It's Tuesday night and Blaine is gone, with his mother, to Columbus. He had an appointment with the specialist late this afternoon, and Kurt has yet to hear much more than a text from Mrs. Anderson saying it was taking longer than scheduled. While Kurt loves the sleepovers with his two best girls, and he's grateful to be spending tonight with friends to distract him from missing Blaine (he and Blaine will have plenty of time together tomorrow night, anyway), he has learned to dread the moment when the stack of Cosmopolitan magazines comes out of the bottom drawer of Rachel's dresser and Rachel and Mercedes start giggling and speculating over the sex tips and articles. He brings his own reading to get through this particular trial, and they usually leave him alone.

Of course, it's been a while since they last had a sleepover, and some things have changed, most significantly that Rachel is no longer a virgin, and neither is he. Their knowledge of the latter, Kurt can feel every time Rachel and Mercedes both look to him for reactions to each tip or to their resulting commentary, but he pretends he doesn't notice the pregnant pauses in their conversation. He doesn't know precisely how they know he and Blaine are sleeping together now—he's been deliberately vague on the topic—but he expects neither Finn nor Sam has kept it to himself.

Regardless, no matter how ridiculous the tip sounds, or how long they look at him for a response, Kurt keeps his face carefully bland. He makes the most of trying to read the GQ in his lap and plan for the new Spring trends. Kurt fortifies himself with the knowledge that he'll at least get to see Taylor Lautner with his shirt off tonight. But eventually, the expectant looks aren't enough, and Rachel speaks up.

"Is that true, Kurt?" she asks.

Kurt looks up from the article he's reading, pretends he hasn't heard what they've just been discussing (an article titled "His Best Kept Secret, Ladies: The Male G-Spot!"). "Is what true?"

"That a guy can have an orgasm just from stimulating his, um, prostate?"

Kurt keeps his expression neutral and replies coolly, "You're asking me this because...?"

"You're a guy."

"Yes, I'm aware, thank you for noticing, Rachel."

Mercedes tuts and says, "Come on, Kurt, we know you and Blaine are getting busy."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yeah, Kurt, it's so obvious, with the way you two look at each other now. I swear, sometimes it's like the rest of us don't even exist." She smiles, but it turns a little sad. "I really wish I had that with someone."

"You don't with Shane?" Kurt asks, seizing the opportunity to change the direction of this conversation. "Or Sam?"

"Ugh," Mercedes says, and covers her face with her hands. Kurt reaches out to pat her shoulder. "I don't know," she says and falls to her back on the bed, her head landing upon the open magazine in Kurt's lap. He smiles down at her and pets her hair until she takes her hands away from her face and returns his smile.

"You're avoiding the question, Kurt," Rachel says, tapping the facing page of her Cosmopolitan.

"Yes, I am," he says and sighs. He can't go back to reading, Mercedes' head is in the way.

"Well?" Mercedes asks from his lap. "Spill."

They're both looking at him, expecting some great sex related wisdom from a male perspective. Kurt tries to think of a way to answer that doesn't betray the particulars of his relationship with Blaine. "Fine," he says, "My understanding is that, yes, some guys can."

"Your understanding?" Rachel asks. "Some guys? You're no better than the magazine, Kurt."

"Kurt, honey, we want details."

"You're not getting them. What happens between me and Blaine stays between us. It's not fair to him to tell you the details of it."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says, "I just want a simple yes or no. Forget about Blaine. Can you, you know—" Rachel drops her voice to a whisper. "—come that way?"

Kurt's eyes widen. "Can I...? Oh my god, Rachel, you are not asking me that."

Mercedes laughs. "Kurt, you're blushing."

Rachel nods in satisfaction. "I'm going to take that as a 'yes'."

Kurt tips his head back against the pillows and blinks up at the ceiling. "No, that is not a 'yes'. Stop assuming—"

"So it's a 'no', then." Rachel narrows her eyes, staring at him intently. Mercedes is still laughing, and Kurt sees the quiver of a smile at the corner of Rachel's mouth, and he realizes, this is the downside of being able to pull off such deadpan sarcasm. Your friends can't tell when you actually want them to shut up.

"It's an 'I'm not telling you', and please stop asking me about this. I appreciate that you're interested— Actually, no, I don't appreciate it. But while we're sharing, Rachel, for god's sake, don't try the thing with the doughnut. Blowjobs don't require gimmicks to be amazing, especially not with food. The only tips you really need for sucking dick? Are, one, to actually do it and, two, don't use your teeth. And no, you won't ruin your voice. Trust me."

Mercedes sits up. The girls are both silent, their expressions mildly stunned as they look at each other and then at Kurt. "What?" Kurt asks, folding his arms over his chest. "You thought I wasn't listening?"

Rachel starts giggling.

Mercedes says super seriously, like it's another sign of the end times, "Kurt just said 'dick'."

"Really?" Kurt demands, but feels a smile tugging at his lips. "That's what you got?"

Rachel falls to her side on the bed. "Kurt said 'sucking dick'."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Oh, we have a 'fuck', too!" Rachel says, delighted.

Mercedes, chuckling, shakes her head at him. "Boy, you've got a dirty mouth."

Rachel leans over and pokes his leg, playfully sing-songing, "I bet Blaine loves your dirty mouth."

Kurt gives up and gives in to the laughter too. And then it's time to go downstairs and make snacks for the movie. Midway through the film, Rachel drops her bombshell: she and Finn are getting married. Kurt wishes they were still talking about blowjobs. He knows exactly what he would say if Blaine proposed; he's already answered that question. That doesn't mean he isn't still mad at Finn or thinks this is right for him and Rachel.

~*~

Kurt has never cooked in the Andersons' kitchen before. He's arrived a little late (the lines in the supermarket were ferocious) but he's here now, unpacking the groceries to the counter and looking about to evaluate the facilities (overwhelmingly excellent for the most part, with top of the line appliances—the stove is a Gaggenau, which leaves Kurt feeling bizarrely starstruck). Meanwhile, Mrs. Anderson is moving about in a half-frantic flurry, making sure Kurt has all the phone numbers he may need and has the information about and the schedule for the various pills and eyedrops Blaine requires. The stack of papers on the end of the polished granite counter, which includes all the drug brochures, notes, and business cards, is growing. Kurt reassures her that they'll be fine, and yes, he'll call the nurse if there's any sign of a new side effect or complication. Blaine is seated at the kitchen table, on the other side of the raised bartop counter. His Pre-Calc homework is strewn about him, and Blaine watches Kurt and his mother with a half smile on his face. Kurt looks over at him and rolls his eyes. Blaine grins back and returns his attention to his open textbook.

