In retrospect, the cockroach was definitely a bad omen.

Kurt's shriek would have filled Lincoln Center to the very back row; Blaine was pretty sure it overflowed their 600 square feet out into the apartments of all their neighbors and through the open windows down six stories to the street. He almost dropped the box he was carrying in his rush to the bathroom to see what was murdering his boyfriend.

Kurt was standing on the side of the dusky pink porcelain tub, hunched over to avoid cracking his head on the ceiling, his face twisted into a rictus of disgust, focused on the cabinet under the sink. The box he had been unpacking sat abandoned on the toilet seat. One plastic shampoo bottle rolled back and forth on the floor, dropped, Blaine assumed, in Kurt's retreat to the tub.

“What happened?!” Blaine asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew.

“Roach!” Kurt turned to Blaine. “You said this place was clean, Blaine!” he accused. “You said you went over it. You said . . .”

“I did! I promise.”

“Well obviously you didn't because I saw it. It was huge. You could have seen it from space.”

Blaine knew it would have been very, very wrong to laugh at that moment, but that didn't help him control the impulse.

“Where was it?”

Kurt pointed at the cabinet with one long, trembling finger.

Blaine opened the doors and crouched to peer into the darkness. “Well, it seems to have fled back wherever it came from. I'm not surprised. You probably scared it more than it scared you.”

“Are you taking its side?! You said this place was clean!”

“It is clean.” Blaine gave Kurt what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “But it's also surrounded by other apartments. You can't control everything, Kurt. We live in the city; we're going to get city bugs.”

“It was huge. It was a grandfather roach, Blaine. You know what that means? That means somewhere in these walls are all of his children and grandchildren – generations of roaches. Just waiting to crawl out in the middle of the night and do God knows what –”

“Okay stop!” Blaine interrupted. Kurt's voice was taking on a hysterical pitch and the last thing Blaine wanted for their first night alone together in New York was a fight over cockroaches. He stood up and tried to take Kurt's hand, but Kurt's fist was clenched and didn't open at Blaine's prompting. Undaunted, Blaine held his fist instead. “Look, I will get those roach motels. We'll put them at every possible point of entry. I'll glue them to the ceiling if I have to. First thing tomorrow, I promise.” He tugged on Kurt's fist. “Now come on down. There are only a few more boxes to unpack and we can get some dinner and relax.”

Kurt pulled his fist away. “I can get down by myself,” he snapped. He glared at Blaine, as if all of Blaine's efforts to reassure him had only made him angrier.

Blaine raised his hands in surrender and backed away. Kurt stepped down, gingerly, like he expected the floor itself to sprout legs and antennae and attack him. Then with a little sniff and no word to Blaine, he returned to unpacking the contents of the box on the toilet.

Blaine moved close to kiss him but Kurt kept his head lowered so he had to content himself with a peck on the cheek. Then he backed out of the room and made his way back to kitchen. He heard the bathroom door close with a sharp click behind him.

He wasn't hurt. No, he really wasn't, he told himself firmly. He understood what was going on. He'd been through it himself. His first day on the OSU campus, when the door had shut behind his parents and he was really, really on his own for the first time in his life. It was exciting, but it was scary too. Burt and Carole had waved goodbye only that morning; Kurt was allowed a little freaking out. Blaine knew it had nothing to do with him, not really.

Except he was the one who'd picked out the apartment, while Kurt was packing up his life in Lima, and he was the one who'd washed the curtains and scrubbed out the oven and cleared away the detritus of the previous tenant, all in the sweltering July heat, so that it would be as perfect as a dim, 600-square-foot apartment could be by the time Kurt and his family pulled up in the U-Haul. He'd wanted to make all of this as smooth and easy for Kurt as possible. He wanted Kurt to be able to enjoy his – their – new freedom with nothing to worry about or fear. He had been mentally kicking himself even as he'd explained to Kurt that sharing walls sometimes meant sharing bugs. Wrong as he knew it was, he couldn't help feeling responsible.

