5:50 p.m., and Blaine has exactly ten minutes left to his last lecture class of the day. He's exhausted, his eyes crossing from the mountain of notes he's taken on the origins of ragtime and jazz – something he's sure will come in handy at his next Broadway cattle call. He's crossed his last t and dotted his final i, about to click his pen closed and shut his notebook, when he gets a text from Kurt. His heart skips a little when he sees Kurt's name flash across his iPhone screen. But his heart shouldn't skip. Seeing the name Kurt on his phone shouldn't affect him at all. Texts from Kurt should be considered commonplace now that they've been broken up for the past seven months, so Blaine doesn't immediately rush to open it. Instead he goes to great lengths to ignore it, scrolling over in his head the things he has to look forward to once he gets home to his lonely apartment – left over chicken wings, half a liter of flat Coke, and watching last season reruns of CSI:Miami while he tries to finish what's left of his senior project…which happens to be a great majority of it.

Oh boy.

He sighs and checks the text message.

To: Blaine

From: Kurt

Hey! I was wondering how things were going with your senior project. Simon told me you had hit a roadblock? If you need any help, let me know!

Blaine smiles at the message and reads it again. He does this – reads otherwise uninteresting, innocuous texts over and over, trying to find any hidden meaning between the lines, unearth messages that aren't there. Though normally he'd agree that's what he's doing, there was something about this message that struck Blaine as odd.

Kurt had stopped offering Blaine homework help months ago – not because they hadn't stayed close enough friends that he would do that sort of thing, but because Kurt kind of sucked at it. He had no patience when other people floundered in a subject he exceled at. He'd either throw in the towel early and make an excuse to leave, or he'd give in in frustration and do the project himself. Kurt only helps Blaine lately under pain of barter or guilt, so for Kurt to actually offer help out of the blue…something must be wrong.

Blaine puts his phone on his desk and waits.

A minute-and-a-half later, a second text alert flashes on his screen.

To Blaine:

From: Kurt

Look, I'm sorry. I'm having a bad time, and I miss you. I hate to ask you this, but

The text cuts off. Blaine watches the phone, waiting for the rest of the message to come through. If Kurt doesn't send another text in three minutes, Blaine will call him back. And if he doesn't answer, Blaine will grab a train, go down to the diner where Kurt works and…

To: Blaine

From: Kurt

I know this is last minute, and I know you have a ton of work to get done, but can you come over tonight? Play pretend with me?

Blaine smiles. It's not a bright smile or a triumphant smile. It's a content smile.

Kurt needs him.

This happens sometimes, and Blaine's reaction is always the same.

He's happy that there's this open door between them. There are still some stung feelings, some issues unresolved, but when Kurt broke up with him and Blaine left the loft, Blaine told Kurt that he was only a phone call away if Kurt ever needed him.

And he meant it.

It's nice to know that Kurt believed him, and that he feels comfortable cashing in on that promise from time to time.

To: Kurt

From: Blaine

Of course. When do you want?

Blaine bites his lip as he presses send. Anticipation wells up within him and he's a teenager again, waiting for Kurt to text him the details of their first real sit down date.

To: Blaine

From: Kurt

ASAP? Or sooner?? I'll pick up Chinese for dinner. You know the drill. ;)

The drill is that Blaine shows up at the loft, lets himself in with his key, and acts like nothing bad ever happened between them – Blaine never cheated, there was no fighting, they didn't get engaged and break it off. An evening of traveling back in time and revisiting the good that they had in their relationship - their ability to sit with each other in the same room and simply be in love.

It's easy for Blaine since Blaine never stopped being in love with Kurt, and even though he doubted it the first few times they did this – when things were still strained between them but Kurt didn't know yet how to be alone – Blaine suspects that Kurt hasn't stopped being in love with him, either.

Blaine gets to the loft before Kurt and lets himself in. He's brought a bouquet of flowers - nothing too impressive, an arrangement of unassuming wildflowers accompanied by a spray of baby's breath. He finds a Mason jar in the kitchen cabinet (upper right hand side, to the left of the champagne flutes and the whiskey tumblers that Kurt has never used), fills it with lukewarm water, and puts the flowers in. Kurt arrives shortly after, his arms laden with white plastic bags, a bright smile in his eyes and a brighter smile on his face.

