“That’s it.

At the sound of Kurt’s voice, Blaine (and his fingers) freeze. Kurt sounds pissed and frustrated, and although he was sure this was ok, Blaine is already apologizing,

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I thought…I mean I didn’t think-“

“Blaine,” Kurt looks up at him, a little puzzled, his eyebrow punctuating the look with a touch of annoyance, “What are you babbling about?”

“You- I…are you mad? I didn’t mean to push or anything-”

“Push what?” Now they are both sitting,  side by side on Kurt’s bed, and then Kurt is laughing, hiding red cheeks behind his slim fingers, “You think I’m mad be-because you were t-touching my hand?!” 

Huffing, Blaine swats at Kurt, sort of playful but maybe not completely, because yeah Kurt can be sort of skittish and even though all he’d been doing was touching Kurt’s hand, maybe he’d sort of been thinking about…other things.   

“I don’t know, I just…” his head is hanging and Blaine is fervently, fervently hoping that Kurt cannot read his mind, “Don’t want you to think I am being pushy.”

“Blaine,” Kurt takes his hand, squeezing hard and forcing his boyfriend to meet his eyes. “You can touch my hand. I promise. It’s ok.” And he’s rolling his eyes for Blaine’s benefit, trying to make light of what seems to be a sort of random situation. “You routinely do more than just touch my hand.”

And Blaine sort of has to smile at that, because yes, he does. Or they do. The other night in fact, he’d been well on his way to getting the last of Kurt’s layered shirts off, which had been so awesome. And hot. Awesomehot. Until Finn had come home early. Still, the teasing glimpse he’d gotten, all smooth stomach and promising skin- No, bad Blaine, he chastised himself. Focus. Kurt. Words, yeah. Talking.

“Ok…so what’s it?”

“What’s what?” Kurt asks, distracted by the feeling of the skin between Blaine’s fingers as he runs his index finger through and around them.  It’s ridiculous, how quickly Kurt can wind him up, and it is literally all Blaine can do not to melt into an incomprehensible puddle of turned on goop right now. Because, fuck, that feels, oh god, it just feels. so. good.

“What’s what?” Blaine sounds a little more forceful than he means too, pulling his hand away from Kurt’s wandering fingers before they can derail any more of his thought process.  When he realizes what he’s said he corrects himself quickly, “I mean, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh that. Finals.”

“Finals? You…were thinking about finals. Finals that are a week away?” Now he just feels like a giant tool, because he’d been lying there thinking about…things. Sexy things. Sexy alone time things; alone time they have right now since Kurt’s parents aren’t home from work and Finn is at Puck’s playing Call of Duty. Blaine’s always thought that he knows Kurt well- better than almost anyone else.  But moments like this, Blaine wonders if he’ll ever understand what’s going on inside Kurt’s head.  

“Yes, finals. Specifically, math.”  Kurt’s posture is stiff, a little defensive, and Blaine knows it’s because Kurt hates that he hates math, dislikes that no matter how hard he works, he just doesn’t quite get it; and he especially hates that Blaine does.  Blaine has already been down the road of offering to help tutor (never happening again, ever), so he knows to be careful.  Thankfully, Kurt has stopped molesting his hand, so he has more than the usual amount of blood in his brain to use.

“Math.” Great job brain. Blaine winces. Ok, so maybe he overestimated the blood to brain ratio here.

Kurt’s sigh is a long suffering, dramatic sort of exhalation; Blaine has to work to keep the smile off his face. Kurt putting his diva on means he’s not really annoyed; this is acting, a playful sort of game. He doesn’t say anything, staring down at Blaine with his eyebrows and lips doing that face, the face that kills Blaine but sort of really turns him on too, and Blaine realizes that this was supposed to be his cue to, you know, speak. Because now he’s been assaulted by Kurt’s sexy faces, and god, can’t he just catch a break?

“It’s stressing you out?” He ventures, voice cracking.  He feels himself beginning to break, nervous laughter sinewing under his lips. Thankfully, Kurt breaks first, with what only can be described as a giggle. 

“Yes! Well it was. When I was thinking about it.”   Kurt’s shrug is a sort of, oh well, gesture. Until he frowns, “And now I’m thinking about it again.” 

Think, Blaine, think!

“Ok well…ummm…” He goes with his first instinct, leaning in and kissing Kurt, but he’s moving too fast and he sort of just manages to knock their teeth together and almost sends Kurt over the edge of the bed.  So not sexy Blaine.