Which was ridiculous, he told himself. He was a grown up and he could certainly give Kurt the space he needed to deal with what was going to be one of the biggest transitions of his life. It was hard to squash the instinct to help, but he knew this was something Kurt had to deal with on his own.

*� *� *

Kurt leaned back against the bathroom door and tried to calm his still-galloping heart. Crap, it was hot. Of course it was hot, it was July in New York. The apartment only had one too-small window air conditioner and that was in the bedroom. He was going to have to open the bathroom door sooner or later – probably sooner – just to try to get back the cross-breeze that made it tolerable. Outside the window, even six floors up, the street sounds seemed overwhelming. He'd loved the crazy bustle of New York when he'd visited for Nationals his junior year, but now the realization that the honking and chatter and sirens and construction noise were going to be all day, every day, and all night too, was a little daunting. Blaine said he'd get used to it. But he didn't want to think about Blaine right now.

Well there wasn't anything to do about it but keep unpacking. That gave him something to focus on at least, putting each bottle and tube in whatever places he could find for them. There wasn't even half as much storage space as he needed. They'd have to get one of those rolling plastic drawer things, he thought. If he found one narrow enough he might be able to make it fit between the sink and the toilet (which were both the same horrendous shade of not-quite-Pepto-Bismol as the tub, but Kurt wasn't going to think about that right now). And maybe they could mount a cabinet over the toilet – one with a little towel rack under it. If they could find a stud. Puck had taught him about studs (the wooden kind, although there had been plenty of jokes about the other kind too) and although Kurt still wasn't too clear on the mechanics of it all, he knew they were necessary for hanging anything. Which meant he'd need to find one in the bedroom too, so they could reinstall their pulley. Maybe that was what he needed. Just to hang Blaine from the ceiling and work out a little aggression on his ass. Which would be wrong, Kurt told himself sternly as he knelt to arrange his extra shampoo bottles under the sink.

He shouldn't even have any aggression to work out. He was here in New York, where he'd longed to be forever, with Blaine, and nobody could tell them what to do anymore. They were starting their life together. Today. Yes, the apartment was a little dark and a little small and you felt like you were taking your life in your hands getting into the elevator, but it could be worse. In a couple of weeks Rachel would be settling into the dorms at NYADA with just a bed and a desk to call her own and no Finn, who was staying behind in Lima to help Burt run the shop. Kurt had no idea what was up with that. At least he had Blaine, and would have him, no matter what.

And, bright side, when it was cool enough to even think about taking the stairs, he'd be able to get his daily workout just leaving and coming home. His ass was going to look fantastic.

So why did he feel so out of sorts? He knew he should go out and apologize to Blaine for snapping at him, but he wasn't ready to face it.

Just as he finished emptying the box, there was a tentative knock on the door. It cracked far enough to admit Blaine's hand, holding a can of soda that dripped with condensation. Kurt forced his lips to smile and pulled the door open.

His smile softened to something more genuine when he saw the concern in Blaine's eyes.

“I figured it must be a sauna in here by now,” Blaine said. “Thought this might help.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said stiffly, taking the can and popping the top.

“I've only got a couple more boxes in the kitchen. And there are few in the bedroom.”

“I'm done in here. I'll take care of those next.”

It was awkward and kind of formal and Kurt didn't really understand it but he didn't feel like pushing it either. So when Blaine nodded and drifted toward the kitchen, he went the other way to the little bedroom.

Little was the operative word. They'd managed to fit their bed, one dresser, and enough space to walk around, but the closet was much too small and although Blaine had said they'd get some kind of rack for Kurt's clothes, Kurt had no idea where they were going to put it. And he knew, he'd known all along that it would be like this and he knew that if he was rooming at NYADA he'd have even less space but for some reason, looking at his suitcases and boxes piled on the bed, it seemed impossible that they would ever find a way to fit it all together.

He couldn't face it. He ignored the boxes and sat right down on the floor, with his back against the bed, tilting the can and almost shivering at the pleasure of the cold soda soothing the dry heat of his throat.

The bed was new; Blaine had bought it for them. It had spindled head and footboards so that Kurt could attach him places without having to resort to the ugly eye bolts. Their bed in their apartment and somewhere in there Kurt knew he should be feeling excited but right now all he could manage was hot. And tired. And a heavy sensation in his chest that he really wished would go away.

