It's happening more often now, this awful tease. It's his own fault, Kurt knows. He could say something. At least, he could if it didn't feel like there were a giant, immovable stopper jammed in his lungs every time he tried to say it. Or he could just stop wanting it so badly. He hasn't figured out how to do that either.

So he finds himself in this same state, night after night, with Blaine. (And, oh, Blaine is so sweet and passionate about everything. Even though they've only been dating a few months, and known each other just a month or so longer than that, Kurt thinks he may be The One. Which means Kurt definitely doesn't want to screw this up.)

Blaine is the most generous lover Kurt's had. Patient, too, in a way Kurt didn't expect to enjoy as much as he does, for it leads to the exquisite torture he's presently suffering. Suffering is perhaps not entirely the right word, but it's close. Every time, Kurt hopes this will be it: tonight Blaine will do it, or tonight Kurt will be brave enough to ask. Or, Blaine may even push him so far, he snaps and just begs for it.

At which point, Blaine may simply stop. They would date for a few more weeks, awkwardly and apathetically. Have some mediocre sex, the kind you have when you know it's ending but you can't quite bring yourself to admit it, and then Blaine would—much as Kurt's last boyfriend had—tell him gently, over a cocktail, it just wasn't working out. They should see other people. And Kurt would lose not only his boyfriend, but also his best friend.

But for now, Kurt's not thinking about the various dire scenarios in which Blaine may break up with him for his less mainstream desires. He's naked in Blaine's bed, and Kurt loves it here. Blaine doesn't have roommates or thin walls, so they can have sex unconstrained by decorum. Blaine also has good taste in bed linens. High-thread count cotton sateen in robin's egg blue or celadon green or pale wheat gold, depending on the day of the week. Today the sheets are gold, sweat damp and bunched beneath Kurt's shoulders as he shudders and twists his spine to encourage. Blaine's hands are tight on the backs of his thighs, gripping him hard enough to bruise, and Blaine's mouth is so close to where Kurt craves it most, but has never actually had it.

"Blaine," Kurt grits out, can't keep the reedy note of complaint from his voice.

In reply, he gets a puff of breath from Blaine's nose against the base of his cock and an amused rumbling moan around his balls, that—if Blaine's mouth weren't so full of them—would be his most affectionate laugh. Blaine's tongue is wicked, curling up behind Kurt's sack as Blaine sucks softly. It's times like this, having his most vulnerable parts cradled so tenderly in Blaine's mouth, that make Kurt believe maybe he can at least ask. Maybe. He's never felt so trusting of a lover, and never this quickly. Never felt his body to be so cherished. And yet, the words just won't come.

He pants and moans beneath Blaine's attention, tries to nudge his pelvis up to communicate his desire for Blaine's mouth to move back farther, lower. He feels so exposed, like Blaine has to know Kurt wants it. Like every dirty desire of Kurt's is on display. And even though Blaine must know, he doesn't because— (At this point Kurt hears Chandler's voice telling him, "I just don't think it's very hygienic, Kurt. Sorry.")

Kurt tries to relax and stop wanting, but he can't seem to disrupt the way his bodily focus is so bent on how his anus clenches and relaxes, untouched and desperately hungry for the press of Blaine's lips, the soft-slick sweep of his tongue. But that most intimate kiss never comes. Blaine releases Kurt's balls, gives him one long, last teasing lick far enough behind them that it makes Kurt groan in frustration, and then he moves the wrong way, back up to Kurt's cock.

Except wrong isn't the right word either. Blaine gives good head. He has an attention to detail and a gift for an unrelenting rhythm that makes Kurt's head feel like a furnace. Blaine's a fucking artist at cocksucking. Which only makes Kurt burn to know how Blaine's mouth would be on him elsewhere. But there's no reason to complain. Kurt is completely, blissfully—indulgently, even—satisfied.

He grabs a handful of Blaine's hair as he comes, arching up as he cries out shamelessly.

After, Blaine crawls up to him, grinning. He kisses Kurt with the scent of spunk on his breath and the taste of it heavy on his tongue. Kurt loves it, licking the flavor of himself from Blaine's mouth. "You're going to kill me one of these days," Kurt says when Blaine withdraws from the kiss.

"Only a little death," Blaine says with a smile. "I promise." He studies Kurt's face as he pets Kurt's damp hair back from his sticky forehead, but whatever question he's seeking the answer for, he doesn't ask. Instead he inquires, "Hungry?"

