The trill of Kurt's phone alarm wakes him at eight the next morning, hauling him up from deep and dreamless slumber. He's fumbling for the phone before he's even got his eyes open. "Shut up," he mutters to it and cracks open one bleary eye to stab his phone to silence.

Then both eyes snap open as the memory of last night slams into his consciousness. "Oh," Kurt whispers to himself and flushes hot right down to his toes. Then his phone bleeps politely to announce a new text message.

From Blaine: "Good morning, lover."

Kurt stares at the screen, and a wide grin spreads across his face. He taps out a reply.

To Blaine: "So it wasn't just a good dream then?"

The different tensions and unfamiliar aches of his muscles as he stretches beneath the sheets tell Kurt it definitely was not a dream.

From Blaine: "If it were a dream, you'd still be here."

Kurt drags himself up to sit, arranging his pillows so he can lean comfortably back against his headboard, and tries to ignore his morning erection.

To Blaine: "I wish I were still there, believe me."

From Blaine: ":) Did you sleep well?"

To Blaine: "Yes. How are you feeling this morning?"

From Blaine: "Honestly? More sore than I expected, but otherwise I'm feeling great!"

To Blaine: "Is it bad? I can be more gentle next time."

From Blaine: "No, it's a good sore. Reminds me you were there. No need to go easy on me next time. I can't wait for next time. In fact, you saying 'next time' is my favorite thing this morning."

To Blaine: "Oh, god, I can imagine the face you're making. You're okay though?"

From Blaine: "I'm fantastic. It's just a little ache, like a sore muscle."

To Blaine: "It is a muscle."

From Blaine: "Maybe you can help me stretch it out later? Stretching is meant to help, right? ;)"

To Blaine: "I really can't have this conversation right now. 1. I haven't had any coffee. 2. Artie wants us there at 10:30 to get ready for the matinee. 3. Your winking smiley is entirely unnecessary to entice me into future stretching activities."

From Blaine: "Ha. But, yeah, you're right, I need to hit the road soon anyway. Can I park at your place & ride with you to school?"

To Blaine: "Of course. I'll see you in an hour?"

From Blaine: "More like 1.5. I haven't eaten yet and I'm starving."

To Blaine: "Okay, see you then, lover."

From Blaine: "Think of me while you wank in the shower. <3"

To Blaine: "Go eat your breakfast, Blaine."

From Blaine: ":D"

~*~

Today, Kurt has to wear his tightest pair of underwear since every time he so much as thinks about Blaine things get awkward. Seeing Blaine is even worse. Kurt knows he's blushing and ridiculous every time he looks at Blaine's mouth or hands and remembers where they've been, how they've touched and kissed and so many wonderful things. He's sure, from the way Santana is studying him in the dressing room mirrors, that she knows. It's like she's watching the movie adaptation of his thoughts in a bubble above his head. He bets she's even figured out what position they used, and who came first.

And he swears, if he looks at Blaine's ass again, he's going to need to excuse himself to the boys' room, and he doesn't like to go in there for several good reasons, but the girls' room is not an option for several other even better reasons. It really doesn't help that Blaine keeps texting him from where he's sitting next to Rachel.

From Blaine: "Your mouth looks sexy today."

To Blaine: "It's the same mouth I have every day."

And a few minutes later.

From Blaine: "I really loved the way you pulled my hair when I was blowing you."

To Blaine: "Are you drunk? You can't text me things like that when Santana is sitting near me. (Still, good to know.)"

From Blaine: "Fine. Rachel is telling me about how she and Finn made love last night. I was trying to think about something else."

To Blaine: "Okay, I did not need to know that ever, but thank you for the bucket of cold water."

From Blaine: "Happy to share the joy."

Kurt sets his phone down to adjust his police hat, and a slow dread creeps up his spine. He grabs his phone and quickly taps out a text.

To Blaine: "Wait, you didn't tell her about us, did you? Because I cannot deal with that."

From Blaine: "Now who's drunk? Of course not, I'm a gentleman."

To Blaine: "I think Santana knows, but I didn't tell her."

From Blaine: "That would be expected. She has sex-related telepathic superpowers. If you're worried, tell her about Rachel."

To Blaine: "Rachel and I may be opponents, but I am not that cruel. Neither are you."

"Hummel, stop sexting your boyfriend," Santana says dismissively and without eye contact. "I need help with my hair." Kurt relaxes. She's not going to give him a hard time, at least not today.

Performing helps. He can watch his friends perform, focus on his own performance, and get lost in the story and music. It gets him through the afternoon. It doesn't even bother him too much when Blaine whispers in his ear between acts, "I'm completely jealous of your nightstick."

His Dad and Carole come to the evening performance, and afterward they take him and Blaine and Finn and Rachel out for a celebratory and belated Family Friday dinner to Breadstix. Which is fine. Family is important, and it's amazing to have a full table, even if he's still not exactly on speaking terms with Rachel. It's great to hear about how the campaign is going for his Dad, and it's disappointing to hear how Finn struck out with the football recruiter, but all Kurt really, honestly cares about? When he'll next be alone with Blaine. Blaine's Mom is due back later tonight, making Blaine's place not viable for the weekend. Kurt washes a semi-stale mouthful of breadstick down with a sip of Shirley Temple and has an idea. It's a long shot, but something good may come of it.

"Dad?" he interrupts while Rachel is boasting about her victory with Artie over Maria's costume selections (never mind that Artie concocted the entire wardrobe controversy to distract Rachel from some of Artie's script changes. Kurt lent his support to the plot, since 'Kurt said this would be unexpected' did lend credibility).

"Yes, Kurt," says his Dad.

"I was wondering, since we have another matinee tomorrow, if maybe Blaine could stay the night? To save him a drive back and forth?" Kurt considers embellishing his logic with a comment on the price of gas, but that would possibly be overselling, and his face already feels hot. He's also never asked for this before, since the one time Blaine did stay overnight was kind of a disaster. It hasn't been a conversation he's wanted to revisit with his Dad; it's been easier to just find what time they could. Tonight, though, it's not enough to wait for the next unscheduled opportunity.

Anyway, they're in public, so his Dad can't get too disagreeable. Kurt makes himself wait without fidgeting with the napkin in his lap.

Blaine smiles politely and neutrally, and Kurt envies him his easy composure. He's positive he's just given everything away, especially with the way his Dad is looking at him and Carole is looking at his Dad. At least Rachel and Finn are only looking at each other, and Kurt imagines they're feeling the same frustrated pull for privacy, which he doesn't want to think about too much—or care about that much because he's still mad at Rachel—but he certainly empathizes.

"Blaine," his Dad says, "You're welcome to stay overnight if your folks are okay with it, but you'll sleep in the guestroom."

"Yes, sir. Thank you. I'll just ask..." Blaine reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone to type a text. He shoots Kurt a quick, tight smile and sideways glance. He gets a reply so quickly, Kurt doubts his mother even took the time to read all of what Blaine typed. "It's fine with my Mom," Blaine says.

"All right, you need to stop at the drugstore for a toothbrush or anything?"

"No, sir. I packed one so I could brush my teeth after lunch." Then Blaine turns to Kurt and Kurt doesn't miss that Blaine's cheeks are going ruddy. "But I may need to borrow some pajamas, Kurt."

"Of course," Kurt says, and he concentrates on folding a piece of Romaine lettuce as neatly as possible.

~*~

Finn drives Rachel home after dinner, which takes an hour now apparently. At home, Kurt helps Carole put fresh sheets on the guest bed since it hasn't been used since the summer. Blaine has joined his Dad in watching the ten o'clock news.

"Kurt, Sweetie," Carole starts as she shakes the folds from a plaid wool blanket.

Kurt looks up from folding a tight hospital corner at the foot of the bed. "Yes?"

