back with one hand while flipping the radio on to fill the silence. They didn’t speak as he turned the car, making his way back to Blaine’s house. A glance at the clock and he knew he had about an hour before he had to leave and make it to curfew on time.

“Do you still want to come in?” Blaine’s voice was a little subdued, and Kurt smiled, leaning forward to kiss him again. It was awkward, but he didn’t want it to be. Kurt wanted that other feeling back, that feeling of closeness. Those few minutes after had been the best of Kurt’s life; drowning in love and certainty and being closer to Blaine than he’d ever been to anyone else. And Kurt wanted that back, not this, air stilted with something; maybe regrets or recriminations or just the realization that they’d lost their virginity in the back of a car without ever even talking about it.

But he wouldn’t, Kurt thought fiercely. He refused to regret this, he’d be damned if anyone could make him take this back or change it. So he kissed Blaine, tender and open, and the tears in his eyes were only love. So much love, pulsing through him and he wanted Blaine to feel it, through his lips and tongue and skin and thrumming in the air around them. After this moment, they would go inside. They’d have to talk- about timing and place and not getting overcome. Because they always talked about the important things.

In a minutes they would have to leave this car and this moment behind them and Kurt wanted just a few more seconds to hold on. A few more seconds, washed in love, with Blaine. Just a little bit more, before they’d curl up on Blaine’s bed with blankets and food and whisper promises to be more careful, to think things through, even if they both realized how unlikely they were to keep to their promises. Because if there was anything they would learn from tonight, it was the sheer impossibility, their inability to love each other this way without being caught up, strung out and stupid with want and greed and infatuation, dazed and desperate and young.