"Starving." Kurt says.

"I'll order dinner," Blaine says, and he slides from the bed to retrieve his phone from the antique dresser. Its smoothly curved and polished mahogany is a gorgeous contrast against the exposed gray concrete block of Blaine's walls; it often catches and holds Kurt's gaze when he's in this room. But it's not as arresting a sight as Blaine himself, who stands nude and beautiful, still flushed with arousal and gleaming with perspiration, and he's hard again. Kurt wonders how much time they'll have before the food gets here. "Thai okay?" Blaine asks.

"Perfect," Kurt says. He sits up and rolls forward before lowering himself to his belly, propped up on his elbows. "Grab some cash from my wallet. My pants are on the floor over there somewhere."

"It's my treat tonight," Blaine says as he scrolls through his contacts.

"How you spoil me," Kurt says, grins.

"I do my best," Blaine says. "Pad Thai?"

"With tofu instead of egg?"

"I'll ask."

Kurt watches Blaine as he places the order, the way his body moves as he talks, the small gestures he makes with one hand. Blaine's polite and friendly on the phone, addressing the girl who's taking the order with her first name, making her laugh. And then he's saying "thank you" and ending the call, setting down the phone, and turning his attention back to Kurt.

"Forty-five minutes," Blaine says, and Kurt sees the heat in his gaze, the intention.

"That's more than enough time for you to fuck me," Kurt says.

+++

Kurt's in the shower, dazedly staring at the geometric patterns in the old tiles, when Blaine knocks on the door and tells him the food's arrived. Kurt blinks back to himself, rinses the conditioner from his hair, and shuts off the water. He towels off. The comfortable burn of exertion lingers in his muscles, and the pleasant ache of use in his anus. He slides a hand down between his buttocks, feels how he's still relaxed and a little puffy. And so sensitive. How would it feel now? For Blaine to kiss him here? He entertains a brief fantasy, of Blaine coming in and bending Kurt over the sink, kneeling behind him, his hands upon Kurt's ass, spreading him apart, and—

"Do you want chili sauce with your spring rolls?" Blaine calls out.

Kurt laughs softly at himself. "Yes, thanks," he calls back. He finishes drying himself, dabs on a layer of moisturizer and slips into the spare pajama pants and t-shirt Blaine's left him.

+++

They eat seated on the sofa, a wide Spartan styled thing in a deep shade of rust red corduroy. Blaine's put the food on mismatched servingware and arranged it all upon his battered oak coffee table. The table had begun life as part of a dining suite in the 1980's, but after Blaine picked it up at a flea market, he sawed the legs off short, and now it does double duty. A trio of votive candles flicker from inside green glass tumblers in the center of the table, and a bottle of sweet German wine with an unpronounceable name rests on a green gingham pot holder. There's no room in Blaine's apartment for a proper dining space, but Kurt likes this: tucked up next to Blaine, balancing his plate in one hand, watching yesterday's "The Daily Show" on the DVR.

Kurt has to remind himself that it may be too soon to get used to this. But he could, and he wants to. He's just never had much luck with a relationship lasting, partly because he starts doing what he's doing now: thinking about too much commitment too soon. He wants to get it right with Blaine. Which means keeping himself in check: no getting carried away and voicing daydreams of 'next year' or 'at Christmas' or 'when you meet my family' or (worst of all) 'if we get married'.

This time, Kurt's determined to wait for Blaine to say, "I love you" first. Part of him is sure it's coming soon, but he's been certain before, said it first and been wrong. He's not doing that again, even if the relationship with Blaine feels different and special. Kurt's learned the hard way that sometimes, his heart is simply too fanciful.

"So what have you got on this week?" Blaine asks. He mutes the commercials rather than fast-forwarding through them so they have time to talk. They discuss the work and study ahead for them each, timetables and projects and other demands. Try to figure out what their mutual schedule will be. It's not that hard to coordinate lunches and dinners; they both spend their days in Manhattan. Kurt tries to hold back a little bit, feigns some nonchalance at meeting daily for lunch, but Blaine insists, and Kurt is happy to let him.

+++

The next time it doesn't happen, Kurt's on his hands and knees on Blaine's bed, they haven't bothered to turn on a light, and Blaine's thumb is slipping a slow revolution around his rim while Blaine's mouth places lazy kisses at the small of his back. Surely this time, Kurt hopes.