"You've been able to spend a lot of time alone with Blaine since Burt's been campaigning." She passes Kurt one blanket edge and they drape it over the bed.

"Yes," Kurt answers cautiously, smoothing the blanket and tucking it in on his side.

Carole nods and strips off a pillowcase. "I'm glad, Kurt. He's a lovely boy and I see how happy he makes you, and you him."

"Thank you?"

Carole straightens and turns her attention to Kurt. "Look, I don't want to assume anything, but I remember being young and in love and how precious that time alone was. And how frustrating it can be when you can't get any, especially once a relationship has blossomed." The look she's giving him makes it clear what she means.

"Blossomed, Carole?" Kurt asks, and receives a pillow to the face in response.

"I'm trying to be delicate," Carole says, laughing.

"You messed up my hair," Kurt says, feigning horror, but mostly trying to buy some time. He reaches for a clean case to tug onto the pillow. He's not sure how Carole guessed his relationship with Blaine changed recently. It's got to be the blushing. He's not usually so prone to it; years of practice being humiliated kind of dulls the impulse, he supposes, but there's nothing dull about his feelings for Blaine.

"Kurt," she says, "Seriously, I want you to know you've got an ally. Your Dad, I love him, and we both love you so much, but he's a bit overwhelmed by the thought of his little boy blossoming, and you know he's overprotective of you. I'm just saying, you're an adult in a serious relationship. I'll help get him out of the house more, even when we're not doing campaign events."

"Carole." Kurt smiles around the sudden lump in his throat. "Thank you."

"Anytime, kiddo." Carole reaches over and smooths his hair. "You're being safe, right?"

Kurt is sure his blush reaches his hairline. "Yes, of course we are." And, oh, god, he totally just told her beyond any doubt. "You're not going to tell my Dad?"

"It's not my place to, Kurt. You'll have to tell him yourself when you're ready."

Kurt wonders if Carole knows about Finn and Rachel, but supposes if she does, it's not something she's unprepared for after the whole Quinn pregnancy adventure. Kurt nods and arranges the decorative shams at the head of the bed.

~*~

They all watch Letterman together. Finn sprawls in his father's old chair flipping through the new Sports Illustrated, and Kurt sits by Blaine on the loveseat. His Dad and Carole share the sofa. Kurt keeps a few inches between Blaine and himself and holds Blaine's hand in the space between them. He's so aware of his Dad looking over at them, but he doesn't want to think about what his Dad may have guessed or what he may be thinking. He's grateful to Carole for respecting their privacy—for caring. But the gratitude doesn't ease a lingering sense of embarrassment. Plus, it's hard work to channel innocence; Kurt feels stiff and awkward even after he convinces himself there's no reason to; he hasn't done anything wrong.

Eventually Carole yawns and suggests it's bedtime. His Dad stands and turns to him and Blaine. "You boys, I want your doors to stay open tonight."

"Yes, Dad."

"Yes, Mr. Hummel."

"What about me, Burt?" Finn asks.

"Do whatever you want, Finn."

"Oh," Finn says, "cool." He heads for the staircase and disappears.

"I'll be checking in on you, Kurt. Don't disappoint me," his Dad says.

"Of course not, Dad." Kurt stands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find some pajamas for Blaine."

"Good night, boys," says Carole.

~

In Kurt's bedroom, Blaine takes him by the upper arm and leans in close to whisper, "Was your Dad serious about checking in on you?"

"Yes," Kurt answers as he opens a drawer. There's too much activity in the hall to lean over into Blaine for more than a brief, soft kiss on the lips. Even so, the contact shoots straight to his groin, and Blaine makes a soft pleading whimper when Kurt pulls back to say, "Very serious."

Blaine sits on the edge of Kurt's bed looking bewildered.

Kurt offers him a neatly folded set of navy blue pajamas with white piping and shuts the drawer. "Maybe this wasn't my best idea," Kurt admits, keeping his voice low. "I just..." He glances toward his open door and leans back against his dresser rather than joining Blaine on the bed. "I missed you so much today, and I couldn't stand the thought of saying goodbye tonight without some time for us."

"I know," Blaine says shoving a hand through his hair and shaking out some curls. "God, I couldn't stop thinking about," his voice drops to a whisper, "everything, you know? I thought I was going to explode." Blaine falls back to his elbows. He looks completely ravishable, and Kurt does not fail to notice the bulge behind Blaine's zipper.

Kurt smiles, shifts his hips restlessly, though there's no comfortable way to endure his millionth unsatisfied erection of the day. "You didn't look it. I thought it was just me who was verging on spontaneous self-immolation."

"You were blushing a lot today, Kurt. There were a few moments I worried for you." Blaine smiles.

"Ugh." Kurt says with a chuckle and an eyeroll, and then more seriously adds, "Carole knows."

"What?" Blaine sits up from his backward slump. "Did you tell her?"

"Not really, I think my blushing did the job for me." Kurt grimaces, and nods down at his crotch. "You'd think there wouldn't be enough blood left for my face."

Blaine misses the gesture; he seems preoccupied with the notion of parental knowledge. "What about your Dad?"

"No idea, but Carole said she won't tell him, that's up to me."

"That's good?"

"Yes, and I think she's willing to provide us with a bit of covert cover,"

"Seriously?"

"She has the advantage of having known neither of us as toddlers," Kurt says, "And she finds you charming."

Blaine laughs. "I do have that effect on the ladies, you know."

Kurt raises an eyebrow and pushes his hips forward just enough to draw Blaine's attention this time, "And what about the effect you're having on this boy?"

"I wish I could help you out with that," Blaine says earnestly, staring at Kurt's groin and moistening his lips. "I wish we could help each other," he says, and his gaze goes back up to meet Kurt's. It's dark and hungry and a little desperate; and Kurt can't stand it.

"After my Dad checks in on me, I'll text you."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but I don't care right now," Kurt says. "I can't stop thinking about everything either, and by everything, I mostly mean your ass."

"Right," Blaine says, and he stands up. "The sooner we get to bed, the sooner, you know."

"Yes. Good night, Blaine," Kurt steps forward and cups Blaine's face between his palms. He kisses softly, easing his tongue between Blaine's lips and deepening the kiss with the promise of more. By the time he pulls back, they're both breathing heavily.

"Good night, Kurt."

Kurt goes to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth and then back to his room to tone and moisturize and change. He gets a few novels from his bookcase and sets them on the bottom shelf of his nightstand. The memory of troublesome cellophane prompts him to preemptively open the box of condoms in his nightstand drawer. He tucks two under his pillow (just in case) along with the lubricant, he makes sure his tissues are within reach and his phone is charging, and then he climbs under the covers and opens his book.

It's only the anticipation of sex that keeps him from drifting off. It's been a long day after not much sleep the night before. Nearly an hour passes before Kurt hears a soft, familiar knock on his door. "Yes, Dad?"

His Dad pushes his door open a little further, but doesn't come in. "Hey, Kurt."

Kurt looks up from the page he's read six times and smiles. "Hi."

"I haven't seen you much this week. You're doing okay?"

"Yes, Dad, I'm fine."

"Things going good with Blaine?"

"Things are wonderful with Blaine."

His Dad nods as if that were the answer he wanted, and maybe it was, at least a little bit. "You were great in the play. You both were."

"Thank you."

"Okay, then," his Dad says and hovers uncomfortably until Kurt feels the urge to blurt it all out, but Kurt doesn't say anything. It's the absolute wrong time for that conversation. "Good night, buddy, get some sleep," his Dad says at last, "I love you."

"I love you, too. Good night, Dad."

Kurt wades through a backwash of guilt after his Dad leaves, since it seems like his Dad at least suspects something, but Kurt isn't sure what he was supposed to say just then. He waits fifteen more minutes before picking up his phone and texting Blaine.