Blaine is wearing his old Dalton sweatpants and hoodie over a heather gray t-shirt, and his hair is coming free into curls on the side he tends to lean upon his hand when he's reading at a desk. Kurt takes a moment to admire Blaine, casual, relaxed, and at home. A yearning for next year surges up suddenly in his chest, like heartache or homesickness, for when Blaine graduates, comes to New York, and they find a way to be at home together. He wants so much to make a home for Blaine. Kurt exhales a shallow breath and returns to unpacking his groceries, setting the tomatoes by the sink next to the green beans.

"All right, Kurt," Mrs. Anderson is saying to him. "If there's anything else you need, call and leave a message, or text me. I'll get back to you as soon as i can."

"Yes, ma'am, I will," Kurt says, turning to face her so she knows he's heard everything she's said.

She touches Kurt's shoulder and says, "Thank you." And then she goes to the table to smooth Blaine's hair and kiss his forehead. "Be good, dear," she says.

"I'll be fine, Mom," he says. "Good luck with the meeting, drive safely."

"I'll text when I get to the hotel," she says, heading for the door to the back hall that leads to the garage. Kurt waves and smiles, and she's gone.

Blaine rubs at the lipstick smudge his mother left on his forehead, and Kurt folds up the shopping bag he's just emptied, sets it aside. The quiet between them is novel, for though they have been alone together before here physically, it's never been here in quite the same way. Mrs. Anderson has so many new expectations of Kurt, and her anxiety over Blaine's wellbeing is a new responsibility to shoulder. But Kurt is sure they will be fine. He looks over at Blaine, finds him looking back, and he laughs softly. "I feel like a babysitter."

Blaine chuckles. "I'm sorry I require babysitting."

"It's okay," Kurt says, coming out of the kitchen to go to the table where Blaine's seated. Blaine turns in his chair to face Kurt, and Kurt rests his hands on Blaine's shoulders, smiles down at him. "You'd do the same for me."

"I would," Blaine agrees, resting his hands low on Kurt's hips. "Except for the cooking. You'd be stuck with canned soup and toast if I were cooking."

Kurt tilts his head. "Top Chef isn't inspiring you?"

"Sadly, my skills lag behind my inspiration."

"I'll help you get up to speed. After all, you'll have to take your turn cooking when we're living together next year. I doubt we'll be able to afford eating out often in New York." The plans to room with Rachel next year are fraying. If she does marry Finn, then Kurt doubts they'll want him around as their third wheel for long, best friend and brother or not. But if that means he and Blaine will end up on their own together, too, then that'll be okay. More than.

"Next year," Blaine murmurs. He slides his hands up and takes hold of Kurt's waist, tugging him closer so he can lean forward and press his cheek against Kurt's torso, fitting his cheekbone into the yielding spot just below Kurt's sternum. "That doesn't sound as far away as it actually is."

Of course, there's still the big gap in the middle where they'll be apart, but it's easy to elide that time in his mind and focus on when they will be together again. "We'll be there before you know it," Kurt says, rubbing along Blaine's shoulders and enjoying the press of Blaine against him as he nuzzles into Kurt's sweater with a sigh and slides his arms around Kurt to hold him close, making Kurt rock forward onto his toes to keep his balance.

They stay like that for a while, Blaine holding tightly to Kurt, Kurt stroking and petting Blaine's shoulders, thinking about their future together. Eventually Blaine's hold loosens, and Kurt draws back. "I really need to get dinner started," he says, "unless you want to be eating at midnight."

"What are you making?" Blaine asks, releasing Kurt and sitting back in his chair.

"Soup and toast," Kurt says.

"Oh." Blaine gives him a sheepish smile.

"Minestrone, from scratch, to be precise," Kurt explains. "I soaked the cannelini beans overnight at home and made the broth myself. I'm still trying to develop a good, dark vegetable broth to substitute for beef, this is my latest attempt and I think it's turned out well. Marcel's mushroom soup recipe inspired me to use dried porcini mushrooms, so I think you'll enjoy it. And I've been saving the rind of a good imported Parmesan just for this—"

"So it's not just soup, it's Soup. Special Fancy Kurt Soup," Blaine says, mouths something unintelligible under his breath and adds, "Which makes for a terrible acronym, so I'll need to think of a better designation."

Kurt gives Blaine a lopsided grin and cups his jaw, brushing across Blaine's cheek with his thumb. "Do you need anything before I get started? A drink refill? Homework help?"

Blaine shakes his head, turning in Kurt's loose hold to kiss the pad of his thumb. "I'm getting through it okay," he says.

"All right," Kurt says, and reluctantly steps back and away, to return to the kitchen to begin topping and tailing the green beans.

~

The soup is a success; Blaine eats an entire large bowl of it and manages a parfait of macerated dried fruits and vanilla Greek yogurt for dessert. At the end of the meal, Blaine leans back in his chair, rubs his tummy as says, "Oh, wow. I'm actually full."

Kurt's not above preening a little as he takes their plates from the kitchen table to the sink. "Once again my secret ingredient proves irresistible," he says over his shoulder.

"You have a secret ingredient?" Blaine asks.

"Mmhm," Kurt says as he rinses the soup bowls.

"It's not like Puck's secret ingredient, I trust," Blaine says.

"No, Blaine, I did not season the soup with marijuana."

Blaine appears mostly steady on his feet as he stands, but he reaches for the bar top for support anyway, as he rounds it to come into the kitchen. "Then what's yours?" he asks Kurt, coming up to hug him from behind.

"Careful," Kurt says, lifting his elbows so Blaine doesn't accidentally jostle his grip on the bread plate.

"Well?" Blaine asks, hooking his chin over Kurt's shoulder.

"It wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you, would it?"

"But you teased me with your gloating. How am I supposed to not wonder now?"

"My gloating?"

"That was definitely gloating."

Kurt huffs a short laugh, rinses off his hands, and turns in Blaine's embrace, finds him smiling softly, his gaze hooded and easy. Kurt relaxes his lips as Blaine leans in to kiss him. It's slow and shallow, a familiar press and slide of their lips, but it steals Kurt's breath nevertheless. Blaine pulls back enough to speak. "The dishes can wait, let's go goof off," he says, tugging at Kurt's waist.