But Blaine's lips stop at his tailbone. Kurt drops to his elbows, pushes his ass up and asks softly, "Please?" It's easier in the dark to speak, but he still can't finish the plea.

"Mmm," Blaine hums against his skin and gently bites at the top of his buttock. "God, I love how eager you are," and then he pushes his thumb inside, and Kurt stops caring so much about where Blaine's mouth isn't.

+++

He still wants it though. When they started sleeping together, Blaine was so quick to get his face between Kurt's legs, Kurt had hoped it would just happen naturally, that Blaine may be a guy who would want to. But he hasn't, and even though he's kissed Kurt nearly everywhere else, he's never done the one thing that dominates Kurt's fantasies.

Kurt knows, rationally, that as an adult he's responsible for his own pleasure. It's not fair to expect Blaine to guess what Kurt wants, nor is it right to expect Blaine to want to do something Kurt's aware may not hold much appeal. He never has forgotten the guys in the locker room in High School, stumbling upon some gay porn on Karofsky's computer. Dave had insisted he didn't know how it got there, that it was someone's horrible prank. But they'd watched it, and they'd made fun of it. Kurt remembers how Dave had joined in the heckling and the specific act deemed most disgusting.

Kurt had snuck out quietly and skipped gym for the next week after that. But he'd seen enough, heard enough. Started thinking about it, considering and imagining, and then, quite contrary to his own expectations—and quite abstractly in the absence of an actual boyfriend—he started wanting it.

He remembers Rachel once advising him that conversations about sex should never be had during sex, not the serious or sensitive ones anyway. Which is fine, because Kurt seems incapable of talking about this during sex. But, outside of sex, he's not entirely sure how to bring it up either. Over a romantic dinner out, he imagines himself unfolding his napkin into his lap, lifting his wineglass, and then casually asking, "So, Blaine, how do you feel about performing analingus?"

That's never going to happen, though it would be good for a laugh.

Perhaps a quiet evening on the sofa, he could simply say: "Hey, remember that time you were sucking my balls? I really wanted you to keep heading south."

South? Really? No. Clearly he cannot do this.

+++

It's Blaine who brings it up. Sort of.

They're lying in the afterglow. Kurt's buzzing, warm and loose, lying on his stomach with Blaine's sweat drying upon his back and Blaine's fingers dipping down into his cleft and massaging over the sensitive and fatigued muscle so soothingly, Kurt's about to drift off. Tonight the lights are on and the sheets are robin egg blue. A rotary fan on Blaine's dresser blows a refreshing breath over their cooling skin.

"Feel's good, Blaine," he mumbles.

"Yeah?" Blaine asks, kisses Kurt's shoulder.

"Of course," Kurt says, only a little bit slurred.

"Sometimes..." Blaine says. He sighs and kisses the back of Kurt's arm.

"Sometimes?"

"I don't know," Blaine says, and his hair tickles the side of Kurt's neck as he kisses back up to Kurt's shoulder. "Maybe I'm just being weird."

"Hmm?"

Blaine lifts his mouth from Kurt's skin, and he stills the motion of his hand between Kurt's buttocks. "Are you satisfied with me, Kurt?"

Kurt can't help but turn his face into his pillow to smother a laugh. He lifts his head. "In what way do I appear unsatisfied to you right now?"

Blaine laughs too. "No, I don't mean like that. It's just that sometimes I feel like... maybe I'm missing something? Or I'm not doing something quite the way you like it?" Blaine's hand moves higher, up over the curve of Kurt's ass to rest low upon his back. "You know you can tell me right? If you want me to speed up or slow down, be rougher or more gentle. Or, you know, even if you want to try something a little more... different."

"Different?"

"Yeah, um, like, kinkier. Bondage or spanking or— I don't know, but I'm pretty open-minded."

Kurt makes himself wake up. He rolls back to his side and faces Blaine. "I've never done any of those things," Kurt says.

"I wasn't assuming you had. I just thought, maybe you weren't sure if you could ask me for stuff like that. But I think we're doing well together, aren't we?"

"I think so," Kurt says. Then he quirks an eyebrow as he asks suggestively, "Are you saying you want me to tie you up and spank you, Blaine?"

Blaine matches his grin, but grows more serious when he says, "I'm saying that I'd trust you to."