To Blaine: "You're having trouble sleeping and you want to borrow a book."

A few seconds later he gets a reply.

From Blaine: "I do. I really really do."

Soon enough Blaine is sidling through his half-open door and pushing it to the jamb behind him. He's wide-eyed and breathless and adorable in Kurt's slightly too-big pajamas. "Hi," he says.

"Go ahead and close it," Kurt says, "Softly, and out of habit."

Blaine nods, and Kurt hopes the click of the latch isn't loud enough to make it down the hall. "Should I lock it?" Blaine asks.

"No," Kurt says. A locked door he won't be able to talk himself out of. A door accidentally closed, followed by accidentally getting carried away making out while loaning a book? That he can sell.

Blaine lets out a heavy breath; Kurt smiles widely, and then Blaine is on his bed, crawling up and over him as Kurt tosses his covers aside. Blaine leans in and whispers, "Kurt..." before he closes the distance between them with a crushing kiss.

Blaine soon eases up on the lip bruising pressure, but he doesn't relent or relinquish any of the kiss to Kurt, tugging Kurt's bottom lip with his teeth and flicking the tip of his tongue against the trapped flesh. Kurt shudders at the sharp flash of pleasure that sends down his spine and shoves his hands up the back of Blaine's (actually his, and that's hot in a way Kurt can't explain) pajama top. Kurt splays his fingers apart to relish as much of the heat and motion of Blaine's body as he can. And then Blaine's releasing the grip of his teeth and dragging the tip of his tongue lightly just under Kurt's top lip, and that's ticklish and tantalizing and soon has Kurt wresting control of the kiss and pushing his tongue deep into Blaine's mouth. He slides his hands down to haul Blaine against him, their legs dovetailing easily, and sucks a breath from Blaine's lungs as his cock presses near Blaine's. Then Kurt rolls his hips up hard. He does it again. And again.

It's just he and Blaine, the friction between them, and the swirling heat of pleasure beckoning him to more and harder. Kurt is moaning into Blaine's mouth and pushing the waistband of the pajama bottoms down to the tops of Blaine's thighs so he can dig his fingers into the hard muscles of Blaine's bare ass to feel them flex as Blaine drives down against him to meet every arch and upthrust of Kurt's hips. It's mindless and frantic and not at all what Kurt had intended when he texted Blaine, but as much as he doesn't want to come in his pajama pants (because that gets gross fast, and a midnight trip to the laundry would be suspicious) he's struggling to temper himself. His brain is burning up with the memory of being inside Blaine, and he doesn't know how to get there from here sensibly or safely, and then there's the small, calm voice in the back of his head telling him to slow down, stop, this is getting out of hand: they're going to be caught—especially if Kurt doesn't find a way to control his increasingly high-pitched moaning.

He turns his head, ripping their mouths apart and desperately sucking in a deep breath of cool air. "Blaine," Kurt says as he loosens his hold on Blaine's backside and rubs to soothe, hoping he hasn't left bruises. "We need to," he says between uneven breaths; his voice is alien and reedy to his own ears. "...stop for a minute."

"Yeah, okay," Blaine says and pushes himself up and back to kneel up over Kurt's thigh until the only contact between them is Kurt's hands on Blaine's skin. In the front, Blaine's waistband has slid down to expose most of his dick. Kurt stares at it as he kneads Blaine's ass and tries to come up with a plan that will be discreet, satisfying, and not too messy. Mostly he's caught imagining sitting up and leaning forward to kiss Blaine there, to open his mouth and lick over—

"My eyes are up here," Blaine says.

When Kurt looks up Blaine is smiling down at him. "The logistics of our tryst are troublesome," Kurt says, and he wonders how Blaine feels about swallowing. Kurt's not completely sure how he feels about swallowing yet, but blowjobs are most likely the best plan.

Blaine laughs. "Should I be offended that you're still able to use words like 'logistics'? I'm trying to reduce you to 'ugh'."

"What about you? You're still using complete sentences." Kurt grins and trails the fingers of one hand up to the small of Blaine's back, then he reverses direction and drags his middle finger down until his fingertip is pressing at Blaine's tailbone, nestled between Blaine's buttocks near the top of his cleft.

"Keep doing that and I'll be talking like a caveman in no time," Blaine says, tipping forward onto his arms to encourage Kurt to draw his finger lower, edging down into hotter, closer, sweat dampened skin until the tip of his finger just meets the crinkled edge of Blaine's hole. The muscle twitches, and Kurt pauses. His heart is pummeling the inside of his ribcage and his lungs are going like bellows. Above him, Blaine's eyelids are heavy over dark eyes, and his mouth is lax with anticipation. Kurt's stretching up for a kiss and stretching his other arm under his pillow for the lube when...

There's a knock at his door.

Kurt snatches his hands back to himself, and Blaine rolls away, hauling up his pajamas. The door doesn't open.

"Kurt?" comes Carole's voice. (Kurt silently thanks the Flying Spaghetti Monster.)

"Yes?" Kurt manages without sounding too much like he's been sucking helium. Blaine is sitting at the edge of the bed, near the foot, crossing his legs and mostly failing to look nonchalant.

"May I open your door?"

Kurt leans over and grabs the top two books he had earlier stacked near his bedside, sits up against his pillows, and hauls his covers back over his lap. "Sure, come in."

The door opens slowly, and Kurt passes the books to Blaine with an encouraging smile.

Carole peeks around the door before stepping around it into the room. "Hello, Blaine," she says with a smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Hu—"

"Carole, please."

"Carole," Blaine smiles and looks down at the books in his hands.

"Blaine was having trouble sleeping," Kurt explains. "He wanted to borrow a book."

"Of course," Carole says, though Kurt's not convinced she's buying the story. "I'm sorry, Blaine," she continues, "but you need to go back to your own room. Kurt, you need to leave your door open. I barely convinced your father to let me do the check-in after he thought he heard your door close."

"Yes, ma'am," Blaine says, but he doesn't stand up immediately; instead he shifts uncomfortably and shoots Kurt a pleading look.

"Can we have a moment first, please?" Kurt asks.

Carole rolls her eyes and actually smirks at them. "Yes," she says, "But just a minute." She moves as if to leave, pauses, and turns back, speaking more softly,"If it helps, boys, I've arranged for Burt and I to go out tomorrow afternoon. There's a Robert De Niro double feature at the cinema. Maybe you two can have your book club then?"

"Thank you," Kurt says. "You're the best, Carole."

She nods. "Get some sleep, you have an early start tomorrow."

Carole leaves, Blaine and Kurt share a relieved sigh, and then Blaine says, "I'm sorry, I guess I should—" he gestures toward the door.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too," Kurt says. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah," Blaine says, and then he stands and leaves, taking the books with him.

Kurt lies awake for some time longer refusing to masturbate. Waiting until tomorrow afternoon will be worth it. In the meantime, as his arousal fades to something bearable, Kurt knows he doesn't want to waste any of their time alone tomorrow, so he tries to come up with a plan more sophisticated than getting naked and getting off.

~*~

The house is quiet Sunday afternoon when Kurt gets home after the matinee performance, Blaine in tow.

"How much time do we have?" Blaine asks as he shrugs off his coat.

"Carole said they'd be going to dinner after the movies and she'd text when they left the restaurant in case we needed anything from the store. So I'd guess we have until eight at least?" Kurt hangs Blaine's coat next to his in the hall closet.

"Where's Finn?"

"He disappeared with Rachel after the show."

"Okay," Blaine rubs his hands down his thighs. "So it's just us then?"

"It's just us," Kurt says with a smile and stretches his hand out for Blaine to take as he leads him into the house. "Do you want anything to eat or drink?"

