Poolhouse it is, then.

Blaine pats the folded slip of paper through the fabric of his khakis' pocket. Reaches inside again while he walks, for a strange need of reassurance, a finger tracing along the smooth edges with equal parts affection and anticipation.

He almost scoffs at how so much emotion is already carried by that dry feel of paper, so easily, readily, is directed at the mere medium of an idea, of a notion much greater.

There was only one word written across it.

Poolhouse.

And Blaine kept the post-it piece of paper, not throwing it away. For, knowing Kurt, it might be worth a memory tomorrow.

He smiles to himself. Can a handwriting hold promise? Blaine huffs. Maybe it's just his mood. Or wishful thinking. But he thinks the determined curves of Kurt's elegant scrawl actually can. And if his step quickens at the thought, he covers it up with a small cough and a half-grin for no-one in particular.

Kurt must have become bored watching TV.

The distant lights of an airplane pull Blaine's gaze up to the cloudless night blue sky. It is late. The things Blaine had to take care of in town took him longer than expected. He smiles. It is late, but still so early.

Shoes discarded at the terrace doorstep, like so often during those last days, he finds himself walking just beside the narrow gravelled path leading up to his destination. A comfortable shiver climbs up his calves at the sensation of dry grass cooled by night between his toes.

Oh, he has to admit it once more: House sitting for his ridiculously rich uncle has been quite the perfect choice to spend these two weeks of their time between semesters.

Blaine lifts his face to savour the air, that is still humid. A shadow of the day's heat, milder now. Heavy still, but much more breathable.

He draws the typical season's scent around here into his lungs. It's one of over-ripe fruit and a summer's sun dried soil. Blaine's senses spring alive outside after that short but dull drive back from town.

And he hears music now. Can't but follow the low notes, that make something in his stomach catch, make a hum spread underneath his skin.

A bluesy kind of jazz, the deliciously lazy beat the pure feel of this early summer night brought to sound.

Blaine rounds the last bend of the path and the poolhouse comes into view. It stands secluded, their next neighbours a mile away, anyway. Its many glass fronts now give way to soft light from the inside, falling onto the ground and bushes around, then losing itself into the dark blue night.

Blaine can't make out Kurt from here, though. He jumps the last step from grass to doorstep.

The wooden entrance door squeaks open, and Blaine enters the pool area, feet touching warm stone tiles. The light tinge of chlorine in the air completes the summer fantasy he's known since his childhood.

He looks around.

And then, finally, he sees Kurt.

Standing on the far side of the room, next to his uncle's hi fi system, holding a CD case in his hands studying the track list.

Blaine feels suddenly light headed.

Kurt's got his back to Blaine, rocking slightly to the music, seemingly lost in it, the swaying of his body barely perceptible.

And he's wearing nothing but his bathing briefs.

Wet ones, moreover, bunching dark and, with the fabric's wet weight, low on hips almost white in contrast.

Kurt turns and acknowledges Blaine's presence with a smile. His hair is out of his face, shaped in strands, haphazardly it seems, by fingers run through.

Blaine is swamped by immediate intrigue over the entire picture. It is well composed, he is sure, if only by some instinct feel honed to skill on his boyfriend's part, to create a spot-on atmosphere.

For Blaine knows, Kurt isn't the kind to enjoy going to a public bath, not the kind to get so naked with and among and for strangers. It always adds an extra thrill for Blaine, to know he is the only one who really gets to see this. This.

Blaine swallows.

As for right now, here, Kurt is flaunting his flawless skin, so much of it, painted in a light cool blue with the water's reflections moving, caressing all over. Flaunts it all as if it was nothing, his attitude on display so relaxed, he's self-evidence personified.

A small smile of the same nature plays around Kurt's lips as he points to a rattan chair, indicating for Blaine to sit.

Blaine complies.

It's then that he notices the drink in Kurt's left hand. The glass is half filled with a clear liquid, slices of lemons and Blaine thinks he can as much as hear the clicking sounds of the ice cubes sliding against each other.

For a short instant he contemplates if Kurt could be drunk. Not that he'd be averse to a little refreshment himself, if he is honest. But knowing Kurt it is probably lime soda. Blaine smiles. Who says you can't have soft drinks with style?