"Oh." Kurt's never... He's never had anything like this kind of physical ease with any of his past boyfriends. He's sure of it. But since he still doesn't trust his heart to be sure about other things, he wonders if he can trust Blaine's instead.

"Or," Blaine says, "If you wanted me to do something like that for you, I'm open to that, Kurt." He leans in closer. "Or whatever you want. With you, I'm open to so much." And then he kisses Kurt, rolls him to his back, and straddles his hips. They don't finish the conversation that night.

+++

It's at their next weekly Friday afternoon coffee that Blaine brings it up again. The routine is one they've had since the day they met. Kurt had been standing still amidst the stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk, caught, staring at his phone with tears he couldn't stop sliding down his cheeks. The news from home that day wasn't good. His father was back in the hospital, in the emergency room with sudden complications, and Kurt couldn't get home soon enough. Blaine had been one of the hundreds of people walking the other way who had seen him. Alone, Blaine had noticed him. Blaine had stopped, and he'd asked, "Hey, um, excuse me, sir, I don't mean to pry, but... are you all right?"

At that Kurt had looked up from his phone and seen Blaine. The earnest concern in his eyes had been enough for Kurt to sob out an honest, "No."

And then Blaine had carefully taken him by the arm and led him toward the closest coffee shop. "Let me buy you a coffee," he'd said. That was how it started. A few weeks after that, Kurt realized he was developing romantic feelings for his new best friend. A month after that, Blaine kissed him for the first time.

Every week since, they've done this. It's not the same coffee shop, but it's the same meeting between friends, now become lovers. And if his father is doing fine now, declared by his doctors to be in remission, well, that just makes the dates sweeter.

Today, they seat themselves at the only free table near the fire. The dirty cups, saucers, and plates of its previous occupants still clutter the table between them. Kurt rests his hands in his lap as they wait for their order to come.

"I'd like you to tell me one of your fantasies, Kurt," Blaine says. No mild introduction or segue, just the question, bold and clear.

"You mean like winning the lottery and starting my own fashion house?" Kurt asks, teasing to buy himself some time.

Blaine, undeterred, shakes his head and smiles, lowers his voice. "No, I mean a sex fantasy."

"Oh, right."

"You don't have to. Especially not right now, but sometime, maybe later tonight or over the weekend, I'd like it if you would."

"I'll, um, I'll try to think of something," Kurt says.

"I'll tell you one of mine," Blaine says as if he's offering incentive.

"Aren't we a bit old for 'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours?'" Kurt asks with a laugh.

"That depends," Blaine says. "Is that one of your fantasies?"

"Oh my god, Blaine." Kurt laughs harder even as his brain scrambles for the most innocent fantasy he has that wouldn't feel like a cop out. And he has to admit to himself: he wants to hear one of Blaine's.

+++

Blaine doesn't bring it up again that night. Kurt, as has become their Friday habit, has packed a small bag that morning and heads to Blaine's apartment after work. He's always a little late on Fridays, gets there around eight. Their routine is sex first, then food, then TV or a movie. Kurt sleeps over.

But tonight Blaine has dinner nearly ready when he arrives. He's cooked, something simple: grilled salmon, roasted potatoes, and steamed green beans. More recycled glass tumblers have been pressed into candle holder service upon the coffee table, the main overhead lights are off, and tonight the bottle of wine is champagne. The TV is off and music plays, instrumental piano. Chopin, Kurt thinks.

Kurt lets his satchel slip from his shoulder and sets down his overnight bag as he leans back against the door to close it behind himself. He only wonders for a moment what the occasion must be. It's not one of their monthly anniversaries, so it must be an academic achievement. "The department's going to produce your play?" Kurt asks.

"Yes!" Blaine says. I got the call from my supervisor after you left the cafe. I nearly called you straight away, but then, I thought it would be more fun to surprise you with the news."

"Congratulations!" Heedless of the damp dishtowel over Blaine's shoulder and his oil spattered apron, Kurt grabs him in a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you, honey!"

"So," Blaine says when he steps back from Kurt's embrace to head back to the kitchen. "Sit down and have dinner with me, let me get you a little bit drunk, and then we can have filthy celebratory sex on the sofa."

"Oh, baby," Kurt says with a grin. He goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and freshen up.

"Just not too filthy," Blaine calls out. "That thing's not scotch guarded."