After a while – he wasn't sure how long – his stomach growled so he pushed himself up off the floor and headed into the kitchen.

Blaine was there, all his boxes unpacked, reading the directions that came with the toaster oven Burt and Carole had bought for them. Of course.

“Why are you reading that? It's a toaster oven. A five-year-old could work it.”

Blaine looked up, surprised. “I just want to make sure it's okay with this old wiring.”

“I'm sure my dad wouldn't have gotten us a toaster oven that would burn the building down, Blaine.”

Blaine's mouth opened, then closed again. “I just . . . want to make sure,” he said.

“How very responsible of you.” Kurt didn't mean to sound mocking but it definitely came out that way. He should apologize – take it back – but the mocking made the weight in his chest feel lighter.

“Did you finish in the bedroom?” Blaine asked in a carefully light voice.

“No. There's nothing to finish. There's no place to put any of that stuff. I might as well just live out of the suitcases.”

“I'll help you.”

The thing in Kurt's chest was getting heavier again. He couldn't think of an answer for Blaine that wouldn't sound petulant, so he set his soda can on the counter and opened the refrigerator instead, sighing at the relief of cold air hitting his overheated skin.� “Are there any more of those apples Carole left?” he asked

“Are you eating?”

“Can you just tell me where you put the apples?”

“Because if you're eating I'll have something too. Then we can go out later for dinner.” Blaine muscled into Kurt's space, reaching for the produce drawer.

“Oh my God. All I want is an apple. It doesn't need to be a fucking negotiation of our entire day!” Kurt backed away from the refrigerator, getting as far from Blaine as he could which, in the tiny apartment, was only about ten feet. Not much help when he suddenly felt like he needed ten miles.

“I just thought –” Blaine stood up as he spoke, a bright green Granny Smith in each hand.

“Forget it,” Kurt said, petulantly. He knew he was being petulant, but he was hot and tired and he didn't care.

“So you're not going to have an apple?” Blaine's annoyance was obvious now.

“No.” Petulance accelerated into pouting.

Blaine silently turned back to the fridge and dropped the apples in the drawer. The slam of the door closing felt like a stake through Kurt's temple.

”You don't have to not have an apple just because I didn't have an apple,” he grumbled. “We aren't actually required to do every little thing together.”

“I never wanted an apple!” Blaine exploded – at least as much as Blaine ever exploded. “I was going to eat an apple if you were so that we'd both be hungry at the same time, because I had this crazy idea that maybe we'd want to go out for dinner on our first night together in New York. I'm so sorry I assumed that this was something you'd want to celebrate! Next time I'll be sure to ask permission before I imagine us doing things together.”

Blaine stopped and stared at Kurt, clearly expecting some sort of an answer, but Kurt's throat had tightened too much and he was afraid if he tried to say anything, he'd start crying. So instead he flopped down on the couch and glared at the bare floor.

Blaine snorted and turned toward the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Kurt called after him.

Blaine stopped, but didn't look back. “If you're not going to unpack the bedroom, I'll do it.”

The black, heavy thing in Kurt's chest swelled even bigger. “Stop! Just stop!” he shouted.

“Stop what?” Blaine asked, turning to face him.

“Stop doing things for me! Stop hovering over me! Stop trying to take care of me!”

“I don't know what else to do!”

“Just leave me alone!”

Kurt regretted it as soon as it came out of his mouth. He regretted it as soon as he saw the way Blaine's eyes went wide and the way he recoiled back as if he'd been struck. And the way he mastered that reaction almost immediately, turned it into careful blankness. He would have taken it back right away, but tears filled his eyes and locked his throat tight and before his breath could find a way through Blaine murmured a painful, “Okay,” and was out the door. He didn't take the elevator down; Kurt could hear his footsteps echoing up from the stairwell for an absurdly long time. He waited until they finally died away before he let himself cry.