He shifts a little in his seat, the thought leaving his throat dry with sudden want. Although he's not even sure for what, when Kurt finally speaks:

"I'd like to revive an old tradition..." Blaine's chin tilts up in question, before tardy eyes follow, meeting Kurt's amused blue-grey gaze.

"You remember when we used to sing songs for each other, with our own lyrics?" Blaine's mouth opens in acknowledgement, but Kurt does not wait for an answer, continues with an off-hand knowing smile: "Well, yeah." He waves it off with a light tilt of his wrist. More tiny clicking sounds.

Blaine lets out a breath. Of course he remembers. And of course Kurt knows. Dips his head back to look at Blaine, lips parting to speak again, knowing just as well, how Blaine is hanging on every move of those lips, every sound falling from them, by now.

"How we used to perform for each other, for each other alone at times..."

Blaine's head is instantly swimming with memories that can't really surface in the dizzily consuming presence of now.

For Kurt's voice is a dragged out flow of words, so low, yet substantial enough to hug, to mold around the rhythm of the instrumental song that still is playing, to caress along the repetitive thrum of that lush, deep bass line in a way that is downright... hypnotic.

Blaine swallows. It feels to him like Kurt's body is swaying, snaking around the music in a manner quite similar, even though he can't actually make out that Kurt is really moving yet.

It might be solely in the lifting of breath in his chest, a shifting of weight from left to right leg. The pulsing curve in which he holds his neck.

But the awareness hums all throughout Blaine, reaching down deep along with the low vibrating notes that glance off from glass walls and quiver on water, tremble through his veins and bones.

An almost untraceable circle of Kurt's hand sends the cubes in the glass into another dance of liquid and light on the edge of Blaine's field of vision.

Blaine watches as Kurt sucks the inside of his bottom lip into his mouth, just a bit, then releases it, before Kurt raises his voice again, playfully neutral: "Do you also remember that time when you told me as much as that I wasn't sexy?"

A light smirk is playing around the corners of Kurt's mouth for a second. And Blaine's mind is failing thoroughly to catch up with the contents of what he said for his tone alone. Kurt's finger taps the rim of the glass, bringing out a tendon in his cream white forearm. Kurt hums: "What performance was it, 'Animal'?"

He looks to Blaine in a nonchalant side glance and Blaine swallows, but has no time to feel slapped, can't again retrieve the memory of what he knows he once must have said, the concept so inconceivable to him now, ridiculous and replaced by... knowing better.

Kurt's easy chuckle takes the air out of his lungs.

"I know, ancient times, right..." Kurt's voice is husky. He puts down the CD, and sips once on his drink. Blaine swears he sees Kurt's throat work while swallowing.

"Well, this song is..." He meets Blaine's eyes innocently, "...not about that." Kurt presses his lips together briefly as if to stifle a smile at Blaine's held breath and captivated expression and cocks his head to the side, studying Blaine with an awed affectionate scrutiny that makes the air cling hotter, damp to Blaine's skin.

"It actually takes up something else you once said..." Blaine's brow furrows, but Kurt continues unfazed, never dropping the smile or the stare.

"Oh, and I didn't actually change the lyrics, because...this was perfect already." His tone is a shrug, light and incidental, that tugs on Blaine's strung tight nerves in the most delicious way.

Blaine might have growled, the sound lost in the music. Kurt's tongue traces along his own bottom lip as if he wasn't aware of the gesture, and he takes another sip of his drink, locking their eyes, green-grey ones sparkling. "I really hope this doesn't disappoint, though."

Blaine feels flustered. The slow cast down of Kurt's lashes has Blaine mirroring the gesture involuntarily, blinking to clear his own glazed over eyes.

And, oh, for sure, disappointment is the farthest thing from Blaine's mind right now. And Kurt knows. Knows, this is a safe victory, his victory already, and he freaking knows, can just tell, how simply that tone, so downplaying, not really coy yet, but enough through the lightest pout to be close, reduces Blaine to pieces.

Kurt turns his back to Blaine once again, taking his time in letting Blaine enjoy the view, and without any rush starts pressing buttons on the stereo, pushing up the volume control a bit.