"I don't know," Kurt says. He wants—oh, how he wants—but there's a sharp ambivalence between the desires of his body and the responsible voice in his head, reminding him that Blaine's judgment may still be drug impaired (though he's been lucid enough so far this evening), and Kurt's not sure how the physiology of an orgasm would affect Blaine while he's still injured and medicated. Maybe he should read the brochures Mrs. Anderson left. "I'm not sure it's a good idea to shirk my duties here to make out with my charge."

"You realize you're not actually my babysitter, right?" Blaine says. "And anyway, we don't have to make out make out. Things aren't exactly fully functional for me right now, but I wouldn't be averse to some kisses and cuddles." Blaine cocks his head and bats his eyelashes. "I just miss being close to you."

"Me too," Kurt says, and he wonders. "But by things not functioning, you mean...?"

"The painkillers have some, uh, sexual side effects if you're on them a while," Blaine explains. "They're temporary, but, I've been taking them long enough that it's starting to affect stuff." Blaine shrugs, a tinge of color rising on his cheeks.

"So you can't...?"

"I can't get an erection," Blaine says. "At least not a full one. I only got half way there yesterday trying to jerk off."

Kurt supposes Blaine has read the literature if he knows this is a side-effect. Clearly there's no prohibition about trying to have an orgasm, but whether it's actually possible? "No orgasms either, then?" Kurt asks.

Blaine looks down, clearly embarrassed, Kurt squeezes his hand. "I don't know. I got bored and sleepy and ended up stopping," Blaine says.

"Well, that's depressing," Kurt says.

"But, like I said. It's temporary. I'll be fine once they're out of my system."

"It's okay," Kurt says. "We can definitely snuggle. Want me to light the fire in the family room? Or would you rather go upstairs?"

"I am so sick of my bedroom. Can we hang out in the family room?"

"Of course," Kurt says. "I'll get you settled, finish up in here, and then we can goof off a bit, okay?"

"Okay," Blaine agrees.

~

Later, with the dishes done, Blaine freshly medicated and eyedropped, and the gas fire a cozy blaze, Kurt is lying back on the wide sofa in the family room with Blaine draped over him, stretched out between his legs. Blaine's hands are in his hair massaging his scalp and Blaine's tongue is making a slow, thorough circuit of his mouth. Kurt's buzzing with arousal, growing too hot in his clothes. He's perfectly hard and pressed up tight and wonderful against Blaine's thigh, but Kurt can tell, Blaine's not hard at all, not even partially. But it's not stopping Blaine from rocking down against Kurt.

The rhythmic, easy shift of Blaine's weight against him is making Kurt flush fresh and tingle all over. It doesn't seem fair, for him to be feeling so warm and blissful, the building of his desire so heady and good after so long without, if Blaine is not with him. He thinks about Blaine's cock, soft in his pants, neglected. Blaine's been clear headed enough to do Math homework, so Kurt decides it's okay to ask. He slips his mouth to the side, asks Blaine, "Hey, can I try something, baby?"

"Something?" Blaine asks before dragging his open mouth along Kurt's jaw to his earlobe.

Kurt shudders as Blaine's clever tongue flicks up behind his ear. "I want to blow you," Kurt says.

Blaine lifts his head. "Kurt, I'm not sure that'll be terribly successful."

"I know, but I want to try—to make you feel good, too."

With a grimace, Blaine glances away. "It's just, Kurt. It's kind of embarrassing."

"Blaine," Kurt soothes, petting down the backs of Blaine's upper arms, over the hard tension of his triceps. "I was at The Gap Attack, too. Remember?"

Blaine laughs and looks down. "Fair point," he says.

"So may I suck your cock?" Kurt asks, bringing one hand to nudge up under Blaine's chin with his fingertips, to bring his head up so their eyes can meet. He gives Blaine his brightest smile. "Pretty please?"

"That's really not a question I want to say no to," Blaine says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Then don't." Kurt tips Blaine's chin up farther, leans up to suck an open mouthed kiss to his throat.

"All right, all right," Blaine says breathlessly, relenting with a full body shiver. "Just. Please don't be disappointed if nothing much happens, okay?"

Kurt says, "I promise, I won't."

He gets Blaine seated, leaning back into the pillows with his ass near the edge of the sofa, his feet on the floor with Kurt kneeling between his legs. "Are you comfortable enough?" Kurt asks, running his palms up Blaine's thighs to where they meet his torso.

"Physically," Blaine says. He looks uncertain, and Kurt wants to make it better.

"You still want to know what my secret ingredient is?" he asks.

Blaine raises his eyebrows in query. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Yes," Kurt says. He brings his hands to Blaine's waistband, unties the cord, and tugs the waistband down. Blaine lifts his hips so Kurt can slide both the sweatpants and Blaine's briefs down his legs, and off, along with his socks. Kurt doesn't let his gaze linger between Blaine's legs to look at Blaine's cock, soft and (relative to what Kurt's used to) small, curved gently against his balls. Instead he looks up at Blaine's face and says earnestly, with the lilt of song in his voice, "'I could show you in a word, if I wanted to'." It's a line from Roxy Music's "To Turn You On"; it's among the Bryan Ferry songs Blaine put on their sex playlist. It's corny, maybe, quoting lyrics at Blaine as if it's love poetry (and maybe it is, but Kurt doesn't think of himself as that sort of romantic; he's not much of a poet, prefers action to fanciful words), but Kurt respects how Blaine is exposing himself to Kurt. So Kurt will do his best to honor that.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, and the tension of his gaze softens.

"Love," Kurt says simply. "It's love."

"Kurt," Blaine says again, smiling fondly and reaching a hand down.

Kurt takes it and squeezes. "Let me show you, honey."

Blaine nods, and Kurt doesn't let go of his hand as he kneels up and leans forward, using his free hand to cup over Blaine's balls and cock loosely, to feel their warmth. "Okay?" he asks Blaine.

"Yes," Blaine whispers.

Blood pulses beneath Kurt's fingers, which is definitely more than nothing, so Kurt is emboldened to press more firmly and shift his hand in a slow, gentle circle. Erections have never been elusive for him before, not Blaine's, not his own, so he's really not sure how to do this, but he feels another hot pulse beneath his hand, feels a tentative swelling of Blaine's cock, and though it's feeble, Kurt is encouraged. He hears Blaine take a shaky breath.

"Does it feel good?" Kurt asks.

"Yeah. It's not exactly like it's supposed to be, but it feels good."