“Ok, no…just no. Ruining my smile is not going to help.” Kurt rolls off the bed, eloquent limbs and contained movement, before turning to pull Blaine up as well.  Which he’s not sure he can do because, yeah that was Kurt’s ass, and for the love of god, how does he get it into those pants? Aren’t there laws against this? Torture cannot be legal, even when you’re gay and 17 and perpetually horny. Especially then.  He pushes Kurt’s hand away, avoiding his boyfriend’s eyes as he pretends to lean over the other edge of the bed.

“I think I dropped my phone,” He calls over his shoulder, meanwhile trying to think of every disgusting, boner killing thing he can. Which works, sort of.

“Ok, so where are we going?”

“We’re going to bake a cake.”  Kurt has already turned to leave the room; Blaine stands still for a moment, trying to decide how much he really wants to figure out how Kurt’s brain works.  Because all he wants to do is bite down on Kurt’s delicious lips, preferably the bottom, but he’s not picky. And Kurt, well, he wants to bake a cake. A cake.

Blaine sighs a little as he follows Kurt, sending one last longing glance at the empty bed. If he isn’t going to get sexy times with his boyfriend today, at least he’ll be getting cake by the end of the night. 

Once downstairs, Blaine excuses himself, taking a long moment in the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and give himself a pep talk.

I can do this, he tells his image in the mirror. I can bake a cake with Kurt and not think  about eating cake off of him, or about  nibbling crumbs off his stomach…down towards his hip bones…mmmm Kurt’s hip bones...no, wait. No. Ok. I can do this. No more sexy thoughts. Cake thoughts. Platonic, friendly, non sexy cake thoughts.

When he makes his way back into the kitchen, he finds Kurt wrapped (adorably) in a large apron, surrounded by ingredients. Lots of ingredients.

“Flour?” Blaine looks at Kurt, confused, “Where’s the mix?”

Kurt bumps shoulders with him playfully, laughing, “We’re not going to use mix. Baking from a box isn’t really baking, and I need to bake. It makes me feel better.”  Kurt’s shy smile winds its way straight through Blaine’s stomach, “Less stressed.”

He’s not thinking, thankfully, when suddenly his lips are on Kurt’s. Not demanding, not needy, but just there. His brain (and heart) have caught up enough that all he wants to do right now is love this boy. Kurt is kissing him back, equally gentle, before pulling away; his face is bright and young and so gorgeous.  It’s quiet in the kitchen as they stare at each other, happy and a little lost in this bubble they’ve made, until the air conditioning kicks on, startling them both. Blaine curses the freak heat wave rolling through Ohio, wanting that perfect moment back.

“Come on.” Ever practical, Kurt has already moved on, and is gathering bowls and measuring cups. “I’ll tell you what to do and you can help.”

They spend the next ten minutes working on the cake batter. They aren’t speaking, except for Kurt’s quiet instructions. Without conversation to distract him, Blaine finds himself watching Kurt- his fingers gripping the wooden spoon he’s using to mix the batter with. The way his long legs are just a little apart; the hipshot way Kurt is leaning with his hip into the counter. His eyes, which in the late afternoon sunlight, are more blue than usual. His lips, which are currently sucking a bit of batter off of his fingers…just... fingers…

“Blaine!” He comes to himself, startled at the tone. His ears are buzzing and his skin feels positively on fire.

“Huh? Umm, I mean, what?” He actually shakes his head, trying to clear it.

“What is wrong with you?” Kurt’s face is a mix of concerned and annoyed; he’s still mostly focused on the cake, which he’d been pouring into cake pans.

“Nothing…I mean, something, just- I’m-“ He gives up when Kurt leans over to put the cake into the preheated oven. Because, he can’t.  Because it’s Kurt. And his ass.  In. Those. Pants.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, but you’re making me crazy.”  When Kurt stands, face a little shocked because Blaine never swears, Blaine feels his face turning a little red. It’s too late now, he’s already put his foot in his mouth, so he just decides to go with it, pulling Kurt into him roughly. One hand is curled around Kurt’s arm; a bicep surprisingly well defined; the other squeezing the back of Kurt’s neck.  They’re kissing and Blaine is lightheaded and desperate and Kurt, Kurt is kissing him back in the same sort of unhinged way, curling his fingers into Blaine’s shirt.

Everything is perfect, all Kurt’s mouth and his smell, until Kurt pushes him away suddenly. 

“Ok…what….was that?” Blaine forces himself to breath, turning to examine the floor to avoid being distracted.

“You- you’re just…you’ve been driving me crazy all afternoon.” Blaine can’t help that he sounds a little crazy himself right now, honestly.

“Ummm…crazy good or crazy bad?”  Kurt’s arms are folded around his middle, a defensive posture that tells Blaine Kurt is taking all of this the wrong way.