The music stops as he skips to the song of his choosing, muscles on either side of his spine jumping in the dim light with the simple task of holding up his arms. In some distant place of his mind, Blaine registers his own grip on the rattan chair's arm rest.

Then Kurt looks back over his shoulder, searching Blaine's eyes, as if to check if he is ready. A satisfied smile on his features, finger still on the play button.

He presses it down.

A wave of sound fills the room, crystal clear.

Do I move you?

Nina Simone's voice hits home with the first line. Sending a shiver along Blaine's skin and having the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end immediately. His mouth twitches, as he's not really master of his features, his look linked to Kurt's.

Who just stands, staring back at him, while the drum sets in. And for all Blaine knows the half-grin he just felt stretching his own lips stays there, but he forgets to keep track.

The tardy thought that he should acknowledge, comment the lyrics, or the choice of song, goes as it has come, in the face of sheer sight, that sight that presents itself, lays itself out for him and all Blaine's capacities of focus choose their priority.

Are you willing?

Another ripple along his skin. Well, Blaine's expression is probably acknowledgement and comment enough. For Kurt gives Blaine the subtlest smile, taking his time just watching Blaine's every reaction.

Whatever this is, this performance, this seduction... Blaine can't shake the feeling, that this has already started long before the music even set in. Because it it's already working. God, how it's working. Even if Kurt is still not really moving yet.

He's simply looking, biting the inside of his lip again, once more just hinting at it. All about him is nothing but hints at every small move of his muscles right now. The depths of his eyes, though, are shifting in a dance already, before his body even stirs.

Do I groove you, is it thrilling?

"I'm probably too white to do any real justice to this, so I won't even try to sing it." Blaine's clasp on the armrest tightens as Kurt's voice joins the mix again, for the very fact alone. Even if it is just for this announcement, given in a low murmuring chuckle, still loud enough to carry through the room and over the music.

Do I soothe you?

Blaine stares at Kurt's lopsided smile. Instead of singing along to the lyrics, Kurt is merely mouthing choice words or fragments of it or just so, lips forming sounds without a voice catching.

Tell the truth now.

He echoes the line in a broken throaty whisper, that Blaine can rather feel than really hear, making his skin crawl in the best way possible. But mostly it's only Kurt's eyes talking.

And everything about him spelling out the lyrics and the essence of the song anyway.

Blaine releases a breath he forgot he was holding. Kurt simply stands there. In a stance that might look careless only to the untrained eye, his hand rubbing a slow path from chin to mouth. Or maybe it's rather his face that moves against his halting hand, Blaine thinks dazedly. Head moving in the slowest imitation of a shake, jaw rubbing against slender fingers.

And blue-grey eyes keep studying Blaine, head to toe, like contemplating, giving this an impromptu air so irresistible, an easiness that takes Blaine's breath.

Do I move you, are you loose now?

Those eyes. So full of things Blaine can't name... but things that he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life figuring out... dissecting them until he's dizzy, although he instantly knows that's not their destiny.

Some things are not to be named, and there will always be wordless secrets that those eyes will hold, even if they tell all and all is told between them. Blaine suppresses the impulse to shake his head over that strange thought.

A tilt of Kurt's chin snaps Blaine back into the moment and Kurt drags his thumb along his lower lip. His eyes brim with a look of the softest irony and smile.

Blaine gasps. That smile, filled with allure, but not with the cocksureness Kurt could undoubtedly pull off as well. That Blaine knows he can for a fact, but... this somehow is the next level, something more profound, a mind boggling understatement that rocks Blaine to the core.

All about Kurt, his whole demeanour right now is... intense. Never flinching, and not shying away. Not aloof, not detached, but rooted in an irresistible calm and vibrating with an awareness and confidence, that reaches across the distance between them, opening a connection, that is certain, solid, and groundingly inviting.

Blaine feels his heart beat against his ribcage then low in his throat. There is hunger in Kurt's eyes as well, openly displayed, though slightly muted, matted, dimmed down. Subdued but shining through all his restrained movements nonetheless. Kurt's in complete control.

Blaine's sure his mouth hangs slightly open, but he can't bring himself to care. Because, oh, yes, Kurt is moving now.