"I am pretty thirsty," Blaine says. He's fidgeting with the bottom hem of his cardigan with his free hand. Kurt can't fathom why Blaine would be suddenly nervous; he himself is feeling weirdly calm.

"I know we want to make the most of this, but we should probably eat something too. I don't want you passing out on me from low blood sugar." Kurt grins as he tugs Blaine toward the kitchen. "I also wanted to talk a little first. While we still have our clothes on."

"Talk?" Blaine asks.

"Nothing ominous," Kurt reassures as he gestures Blaine to take one of the tall stools by the island. He grabs two glasses and plunks them down in front of Blaine. "Are you all right? You seem nervous today."

"I am. A little bit."

Kurt reaches into the fridge for the carafe of water without turning away from Blaine. "Do you know why?"

Blaine shrugs. "I think everything just started to sink in, after having a little time to think about it."

Kurt nods as he pours the water. "That's why I wanted to talk before we went upstairs."

"Okay," Blaine says and sips his water. "So what did you want to talk about?"

Kurt goes back to the fridge to get a bag of baby spinach, some beets he roasted the other night, a container of cannelini beans, and a fresh cylinder of chèvre . "Well," Kurt says, depositing his ingredients on the counter. "Everything happened pretty spontaneously Friday night, and last night, it was starting to veer a little out of control. For me anyway."

"Is that bad?" Blaine asks. "Just letting things happen?"

"It's not bad," Kurt says, and he's not completely sure of his next words, but they seem like the best fit so he says them. "But it is a lot of performance pressure." He pulls some mint from the glass by the sink and plucks the leaves from the stems. "For me, anyway."

"I don't understand," Blaine says slowly, turning his glass between his hands.

Kurt takes a deep breath as he stacks the mint leaves up on the chopping board, careful to line them up neatly, but he hesitates once he's picked up the knife. "I know that there are things you expect from me. Or want from me anyway. Sexually, you're more adventurous, I guess, than I am—or I've been anyway. But, I'm not wholly comfortable guessing at it, what you want. What if I guess wrong or just don't have a clue?"

Blaine doesn't respond immediately, so Kurt turns back to the mint, cutting it into a neat, fine chiffonade.

"Everything you did Friday was perfect, Kurt. And as far as I'm concerned, anything you want to—"

"That's it though." Kurt sets the knife aside and gets two large salad plates from the cupboard. "What if I want something you don't want? Or, what if you want something I'm not doing?"

"Kurt, I really don't understand—"

"Okay, maybe I'm being too oblique. When you told me I didn't have to say 'please', what did you mean by that? I mean, I have some ideas, but I want you to explain it to me so I'm sure."

Blaine blinks at him for a few moments while Kurt arranges the spinach on the plates. "I meant that..." Blaine presses his lips together and frowns. Kurt cuts the beets into short wedges and scatters them over the spinach leaves, washes the magenta from his hands, and waits. He wants to reach out and touch Blaine to comfort, but he doesn't want that touch to confuse or distract.

"Blaine, I know it's hard to talk about this stuff, but can you try, please? For me?"

Blaine nods. "It's hard to say things. Like that." He takes a deep breath. "I think what I want is for you to— Oh, this sounds bad."

"Whatever it is, it's okay, Blaine. It's me and you, right?"

"Just," Blaine gestures uselessly and turns his gaze up to Kurt's, "push me. And." Blaine grimaces.

"Okay," Kurt nods encouragement but his heart is fluttering madly. It's mostly what he suspected, but hearing it from Blaine's mouth. He can't tell if he's terrified or turned on. "And?"

"And sometimes, maybe..." Blaine closes his eyes and his voice goes a little softer. "...use me."

"Blaine..." Kurt's really not sure what to say to that.

Blaine's eyes come open wide, "Not all the time or, shit, I don't know, Kurt." He's distressed enough Kurt doesn't hesitate or quash the impulse this time. He rounds the island, wraps his arms around Blaine, and gently kisses the tension from his lips.

"Hey," he whispers against Blaine's cheek, "It's all right, baby."

"I like that," Blaine blurts.

"When I call you 'baby'?"

"Yeah. It makes me feel safe."

"What else?"

"I told you I liked it when you pulled my hair. I liked it last night when you were holding onto me so hard it left bruises. I loved waking up sore yesterday." Blaine's breathing is rapid and shallow. "When you get out of control and, and a little rough? It's really hot to see you like that and to know I'm the reason."

Kurt smiles and pulls back to make eye contact without it being blurry. "I like that too," he admits. "A lot. It's kind of scary, but I like it. Letting go, with you."

"And," Blaine says, confidence returning to his voice. He reaches for Kurt and tucks his thumbs through Kurt's belt-loops, tugging a little as he continues, "I really like it when you talk to me, tell me what you want me to do or what you like while we're doing stuff."

"Yeah, I can do that, Blaine." Kurt takes one step back and squeezes Blaine's shoulders. He's tempted to skip the food and just take Blaine upstairs, but they need some fuel. And there's still one more thing.

"Is that enough?" Blaine asks. "Did I tell you enough?"

Kurt nods and runs his hands down to Blaine's elbows. "Yes, but there's something else I need to ask you," he says. He'd prepared this in his head last night, just in case, and he thinks he needs to ask. "If I tell you to do something you don't want to do, or if I do something that you don't like, will you be able to say no?"

Blaine frowns and purses his lips. "It's hard to imagine you doing or wanting something I won't." Which is close enough to saying 'no' without actually saying it that it confirms Kurt's concern. Kurt can't imagine it either, but Blaine, so eager to please, barely contains the word 'no' in his vocabulary. Unless he's been pushed to some personal limit, Blaine is reluctant to set boundaries. So of course, there's that to consider: Blaine did say he wanted to be pushed.

So Kurt forges ahead with his other hypothetical, "Or what if I do something you really love, but maybe you don't think you should, or maybe it's too-much-but-not-enough, or—I don't know—but you do say 'no'. Do you want me to push you, or do you want me to stop?"

"Kurt?" Blaine's flushing red up his neck and across his cheeks. "I just don't think..."

"I think we should have a safeword, Blaine. To be clear."

Blaine's staring at him. "But we're not— Do you really think we need something like that?"

Kurt sighs, "Probably not? But, the point is, I don't know. Last night, I was doing a lot of thinking. It doesn't mean we'll ever use it, but having one seems wise to me. I'd feel better, anyway, having a net."

Blaine shrugs Kurt's hands from his elbows and catches Kurt's hands in his. He squeezes. "If it would make you more comfortable, Kurt, then absolutely, of course."

"Okay, you come up with something unmistakable," Kurt says, "and I'll finish making lunch."

Kurt makes sandwiches to go with the salad, and Blaine chooses "pinochle" because when he was little he thought it was something people said when they had had enough, like 'saying uncle'.

~*~

Upstairs, after lunch, Kurt ushers Blaine into his bedroom and then, with the rush of rebellion satisfied, closes and locks the door. The weight of their conversation in the kitchen is still there, so instead of falling into each others arms like sex-starved teenagers, they stand facing each other, hands linked in the space between them. It feels grown-up somehow, like they've been doing this longer than they have, even though everything is so bright and new. Kurt doesn't understand it, how something can be awkward and intimate, familiar and novel all at once, but that's okay.

Blaine seems relaxed enough, and he is meeting Kurt's gaze and returning his smile. But he's quiet. Waiting for Kurt, perhaps. Kurt spent enough time thinking about this last night that he has some specific things he wants to try, beats he wants to hit. Kurt takes a deep breath and tugs Blaine forward so he can lean in and kiss him on the temple. "I'm going to undress you," Kurt says as he nuzzles into Blaine's hair near his ear. His curls are wonderfully loose and only softly styled after his post-show shower at school. "Can you stand still for me?"

