“The April Rhodes Auditorium,” Kurt announces with a wistful sigh. He breathes in the dry, stale air, suffused with the aroma of wood, paint, and sweat that was as much a part of him as his own voice back in high school. “Or should I say The Finn Hudson Auditorium,” he corrects himself. The words catch, hanging in his throat for a second. But Kurt clears his throat and shoos that catch away. This isn't a time for melancholy. This is a time for the good memories, for reliving the fun.

It's also a time for erasing one more thing from Kurt's bucket list – a kind of current addition.

“I have to admit,” Blaine says, following his husband out on to the familiar black stage, “when you said there was some place you wanted to go before we left, I kind of figured we'd end up here.”

“Really?” Kurt asks, throwing a look over his shoulder. “Am I really that predictable?”

“Of course not,” Blaine assures him. “Let's just say I know you very well.”

“Fair enough.” Kurt shrugs. He turns back to the stage, darkened except for a single spotlight aimed dead center.

Blaine looks up at it, shielding his eyes as he peers into the light.

“I wonder why that got left that on,” he muses.

“I arranged for it to be on. Called in one last favor with the AV Club. Wanted one last moment in the McKinley spotlight.” Kurt sighs, strolling out towards the circle of light. “I know we always end up back here, one way or another,” Kurt says, letting go of Blaine's hand and walking out to the center by himself, “but I just wanted to see it one last time before we went back to New York. With any luck, it'll be the last time.”

Blaine walks out to join his husband, meandering around to get his final fill of this place that he came to for Kurt, that was home as long as Kurt was there…that he made home for himself after Kurt left. His eyes sweep the catwalks above, remnants of a set on stage that the crew has yet to strike, a microphone stand, a few random props. As he approaches Kurt, something brushes the top of his head. With the glare from the spotlight, shining in his face, he can't see exactly what it is. He raises a hand to touch it, laughing when he recognizes it by feel.

“Oh my God!” he says, tugging down a bungee cord, hanging from a track over his head, with a Velcro cuff attached to its end. “I remember this!”

Kurt doesn't turn, but he nods.

“Yeah,” Kurt says, listening to Blaine find and tug down the rest of the bungee cords, left over from an ‘N Sync/Back Street Boys mash up the New Directions performed while Kurt was in New York. “That was quite the sight, I have to say - you hanging from the ceiling like a marionette.”

“But, you weren't here when we did that performance,” Blaine says, watching Kurt walk toward him.

“That doesn't mean I didn't see it,” Kurt says, taking the bungee from Blaine's hand and attaching the Velcro cuff to his wrist. “The Internet's an incredible thing, Blaine,” Kurt teases. “I don't think there's a single performance that New Directions ever did, in or out of this school, that didn't end up on YouTube. To be honest, I didn't even find it till recently.”

“Kurt” – Blaine watches his husband attach a cuff to his other wrist, and then around his biceps and forearms. When Kurt's done, Blaine's arms hang out straight to his sides – “what are you doing?”

“You know, I've always wondered,” Kurt says, narrowly circumventing his husband's question while still giving him an answer, “what kind of tension these things had, how strong they were…how they handled your weight.”

“Well, you saw the video,” Blaine says, a nervous laugh sneaking in to his voice when Kurt moves to his legs, attaching a larger cuff to each ankle.

“Still” - Kurt pulls on the links where they attach, then stands and double checks all the cuffs and links, making sure they won't come loose - “there's nothing like experiencing them up close and personal.”

“Experiencing?” Blaine asks, startling when he feels Kurt's hands travel down to his belt, his fingers fiddling with the buckle. “What do you mean experience? What are you…going to do?”

“I want you to hang here,” Kurt says, tugging the tail of the leather belt out of its clasp, “while I get down on my knees and blow you.”

“Kurt,” Blaine chuckles, rolling his eyes away, sure his husband's not serious. He smiles at Kurt, who grins innocently back, then slowly works his way down Blaine's body, nipping at the buttons of his shirt with his teeth as he goes, giving them a slight tug but not biting them off. Blaine's laughter slips away with his husband lowering himself to the floor. “K-kurt…” Blaine stutters as Kurt makes it to his knees and runs his nose against Blaine's growing erection.

Kurt quietly unzips Blaine's fly and pulls out his waiting cock, only far enough to get his mouth around. Glancing up, he catches the nervous excitement in his husband's eyes, pupils widening in anticipation of Kurt's mouth wrapped around him while he dangles, tethered to the rafters and somewhat helpless.

Helpless as long as Blaine wants his husband to continue.

Kurt sticks out his tongue and circles the head – one long, lazy swipe, gathering up the bead of pre-cum that forms at his touch. Blaine's knees shake, his body drops, but the bungee cords keep him upright, suspended.

“B-but wh-what if someone comes in?” Blaine asks, moaning at Kurt's devastating, barely there licks, torn between begging Kurt to stop, and begging him not to.

“Well, this is an auditorium,” Kurt says with a wink. “I guess we'll give them a show.”