+++

Dinner is good, the champagne excellent, and the sex ends up being the two of them on the floor with Kurt straddling Blaine's face, the wool carpet rough beneath his knees, while he sucks Blaine's cock deep down his throat. Blaine licks up behind Kurt's balls again, and Kurt feels Blaine's ragged breaths hot and humid so near his tender opening, but Blaine doesn't kiss him there tonight either, just moves his mouth back to Kurt's dick and works his skillful fingers into Kurt's ass. Kurt has no complaints, but it doesn't stop him from wanting and wondering.

+++

In the morning, Blaine wakes him with a large mug of coffee and a kiss on his forehead. Kurt squirms up against the headboard and takes the coffee. "Thank you," he says.

Blaine sits on the edge of the bed and watches him with a smile. "Turns out I have some fairly major rewrites I need to get done over the weekend," he says. "So I'll have to spend most of today working on that."

Kurt nods and inhales the aromatic steam from his mug. They usually spend their Saturdays together out. They have brunch at the diner on the corner, and then spend the afternoon in the park, at a museum, or window shopping. Kurt goes home in the evening, and they each take their Sunday for themselves. Kurt's unwilling to give up this time with Blaine, even if they don't end up actually doing anything together. "I have my computer and sketchbooks," Kurt says. Since his promotion to Associate Creative Director at Vogue Dot Com, he's never short on projects to develop. "I could... work here, if you wouldn't mind the company?"

Blaine's smile broadens to dazzling. "I'd love it if you spent the day with me," Blaine says. "You can even—if you want to, that is—stay over again tonight? We could make it a weekend. Maybe catch a matinee movie tomorrow if we get our work done?"

"I'll have to call Rachel, so she won't expect me back," Kurt says. "But that sounds wonderful."

Kurt calls Rachel while Blaine showers. She's very happy for him to be making apparent progress with Blaine. "Oh my goodness, Kurt, at this rate, he'll be asking you to move in with him soon!" She's excited until she realizes. "Which means I'll need a new roommate, so make sure you do something irritating."

"Rachel," Kurt says with affection. "Don't get ahead of yourself. Or me, for that matter. You know how my luck runs."

He hears her sigh dramatically. "Fine, Kurt, but this one's special, and you know it."

Kurt listens to make sure he can still hear the shower running. "That's the problem, they're all special, right until they aren't," he says. "But I hope it works out with Blaine. I'm not ready to say it to him yet, but I've fallen in love, and I think he could be it for me. So long as I don't fuck up."

"Then don't fuck up," Rachel says.

Kurt shakes his head and smiles. "I'd better go and make us some breakfast."

"Enjoy your day," Rachel says.

"You too," Kurt replies, and then he hangs up.

He makes French toast. He finds some firm Red Anjou pears in Blaine's fruit bowl, which he poaches with vanilla in the champagne leftover from last night, and then he reduces the poaching liquid to make a syrup. He whips some cream and puts on another pot of coffee. It's ready and laid out on the coffee table when Blaine comes out of the bedroom, smelling clean and dressed comfortably for a day in.

"Wow, Kurt," Blaine says. "This looks so much better than the bowl of raisin bran I was contemplating in the shower."

Kurt smiles, pleased. "Brunches are my favorite thing to cook, though I don't often take the time any more."

Blaine comes over and kisses the corner of Kurt's smile. "Thank you for taking the time for me."

They sit down and eat. Blaine makes appreciative noises over everything, and there are no leftovers. After, Blaine dries the dishes while Kurt washes. When Kurt pulls the plug in the sink to drain the water, Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt from behind and nuzzles against his ear. "Maybe I should keep you," he says. Kurt thrills at the words, lets himself hope he's right about Blaine. Turns in Blaine's arms to reply with an approving hum and a deep, slow kiss. He doesn't quite trust himself to speak.

+++

It's after six when Blaine snaps down the lid of his laptop and stretches his arms over his head. From the sofa where he's sprawled, scrolling mindlessly through someone's Pinterest board of Edwardian menswear, Kurt looks up. "Done?"

"For today," Blaine says. "Want to go out or order in?"

"Out?" Kurt suggests. He could use a walk after a day of sedentary concentration.

It's a cool evening, so Kurt borrows a sweater. A soft, marled shawl collar cardigan that smells like Blaine. He tucks his chin down and inhales deeply as they walk. Blaine's hand is tucked into the bend of his elbow and their shoulders bump as they go. "Have you thought about my question?" Blaine asks.