Blaine shivers and nods mutely.

"Okay, good, that's good," Kurt says and steps back to move behind Blaine. He rubs over Blaine's upper back and shoulders, down his arms, and back up; smooths his hands over Blaine's chest and up to his collar to tug his bow-tie loose. Beneath his hands, Blaine is anything but relaxed; he's practically vibrating, and Kurt is increasingly having trouble finding his own breath. He's already too hot and tight in his pants, and they've barely started. He strips away the tie and unbuttons the top two buttons of Blaine's shirt. He presses an open mouthed kiss to the back of Blaine's neck near his hairline, licks a line around to the side, tastes salty sweat and bitter product and, beneath that, just Blaine. Blaine's breathing is shallow and there's a ragged edge to his breath picking up in the base of his throat.

Kurt knows he needs to say something, but lust has the root of his tongue feeling like clay. After the waiting and frustration of yesterday, waking up with the promise of today, all the anticipation and planning (more like fantasizing, really) has drawn out such an acute tension of desire that pushing forward into it has an almost dreamlike quality. It's like he's moving in slow motion, like even if he wanted to go faster, he physically cannot.

Instead of speaking, Kurt moves one hand up to Blaine's head, threading his fingers into his hair and tugging to coax his head back against Kurt's shoulder. His other hand, he slips into Blaine's open collar, his fingertips pressing along Blaine's collar bones, dipping into the hollow between them, and then slipping up the side of his neck, following the flutter of his pulse, going from smooth skin to the scuff of almost-stubble, up under the tenderness of Blaine's throat, over the hard curve of his jaw, and finally resting against the lush softness of his bottom lip. Blaine's breath puffs warm over Kurt's fingertips as Kurt traces the shape of Blaine's mouth.

"Kurt," Blaine murmurs against Kurt's fingertips, and then his tongue comes out, warm and wet, to slip across the pads of Kurt's index and middle fingers, and before Kurt has thought about what he's doing, he's pressing those fingers into Blaine's mouth and Blaine is closing his lips around them and sucking softly, and Kurt has to close his eyes when Blaine moans, because it's the same sound he made with Kurt's cock in his mouth and the ghost of that is happening to his fingers. The sensation sparks straight down his spine, and now Kurt's panting against Blaine's neck and tugging his head to the side so he can nose aside his collar and kiss the curve where neck meets shoulder. Blaine sucks harder, his tongue nimble and slick as it curls around and between Kurt's fingers. Kurt mouths at whatever skin he can reach, licking and sucking and even biting a little before slipping his fingers free of Blaine's mouth and drawing a saliva slick line from Blaine's mouth, over his chin, down his throat, and then skipping over his shirt to get to the buttons of his cardigan.

Kurt eases his mouth over Blaine's skin and kisses up the side of his neck while loosening and releasing his hand in Blaine's hair. He needs both hands for the buttons or it's going to take far too long. Arousal doesn't do his manual dexterity any favors. "Jesus, Blaine," he mumbles, kissing his way up to Blaine's earlobe, "the way you make me feel."

Blaine replies with a hoarse chuckle; his voice is a pleasant buzz beneath Kurt's lips as he sing-songs, "I really turn you on?"

Kurt muffles a sudden laugh against the back of Blaine's neck. "Yes, but I wasn't actually meaning to plagiarize Michael Jackson." The interjection of humor allows Kurt to spare more focus for his hands. He carefully undoes Blaine's cardigan and untucks his shirt.

"I forgive you for being accidentally derivative," Blaine says.

"That's very generous of you," Kurt says as his fingers work their way up the button placket of Blaine's shirt. He's beginning to appreciate Blaine's affectionate frustration with his layers, and Blaine's not even wearing an undershirt, something for which Kurt is immensely grateful as the last button comes free and Kurt looks down over Blaine's shoulder to admire the physique exposed. He tugs the edges of shirt and cardigan apart to reveal more.

He's no stranger to Blaine's torso—they've had plenty of shirtless make-out sessions, especially over the summer—but it's always a thrill when he gets his first look (of any given session) at what Blaine keeps so primly covered up. He's got a body like an underwear model. But because Blaine isn't vain, at least not in the way Kurt understands his own vanity, and because Blaine doesn't ever flaunt it, it's even sexier to Kurt. It speaks of self-care and diligence and something private that was once only Blaine's but now he shares, most exclusively, with Kurt. "I love that you take such good care of yourself," Kurt says.

"Yeah?" Blaine says and Kurt can hear the warmth of his smile.

"Definitely," Kurt says and lets his hands roam across Blaine's bare chest, enjoying the hard swell of his pecs and brushing over his nipples until it makes Blaine shiver and gasp and twist his head back to find Kurt's cheek with his lips. Kurt turns into the kiss, though at this angle their mouths can't quite fit together so it's messy and there's too much air and tongue and not enough lips, but the lack of perfection is really working for him, so Kurt doesn't relinquish the kiss as he skims his hands down Blaine's belly and unfastens his trousers. Belt, button, and fly come undone, and Kurt is reaching in to fold his hand over Blaine's erection to stroke him through his underwear.

When Blaine starts rocking up against his hand and groaning into the kiss, Kurt realizes his plan is coming apart. At this rate they'll still be standing here when Carole texts, and while he doesn't want to rush, he wants so much more than this. Kurt reluctantly drags his hand away and breaks the kiss. Blaine makes a small noise of complaint.

Kurt shushes him softly, "I know," Kurt says as he pulls Blaine's cardigan and shirt down his shoulders and off. "But I'm going to make it so much better, baby. I'm going to get you out of these clothes and onto my bed, and then..." Kurt has to pause to take a breath, steady himself before he says the rest. "I'm going to suck your dick until you come in my mouth."

Blaine sucks in a deep breath and releases it with a full body shudder as Kurt crouches down behind him to pull his trousers and underwear down. He freezes for a moment when he sees the bruises. They're small and faint, but clearly, as he catalogs them, from his own fingers. He presses a quick kiss to the closest one as he coaxes Blaine to lift one foot, then the other, and pulls off his socks. "Okay," Kurt says as he stands, "just a sec." He goes to the bed, tosses the decorative pillows over to the floor on the other side and pulls back the covers. Turning back to Blaine, who is so beautifully nude and hard and flushing all across his chest and thighs, Kurt gestures toward the bed, "Come sit down."

Blaine holds his gaze as he moves to the bed. "What about you?" he asks as he sits. He gestures down Kurt's body. "You're still dressed."

"I am," Kurt acknowledges. Somehow in his fantasy of this afternoon, he'd become magically naked at some point between undressing Blaine and getting him onto the bed. "I'll just..." he says and bends down to unlace his boots. He's so aware of Blaine's gaze resting heavily on him as he straightens, pulls off his sweater, and unbuttons shirt. The pressure to perform wells up inside him, to make this erotic somehow. But in this context—his bedroom, about to get sexy with his boyfriend—he's not sure he could pull anything off sincerely while feeling so self-conscious. Once he's shimmied out of his jeans and shucked off his briefs, he straightens to see Blaine holding out a hand to him and smiling. "You're sexy, Kurt," Blaine says. "The way you move, no matter what you're doing. It's art."

"That's..." Kurt smiles until his cheeks nearly ache. Blaine thinks the way he moves is art, and that's one of the nicest compliments he's received. "Thank you," he says.

"Join me?" Blaine asks cocking his head and running his gaze deliberately from Kurt's face to his cock.

"I will," Kurt says, "but, um... there's something else I thought we could try today."

Blaine's eyebrows go up and his gaze jumps back up to Kurt's face. "Oh?"