“Hey!” he says with genuine delight at seeing Blaine standing in the kitchen, fixing the flowers on the table. “You're here!”

“I promised I would be,” Blaine says, relieving Kurt of a bag and setting it down on the table. Kurt takes Blaine in his arms and just like that the time machine starts. They zip back a year ago, to a peaceful plateau in their relationship, when day after day everything seemed perfect. Even if all wasn't forgiven, it was, at least, conveniently not discussed, and every day was like that first day when Blaine kissed Kurt in the senior commons – full of fireworks and excitement and potential.

“So, where do you want to eat?” Blaine asks, unpacking a container that smells like pork fried rice.

“Why don't we take this to the bedroom and watch some trash TV?” Kurt suggests, slipping out of his coat and hanging it on the stand by the door, then rushing over to grab Blaine's.

“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Blaine says, handing over his coat and watching Kurt hang it up. There's magic in the way Kurt moves, the way he commands his body, the way his presence fills an entire room. Blaine misses the enormity of Kurt's personality that can decorate any room from wall to wall by simply being in it.

Blaine doesn't have that – a surprising thing to discover after all those years with the Warblers and the New Directions - and without Kurt, he finds himself feeling small and alone, even in a room packed tight with people.

“I stopped by that bakery on West 18th Street and got us a cheesecake for dessert,” Kurt announces, holding up a white box wrapped in red and white twine.

“You mean a cheesecake I get to watch you eat?” Blaine teases. Plain cheesecake has never been Blaine's favorite – a fact he waited until their seventh official date to spring on Kurt, afraid it might be a deal breaker.

“Nu-uh,” Kurt says, pushing aside the privacy curtain that surrounds his bedroom. “I got one of those Reese's peanut butter cup ones that you like so much.”

Blaine stops walking, his arms full of take-out, and stares at his ex- kicking off his shoes and dropping down onto the bed.

“But, you don't like those as much,” Blaine points out.

Kurt glances up with a warm smile and says, “I know. But you do.”

They make it through three full episodes of Big Brother Season 16 and two of Criminal Minds, eating out of a single carton of almond chicken. Blaine willingly puts his life on the line and lets Kurt feed him with chopsticks. Blaine's shirt has to be removed and soaked almost entirely in soda water after most of the food meant for his mouth makes it down the front of his Brooks Brothers button down. Kurt's black Zara cowl neck sweater joins Blaine's shirt in the soda water bath when they switch places (“Kuuuurt! It's only fair!”) and Blaine accidentally(?) flips an entire spare rib onto Kurt's chest. Blaine's white t-shirt follows due to a bout with Kung Pao shrimp, as does Kurt's black tank top after an attack of duck sauce.

Shirtless and armed with only chopsticks (since neither man felt like getting out of bed to procure forks) they dig into the cheesecake with their fingers, feeding themselves first until Kurt notices a smudge of whipped peanut butter on Blaine's chin that he has to wipe off with his finger. Blaine feeds Kurt the last of the peanut butter cups used as garnish, which leads to Kurt licking the excess chocolate off of Blaine's fingers, and Blaine sweeping his tongue across Kurt's lower lip to steal one final taste.

What's left of the cheesecake is not forgotten when Kurt tackles Blaine to the bed, painting a trail of cake across his chest and licking it off slowly with his tongue. Blaine undoes the zipper to Kurt's fly with shaking fingers as Kurt circles Blaine's left nipple mercilessly with his tongue, lap after lap pulling moans from Blaine's throat.

The next part comes as half practice and half rote, the way they undress each other as a sideline to the sex taking place – how Kurt manages to wrap his lips around Blaine's cock and start sucking even before his pants and underwear are down, or how Blaine doesn't even bother trying to peel off Kurt's jeans anymore, sliding his spit-slick fingers between the crack of Kurt's ass to circle his entrance with every stitch of his pants still on. But fucking Blaine's fingers and the prospect of feeling Blaine cum down his throat aren't enough for Kurt. He needs Blaine – needs to have Blaine inside him. For so long, Kurt has had a fear of intimacy that Blaine has never had. Blaine has always been heat and passion and spontaneity, where Kurt likes his thrills very carefully planned and executed.