Kurt knows the one Blaine means. "I have," he says; it's been on his mind today, and just acknowledging that feels like a kind of confession. He thinks he knows what to say, how to say it without really saying it. He's going to go for it, damn the consequences. Either he can trust Blaine with this or he can't, and he needs to know.

"I'm glad," Blaine says. "Maybe we can talk about it after dinner?"

Kurt feels the heat of his blush creep up his neck. "All right," he says.

+++

Blaine opens a bottle of wine when they get back, a velvety and plummy imported Syrah to complement the bitter dark chocolate mousse cake they picked up on their way back. They share the slice of cake and trade chocolate and wine scented kisses between bites and sips until their glasses are empty, the plate is bare, and Kurt has nowhere he needs to be but here, being pressed against the arm of Blaine's sofa with Blaine's thumb swiping a smear of chocolate from the edge of his mouth while Blaine parts his lips against Kurt's and fills his mouth with breath and heat and the wondrous slip of his tongue.

Kurt groans and reaches to pull impatiently at Blaine's shirt. "Want you," he murmurs against Blaine's lips. "So bad."

"What do you want, Kurt?" Blaine asks. The words fall so hot upon Kurt's skin. "Tell me."

Kurt has to push Blaine back a little then, can't speak while he's getting caught up so fast in the desire itself. He's rehearsed the words in his mind, what he's going to say. He bites his lip and runs through it all again.

"Hey," Blaine says gently. "You don't have to."

"I want to," Kurt hears himself say. "I've wanted to for a while."

Blaine's eyes are open, his gaze soft and meeting Kurt's. And Kurt sees love there. It can't be anything but love. And he realizes, this is it. If Blaine is The One, then Kurt has to be able to say the difficult things, and it has to be okay. If he tells Blaine, and it damages something between them, well then, maybe it wasn't going to last after all. He has to be able to fuck up and still be safe here. "You can tell me," Blaine says.

"I would love it if..." Kurt takes a shuddering breath. Tries to rally, tries to let the slight haze from the wine loosen his tongue.

"If?"

"It's... Some people think it's dirty."

Blaine's smile tilts; his eyes darken. "Sounds promising."

That makes Kurt laugh. "I, um. I really love your mouth," he says. "The way you kiss me."

"Okay," Blaine says. "I love kissing you."

"Yeah, so, uh... Sometimes I fantasize about you kissing me... everywhere," Kurt says, and he finds, as he speaks, something within him steadies. It's easier to continue than it was to begin. He touches Blaine's face with his fingertips, centers himself in Blaine's gaze. "You've kissed me in a lot of places, Blaine, but not quite everywhere."

Blaine's lips part and his eyebrows rise as he understands. "You fantasize about me rimming you," he says.

Hearing Blaine say the word steals away the breath in Kurt's lungs. "Yes," Kurt whispers. And he tries to read Blaine's expression, to find the aversion or disappointment. He doesn't see anything he recognizes, so he makes himself speak again. "Not that I expect you to want to do something like that. I mean, it's just an old fantasy. I know it's—"

"It's fucking hot," Blaine says. "Kurt." And then he's kissing Kurt's mouth, dirty and completely suggestive, and all Kurt can do is swoon with this new knowledge: Blaine thinks it's hot.

"Oh, fuck," Kurt gasps when Blaine breaks the kiss to slide his lips down Kurt's neck, and his hands find Kurt's belt.

"No one's ever done that for you, have they?" Blaine asks. Kurt lifts his hips as Blaine draws his jeans down along with his underwear. His cock comes free, aching, blood flushed, and already slick at the tip.

Kurt shakes his head.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine murmurs as he grasps at Kurt's hips and looks at him. "You're going to love it."

They end up relocating to Blaine's bedroom, so they'll both be more comfortable. Kurt lies on his stomach upon the celadon green sheets (Blaine changed them this morning), with his pelvis raised and resting on a spare pillow. Blaine's kneeling between his parted thighs. His hands are easy on Kurt's buttocks and thighs, gently squeezing and stroking to gentle Kurt's nerves.

"You don't have to do this," Kurt says over his shoulder. "You can just fuck me, if you'd rather."

"Remember when I said I'd tell you one of my fantasies, too?" Blaine asks.