Kurt goes to his dresser and tugs out one of the small center drawers. Inside are his summer scarves from this past year. He selects one of the soft knit ones that has some give in the weave. It has a lavender and green butterfly motif on a rustic cream background of unbleached cotton. It's one of his favorites. He drapes it across both hands as he turns to Blaine so Blaine can see it. He fills his lungs, steadies himself, and says, "As much as I loved—and I mean loved—you getting yourself ready for me Friday, today I wanted to do that for you myself. So..." Kurt trails off, unsure in the moment of how to say what he needs to say. He knows he had something rehearsed in his mind, but the words have broken away from him and got lost somewhere in the no man's land beyond the tip of his tongue.

"You want to tie me up?" Blaine asks quietly.

"Just your wrists," Kurt says, and he has to stop himself asking 'if that's okay with you' because they had that conversation already, but he can't stop himself saying please this time. "Please kneel up on the bed and turn around. With your hands behind you."

Blaine doesn't nod or offer any verbal acknowledgment; he does turn upon the bed slowly, brings his knees under himself, and crosses his wrists at the small of his back.

Kurt can't move immediately; there's a stillness and silence in the room that makes this all seem unreal and impossible—nothing like the ease of Kurt's fantasy last night—and Kurt has to make himself move, knows he has to go to Blaine and talk to him and touch him. So he does. A few short steps take him to the bed, and he's draped the scarf over his shoulder, and he's chasing his gaze with his hands, admiring the breadth of Blaine's shoulders, the muscles across his back, his slim waist, and the strong lines of his arms held behind him like an offering. "You're amazing, Blaine," Kurt whispers as he brushes his fingers down the tender skin of Blaine's inner arms and wrists, across his palms, and then he curls his fingertips against Blaine's. Kurt hears the ghost of himself saying in this very room nearly a year ago: "...the touch of fingertips is as sexy as it gets." He wasn't wrong. Blaine remains still and silent, and Kurt's not sure how to interpret that, but he trusts Blaine and Blaine trusts him, so he pushes ahead.

"Okay," he says, "I'm going to tie your wrists now, so I need you to tell me if it's too tight or uncomfortable." Blaine straightens his back and relaxes his arms. Kurt arranges Blaine's wrists, undoing their cross and bending his elbows so his wrists can rest parallel to each other and perpendicular to Blaine's spine. The scarf he centers around Blaine's wrists and winds each end snugly, but not tightly, around until he's got about a third of it left. He twists it, loops it around once more, and then ties it off in a loose bow. He can get a finger under the scarf easily, so he judges it to be not too tight.

The sight of his familiar, favorite summer scarf binding his boyfriend's hands is a thrill much like seeing Blaine in his pajamas last night, only it hits him hotter, lower, and much harder. The thrill is tempered by Blaine's continued stillness. Apprehension twists in Kurt's stomach as he climbs on the bed and moves around to kneel before Blaine.

The first thing he notices is that Blaine's eyes are closed, his lashes matted damp and dark against his skin. Kurt immediately looks for any other sign of distress; he can't see tear tracks, and Blaine's breathing is deep and even. He spies the angry red bruise at the bottom side of Blaine's neck, and his mouth falls open at the sight of it, for he put it there. It was accidental, but, wow. His gaze travels lower, taking in all the lines of Blaine's body as they're displayed by his current posture: shoulders back, back arched just a little, knees splayed as if to draw Kurt's attention, unerringly, to his erection, proud and flushed, with precome glistening and beading at the head, so much it's dripping in viscid gleaming strands, staining the sheets below.

Kurt hauls his attention back up, trying to reconcile the wet eyelashes with such evident acute arousal. Surfeit of emotion, perhaps, but which? He reaches out to touch the bruise he left with careful fingertips, feels the heat of the slight injury, swallows, and prompts softly, "Blaine?"

When they open, Blaine's eyes are glassy and bright, and his lips part as if to speak, but nothing comes out except a rush of air. Kurt lays a hand along Blaine's jaw. He desperately wants to ask 'are you okay', but he isn't sure if that would be right. Still, he needs to know if Blaine can speak, or if he's struggling or lost or—Kurt doesn't know and is alarmed by just how much he doesn't know. Maybe this was too much too soon, and Blaine can't tell him. He considers untying Blaine and starting over, differently. He needs more information.

"Is... is this?" Kurt takes another, deeper breath. "Is this the kind of thing you want?"

Blaine's throat works soundlessly; he nods.

"Tell me what you need, baby," Kurt says, stroking over Blaine's cheek with his thumb.

It comes out scratchy and a little broken when Blaine finally finds his voice, "Please, Kurt, just." Blaine clears his throat and says more clearly, "Kiss me."

That's all Kurt needs to crumble away his trepidation. He leans in without hesitation and with a harsh sweep of desire searing through his belly. Blaine's lips are desperately hot and pliant as he meets Kurt with an eager, open mouth. His lips move with an untempered hunger that drags Kurt deeper into the kiss. It's insatiable as Blaine reaches farther into Kurt's mouth, fierce and demanding everything. Kurt pours all he can into the kiss, cupping Blaine's face between his hands, closing his eyes, and succumbing to the heat licking up his spine.

He shuffles closer until his cock brushes along Blaine's, until they're both skidding up against each others' bellies and Kurt releases Blaine's face so he can bring one hand to the small of Blaine's back to brace him, while he reaches between them with his other, fumbling to align them in his hand and then rocking his hips so his cock drags against Blaine's. Which is amazing and nothing he'd planned for, but he thinks a detour from his plan may be prudent. He wants to last longer when he fucks Blaine today, and maybe if he comes now, he will.

Easing from the kiss with a soft parting press of his closed lips to Blaine's, Kurt starts talking, holding Blaine's gaze, close and blurry. "I bet I could get off like this," Kurt says, "Just rubbing against you."

Blaine whimpers and tries to rut up against Kurt, but he's got barely any room to move with Kurt holding him so firmly in place; and without his hands, he can't grip anywhere for leverage. "God, you really are at my mercy, aren't you?" Kurt says, but he neither expects not receives a verbal response; gets instead, Blaine tipping his head back with a groan as Kurt grinds against him harder. "You're aching for it."

Leaning in to whisper in Blaine's ear, Kurt says, "But you are going to wait." He traces the edge of Blaine's ear with parted lips and jerks his hips faster against Blaine until Blaine is shaking with each jolt. "Try not to come," Kurt says, and then he lets himself go, mouthing at Blaine's neck while Blaine's groans vibrate beneath his lips, tugging him closer and closer, and—god, this is going to be messy—thrusting up into his hand against Blaine until he's choking on Blaine's name and shuddering and spilling over hot and slippery and, "Christ," Kurt says as the last of his climax trembles through him.

It takes moment to drag himself back to Blaine, and he looks down to evaluate the mess. It never seemed like that much volume in a tissue, but it's all over his hand and cock, splattered low on Blaine's belly and coating his cock, dripping down to his balls, down to the bed. Blaine is twisting uselessly against him, seeking friction, panting hard. "Kurt, fuck, please."

With his own come as lubricant, Kurt pumps his hand over Blaine's cock a few times, and then releases him to the sound of a frustrated whine. "Soon," he says, "I promise." Careful not to drip anything more onto the sheets, Kurt scoops up as much of the mess on his already soiled hand as he can, holding it gingerly as he twists and leans to reach for a tissue, but Blaine interrupts.

"Let me," he says, and he shuffles forward on his knees, skating them out farther to keep his balance as he tilts forward to find Kurt's messy hand with his mouth. He raises his gaze to hold Kurt's as his tongue swipes wide across Kurt's palm, and then he's shamelessly licking and sucking and moaning around Kurt's fingers.

And Kurt stares and stares and wonders why, instead of feeling disgusted, he's feeling a fresh spark of arousal, sharp and strong, catching in his gut. "Filthy," he whispers to Blaine, who grins—fucking grins—around his fingers, and he adds, "and totally fucking hot."