Kurt smiles up at Blaine before he lowers his head, shifting his hand lower to cradle Blaine's balls while he brushes his parted, lips up the curved length of Blaine's cock to the shy head. It stirs beneath that scant contact, and Blaine's fingers tighten around Kurt's. Kurt tries licking, his tongue broad and lax, gentle.

"Mmm," Blaine says; it's a noncommittal sort of sound, but Kurt feels some of the tension leave Blaine's body as he slumps back into the cushions behind him. Around Kurt's fingers his grip loosens, and Kurt is able to pull his hand free so he can stroke up Blaine's thigh, turning his hand in to press Blaine's leg aside, allowing Kurt space to slip his thumb behind Blaine's balls to stroke the velveteen soft skin there, and back farther where Blaine is so smooth and sensitive.

It's not what Kurt is used to, Blaine's response. He's not opening his legs eagerly to invite Kurt's attention in the manner a touch like this would usually inspire. But that's all right. Kurt's got no particular goal in mind but Blaine's feeling good. As it is, he's licked enough blood back into Blaine' cock, that its thickened and lengthened sufficiently for Kurt to wrap one hand around it and lift it up to take the head into his mouth. From beneath his eyelashes, he looks up at Blaine as he sucks softly. And Blaine looks back at him, his expression loose, open, and a little amazed.

And, god, Kurt loves this: the simplicity of Blaine's cock in his mouth, even imperfect and quiet. Nothing's desperate. It's comforting somehow, just being close like this. Kurt lets his eyes slip shut; he hums his enjoyment as he sucks with more vigor, opening and sliding down to take more of Blaine into his mouth, still holding at the base. Blaine's only half-hard, heavy, warm, and pliant upon Kurt's tongue. So, with his eyes closed, Kurt sucks while supporting Blaine with one hand, fondles his balls with the other; and it's so perfectly imperfect.

"That's, uh," Blaine says, drawing Kurt back from the trance he's slipping into, "as good as it's going to get, Kurt,"

Kurt's eyes flutter open, and Kurt blinks to clear away the blur in his vision. He let's Blaine's cock slide from his lips, gives it a parting kiss. Smiles. "It's fine, Blaine," Kurt says. "Just try to relax, okay? And let me take care of you."

Back into his mouth Kurt takes Blaine, deeper this time, nearly as deep as Kurt can, and he realizes that with Blaine only half-hard he's taken nearly all of his cock without risking gagging. And that is twisting hot in Kurt's gut, being able to do this at all, even if it's maybe cheating since Blaine's cock isn't fully present. He sighs a breath out through his nose, and then takes a deep one in, sucks a long pull over Blaine's length, feels his pulse throb hard against his tongue, takes him all the way, hears Blaine gasp a short, surprised, "Ah!"

And then his hands are in Kurt's hair, tugging gently, and Blaine is saying, "Kurt, you really don't have to keep doing this," and, "I don't think I can come."

But Kurt can feel how Blaine is slowly coming to life within his mouth, thinks he can draw more pleasure out of Blaine even if it doesn't result in an orgasm, so he pushes forward, sucks more, slides back a little, moans around Blaine's cock, feeling and tasting and loving it.

"Please, Kurt," Blaine says. "Can you stop for a minute?"

Kurt pulls off, replaces his mouth with his hand, squeezing firmly. "I really don't mind," Kurt says. "I like being able to do this for you."

"No, Kurt. I know, it's just, I don't think I can, and it's frustrating."

"You don't have to, honey, there's no pressure, I'm not disappointed," Kurt says, opening his hand and licking right up the length cradled in his hand, curling against Blaine's cockhead and off to speak, "I just want you to feel good."

"Kurt," Blaine says in a tone Kurt doesn't recognize, it's tender, but... And then Blaine says, more softly. Quietly. "Pinochle."

Kurt stops. He releases Blaine, removes his hands from Blaine's genitals to the relative neutrality of Blaine's thighs. "All right," Kurt says, sitting back on his heels. They talked about this—god—months ago. And this is the reason for that word, for Kurt to be able to push Blaine, and for Blaine to still have a way to let him know when it's too much or too far. Kurt always imagined they'd be doing something more than what they're doing right now. Something kinkier or edgier or dirtier. He didn't think it would be like this. And now that it is like this, Kurt isn't sure if he's meant to apologize or what. He decides an unnecessary apology is preferable to none. "I'm sorry, Blaine." he says and adds, "Thank you for telling me." He's afraid to look up straight away, to see how Blaine is looking at him.

"No," Blaine says, puts his hands over Kurt's and sits up. "Please don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong, I just." Blaine sighs heavily, and now Kurt looks up at him.

"Just what?" Kurt asks, hating how thin his voice sounds.

"Come up here with me," Blaine says tangling his fingers with Kurt's and tugging.

Kurt crawls up onto the couch beside Blaine, brings Blaine's sweatpants up to drape over his lap so Blaine won't feel so naked. "What is it?" Kurt presses, lifting his arm up for Blaine to nestle into his side.

"I feel so useless, Kurt, and when you're doing that to me? I want to love it, I want to go crazy with how much I love it. I want to get lost in it and lost in you and feel so hot and desperate for it, that all I can do is take it until I can't do anything but come for you." Blaine pauses, looks up at Kurt as if uncertain. "Does that make sense?"

Kurt hadn't thought of it that way, had thought it was about Blaine feeling too much needless performance pressure, but when it's about your own expectations of yourself, yeah. Kurt can relate. "Yes. I think so."

"It does?"

"Yeah. I mean, I want you to feel good, Blaine. That's pretty much the whole point. I was afraid you weren't letting yourself enjoy it because you were worried about disappointing me. I didn't want you to feel bad at all, about anything, because how I feel for you isn't defined by how hard your cock gets.

"But I get it," Kurt says, "When you're not feeling the way you want to within yourself? That's different, and it's okay." He takes Blaine's hand and squeezes. "I want you to know, though, that I really loved doing that for you."

"I know," Blaine says. "But when I'm like this and things aren't working? I don't know. It's not the same." Blaine curls his fingers around Kurt's.

"Still," Kurt says. "I wanted tonight to be good for you."

"Hey, don't talk like it's over. I have—" Blaine glances at the clock on the DVD player. "—another two hours before it's time for the sleeping pills. So stop looking worried and kiss me, Kurt."

Kurt does. He pushes Blaine back into the corner of the sofa, covers Blaine with himself, lets his weight press Blaine deeper into the cushions. Blaine sighs into his mouth, reaches down to untuck the back of Kurt's shirt, and slips his hands, warm and broad, up Kurt's back.