But not anymore, and definitely not around Blaine.

There's a split second where clothes are removed and the last mutant slice of cheesecake squirreled away. Then a square packet is torn, lube spread on pretty much everything in reach, and Kurt gets what he wants, what he's been waiting for, what he's been thinking about for weeks as he tried to slog through the endless days of schoolworkstudysleepschoolworkstudysleep on and on, ad infinitum, with no change, no adrenaline, no stress release in between.

He has Blaine inside his body, and the dizzying heat that comes with it roaring through him everywhere, setting its charges, readying to explode.

At first, Kurt had debated the merits of not giving in - of simply going out one night, picking up some random guy, getting fucked or sucked in a nightclub bathroom, and being done with it.

That was good enough for some people.

It had been good enough for Blaine.

But the more Kurt thought, the more he moralized, the more he planned, he realized he would be okay with getting off with some nameless stranger if he could find a man who knew how to touch him the way Blaine did, who knew the spots on his neck to kiss, who knew how to stroke him, who could read him like a book and linger on just the right pages. He wanted a man who smelled the way Blaine's skin smelled, like tea tree oil soap and Paco Rabanne cologne, who tasted like peppermint Colgate and the cinnamon-sugar glaze from the cronuts Blaine sneaks, the ones he swears he doesn't eat anymore. Kurt wanted a man who would ramble a dozen heartfelt and meaningful things, things Kurt would want to remember, and when they were done, when they were both spent, when that orgasmic moment had passed and they were lying in each other's arms, Kurt wanted a man who would sing him soft love songs as they drifted off to sleep.

In his time on this planet, Kurt has only met one man who fits all of those bills, and he wasn't willing to compromise on a single one.

Kurt didn't miss sex per se, or sex with Blaine necessarily.

He missed Blaine, pure and simple.

Blaine doesn't belong to Kurt, but Kurt has him for the moment, and he's going to make the best of it – he's going to have Blaine with his hands and his mouth and his ears and his memory…

…and maybe even a fraction of his heart.

“Oh, God,” Kurt moans, bucking back against him, trying to make Blaine go harder, go faster. Kurt's knee slips and he falls forward, with Blaine landing on Kurt's back, uttering an undignified, “Oompf!” Kurt buries his head in his pillow and laughs an honest to God body-shaking belly laugh. Laughing during sex is something Kurt has never done before. Sex between him and Blaine was always pretentiously referred to as “making love”, slow, romantic, with a lot of build-up and all the mandatory bells and whistles – candlelight, soft music (from a painstakingly created and maintained playlist of popular favorites and timeless classics), champagne (or non-alcoholic cider when they were underage), and satin sheets (when they were at Kurt's house). But now, Kurt is content from time-to-time with a nice dirty fuck, which often causes accidents or unexpected mishaps – falls, cursing, coughing, even passing gas at inopportune times – always followed by laughter. Lots and lots of laughter. Blaine enjoys sex this way probably the most - a little older, a little wiser, a little more comfortable with themselves and each other…even if Kurt isn't his anymore.

This is the most fun they've had between the sheets in years.

Blaine wishes it could be more.

For now, it's enough.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kurt says, kneeling up high and bracing his hands against the edge of the headboard.

“What is it?” Blaine takes deep breaths to smooth out the raw edges of his oncoming orgasm.

“I just…I want to be like this,” Kurt says, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “I want to watch you.”

“You want to watch me?” Blaine asks, raising a startled eyebrow, enjoying Kurt's forwardness, his ever-growing self-confidence.

“Yeah,” Kurt says with a flirty smile. “I want to watch you fuck me.”

“Then why don't you turn over?” Blaine asks, grabbing Kurt's hips to maneuver him around.