When Blaine finishes cleaning up Kurt's hand and sits back up on his heels, Kurt leans in for a lingering lazy kiss. The taste of himself in Blaine's mouth isn't unappealing at all. He withdraws gently from the kiss and says, "Your turn." Then he falls supine, back against his pillows, and beckons to Blaine. "Up here," he says.

Kurt reaches for Blaine—who is, between arousal and lack of hands, uncharacteristically clumsy—and helps him balance until he's straddling Kurt's chest and his erection is swaying just inches in front of Kurt's face. Kurt holds Blaine by the hips and bites his bottom lip. Friday night, Blaine made this look easy, but now that reciprocating is imminent, Kurt is doubting his ability to apply, in reality, the cocksucking prowess of his imagination dwelling self. He looks up at Blaine. Finds him gazing back down, steady, placid, and expectant. The black of his pupils has swallowed up the amber of his irises, and his lips are a relaxed almost smile.

From having been in a similar state Friday, Kurt knows well the anticipation Blaine must be suffering, how the stark edge of it focuses everything into a singular, dizzy craving. He won't disappoint Blaine, or spin his patience out too finely. He tips his head forward and slips his tongue around the head of Blaine's cock. He can taste himself on Blaine; his own semen on Blaine here is more than simply not unappealing. It's hot and intimate and glorious. With a soft groan, Kurt licks the traces of his orgasm from Blaine's skin, intermittently catching the taste of Blaine upon his tongue, too, when he swipes his tongue over the tip. He tastes them together, and he loves it.

"Kurt..." Blaine whispers, rocking his hips forward, eager.

Hearing his name, Kurt is done with just tasting. With a deep exhale, he opens his mouth and tugs Blaine forward as he presses forward to take more: thickness and weight and texture and scent. It's forcing his tongue down and his jaw wide, and he's careful of his teeth. His breath comes back in harsh through his nose, and Kurt closes his eyes to savor all of it. He's aware of Blaine responding, hears him murmuring his name and encouragement. Hears him swearing to a god neither of them believe in. Beneath his hands, Kurt feels the tension trembling in Blaine's hips as he holds himself in check.

Kurt works out a shallow sliding rhythm of his mouth that has Blaine giving up eloquence in favor of incoherency. Then Kurt reaches blindly under his pillow for the lube. His cadence falters as he lets go of Blaine to unsnap the cap and squirt a dollop of cool gel onto his fingertips. He grabs Blaine's ass with one hand, more roughly than intended, but he's finding multitasking more challenging than usual. His own dick is increasingly unhelpful regarding his patience and facility. So he's not a sex god. He has to pull his mouth off Blaine to take a lungful of air and concentrate on what he's doing with his hands. He says a quick, "Sorry," to Blaine, who makes an undecipherable noise and tips forward to lean his forehead against Kurt's padded headboard.

Kurt takes his slick fingers between Blaine's buttocks, holding Blaine steady with his other hand. He slides down until he finds where Blaine will open for him. Blaine shudders above him, and whispers, "Kurt..."

"You're so tight," Kurt says to Blaine as he slips his middle finger in a slow revolution around Blaine's rim before pressing against the center with the pad of his finger. Kurt strokes and rubs until he feels the tension ebbing and, as Blaine's body begins to yield, he nudges his fingertip into the constricting heat, just up to his first knuckle. It shouldn't feel so shocking, Kurt thinks, to have his finger inside Blaine given that he's already had his dick in Blaine's ass. But this is something else, even if it's not exactly more. It's about being trusted to touch like this, with more deliberation and less instinct. Kurt works his finger in a little farther. The feel of Blaine here, such a tight fit and so hot, it makes Kurt cock pulse in sympathy with his finger. "You're going to have to relax for me, honey, if you want my cock in here," he says.

The words have barely left his lips when he feels the muscle spasm and then abruptly dilate, and Blaine bears down upon his finger, taking it deeper into slick sultry velvet, and Blaine's responding to him, gritting out a ragged, "Open me up, Kurt, fuck, just do it."

"Yeah, okay," Kurt mumbles, his heart pounding up into his throat. He drags his finger out, pushes back in. Fascination with how Blaine's body is surrendering to his touch wars with simpler desires, and desire wins easily. He bends his neck to take the head of Blaine's cock back between his lips, licks and sucks as he works his finger in long, even strokes.

"Jesus," Blaine gasps, rolling his hips in a shallow circle between Kurt's mouth and hand.

Kurt is pretty sure he's reached his limit for sex related motor coordination. There's nowhere near enough blood in his brain for this. He bobs his head in an increasingly uneven cadence and messily twists a second finger into Blaine, and soon Blaine is saying his name like a warning. Kurt speeds up all of what he's doing, and then Blaine is tensing, his hips are stuttering forward, pushing deeper into Kurt's mouth and nudging dangerously close to his soft palate. Then Kurt's mouth is flooding with salty-bitter semen and Blaine's ass is clenching hard around Kurt's fingers. Blaine is swearing and grunting and, at the last, crying out long and low.

Kurt swallows—and swallows again because it's a lot more than he expected—and then he pulls back to let Blaine's cock slide from his mouth. And, wow, he just sucked his boyfriend off, and Blaine came in his mouth, and Kurt swallowed it. Which was very much the plan, but Kurt is still astonished. He keeps his fingers buried inside Blaine, slowing their movement to a gentler pace. It takes Kurt a moment to calm his breath and work around the slight discomfort in his throat. Above him Blaine is gasping for oxygen and leaning heavily against the headboard; it doesn't look comfortable. Kurt shifts his other hand to support some of Blaine's weight.

"Hey," Kurt says to get his attention. Blaine's eyes crack open. "I'm not done with you yet," Kurt says with a smile. He's intended to ask Blaine to ride him, but he's not sure Blaine has it in him after that orgasm. "You're going to come again," Kurt tells him, "We both are."

Blaine answers with a weak but encouraging smile and rocks back lazily against Kurt's hand. "How do you want me?" he asks.

That gives Kurt the confidence to say it: "Ride me." He drags his slick fingers out and forward along Blaine's perineum until his fingertips nudge up behind Blaine's balls and away.

Blaine scoots back until he's over Kurt's thighs. He shrugs his shoulders to indicate his bound arms. "Like this?"

"Like that," Kurt affirms, and he reaches for a tissue to clean his hand, and then retrieves one of the condoms from under the pillow and the lube. "I have the utmost confidence in your dexterity." He scoots up against the pillows as he unrolls the condom and slicks himself up. He settles a hand on Blaine's flank and guides him up as, with his other hand, he holds his cock ready for Blaine. "At your convenience," he says, and, though there's nothing dull about his desire, he's glad to have blunted the keen edge of desperation, to be doing this more calmly and with more control, at least for now. He knows that's all going to change soon.

Kurt helps Blaine position himself and bends his legs up behind Blaine for leverage. "I was thinking about this last night, after you left my room," he says.

"Were you?" Blaine asks as he starts to sink down.

As Blaine unfurls around him, it's so mind-bendingly voluptuous, the pleasure dense and heavier than gravity alone can make it. Kurt feels like he's going to swallow his tongue. As he arches into it, his head falls back into the soft cradle of his pillows, and his eyes roll beneath his suddenly fluttering eyelids. "Blaine," he moans, "Holy fuck, Blaine."

"Did you get yourself off imagining me like this?" Blaine asks, his breath quick between his words. He takes Kurt in slow increments, lifting up a little before each downward push, swiveling his hips before pulling up.

Kurt can see Blaine's cock stirring from its partially softened state. He tightens his hands around Blaine's waist in lieu of hauling Blaine down against him. "No," he answers. "I was saving it for the real thing."

"And?" Blaine prompts.