As they kiss, soft and deep and full of lush breaths, Kurt traces Blaine's face with featherlight fingertips. Traces Blaine's jaw and cheek, the thin elastic band of the eyepatch to where it disappears into Blaine's hair, then back over the patch itself to Blaine's eyebrows, where he rubs against the tension he finds there. But then he leaves off caressing, just holds Blaine's face between his splayed hands as he reaches even deeper into the kiss. Blaine is so open for him, arching his neck and pressing up into the kisses with tiny, hungry whimpers; needy and yielding, warm and succulent; it's such a generous offering.

It's so much like it was earlier in their relationship, when the most erotic thing they did were these deep, long kisses. At the time Kurt didn't fully appreciate it, how much kissing like this was preparation for sex, not just a pale proxy for it. It was a way to practice for the shocking vulnerability of sharing yourself even more profoundly. And it's with that realization that Kurt is curling his tongue alongside Blaine's as he curls his spine down, pressing his erection against Blaine's hip to temper the building the ache of it. But its not soothing the way it used to seem, before they started having sex, when lingering in a state of frustrated erotic agony was its own reward. It just makes Kurt want more, and he shouldn't right now.

With a groan he drags his mouth away from Blaine's, kisses down his neck, scoots lower, and shifts his hips until his cock is in the gap between Blaine's thighs where there's less pressure, less friction, and Kurt can, maybe, cool off a little, reorient himself. Blaine's hands flex against his shoulders, his fingertips dig in, and Kurt feels the bite of his short nails.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, scratchy and faint, with scarce voice.

"Hmm?" Kurt raises his head so he can see Blaine's face.

Blaine asks, a little shyly, "Is there anything I can do to help you get off?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No, I'm good like this," he says, because he can be and he will be. "I'll take care of myself later."

"Later, huh?" Blaine, says, and Kurt sees the shift in Blaine's eye, sees how his pupil expands as Blaine's demeanor transitions from shy to seductive. "Why not now? Maybe? You could let me watch you."

"Blaine?" Kurt draws back, looks at Blaine, intrigued. "Is that something you want? To watch me?"

Blaine gives a one shouldered shrug. "It's something I've been thinking about a lot this week, since we haven't been doing stuff together. I like to try to imagine what you're doing on your own, for yourself." Blaine's blush darkens, and he glances away, his voice softer. "It's what I've been thinking about when I masturbate."

Huh. That's hot, Blaine thinking about Kurt jerking off while Blaine does himself. "So it's like a fantasy?" Kurt asks.

"It is a fantasy, yeah."

In the abstract, Kurt's known Blaine fantasizes about him, but they haven't really talked about it before, not explicitly. Kurt is surprised by the intensity of his curiosity, to know the details of how Blaine fantasizes about him. "So how does it go? If you don't mind me asking." Kurt shifts to his side next to Blaine, gives him space to gather himself. Doesn't want him feeling crowded or pressured.

"I don't mind," Blaine says, but he presses his lips together nervously for a moment before he speaks again, looking off into the room, not at Kurt. "The way I like to imagine it, at least the way I find most...helpful to my purposes is, basically—" Blaine flicks his gaze back to Kurt's and holds it. "I'm watching you, and you don't know I'm there. So you think you're alone. You're not performing for me or caring about me, you're just taking your time with yourself, for yourself. Just to feel good."

"Oh," Kurt says, because that's really hot. Kurt imagines it, Blaine watching him while he lets himself go. Blaine enjoying it, not being dismayed, but getting off on it.

"I know it sounds creepy, but I don't mean it like that. I'd just really like to know how you touch yourself when you're alone."

"It's not creepy," Kurt says. "It's. Blaine. It's hot. But I, um—" Kurt realizes that for all the sex they've had, he's never actually touched himself in front of Blaine, not like that, not for his own pleasure. But he's seen Blaine jerk himself off. He loves watching Blaine get off by his own hand. It's fair that Blaine would want to see him that way, too. "So would you like me to touch myself for you now? While you watch me?"

Blaine takes a breath. "If you were okay with it, I'd really like to watch you." Blaine smiles hesitantly. "It might even help me out with my problem," Blaine says, and Kurt sees how Blaine's blush is spreading to his ears, his neck. He doubts that it's all embarrassment; there's arousal mixed in there, too. Maybe it would help Blaine.

"Do you want me to do it here, lying next to you?" Kurt gestures at them. "Or do you want to, like, act out your fantasy? Hide behind the door and have me pretend I don't know you're there, or something?" Kurt chews on his lip, uncertain he can act like he does alone while knowing he has Blaine as an audience.

Blaine looks around the room thoughtfully. "We don't have to act it out like that, but I have an idea," Blaine says. "If you wanted to lie on a blanket in front of the fire, I can turn this lamp off and stay here, where you can't see me very well, but I'll be able to see you in the firelight."

Kurt imagines it. The lighting would be flattering to his skin, and he'd be warm enough. And Blaine wouldn't be so close that he would feel too self-conscious, but he'd still know Blaine was there. "That could work," Kurt says.

"And I was thinking, maybe you could wear headphones and listen to music while you're doing it, and close your eyes to make you feel more uninhibited?" Blaine shrugs. "At least when I fantasize about you. Sometimes that's how I imagine you. You're lost in the music and your touch and kind of oblivious to everything else."

Blaine really has been thinking about this, Kurt realizes with a sudden warm flush. And with headphones, the music would be like an auditory curtain, Kurt thinks. Something to be shrouded in while not actually being hidden at all from Blaine's view. It makes sense, and Kurt thinks he would feel less inhibited that way. "We can do it that way."

"You don't have to," Blaine says. "It's kind of a weird thing to ask for."

"It's not weird," Kurt says. "I like to listen to music when I jerk off sometimes, so I'll do it."

Kurt stands before the fire and removes his sweater, shirt and undershirt, folds them neatly and sets them on one of the armchairs near the fire. Then, the skin of his back prickling with the awareness of Blaine's scrutiny, he attends to the music situation. The stereo in the room is Blaine's father's. It's large and older, all matte black and curved edged components stacked six high—predating the advent of .mp3's—and it has so many buttons. It's not that complex to work out though, and soon Kurt has it hooked up to his iPod and set to play through both the surround speakers (so Blaine gets the benefit of the soundtrack, too) and the headphones. Kurt scrolls through his playlists for the one Blaine put together for their first time, the one Kurt thinks of as their sex playlist. He sets the iPod to shuffle, finds the song he wants to start with, dons the bulky DJ headphones plugged into the stereo, and presses 'play'.