“No, no, no,” Kurt scolds, sticking his ass back to regain the few inches of Blaine's cock that he lost when Blaine pulled away. “This feels too good. Just keeping doing what you're doing, and let me watch.”

“I should get you a mirror,” Blaine jokes, moving again, quickening to catch up with the time he lost.

“This is better,” Kurt says. “Mirrors are too impersonal. I like the view close up.”

Kurt's gaze is unashamed as he looks Blaine over, from the sweaty curls plastered to his forehead, down the length of his chest, ending at his abs and hips straining to keep up their pace. A lump forms in Blaine's chest when his heart stops beating, his skin growing red with the blush blossoming on every inch of him. Blaine still knows the push and pull of Kurt's body, knows how to control his ebb and his flow. Kurt whimpers when Blaine enters him, whines when he leaves, fingernails scratching at his headboard, digging in, almost tearing chunks out of the wood.

Blaine glances up and meets Kurt's eyes, which have gone from crystal blue to an almost pure and sinful black.

Blaine smiles bashfully and looks away.

“Kiss me,” Kurt says, craning back in almost impossible ways to reach Blaine, and Blaine tilts forward, bending to Kurt's body, leaning in to claim his lips, hoping they can stay like this until they both cum.

And they do. How they manage it without cramping every muscle in their bodies, Blaine can't explain. But he finds a rhythm that his body doesn't rebel against in this complicated position, a rhythm that lets Blaine find all of Kurt's sensitive, secret places, lets him hit them and connect them somewhere in the region of his stomach until he's moaning into Blaine's mouth, sucking on his tongue, and cumming over his Laura Ashley summer white sheets.

“Holy…” Kurt mutters.

“…shit,” Blaine adds, finishing himself off with a few long, leisurely thrusts while Kurt's body shudders against him.

“You'll have to find a way to last longer next time,” Kurt kids, poking fun to dispel the awkwardness that comes with ripping this re-forged connection apart – Blaine pulling out, taking his addictive heat with him, leaving Kurt's body cold.

“It's the cheesecake,” Blaine says with a forced chuckle. “To be honest, I was almost done after that first bite.”

Kurt watches Blaine retreat to the bathroom and sighs.

Confusion, thy name is Kurt Hummel.

This understanding between them had started as a matter of convenience for Kurt – a temporary reprieve in a paradise that he knows – but things have started to change. With everything in his life that he's accomplished so far, he's eager to move forward…except for this. Except for Blaine.

With Blaine, Kurt finds himself wanting to go back to the start.

Kurt doesn't mention it as he cleans himself off and changes the sheets on the bed, but he feels the need growing inside him like an ember, and he knows this is the time. He either has to snuff that ember out or feed it, let it burn.

He climbs beneath the fresh sheets and waits for Blaine to follow, which he does, putting an arm around Kurt's shoulders and pulling him close. But as the electricity in the air becomes grounded, Blaine feels reality itching like a bur beneath his skin.

Playtime is over. Soon he'll have to go.

Blaine has stayed overnight before, thinking that those times would turn out to be the time, when Kurt would change his mind and they would be a couple again, only to realize what it felt like to overstay his welcome.

Blaine knows better.

This time he gets up quietly, unwinding arms and legs carefully and slipping to the edge of the bed to find his clothes, get dressed, and go. He's long gotten over the feeling of being used. He's just happy that he can do this for Kurt when Kurt needs it.

Happy that he gets Kurt like this every couple of months or so.

Blaine bends over to grab his briefs, but when he sits up, he feels a hand creeping up his back, trailing lightly over his spine, and coming to rest on his shoulder.

The next six word conversation will become the stepping stone to starting the next stage in their ever-changing, massively fluid relationship.

“Yes?” Blaine asks, turning his head and pressing kisses to Kurt's knuckles.

Kurt tugs a bit on Blaine's shoulder to make sure the meaning of his next word comes out clear.

It does, because before Kurt even says it, Blaine knows his answer.

“Stay?”

“Of course,” Blaine says, dropping his briefs and climbing back into bed, underneath the covers where Kurt's naked body waits. “I'll stay.”