�

*� *� *

At least, Blaine thought, he'd had the foresight to rent an apartment in a neighborhood with a quirky coffee bar/bookstore, which in this era of Starbucks and Amazon was a rarity. If he had to hide from Kurt, at least he could hide with a latte and some Emily Dickinson. An iced latte, of course, it was much too hot for the regular kind, even inside the dim and air-conditioned shop.

That wasn't fair, he knew. He wasn't hiding, he was giving Kurt space. And he knew, because he was a grown-up, why Kurt needed that space. He should be able to provide it without feeling any bitterness or self-pity. And yet.

Because that you are going

And never coming back

And I, however absolute

May overlook your track –

Okay. Maybe the Dickinson was a mistake. Blaine closed the book with a sigh. Apparently, a loud enough sigh that the old lady two tables over peered curiously at him.

The thing was, he'd been waiting so long. Hungry – all the years, Ms. Dickinson had written. And since he'd met Kurt he'd been living a kind of half-life. Their time together had been everything he could have dreamed of, everything and more; Kurt had surpassed anything he'd dared imagine from a lover or a dominant. But it had also been short, always watching the clock count down to when Kurt would have to leave. This was what Blaine had waited for – watching Burt and Carole drive away in the van that morning had filled him with joy, knowing everything was about to start. They would make their own rules from now on. They were free.

Except now Kurt wasn't happy and Blaine didn't know what to do about it.

“She can be a bit melancholy, can't she?”

Confused, Blaine jerked his head up to find the old lady from two tables over standing by the empty chair across from him.

“Dickinson,” she clarified with a smile and a nod of her head toward the book. She wore an elegant black dress with pearls; her gray hair swept in a bun pulled the lines in her face into sharp relief. She reminded Blaine, oddly, of his grandmother Monaghan, even though she didn't look the slightest bit Korean. “You should try Whitman instead. “I sing the body electric . . .”

Blaine smiled back at her. “I love Whitman,” he said, “but I think I'm feeling a bit melancholy myself.”

The lady shook her head at him. “How can you be melancholy? You're young, it's a beautiful afternoon . . .”

“It's a thousand degrees out!” Blaine laughed.

She laughed with him and her blue eyes sparkled. They suddenly reminded him of Kurt's eyes – happy, usually, but also wise beyond his years.

“The weather will change eventually,” the lady said. “All you have to do is wait a bit. You're in the greatest city in the world. Plus you live in the age of climate control and iced beverages.” She indicated his latte with a sweep of her hand, thin fingers that shook slightly as if she couldn't quite control them as well as she might want to. “And you wear a black cuff so how bad can it be?”

At her remark Blaine noticed for the first time her own cuff, also black, on her right wrist.

“You know what, you're right,” he told her, and she smiled broadly when he said it. “I don't have any reason to feel sorry for myself.”

“And my work here is done.” She leaned forward, reached out and patted his hand with hers. Her skin felt soft and paper-thin. Then, still smiling, she slipped her arm through her purse and turned away, sailing out of the caf� without a backward glance.

Blaine slid the Dickinson back on the shelf behind his table and pulled out a volume of Whitman instead. It had been years since he'd read any Whitman. Then he signaled the waitress for another latte and settled back to read.

*� *� *

“Kurt?! I didn't think you'd call me for at least a week! Why are you calling me? Oh God, nothing's wrong is it? What's wrong?”

“Well if you give me a chance to get a word in maybe I could tell you.” Kurt knew it was mean to let Rachel think something might be wrong, but he needed her to shut up and it worked. “Calm down. Everything's fine. I just wanted to talk to you. Am I not allowed to call you anymore?”

“Of course you're allowed. I just thought you and Blaine would be holed up in the honeymoon suite by now.” There was the tiniest note of bitterness in her voice. It would have gone completely unnoticed by anyone else. But Kurt wasn't anyone else. He heard it and it reminded him that he was probably being selfish again, bringing his soulmate problems to Rachel when she was dealing with all the uncertainty of her future with Finn.

“This apartment is about as far from a honeymoon suite as you can get,” he said.

“Well I know that, but . . . emotionally.”

Kurt couldn't bring himself to answer that.

“Kurt?”