He doesn't look back at Blaine or do anything to acknowledge his presence as the throbbing hook of Roxy Music's "Slave to Love" pumps into his ears. It's one of Blaine's favorites and something Kurt has listened to when he's wanted to think about Blaine while he masturbates, so it seems like a good place to start. Kurt just stands for a few moments, eyes closed, the fire hot before him, Blaine patient behind him, listening, centering himself in the idea of Blaine's fantasy.

When the singing starts, Ferry's otherworldly voice twisting up so much complex erotic longing so effortlessly, Kurt rolls his shoulders back and reaches for his belt.

"...I'll be waiting, at the usual place, where the tired and weary go, when there's no escape..."

He tries to shake the sense of being watched, tries to undo his pants and slide them down and off without fanfare—it's not like he hasn't taken his pants off in front of Blaine before—but he finds himself doing it slowly, dragging it out, pacing himself with the music. Feels it catch in his blood, making him bold enough to linger over undressing. He brushes his palms over his thighs, his hips, and his belly before taking the waistband of his briefs and bending as he pulls them down and steps out of them. He kicks them aside and turns to the side, offering Blaine his profile as he looks down at himself and brings a hand to his cock. His fingers are so pale against the flushed column of it, which isn't something he usually notices, but he's noticing it now, wondering if the contrast is sexy to Blaine.

"...We're the restless hearted, not the chained and bound..."

He hesitates then, for he doesn't typically jerk off while standing, unless he's in the shower. So this is wrong, but he doesn't want to be awkward and unsexy. He needs to stop thinking, is what he needs to do. Kurt lets go of his erection and lowers himself to his knees, splays them wide apart and closes his eyes. Perhaps if he just tries to reenact a previous time he's jerked off, he can make it seem more natural. But the last time he got himself off was after his sex dream about Mr. Martinez. And though the memory of it is seared into his brain, he's not sure he wants to replicate it in exact detail. He's not going to finger fuck himself in front of Blaine, not like he had that night, clumsy and shaking with his desperate desire and fumbling with his own body, trying to figure out how to make himself feel it the way he's dreamed of or the way the boys in the porn seem to. Or the way Blaine does, the way that makes Blaine beg for it.

"...Though your world is changing, I will stay the same..."

He had figured it out, and it had been revelatory. He had come ferociously hard with two fingers in his ass while his other hand had barely closed around his cock. The memory of it has Kurt's breath coming fast and shallow, perspiration diffusing across his skin. It may not be something to perform here and now for Blaine, but he can be inspired by it.

Kurt bows his head and doesn't open his eyes, takes his cock in hand, gives it a slow squeezing stroke up to the head, catches the precome on his index finger, drags it back under the head and rubs the slickness into his skin just there, where it's so fantastically good. His exhalation stutters out, and he sits back on his heels reaching blindly with his other hand for where he set the lube nearby.

He has to let go of his cock again and open his eyes to get the lid off and squeeze some out onto his fingertips. He smears some across the palm of the hand he wraps back around his erection, starts with smooth, slow strokes, from balls to crown, pinching a little over the tip in a way that makes his thigh muscles tremble. His other hand, with the slick fingertips, he takes behind himself, slides down from just below his tailbone to his hole, finds himself, as expected, too tense to push in, but that's fine. He has to take a deep breath to steady himself. Pinches his eyes shut for a moment, then relaxes them.

"...The storm is breaking, or so it seems. We're too young to reason, too grown up to dream..."

Kurt stops thinking. He rubs his slick fingertips against the tension of his anus, strips his hand faster along his cock, feels the disparate sensations fuse so sweetly in his balls to draw them up tight against his body. He's dimly aware of his mouth falling open, of the vibrations coming up from his throat, though he cannot hear the sounds he's making over the pulse of the music in his ears. His knees skid farther apart as his back arches, his head tips back, and his pelvis rolls.

"...I can see your smile..."

Beneath his fingertips, Kurt is loosening, softening; his middle finger catches, pressing into the center as the muscle gives. Kurt doesn't stop himself, doesn't want to deny himself that little bit more touch; he lets his fingertip sink into the close heat, and the friction of it is bliss. But he doesn't press deeper, just rocks against that small touch as he shoves up into his tight fist, fucking it as if it were Blaine's ass, rough and unrelenting. Jerking his hand down his length to meet each thrust of his hips, rocking back onto his fingertip (and it's such a slight thing to be inciting so much feeling), his orgasm closes in on him swift and inescapable. It rushes him, dizzying and hot and—Ah!—perfect. Kurt bows back as he comes, and then succumbs to a barely controlled fall, ends up with his spine arched over his heels, his shoulders meeting the floor, his thighs stretched taut.

"...Slave to love..."

When Kurt comes back to himself, opens his eyes and slides the headphones off with a clatter, he doesn't immediately look back to find Blaine. He feels flayed open, raw, and so very alive, his whole body buzzing with it. He unfolds his legs with a wince and the flops down, boneless, to soak in the afterglow for several long heartbeats. He runs his fingers through the slippery mess on his belly as the burn fades from his muscles. When he rolls his head to the side, from this angle, upon the floor, Kurt can just make out Blaine's head and shoulders over the top of the coffee table. It's too dark to read much of his expression, but the energy in the room is all good. Kurt smiles and blinks slowly, stretching, catlike. Sated and pleased with himself. It's a rush like being on stage. He's almost manic, feeling invincible and strong and sexy and potent. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," Blaine says, his voice low and rough. "Kurt, I—" He breaks off with a soft laugh.

"Blaine?"

"I, uh. I actually. I came too."

"Really?" Kurt remembers how to work his legs, manages to sit up. "That's good, right?"

"Yes, it's good, and it was because of you. I didn't think I could, but god, that was sexy, Kurt. I couldn't not." Blaine flicks the lamp back on, and Kurt sees him still flushed and rumpled, his t-shirt rucked up under his arms, come shining wet on his stomach.

Kurt reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table, wipes himself off before he drips on anything. "So you liked it?" He tosses the box toward Blaine, who misses catching it, but it lands nearby.

"Yes, oh my god. That was the most erotic thing I've ever seen." Blaine cleans off his belly, and bends down to find his underwear.

"Your very own live porn, huh?" Kurt teases with a smile, gathering up the blanket to fold it loosely.

"Did you like doing it?" Blaine asks, pulling on his briefs and then his sweatpants.