“Crazy good.” Blaine pulls him forward, unfolding Kurt’s stiff arms and putting them around his waist.  “You just… you smell so good and you look so good and those pants…” His mouth is pressed against the skin of Kurt’s neck, he’s kissing and speaking and breathing right up against it, having given up on his ability to a) stay away and b) be remotely articulate any time soon. When he feels Kurt shiver, he doesn’t even try to stop the smile.

“Pants?” Kurt’s voice is thin, his hands pulling at Blaine’s hair in a way that seems to mean please stop; but when Blaine leans away Kurt whimpers just a bit, pressing him forward again.

“Yes, pants. Illegally tight pants. And your hands, and the thing with the spoon and licking batter off your finger…you weren’t doing it on purpose were you?” The thought occurs to him suddenly. He’s been operating under the assumption that Kurt was not interested in making out all afternoon…but the way that Kurt is plastering himself up against him, biting at Blaine’s chin and lips and just sort of…devouring him-

“What thing with the spoon? No I wasn’t doing it on purpose!”  Kurt is leaning back, his cheeks are flushed and his lips are even more red than usual. 

“Why not?” Blaine’s forgotten what they were originally talking about, because it’s kind of hot, thinking about Kurt deliberately getting him this worked up.

“Hi, Blaine, have you met me?” Kurt looks a little put out, but he’s still holding on to Blaine, which he can only interpret as positive, “Baby penguin? Not sexy? Ring any bells.”

“Kurt.” The words hit Blaine like cold water; he’s pulling himself up a bit and looking into Kurt’s eyes with intent. “What are you talking about?”  He ignores the requisite eye roll, waiting for Kurt to explain,

“You remember, the whole gas-pain, sexy-face thing? With the mirror? When we established that I have no sex appeal or-“ 

“Kurt…no. Just no.” Somewhere between genuine sadness and an inappropriate urge to laugh, Blaine takes Kurt by the hand, leading him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Once back in Kurt’s room, he sort of pushes an obviously reluctant Kurt toward his bed, then onto it. Sitting next to him, he braves reaching for Kurt’s hand.

“Ok, look at me.” He waits until Kurt does, “The mirror thing, with the faces- that wasn’t about you.” Kurt makes a face, a sort of, what the fuck are you talking about? face, so he just keeps going, “It was a show thing. A performing thing. I never said you weren’t sexy- the whole point was about you acting sexy. Trust me, there have been so many times when you have done things that were just…so hot…and you had no idea.”

“So,” Oh god, he’s at it again. Blaine’s toes curl as Kurt starts stroking the back of his knuckles with a shy fingertip, “What you’re saying is when I want to be sexy on purpose, I’m not, but when I’m not trying to be sexy, I am?” He sounds confused, and honestly, Blaine is pretty confused too; mostly because that sentence had a lot of words in it and Kurt’s finger is doing that thing again.

“First,” He slaps his hand down on Kurt’s, stilling the movement, “You have to stop doing that if you want me to be able to make sentences. Out of words.”  Kurt shoots him a glance at that, curious and wondering, “Second,” He turns his body toward Kurt, facing him the best he can, “That was then. Now I’m pretty sure that you couldn’t help being sexy if you wanted to. And I was pretty sure you knew, you know, how…you get to me. So yeah, I thought you were maybe doing it on purpose.”

“How I get to you.” Kurt turns the phrase over carefully. It’s a little scary, seeing him digest and process this, because Kurt is nothing if not thorough.  Blaine has never seen Kurt leave anything half finished, give anything half measure.  There’s a sly smirk on his boyfriends face now, a quiet confidence waking; Blaine isn’t sure he can handle Kurt trying to undo him, if everything so far has been a happy accident. 

“Well, I wasn’t doing it on purpose.” He’s still smirking as he pushes at Blaine’s shoulder, moving him back and up the bed, leaning into him, pressing himself over and against him.

“Kurt-“ He’s desperately trying to say something, something about boundaries and waiting until they are ready, but shitshitshit,  Kurt is sucking on this spot behind his ear  and fuck, who cares?  He certainly doesn’t, not when Kurt moves on to his lips, pale hands steady as they inch the hem of Blaine’s t-shirt up; definitely not when he manages to roll them over so that his body is covering Kurt’s. Every place his body touches Kurt’s is tingling.

“Oh crap, the cake!” Kurt shoves Blaine off, making a dash for the door, leaving him flustered and turned on and inside out with want.  He breathes for a moment, trying to calm down, when he realizes what just happened.  He’d been in the midst of what was possibly the hottest moment of his whole existence, and Kurt had been thinking about cake. Cake.

He is never going to understand Kurt. Ever.