"Mmhm."

"Part of it... involves this."

"Part of it?"

"Mm," Blaine hums. "I know we decided condoms were optional a while ago, but we still haven't fucked bare."

"Is that your fantasy?"

"Part of it."

"Tell me?" Kurt asks.

Blaine leans down over Kurt then, his body heat vivid. His breath tickles Kurt's hair behind his ear as he speaks in a low voice: "I think about fucking you, and then, when I'm really close, I pull out and come all over your perfect, pretty ass."

"Oh," Kurt says, shivers hot at the thought of it. How it would feel.

"And then I clean you up with my mouth," Blaine says against the back of Kurt's neck, the heavy shaft of his cock brushes Kurt's ass. "Everywhere."

"You can... do that," Kurt says, clenching one hand into the sheets and lifting his hips to press his backside back against Blaine's dick. "God, Blaine, that's... yes, you can do that."

Blaine smiles against the top of his spine; Kurt can feel the curve of his lips. "You're so hot, Kurt. Jesus."

"You're... uh, not so bad yourself," Kurt says.

"Just relax for me, okay?" Blaine says between the kisses he's placing down the length of Kurt's spine.

"Oh, God," Kurt says when Blaine reaches his tailbone and licks into the ticklish top of his cleft. His toes curl and his lungs spasm. "Blaine."

"Shh," Blaine says, kneads the cheeks of Kurt's ass with his hands as he parts them. The brush of air over Kurt's exposed hole makes him clench up. "Look at you," Blaine murmurs, "So tight. " He touches with a fingertip, and Kurt feels how the tense little muscle flinches at the light touch. He makes himself relax beneath the pad of Blaine's fingertip.

"There we go," Blaine says. "I know how much you want this," he says, and then he drags his fingertip down toward Kurt's balls, but stops just behind them, presses and rubs against Kurt's perineum firmly, and Kurt gasps at the way he feels that touch flicker deep inside and all the way up the length of his cock. "Good?" he asks.

"Yes."

Then Blaine kisses him. Pliant lips and hot breath right where Kurt's ached for it. And it feels... god, it feels magnificent. It's fucking transcendental. The rush of pleasure that swamps him is so much more than physical. It's years of relief from fear and shame, all erased and replaced in this one singular instant with Blaine's love and trust and care. "Oh, God," Kurt says as Blaine's tongue presses flat against him and licks, as perfectly soft and slick as Kurt had imagined, but even more tender than he'd ever hoped to conceive. "Oh..." he sobs. The sensation burns beneath his skin, sears across his surface, stings in his eyes as his vision blurs.

Even as he's overwhelmed by the intoxicating work of Blaine's tongue against his anus, he didn't expect it to feel so delicate. It's such a fine thread of emotion spun with such a tightly focused pleasure, Kurt feels he could snap or unravel at any moment. "Blaine," he mumbles.

"Mmm?" Blaine hums against his skin. Kurt feels the vibration there, where all his attention is focused, and it makes his thighs shake uncontrollably. And then Blaine digs the tip of his tongue into his yielding center, Kurt cries out long and low. He pinches his eyes shut, tightens his fists in the bedding and pushes back against Blaine's face.

"More," Kurt says. "Please."

Blaine frees his mouth long enough to say with admiration and affection, "Such a hungry boy with such a sweet, hungry ass." He swaps his fingertip for his thumb, draws some saliva slick down from where his mouth has left Kurt wet, presses even more firmly behind Kurt's balls. "Think you can come like this, if I fuck you with my tongue?"

"Yes," Kurt says, squirming back, desperate to have Blaine's mouth back on him. "Want your mouth, so bad, please."

"As you wish," Blaine says and presses back in. His tongue is more insistent, pointed and firm, pressing deeper, working Kurt looser, as Kurt's body gives in. That and the pressure of Blaine's thumb, have Kurt sliding and slipping into a feverish delirium. Every nerve feels pulled taut, vibrating with whatever silent tune Blaine's playing.

His orgasm builds so slowly and strangely. He gets achingly close long before it crests. And the louder Kurt moans, the deeper he groans, the more fervently Blaine presses, muffling his own answering moans into Kurt's flesh as he plies him with his tongue and lips, pausing every now and then to whisper praise and marvel at Kurt's enjoyment. Then he's back at it, tirelessly driving Kurt toward climax, until Kurt's twisting against the sheets, writhing and rutting against the pillow, and making such base, animalistic sounds, he'd be embarrassed if he weren't so completely enthralled.