Kurt stands on wobbly legs and considers his clothes, but he's feeling too good in his own skin to want to cover up just yet. "Yeah, once I got into it. It was like being on stage."

"So you were performing, it wasn't like it is when you're alone."

"Blaine, I'm me; it's always at least a little bit performance."

Blaine laughs.

"I tried to be inspired by an actual session." Kurt says. He sets the blanket aside on one of the armchairs, and, nude, moves toward Blaine on the sofa. "I mixed it up a bit, added a few embellishments, but it wasn't anything I wouldn't have done for myself at some point."

"Oh, so you... Oh, Kurt. That's hot."

"I'm glad you liked it." Kurt kneels up on the sofa with Blaine and straddles his hips. Lets Blaine look at him.

Blaine rests his hands low upon Kurt's waist. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Kurt says, finger combing Blaine's hair neatly around the band of the eyepatch.

"You were—" Blaine lets out his excess breath in a faint, nervous laugh. Tries again. "You were fingering yourself."

"A little bit," Kurt says. "But that's not a question."

"I know. I know. It's just, I know how you feel about that. Do you do that for yourself often?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No. That was only the second time I've done it."

Blaine's eye widens. "When was the first time?"

"Monday night," Kurt says. He settles his weight back onto Blaine's thighs, and Blaine's hands skid up his ribs, making Kurt break out in goose bumps. He shivers.

"Like two days ago Monday?" Blaine asks, sliding his palms around to Kurt's chest, grazing over his nipples.

Kurt arches into the touch. "Yes."

"And you liked it?" Blaine skirts circles around Kurt's areolae with his thumbs, pressing into his pecs, not quite touching where Kurt is most sensitive.

Kurt nods, biting his lip. His cock gives a twitch of interest. Kurt tries to ignore it.

"So Monday, when you were doing that, what were you thinking about? I mean, why did you decide to try that? From here, you looked pretty inspired."

Kurt looks at Blaine for a long time and considers how to answer. Blaine's hands on him stop, and Kurt recovers some breath and mental acuity.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Kurt."

"I told you about the night school Spanish teacher, right?" Kurt says seriously; he covers Blaine's hands with his own, pushes them down his hips, holds them there.

"The sexy one?"

"Yes, the sexy one."

"You were thinking about him?" Blaine asks, punctuating the question with a gentle tug. The question is neutral; there's no judgment in Blaine's tone, merely curiosity.

"Sort of," Kurt says. "I had a particularly vivid dream about him. I woke up really close to coming, and I could still feel it."

"So in your dream he was...?"

"He was fucking me," Kurt says, and it's oddly easy to say. There's no backwash of shame or humiliation as he says it.

"Oh. And you liked it?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "What do you think?"

"I think I might be jealous," Blaine says, but it's affectionate and teasing.

"You can't hold me accountable for my subconscious," Kurt says.

"So were you thinking about him fucking you when you fingered yourself the first time?"

Kurt shakes his head. "I was thinking about you. I imagined you were there talking to me, talking me through it, so I wasn't scared. I was thinking about you, Blaine."

"Oh," Blaine says, a warm, pleased smile spreading his lips wide, then he sits forward and leans up into Kurt and kisses him, open mouthed and pulling Kurt down deep, demanding and surrendering at the same time. When he breaks the kiss, he tips his forehead against Kurt's temple and says in a low voice. "If you ever want me to touch you like that, please tell me, Kurt, and I will. Happily."

"I know," Kurt says. "And I promise I will. Ask you. If I can ever actually get there." He's not sure why, but there's still a difference in his mind between touching himself like that and having it done too him. Control maybe.

Blaine shakes his head with a smile. "There's no there to get, Kurt. There's just here, wherever we already are." Blaine leans back against the back of the sofa, pulling Kurt with him to rest against his chest.

"Blaine, that's obvious."

"No, what I mean, Kurt, is that, to me, sex isn't a destination, it's a process. It's whatever we choose to share with each other in any given moment. You shouldn't feel like you're on a schedule, or ticking off a list, rounding bases or whatever, like there's a logical, linear progression that leads to some goal, and then you've 'got there'. There's no rules for how we choose to love each other."

"And you say you're bad at romance," Kurt says dryly. "You're a regular guru."

Blaine laughs and strokes Kurt's hair. "I'm really not. This is all new to me too, you know."

"Yeah, but you've watched more porn, therefore I bow to your relative expertise."

"Because porn is the benchmark of all good romance?" Blaine says and laughs harder, Kurt joins him. It's ridiculous.

After a while the laughter fades and Kurt shifts up to kiss Blaine, sweet and lingering. He eases back with smile. "So, do you have any other fantasies you want to tell me about? For later?" Kurt asks.

"There are a few I could share. They're not all realistic or practical," Blaine says. "How about you?"

"Mmm, if we're sharing, then yes. I've had a few ideas, things I'd like to try with you."

"Let's do them all," Blaine says.

Kurt laughs. "You don't even know what they are!"

"Then tell me, Kurt. Tell me your fantasies."

"Okay," Kurt says, and he does tell Blaine. At least some of them. And Blaine tells him some of his, and they forget Blaine's sleeping pills because they're too caught up sharing their private desires with hushed voices, pink cheeks, and shy glances. They talk with quiet laughter, gentle smiles, and tender touches. It's new and freshly intimate, like they're carefully constructing their own hidden world of secret desires and daydreams, populating it with its own characters and stories, creating an erotic landscape esoteric and precious. It's not until Blaine's phone alarm goes off to 'wake' him for his midnight dose of painkillers that either of them realizes the time.

~*~

Kurt finds himself alone Friday afternoon. He lies on his bed in a bizarre state of bewilderment. It's been so long since he's been on his own, he's forgotten how to do it. Which is almost funny, since growing up an only child, he's been accustomed to a lot of alone time, thrived on it, craved it. He can't remember the last time he was alone like this, in an empty house with no one waiting for him or needing him or interrupting him. Tears prickle up behind his eyes, and it's strange, because he doesn't feel sad at all. He's just tired, sort of wrung out, and weirdly, amorphously relieved.

It feels good, he realizes. Kurt sighs, relaxes, and closes his eyes.

He doesn't even have Blaine to call or visit. Blaine is still in Columbus with his parents for his surgery, and Kurt won't know how that's gone until this evening. He misses Blaine, and he decides that's not a bad thing, to miss Blaine like this, because it is a measure of how he feels for Blaine. He doesn't let himself worry in the absence of information. Kurt just lets himself experience, uncritically, the pang of missing something beloved that will be returned to him soon enough.