“No, this is stupid. I shouldn't be calling and dumping on you like this.”

“Isn't that what best friends are for?” Rachel asked. “Besides, sometimes it helps to concentrate on someone else's problems for a while.”

“It's just, there was a cockroach, Rachel. A cockroach in my apartment, you should have seen it. It was the size of one of those scarab beetles in that mummy movie Finn made us watch that one time. Nobody could have held it together in the face of that cockroach.”

“So you're calling me because you saw a roach?”

Kurt sighed. He wandered to the sofa and perched on one arm. “I screwed up. I yelled at him and I told him to leave me alone and now I don't even know where he is, he left and I have no idea where he went.”

“Wait, what happened? Did you guys have a fight?”

“I guess.” Kurt tried to think back to what had set him off in the first place. “He just kept trying to do things for me, he wanted to help me off the tub –”

“Why were you on the tub?”

“– which is pink, by the way, all the fixtures are pink and I don't mean kitschy vintage pink or ironic modern pink I mean ugly-ass why-would-anyone-do-that pink but you can't paint porcelain, apparently, and then he wouldn't let me get my own apple, and he tried to unpack my boxes and this place is small Rachel. It's small and hot and they're ripping up every sidewalk in a five block radius and it felt like the walls were closing in on me. And believe me when I say they don't have to go very far to do that.”

“Kurt, honey, you need to calm down. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“He wouldn't let me do anything. He was hovering and dithering and trying to fix everything like a –”

“Like a sub?”

“I was going to say like a parent,” Kurt said.

There was a long silence. Kurt stared at the bare walls of his apartment. He knew this wasn't going to help. Rachel didn't have any answers for him. In many ways she had less experience than he did himself. But the walls weren't going to help him and there was no one else here. Rachel was all he had.

Finally, Rachel said quietly, “If he was your own age would you have said that?”

“I don't know.” And he really didn't.

“What did you do?”

Kurt rubbed absently at the back of his neck. His hand came away damp with sweat. “I told him to leave me alone. Then he looked at me like I'd just stabbed him through the heart and he left.”

“Well maybe it's just that you're tired from all the moving. You don't feel any different than you did when you were here do you? About him?”

“I don't know,” Kurt said again. “Nothing's like I expected.”

“Have you even been there a whole day yet?”

“Why does this have to be so hard? We waited so long for this. This was supposed to be the good part.”

“And it is.” She sounded very certain. “You had a fight. That's going to happen, no matter how perfect you are for each other.”

There was something sharp in her tone, something he could tell she was trying to hide, not entirely successfully. Kurt sighed. He knew he was being selfish. So he said, “I can't wait until you get here,” which was still selfish but maybe a slightly safer topic.

Rachel seemed to accept it in the spirit it was intended. “Just a couple more weeks.”

Kurt could hear the effort it took for her to make that sound happy.

“It's all going to work out,” Kurt said, reassuring her as much as himself.

“Talk to him, Kurt. He can't read your mind you know. If you need something different you have to tell him.”

Which sounded like a lovely solution if only Kurt knew what he did need.

*� *� *

Two lattes and a croissant later Blaine, maybe just a little jittery from the caffeine, finally made his way back to the apartment. On the way he passed a hardware store, where he stopped in for a bushel of roach bait, and an old man selling sunflowers out of a basket. On impulse he bought one – its bright petals made him feel hopeful. �He felt conspicuous carrying it – people passing by smiled at him and one gentleman tipped his hat. Well, he knew from experience that New York was always surprising, but something about that man with his fedora made Blaine feel even better.

He consigned himself to the rickety elevator this time, and although it probably would have taken less time just to climb the six flights, as least he could still breathe by the time it lurched to a stop. He unlocked their door, careful to be quiet in case Kurt was still upset. But Kurt was nowhere to be seen. His presence could be felt though. Empty boxes had been neatly stacked next to the piano, packing materials had disappeared, and on the stone coffee table was a clear glass bowl filled with bright green Granny Smith apples. Blaine couldn't help smiling. He hoped that was a good sign.

