“Alright, hun, I’m going for a run.” Blaine chuckles at his little rhyme. “Be back in an hour.”

Kurt puts his magazine in his lap and peeks over the back of the couch to say goodbye to his husband when he notices what he’s wearing: a grey Titans running shirt and red shorts to match – the standard McKinley High gym class ensemble. Blaine looks as cute and compact as ever in his retro school clothes, but he’s older now. He’s filled out a little more …

… and it shows.

Which is why Kurt’s eyes zoom straight to his shorts. They’ve seen better days, that’s for sure – the color faded, the waistband worn, the word Titans screened down the side cracked from repeated washing. But they do fit – technically.

But not entirely appropriately.

They rediscovered the outfit recently when they rotated out their winter wardrobe for their summer clothes. The first thing Blaine did when he saw it was put it on. Kurt, on the other hand, who had been systematically ridding their home of anything that remained of that awful school, pinched himself for not remembering to toss them down the garbage chute when Blaine wasn’t looking.

“Blaine, sweetie, I know you’re proud that you can still fit into your clothes from high school, but if you wear those shorts to the park, you’re going to be that guy.”

“And which guy is that? The handsome guy?” Blaine strikes a pose with his hands on his hips, and his chin and nose in the air. “The uber-fit guy?” He turns to his husband, raises both arms, and flexes. “The guy so dedicated to his workout regimen he can still wear clothes from over a decade ago?” He lifts the hem of his shirt to show off his six-pack, which gives Kurt a better view of his front. Kurt snorts.

How Blaine can go jogging commando without rubbing his junk raw, Kurt will never know.

“No. You’re going to be that guy,” Kurt says. “As in ‘Kids, see that guy over there? That’s the kind of guy mommy’s been warning you about. Stay away from him’.”

“Come on …” Blaine looks down his front with a frown “… they’re not that bad … are they?”

“Let’s put it this way – you know how you told me that running through the park turns you on because it reminds you of that time you and I …?”

Kurt doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. Blaine starts grinning like an idiot, even with the ending omitted. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, I want you to take a moment to think about that afternoon. Picture it in your head as clearly as you can … in detail.”

“Okay …” Blaine looks up to the ceiling and visualizes. The afternoon had started out warm and sunny, but it had gotten overcast the second they spread their blanket. But Kurt and Blaine were stubborn. That picnic was one of their first outings as official New Yorkers, and they were going to be damned if a few dark clouds forced them to leave. Eventually, the grey skies turned into drizzle, and the drizzle turned into rain. While other people packed up their things and left, Kurt and Blaine hunkered down beneath their blanket to finish their carefully crafted lunch. They sat practically on top of one another to keep warm, abandoning their canapes to the elements when they couldn’t eat and shield themselves at the same time.

Closer and closer and closer they crept until they basically occupied the same space … with Kurt’s head in Blaine’s lap, and Blaine’s dick in Kurt’s mouth.

Blaine smiles. The more he thinks about that afternoon, the tighter his shorts get, which he manages to ignore … until he hears Kurt snicker – a total buzz kill. As soon as Blaine’s brain returns from its south-of-the-border vacay, he feels restricted – embarrassingly restricted – the back seam of his shorts climbing into his ass crack, the front tented as his erection fights to break free of the thin, cotton fabric. He reaches down to feel for himself, his cheeks glowing red without Kurt having to say another word.

“Message received,” he says, hurrying back to their bedroom to change.

“Loud and clear.” Kurt slips a napkin between the pages of his magazine and gets up to follow his husband. “Hey, Blaine! Why don’t I give you a hand with that? Or a mouth – whichever you prefer …”