Moving, not choosing moves of an overextended cliché. No, they are the most casual ones, yet executed with an aching slowness, a nonchalant focus, that takes Blaine's breath.

Is this a dance...? Can the word even begin to describe this?

The way Kurt's body bends and arches seems to come to him with the most natural ease, languorous, languid, and all deliberate. Out of the strength of his body, of straining muscles, a taut frame held yet so smoothly and in a way that never seems to stop, to stand still.

Blaine's eyes are wide open to catch the littlest of motions, when really it feels like a whole incessant one, the small circles of Kurt's hips barely detectable, but his whole aura brimming with them, brimming with static and wild electricity.

He's theatre, he's a fucking show. He's killing Blaine.

The answer better be yes...

Blaine swallows hard as Kurt once more turns his back to Blaine, and brings his glass down on the bar counter with the culminating beat, puts it down with the slightest emphasis, almost as if accidental, but keeps his hold on it.

The guitar sets in and Kurt simply stands again, his body halting in a strung bow of taut muscles, tensing in this light stance, the wet briefs clinging to, sculpting the contours of his ass. And Blaine is sure, that the slight jumping of muscle there beneath shiny material is a most deliberate taunt. He groans.

Movement catches his eye at the edge of his sight and out of focus, when Kurt caresses his fingers along the rim of the put down glass. Leisurely. Teasingly. And Blaine registers, adds the sensation to the overwhelming entirety of the scene, but can't bing his eyes to pull away from its center.

Still facing away from Blaine, Kurt takes his time to turn his head, and only that last tilt, accentuated as it sends a ripple trough the muscles all along Kurt's back, draws Blaine's look up on the last guitar note. He meets Kurt's look back over his shoulder, Kurt's expression a purr and a lightly cocked eyebrow.

That pleases me.

Their eyes lock on that line, and Blaine feels stunned. Knocked void of air and spellbound. A slow smile spreads on Kurt's face, and seeps into his entire posture.

Turning, he steps up to the bar, leans against it briefly, then pushes himself off again, and walks past it. Blaine knew he loved the way Kurt walks, but now, his strut is positively making the room sway around Blaine, as he watches every lean muscle in Kurt's body, his shoulders, abs, his thighs, calves, hell even the bend of his feet work together.

Are you ready for this action?

Kurt reaches a low sun lounger, looks down at it as if he was actually surprised to find it there, throwing a measuring thoughtful glance back at Blaine. And Blaine is sure Kurt hears the choked sound he makes, when his boyfriend lowers himself down, bending his knees to sit, then stretches out in one languid move on and along the lounger.

Hands come above his head to reach over the edge, completing the perfect long arch of his body, wrists lightly and playfully crossed.

Does it give you satisfaction?

Blaine thinks he might just break the armrest of his own chair eventually. It seems Kurt's body never stops moving, stretching then flexing again, one single languid motion, as he brings his arms next to his body, bent at the elbows, loosely splayed fingers caressing a gentle trail along his chest down muscles still taut, and down.

Are you hip to what I'm saying?

Kurt's flat palm settles on the jutting bone above the waistband of his dark briefs, when, lying like this, barely and in the smallest circle of movement, he lifts his hips off the lounger, actually accentuating the word hip in the song's lyric right on time.

Yet again it's the most teasingly casual, most restrained little move, but it seems to affect his entire body laid out like this, all smooth expanse of white skin covering hard strung tight muscle... Blaine gasps, only this one word, this one concept of those pale hips filling his entire mind.

If you are then let's start swaying.

Kurt's abs contract as he sits up a bit, propping himself up with his hands behind him and the movement continues smoothly into a slow shoulder shimmy. Blaine knows he could not avert his eyes if his life depended on it.

The answer better be yes...

Kurt leans back, and it's really not much more than another stretching of his body, presenting his front, lowering onto his elbows and forearms, baring his neck, head angled backwards, but... fuck is Kurt glittering?

Blaine almost loses it. The dim orange light of the bar lighting mixes with the cool blue reflections of the pool painting patterns across Kurt's perfect, bare, flushed chest, and there's a sheen of sweat, but for a moment Blaine is sure there is more.

Scarce, but there, right along the blush along and below Kurt's collar bones, when the light hits it just right... Blaine bites down hard on his lip because, this... just this...