He tiptoed to the kitchen, dropped his bag of roach motels on the counter, filled a tall glass with water, and dropped the sunflower into it. Then he set it on the table next to the apples.

He found Kurt in the bedroom, sound asleep on the carefully made bed. There were a few empty boxes here too, but most were still sealed. Kurt's wardrobe, Blaine realized with a pang. Still not unpacked because there was no place to put any of it. Well that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight Kurt was his priority.

He looked so young lying there, his face softened by sleep. His lips were slightly parted; his chest rose and fell with soft breaths. Kurt was so good at everything he did, so casually dominant and commanding when he wanted to be, that it was easy to forget just how young he really was. Watching him was hypnotic; Blaine found himself on his knees next to the bed without realizing that he'd dropped to the floor. Once down, though, it seemed right to stay, kneeling, watching Kurt sleep. Each breath Kurt took filled Blaine's lungs as well, and cleansed his tension, like an unconscious connection between them. Blaine knew that no matter what happened, that connection would always be there. It couldn't be severed, not by one silly argument, he knew that.

He lost track of time kneeling there watching Kurt, but eventually, as shadows lengthened across the room, Kurt stirred and sighed and opened his eyes. They were sleep-soft at first, but sharpened with the awareness that he wasn't alone in the room, then filled with questions, gazing down at Blaine kneeling next to the bed. Blaine didn't want to lose the sense of peaceful certainty he'd had watching Kurt sleep, so he simply smiled. Kurt didn't quite manage a return smile, but he held out a hand in invitation and, when Blaine took it and climbed onto the bed, Kurt pulled him down and nestled his head on Blaine's chest. It was much too hot to be pressed so close, but, holding him, Blaine could feel the tension in Kurt's muscles begin to melt away as he stroked down Kurt's back and nuzzled his lips in the hair at the top of Kurt's head.

“You were right,” Kurt said eventually.

“About?”

“Remember what you used to say about the things I'd miss out on because we were together?”

Something tightened, painfully, around Blaine's heart. “I do remember. There are other things I'd rather be right about though.”

“I really did believe that none of those things would ever matter to me,” Kurt said. “But I was wrong.”

“Tell me,” Blaine encouraged him.

“I realized today that I'm never going to be on my own.” Kurt rolled a little, still laying on Blaine's chest but facing the ceiling. He pulled Blaine's arm around his waist and wound their fingers together, anchoring them. “Most people would say that's a good thing. It is a good thing.”

“But?”

“But all over the country right now kids are moving into dorms and apartments and their parents are leaving them and they're on their own. With no safety net. It's sink or swim and they get to find out . . . it sounds silly but they get to find out what they're made of. Whether they can take it. Whether they can live on ramen and coffee and whether they can drag themselves out of bed for an eight o'clock class when they're so hung over they can barely see straight. They get to make mistakes and they have to deal with the consequences.”

“And you don't.” Blaine pressed another kiss to the top of Kurt's head.

“I went straight from living with my parents to living with you. Which I wouldn't change for anything but,” Blaine felt Kurt's shoulders shrug against his chest, “you're an adult. You know all about paying bills and buying the right groceries and you're mature and you're my submissive so it's your job to take care of me. I don't get to find out if I can do that on my own. I don't get to test myself.”

“Hey!” Blaine bounced his shoulder, forcing Kurt to look at him. “We take care of each other. And you have been tested in so many ways, you have to know that. Nobody could ever think that there was anything you couldn't handle. Not after everything you've been through.” Blaine shifted under Kurt, pushed himself up until they were both sitting on the bed, still holding hands. Kurt tilted his head a little, in the way he did when he was uncertain, but he didn't speak.

“I'm not even just talking about us,” Blaine went on, anxious to make his point before Kurt could demur. “I'm talking about going back to glee club after everything that happened, and facing all your friends, the way you never stopped trying with Rachel, and me, obviously,” he smiled. “Remember the very first day? Could you ever have imagined everything you've done since then? Everyone's in awe of you, Kurt. Me most of all.”

Kurt laughed softly. “Now you're just flattering me.”

“Should I stop?”