So Kurt contemplates what he would most like to do with himself, now that he is alone with nothing in particular he's supposed to be doing, no obligations or expectations to meet.

Nap. He thinks he'd most like to nap.

That desire, Kurt rejects. He gets so little time like this; he doesn't want to waste it by being unconscious. Cooking, sewing, studying, Kurt all rejects on the grounds of being entirely too constructive. There's a book on his bedside table he hasn't picked up in weeks. He considers it, reaches down, brushes the light coating of dust from the cover and finds his place. As he reads, the text feels stale and remote, and he can't recall precisely what had been going on with the plot or the characters, so he sets it aside. He doesn't feel like starting over. Kurt sighs. Maybe he needs a new project, except he really doesn't. It's too easy to overcommit himself when he starts feeling restless. He needs to be carving himself space to prepare for the NYADA audition.

That thought leads Kurt to memories of New York. He rolls over and gets to his feet, grabs his scrapbook of the Nationals trip and flops back down on his bed. He pulls out the map tucked into the front cover and sets it beside him as he flips through the photographs, ticket stubs, receipts, business cards, and brochures. Rachel has decorated the page of mementos of the Gershwin theater with a flurry of her trademark gold stars. Kurt brushes over them with his fingertips and remembers all the wonderful things they shared that trip. And he remembers how the city smelled: of asphalt, concrete, and automobiles. Dirtier than Kurt had expected, but in a good way. The dirt made it real, brought solidity to his dream. He wants to go so badly, but he has to get there first.

Which means he needs to find the perfect audition song. He's narrowed it down to "Music of the Night" or "Defying Gravity", but he's worried he's missing something, the perfect song for him that he doesn't even know exists yet. He drags his laptop over, closes the scrapbook and pushes it aside.

Surfing Youtube leads him through several videos of songs he tries to imagine himself performing. There are so many he loves, but so many he shouldn't sing because they'll either send the NYADA auditor into hysterics if he tries to pass for a desirable romantic lead, or they'll utterly fail to portray him as leading man material altogether. There aren't many songs for unicorns. He pauses, considering an opera piece from Gluck's Orfeo ed Euridice. The lead is for an haute-contre, but, even though he thinks he could, theoretically, sing it, his voice is really not developed enough for full on opera. A piece from Phantom will be pushing him hard enough in that direction, and Kurt knows he's going to have a lot of practice ahead of him to do Michael Crawford's performance justice. He gives Orpheus a pass.

He clicks on the video of Hugh Jackman at the Tony awards performing "Not the Boy Next Door". He's seen it before. Watched it too many times, really, but he loves it, the confidence and exuberance of it (and Hugh does look amazing in those gold pants). Kurt envies him the performance, the raw and unabashed sexuality of it. He wishes he could pull that off: sexy and confident. But the only time he feels sexy in a way anyone else can see it or appreciate it, is when he's with Blaine, and Blaine's not going to be the one judging him. He's not going to make them laugh at him again.

With a sigh, Kurt clicks back to "Music of the Night". Sexy may still be out of his reach, but he can be the tortured, misunderstood artist. He can play the monster.

Kurt closes his laptop, pushes it aside, and lies back down. Thinking about his audition shouldn't be so depressing. So he's not going to do that. He's going to think about something good. Valentine's Day.

Blaine's sure to be better by then, so Kurt won't need to cancel the hotel reservation he's made. Since their conversation Wednesday night, Kurt's been thinking more and more about what he wants to do with Blaine when he finally gets him alone again and in good health. They haven't fucked since before Christmas, and Kurt has missed it. Of all the variations on sex with Blaine he's enjoyed, there's something fundamental about fucking. Kurt doesn't want to try to deconstruct it too much; he just really loves fucking Blaine. Finds himself missing it more and more as he anticipates making use of the fantasies Blaine has confessed to him: Blaine wants to be tied up again. Wants to be teased and talked to and toyed with and made to wait. Loves to be surprised. Wants to be fucked right through one orgasm and into another (Kurt's not confident he has the stamina for that), and the fairy tale Blaine finds most erotic is Cupid and Psyche. Blaine said he never could shake the image of Psyche, rejected by so many but beloved above all—but unbeknownst to her—by Cupid, lying so alone, isolated in nearly every way she could be, in the dark, high bedroom of the mountaintop palace, waiting for her mysterious, anonymous husband to come make love to her.

Sleeping Beauty was Kurt's pick for most erotic fairy tale, not only because he's wondered if it took more than a kiss to wake her; but also because Kurt finds the story relevant to the ways in which a person can become so overwhelmed by their life they may as well be asleep. It takes a brave and persistent sort of love to come to their rescue, to fight off the dragons and thorny vines to wake them up and save them from shambling through life with a fearful, deadened heart.

"And that's erotic to you?" Blaine had asked him.

"Yes," Kurt answered. "Because you were that person for me," he said.

Blaine had smiled and kissed him and said, "Then we saved each other, Kurt." There'd been more kissing after that.

Blaine had also endorsed Kurt's fantasies. Said Kurt coming on his face would be hot (Kurt solemnly promised not to get any in his eyes), and if Kurt wanted to try fucking him without a condom, they could do that. Wasn't now the time for that? When they'd only been with each other?

And that, the idea of there being other people than each other, had led to the revelation of even more private fantasies. Blaine had told Kurt, with his voice breaking over the words, so vulnerable, that he liked the idea of a threesome. He couldn't imagine it in reality, though. Didn't know what kind of friendship they would require with any hypothetical third person, because he wouldn't want to do it with some random hookup, and they'd both have to want it.

Kurt had held him close and told him it was okay, and, while Kurt—torrid fantasies of Mr. Martinez aside—couldn't conceive of actually wanting to be intimate with someone other than Blaine, he would stay open to the possibility of sharing what they had with the right friend. Then, after a pause, Blaine had teasingly asked Kurt, "What about Taylor Lautner?" Kurt had scoffed, but Blaine had pressed him, asked if, given the opportunity in reality, Kurt would have sex with him. Kurt avoided answering by asking Blaine how he would feel about that. It would be fine, Blaine said, so long as he got to watch. At which point Kurt stammered and blushed and had to look away, before reminding Blaine that the likelihood of Kurt ever finding himself in such a situation was less than his winning the lottery without a ticket.

Kurt laughs softly to himself as he breaks free of the memory. A low growl comes from his stomach. He has a lot of ideas for Valentine's Day, but first he needs a snack.