Kurt opened his eyes when something tickled beneath his chin. A familiar scent of rose hip soap filled his nose with his next deep breath. Kurt smiled, not opening his eyes. He knew what the disturbance was, whose head was pressed to his chest, over his heart.

He knew that if he opened his eyes, he would see the top of his husband's head, raven curls spilling onto his own milky pale skin. He did not wish to alarm his husband. This was his ritual, for some reason, to wake in the dead middle of the night, rest his head on Kurt's chest, and speak to Kurt's heart. Blaine had designated his husband's heart the keeper of his secrets, and even as the organ's rightful owner, Kurt had no want to break this confidence.

Except for tonight. Either by an act of his husband's, whose voice rose without his knowledge, or of the cold night being so exceptionally silent, Kurt could hear Blaine's hushed whispers as he spoke. He connected them to the drift of breath dancing across his skin, and in that way, their impact was two-fold.

“Kurt,” he heard his husband say with a slight sniffle in his tone. “My dearest Kurt. I am a man of so many regrets. My darling, I have acted so shamefully, and you…you have forgiven me so easily. I do not know what I ever did right in my horrid, wretched life to deserve you. Because I do not, Kurt. I do not deserve a single hair on your glorious head, not the way my life stands now. But I endeavor to, Kurt” - and here, Blaine's voice broke - “I cannot turn back the clock, my love, but I can try to make things right between us again. I can make them better. I will give you anything, my love. Anything you ask.”

Kurt nearly held his breath, but he couldn't. He didn't want his husband to know that he was awake and that he had heard. It felt like an invasion of privacy, though the words were surely meant for him. But had Blaine wished him to know them, he would have spoken them aloud, when Kurt was conscious to them. So Kurt breathed as evenly as he could, to fool his husband into believing him asleep, but that, too, felt like lying. As he lay awake in the guise of slumber, struggling to seem indifferent, tears slipped down his cheeks, and a gentle shudder lifted his chest.

“Kurt?” he heard Blaine whisper, but this he spoke to the air and not to Kurt's heart. “Kurt, love, are you crying?”

“N-no…” Kurt whimpered, forcing a yawn to cover the sorrow-filled inflection of his voice, but that single word passing his lips caused a great many stuttering breaths to shake his body.

“Kurt,” Blaine said, crawling up his husband's chest, “my love…”

“I'm sorry,” Kurt said, shaking his head, eyes no longer shut, but staring blankly at the ceiling instead of in his husband's eyes. One look into Blaine's honey-gold eyes would steal every word from his throat. “I did not mean to wake. It is just that…oh, Blaine! Why did you not just tell me? Why did you not talk to me about this?”

“I…I do not know, my darling,” Blaine said, wiping away Kurt's tears with the sleeve of his nightshirt. “I did not want to upset you…or worry you.”

“But I am your husband,” Kurt said, gaze shifting to Blaine's face when most of his tears had shed. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know that,” Blaine agreed, and with a sly but bashful smile, he added, “and, in a way, I did.”

Kurt gasped, but he wasn't mad. He lifted his arms from beneath the blankets and put them about his husband's torso, bringing him up close so that he could feel the scratch of his whiskers against his cheek.

“I needed time,” Blaine confessed, “and I think…I felt…that you needed time, too.”

“How much time do you intend to give me?” Kurt asked, his voice steeped in mock exasperation. “I fear that I shall be an old man before you tell me everything that I need to know.”

“A day will come, my love, when you will know everything about me,” Blaine assured him, albeit with a hint of melancholy.

Kurt sighed, Blaine's shift in mood infectious. “But, I take it that day is not today?”

“My love, but then what shall I do to keep you interested?” Blaine asked, seeking to hide his discomfort in his teasing. “Do you not desire a touch of mystery in your man?”

Kurt glared at Blaine with such a sudden and drastic expression of disgust that Blaine guffawed out loud, so loudly that they both feared he would wake Beth, sleeping soundly in her bedroom.

“Don't be ridiculous, my lord,” Kurt said, attempting to sound utterly pretentious through tight-lipped giggles. “I would like my knowledge of you the same way I like you in general.”

“And how is that, Count?” Blaine asked.

Kurt settled in closer against him, sliding down the bed so their lips touched when he spoke.

“Bare,” Kurt said, slipping a hand beneath the blanket, beneath his husband's nightshirt, and underneath the waist of his pants, wrapping his fingers around his husband's cock to make his point clear. “Naked. Open for me, with nothing to hide.”

Blaine's smile blossomed, his eyes darkened. He rutted against Kurt, wrapping a leg around his while he enjoyed the softness of his husband's hand.

“Well, then,” Blaine said, “then I shall endeavor to open myself more for you.”

“You will, my lord?” Kurt tightened his grip until his husband's restless hands started a journey of their own beneath Kurt's nightshirt. “Do you promise?”

“Indeed,” Blaine said, filling his hands with his husband's taut buttocks, firmly kneading his flesh. “In fact, I shall start now” - Blaine kissed Kurt's mouth, nibbling the tip of Kurt's tongue when he swept it across Blaine's lips – “by telling you the secret of exactly what I would like to do with you, starting with what your hand is holding, and that beautiful mouth of yours.”