He comes with a heaving groan, quakes down to his bones. Blaine guides him through it, easing off only gradually, until he's giving Kurt a final kiss and drawing back, breathing heavily. "Wow," he says, and then his fingertips are pressing at Kurt's soft, spit slick hole.

Kurt's spent, but his nerves still sing; he shivers as his body stretches open so easily for Blaine's fingers and they press in with delicious friction. Kurt says, even though his head's still so dizzy, he's barely able to consider his words before speaking: "Fuck me however you want."

"Yeah," Blaine says, breathless and trembling with his own desire as Kurt watches him lean away to the nightstand and get the lube.

Prep is brief, no more than what they need, and then Kurt's finding some reserve of strength to get his knees and elbows under himself as Blaine positions his cockhead, blunt and slick, at Kurt's entrance; his fingers flex upon Kurt's hips. "Go on," Kurt says when Blaine doesn't push in immediately.

"Say it again," Blaine says. "Tell me."

"Fuck me," Kurt says. "Fill me up."

Blaine makes a soft, needy grunt, and pushes in, a thick stretch, so hard and undeniable. Without the latex between them, Blaine feels hotter and smoother and utterly Kurt's. "God," Blaine says. "You're such a tight fit, so fucking hot..."

"It's so good," Kurt says and presses his forehead to the mattress. "I love it like this. With you."

"I love it too, sweetheart," Blaine pulls back, moans like he's injured. "I'm not going to last long."

"You don't have to," Kurt says.

"Gonna make you dirty."

"Do it."

"Yeah, okay," Blaine says and he drives back in hard, pulls back with a quick jerk, snaps his hips forward again, and then he doesn't stop, fucks Kurt quick and rough with short hammering strokes. And it's not long at all before Blaine's squeezing hard at Kurt's hips, swearing, and pushing Kurt forward as he pulls out. "Told you," he says with a gust of laughter, and Kurt hears the wet slap of Blaine's hand working over his cock and feels the wet bump of Blaine's cockhead nudging just above his hole.

"Come on," Kurt urges. He reaches back with one hand to grasp his ass, holds himself open. "Come on me."

Blaine does. There's a rush of wet heat over Kurt's skin, and Blaine stills, making a series of staccato gasps and then, at last, sighing. "Gorgeous," he whispers. And then his hands are in it, catching the slide of his semen and smearing it all over Kurt's ass and thighs but letting what's between Kurt's cheeks just ooze down over his anus and down to his balls. He feels so completely debauched, Kurt wishes he could see.

"Okay?" Blaine asks.

"Yeah," Kurt says, because he can't think of anything else to say. He feels he's used up all his words today, he's just running on momentum now.

"Okay," Blaine says, and he leans down and licks right up from Kurt's balls to his lax, open hole.

Kurt shivers and sighs. It feels good, not as mind bending as before he came, but it's soothing in a strangely acute way. His body seems full of contradictions today. But he lets himself relax beneath Blaine's careful tongue and tender attention.

At the end of it, if anything he feels dirtier, sticky and glazed with both their sweat, spit, and semen. Kurt rolls to his back and looks up at Blaine, who sits back on his heels looking a bit woozy. Kurt wipes his hand over his belly where his own spunk is drying. "I'm completely disgusting," Kurt says with a grin. But instead of getting up to shower as he normally would, he reaches a hand down to Blaine. "Come here," he says. "That was amazing."

Blaine returns his grin and comes down into Kurt's arms. "It was," Blaine agrees, pillowing his head over Kurt's heart and relaxing so completely he feels to Kurt as if all the water's run out of him.

"Thank you," Kurt says, and he pets through Blaine's curls. "For doing that for me."

"Thank you for asking me, Kurt," Blaine says. "And for letting me. You must know by now..." he trails off into thoughtful silence.

"What's that?"

"How completely my heart belongs to you."

"Blaine." Kurt's hand stills. His eyes widen as he stares up at the ceiling. "I—"

"You don't have to say anything," Blaine says.

"I want to," Kurt says. "Because you should know."

Blaine stirs in his arms, lifts himself up to an elbow so he can meet Kurt's gaze. "Kurt?"

"I love you, too," Kurt says, and it's the easiest thing he's ever said.

the end