“Never,” Kurt said, smiling the lopsided smile that always made Blaine's heart roll over and beg for a belly rub.

But much as he didn't want to do it, there was one more thing Blaine knew he needed to say. “And if you think that maybe we should –”

Kurt shut him up with one hand, clapped firmly over Blaine's mouth. “Don't even say it.” He pushed Blaine back down on the bed and plopped emphatically back on top of him, cuddling into his chest. One arm wrapped around Blaine's waist and squeezed tight. “I am exactly where I want to be. This is everything I've dreamed about. Maybe with less closet space than I dreamed about, and much, much too hot, but we all have our crosses to bear.”

Blaine laughed, at Kurt's dramatic tone and at his own relief. “They say adversity builds character.”

“Do I really need any more character, though?” Kurt asked. “I think most people would say I have more than enough of that.” He lifted his head enough to grin at Blaine, then settled on his chest again, rubbing his cheek against Blaine's shirt over his heart. For a moment he was quiet, then when he spoke his voice was low. “It surprised me, I think, that's all. I didn't expect to feel it so much. I've honestly never cared about any of the things I was missing before. I didn't understand what was going on with me so I didn't talk to you and then everything went a little crazy.”

“Believe me, I can handle a little crazy.”

“One of the many reasons I love you,” Kurt said, placing a little kiss where his cheek had rested, over Blaine's heart.

They lay still for a while, until the closeness of their bodies in the heat became too much and Blaine could feel sweat trickling down his neck and in the small of his back. “It's so hot,” he said eventually. “I think we either have to go get dinner or start taking off some clothes.”

Kurt rolled away just far enough to prop himself on his elbow and stare at Blaine with eyes that were bright from heat, or maybe something else. “Would you do something for me?”

Blaine nodded. “Anything.”

He leaned close so their noses brushed together. “Make love to me?”

Blaine's breath caught. “You mean you want me to . . . ?”

It was Kurt's turn to nod.

“Of course I will,” Blaine said. His stomach was already fluttering in anticipation. “Should we start up the air conditioner first?”

Kurt shook his head. “I want it like this. Sweaty.” He almost whispered the last word, and his cheeks stained pink. Blaine pressed a hand to one of them, as if he could catch it; Kurt's blushes were becoming rarer, and he treasured each one. “And I want you to come whenever you want, however. Don't hold back.”

Blaine stroked Kurt's cheekbone with his thumb. “Really?” he asked. “Because if you're trying to make up for –”

But Kurt was already shaking his head. “This is how I always wanted it to be, our first time here.” He turned his head into Blaine's hand, kissed his palm, then flicked his tongue against it teasingly. “We never had enough time back in Lima. We always had to choose or prioritize what we wanted. The submission, the dominance, we needed that and we didn't have time for anything else. But now we don't have to trade one for the other. So right now, this is what I want. And I can have what I want because we're together now. Really together.”

“I love you,” Blaine breathed, and he pulled Kurt closer, kissing him hard, feeling the final bands of tension unbuckle from around his heart.

So, radiating heat in the shimmering air, they undressed each other, slowly, because it was too hot to move with any kind of speed. But far from making Blaine feel limp or enervated, the heat seemed to fan the sparks that always flew between them. His tongue tasted salt and fire on Kurt's skin, tracing each inch as it bared to him. It was so slow, exquisitely slow, and Blaine rejoiced as he always did in the feeling of Kurt softening under his hands and mouth, opening and offering himself with an abandon that was profound in its honesty and trust. Nothing was rushed; he spent an eternity on just one nipple, sucking and licking as the sounds escaping Kurt's throat got longer and louder and sharper. It seemed to take hours just to get to Kurt's cock and then Blaine felt like he could spend days there, worshipping it, memorizing a landscape that he already knew by heart.

Kurt moaned and writhed but he never hurried Blaine. His hands were everywhere, long fingers moving sensually over every inch of Blaine's body. Their legs tangled together, slipping sweaty against each other but the heat all around them was nothing, nothing at all compared to the bonfires inside. Kurt licked up the side of Blaine's neck then blew gently; the sudden cold made Blaine shudder and yet seemed to bank the inferno in his guts. A hand slick with lube wrapped around Blaine's cock, unexpectedly cool, and he cried out at the rush of pleasure Kurt's touch triggered.