Kurt smiles and lets his head fall back between his shoulder blades, still never abandoning his gaze on Blaine.

That pleases me.

Blaine realizes how his shirt has started clinging to his skin. He lets out a shuddering breath and a droplet of sweat catches in his eyebrow, as he leans back in his chair just as Kurt rolls himself off the lounger in, oh please god, a fucking crawling motion.

Blaine is sure he's made a sound, but he forgets, because Kurt's on his feet and coming towards Blaine, bathing him in his presence and his inhibited green-grey stare.

When I touch you, do you quiver?

Blaine licks his lips as soon as he catches Kurt's scent, water and lemons and salt, and Kurt bends at his hips and grips the arm rest of the chair right on top of Blaine's hands.

Blaine almost jumps with the electricity of the contact, the hot tight press of Kurt's fingers on his even if it is the only place they touch for now.

He feels his own jaw muscles work then set, as Kurt stands hovering above Blaine in a wide stance, and Blaine can see, sense those hips moving, rocking slightly to the beat on the edge of sight. He blinks, lashes fluttering with the closeness of Kurt's breath on his own heated skin.

From your head down to your liver...

Kurt lowers his head, letting his chin fall almost to his own chest and Blaine's, closer to Blaine's body, indicating a path down, and Blaine's heart stops at the hint and the scent of Kurt's shampoo mixed with chlorine. A droplet of water falls from Kurt's dark wet hair down onto Blaine's shirt in the motion, and Blaine watches it stain the material darker.

If you like it, let me know it.

Searching, yet so far from shy, Kurt looks up at Blaine through his lashes, his body's weight straining on his arms in that angle with a slight tremble, and Blaine thinks he will never love anyone just as much as he loves this man.

He feels his own lips whisper, incoherently, hiss softly, tip of tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, yet his voice never catches. Because how? How could he ever aptly convey this sentiment?

Kurt stares at him for a second longer, then slowly leans in and now his lashes brush Blaine's cheek. Blaine's breath hitches with the promise of touch, and all about him aches for it.

Don't be psychic or you'll blow it.

Knowingly, Kurt's lips part, baiting Blaine with an open mouth and a ghost of breath to sensitive skin and Blaine mirrors Kurt instinctively, lifting his chin, seeking, then chasing after Kurt's mouth, when Kurt moves slightly back. And, to the last words of the line, blows hot air past Blaine's burning lips into the cavity of his mouth.

Blaine gasps, swallowing Kurt's breath and Kurt's lopsided smile briefly looks as if it suppresses a giggle. Blaine's hands squirm under Kurt's palms still on his and he groans.

The answer better be yes...

And just with that Kurt's weight on the back of Blaine's hands lifts, leaving them feeling cool despite the warm air surrounding them.

Kurt stands upright, lightly leaning back in his stance. Which brings his hips right on level with Blaine's face. Blaine thinks his mind might just blow a fuse, as he glances up at the slow affectionate grin on Kurt's features.

Great god almighty...

Then Blaine's brain indeed blacks out for a second, because Kurt starts shaking his hips ever so lightly to the climaxing beat, and Blaine forgets even about the music, for what that does to Kurt's half hard erection under the black, damp, smooth material is... mesmerizing.

Blaine bites down hard on all the sounds building in his throat, wants to reach out, touch, but seems to have forgotten how to move. His breathing becomes erratic, and he sees his own upper chest heaving with it, lifting at the periphery of his vision, yet not providing enough oxygen. Not nearly enough. On the upper verge of his sight, he sees Kurt's grin widen in a sweet blush.

That pleases me.

Then Kurt suddenly sinks to knees, ends up between Blaine's legs, hands wandering up on Blaine's thighs, eyes and all else bright with that smile. That smile.

Kurt opens Blaine's fly with last beat of the song, that keeps echoing, repeating itself in Blaine's ears and mind in time with the hammering of his heart.

And Kurt just looks up again, asking. Knowing, but asking.

At last Blaine's voice catches, breaks and trembles but finds a way through:

"Yes. God, yes."

His mind is a blur with all the questions, asked and unasked that he answers with this one syllable, everything about him consisting of nothing but the notion, the knowledge, the need:

Yes.