Blaine didn't have time to wonder where Kurt had found the lube. The bottle bumped his hand and Kurt's legs spread wide, and there was nothing in the world that could have stopped Blaine from sliding a slippery finger deep into Kurt's body, first one, then more, stretching against the gripping heat. Kurt's eyes dropped closed and he moaned, spread so wantonly, the flush from before suffusing his whole body now, and Blaine's eyes filled with tears at the pure gift of it, this moment, this version of Kurt that no one else in the world would ever get to see. No one but him.

When he was ready Blaine hovered over Kurt, nudging his entrance with his eager cock, but there was one more thing he needed. “Open your eyes,” he whispered into the hot air between them. “Please?”

Of course, Kurt did. And the rush of emotion that spun through Blaine's body when those blue eyes, so open, so vulnerable, met his was greater even than the thrill of flesh meeting flesh, sliding heavy into Kurt's body, shaping it, watching the sensations manifest in Kurt's face, in his eyes. They moved together, slowly, languidly; Kurt's legs wrapped around Blaine and rode with each long thrust, pulling him deep then releasing him for the withdrawal. They strove together, each tethered to earth by the other's gaze, building the thrill one long slide at a time. Blaine felt release calling to him, unfurling in his balls and coaxing him forward, but still he kept his pace gentle, deliberate, feeling the orgasm swell, tendrils spreading up his spine and out along all his nerves and muscles and bones, engulfing him but not peaking, not yet. Kurt whimpered beneath him and the heat and build were unbearable but still he held on, as if he was waiting for a signal that the moment had come. Then Kurt panted, “Touch me, please, I need you to . . .” and that was his sign.

Blaine wrapped his hand tight around Kurt's cock and pulled – Kurt cried out with the unexpected force of it and threw his head back, mouth wide – and at the same time Blaine pounded hard, once, twice, and the third time he was coming, calling out, “Kurt, God, fuck, Kurt,” as everything exploded into dark, hot ecstasy. Beneath him Kurt chanted his name and tensed, Blaine could feel him spasming around his still shuddering cock and he cried out again at the force of it, so intense it was almost pain, and yet the farthest thing from pain imaginable.

The moment it began to fade, though, the heat of their skin together was too much to bear. Kurt was still murmuring his name as Blaine pulled out and rolled away, flopping onto his back on the bed. His fingers reached for Kurt's though, that much he could stand and he needed to be touching. They lay there for a long time, side by side, gasping into the stifling air.

When his breath eventually came back, Blaine said the first thing that popped into his head. “So where do you want to go for dinner?”

Kurt laughed, sudden and loud, still a little breathless but infectious, and soon Blaine was laughing too, clinging to Kurt's hand and grinning up at the ceiling and feeling like this might be the most perfect moment of his life so far.

“Somewhere with air conditioning,” Kurt said emphatically, as soon as he could speak, and that set Blaine off again, which set Kurt off again.

Eventually Kurt quieted, and his hand, which had been gripping Blaine's tightly, softened. His thumb began to stroke the back of Blaine's hand in slow sweeps.

“What are you thinking?” Blaine asked, because it felt like the right thing to say.

“We did it.”

Blaine couldn't help giggling, and Kurt turned his head so that he was looking at him instead of the ceiling.

“Stop that. I'm serious. We did it. We're in New York. And it may be hot and noisy and I'm pretty sure I can count six distinct jackhammers right now, but it's ours. No parents, no school boards, not even Rachel for another couple of weeks.”

Blaine turned too, and smiled at Kurt.

“This is the beginning,” Kurt said. “Right now. Today. The first day of our life together.”

“If it wasn't so fucking hot I'd kiss you right now,” Blaine said.

“It's going to be hot for at least another month. Are you not going to kiss me for a whole month?”

“You make a good point.”

Blaine moved to roll on top of Kurt but this time Kurt and his soul-meltingly soft lips met him halfway.