"You're so much hotter. Fantasy Blaine didn't doing that amazing thing with his hips..."

Blaine adds an extra flourish on his next go 'round.

"Oh, my god, don't stop," Kurt babbles, "Your ass is amazing."

Breathlessly, Blaine chuckles, cinching down some more and swaying above Kurt, and the changing pressure alternating with marvelous bursts of friction are stirring up the embers of Kurt's passion, burning away the frayed tethers of sanity. When Blaine is close to bottoming out, Kurt doesn't wait for another lift, shift, and push from Blaine. He yanks Blaine down and shoves up hard. The shock of it arcs up Kurt's spine and bursts out his throat, an emphatic (and so eloquent), "Uh!"

Blaine's cries out, sharp and loud. His shoulders snap back as Kurt hauls his hips forward. The way the muscles of his abdomen ripple and contract to keep him upright makes Kurt do it again. He holds tight to Blaine's hips, urging him up, only to jerk him back down to meet another fierce upstroke. Blaine bends like a ragdoll, but recovers like a dancer. "Gorgeous," Kurt breathes. "Fucking, gorgeous, Blaine." He does it again. "God, you're so—"

"Kurt, I don't think I— Fuck."

Kurt feels Blaine trying to twist out of his grip, so he holds on tighter, his fingernails digging into muscle and bone, and his next thrust comes faster and harder than the last.

"Fuck, I can't—" Blaine pleads, arching and flexing and sweating with exertion.

It's almost enough to make him stop. Kurt closes his eyes and recalls the honesty of Blaine's 'push me' and 'use me.' Kurt opens his eyes and finds Blaine's glassy, naked gaze. He doesn't stop, but he does ease up a little, goes to slower, shallower rolls of his hips while Blaine centers himself. "Yes, you can, baby," Kurt says. "And you will." He picks up pace again, bucking up harder, lengthening his strokes again. "This is what you want." Kurt slides one hand up to press behind Blaine's ribcage and splays his fingers, providing support, "So just take it, Blaine."

Blaine nods wordlessly, tosses the sweat from his hair, and gives himself over to the guidance of Kurt's hands.

It's not long before Kurt's perspiring as much as Blaine, his lungs laboring, his throat dry, and his muscles trembling with trying to help support Blaine and maintain the brutal intensity he's set, all while staving off the orgasm coalescing in his balls. He also realizes, from the way Blaine's moans are coloring with frustration, that he needs a third hand to touch Blaine's cock.

"Okay," Kurt says, considering options. "Okay, easy, Blaine. I just need a minute," he says, quiets his hips and stops, and loosens his hold on Blaine. Blaine lifts his head, rolls his shoulders, and relaxes, settling his weight down on Kurt.

He could untie Blaine, which would be fine, but not really the point of this. His intention was to take care of Blaine. Or they could change position. "We're going to move," Kurt says. "You're going to come in my hand while I fuck you." Kurt manages a weak grin, "But I've run out of hands for you like this."

"Okay," Blaine manages dazedly, and Kurt offers his hands for Blaine to lean into as he lifts himself off Kurt.

The loss of the sublime clasp of Blaine's body is most unwelcome, so Kurt is quick to get his legs under himself. He pulls his pillows down to lay them front of Blaine and hopes the image in his head will pan out.

"Bend over," he says, guiding Blaine to lower his chest and shoulders to the pillows. It's so flagrantly sexual, Blaine with his ass up in the air, his arms caught behind his back, gleaming with sweat, lust drunk and breathless. Kurt takes a moment to commit the visual to memory. "God, what a picture," Kurt says, "You look pornographic."

Blaine turns his face toward Kurt and mumbles, "Thought you didn't like porn." He arches his back, pushing his ass up higher.

"I like you," Kurt says. He's still not sure how feels about watching other people having sex, but this, with Blaine, is so far beyond good and hot, it's damn near majestic. He moves behind Blaine and lines himself up. His stomach clenches as he sees how wet and soft Blaine is for him. It's not like pushing in the first time, into thick choking tension. It's still tight and hot and wonderful, but it's an easy slide home.

Blaine groans in relief, and Kurt lets out the breath he'd been holding as the promise of so much more pleasure wraps back around him. He rocks long and slow, reacquainting himself with the slow burn of being inside Blaine. "I love your ass," Kurt says, dragging out his thrusts to make Blaine shudder and groan. "I love how you take me. It feels so good, Blaine."

"Kurt," Blaine says, low and needy, "Don't..." He gasps. "Don't hold back."

"So hungry for it," Kurt says, pulls out even slower than before, nearly all the way, and he holds for a few heartbeats, flexing his fingers around Blaine's hips. "Who'd even guess?" He closes his eyes. Kurt knows what he's going to do, and just has to do it.

Kurt opens his eyes and slams back in savagely, hard as he can.

Blaine pitches forward with a yelp.

"Polite and proper Blaine Anderson..." Kurt grits out. He draws back slowly again, giving Blaine a chance to brace himself as best he can. When Kurt shoves back in the next time, he doesn't relent; he fucks into Blaine without any intention of gentleness or technique, pounds him like a jackhammer.

And Blaine is sobbing his name, his voice wretched and clinging to it like it's the only word Blaine can remember; and his hands are clenching uselessly in their bonds, grasping at air. Kurt moves one hand from Blaine's hip to to tangle his fingers together with Blaine's, gives Blaine something to hold onto. "I'm right here," he says and squeezes tight.

He bends and reaches with his other hand to find Blaine's cock, the tip slippery with precome, which he uses to slick the motion of his hand as he wraps around. It's hard to sync up his hand and hips, and he's fast unraveling into his own delirium, but he wants to get Blaine off first. His hips fall out of rhythm as he strokes Blaine, quick and even. "Come on, baby," he urges, "give it up for me."

When Blaine comes, spilling hot into his hand and quaking like his very bones are shattering, his moan is so loud and pained-sounding Kurt is grateful the neighbors don't spend much time at home on the weekends. Kurt fucks him through it until Blaine's cries have quieted and he's bonelessly swaying with Kurt's thrusts. The nexus of pleasure in Kurt's gut is drawing into itself, volatile and threatening. With his last fragment of will, Kurt tugs one of the loose ends of the bow, and works the scarf loose enough for Blaine to pull his hands free one at a time. Blaine's upper arms tremble as he places his hands flat on the mattress and pushes himself up to all fours. That slight change in angle is all it takes for Kurt to lose it, coming in wrenching waves and choking on his own breath.

Once he's done, feeling hollowed out and overfull all at once, Kurt gingerly pulls out and falls back to his heels, and then over to his side, reaching a hand out to wrap loosely around Blaine's ankle. He does nothing but breathe for several heartbeats. At last, he finds his voice and his tongue and remembers how to form words. "Oh my god," Kurt says. "You..."

Blaine slumps to a prone sprawl, but turns his head to look down at Kurt, who feels so far away. "No, you," Blaine says with a wobbly grin.

Kurt wheezes a chuckle. "I don't think I'm ever going to be able to move again."

"God, can you believe we have to go to school tomorrow?" Blaine says unhappily. "I just want to live in your bed from now on."

And wow, yeah, the thought of going through all that mundane... mundanity. Classrooms and hallways and the cafeteria. He'll have to get dressed. Shower. Move. Act like a normal person instead of a sex zombie. "Maybe Artie can wheel me between classes. Or Finn can piggyback me. Or someone can just toss me in a wheelbarrow and push me wherever I'm supposed to be."

Blaine laughs into the mattress. "So long as I don't have to do it."

Kurt rolls to his back and carefully tugs the condom off his dick. There's something cold and damp under his right shoulder. "I have to change my sheets," he says to the ceiling.

"Can we have a nap first?" Blaine asks. "'Cause I really don't think I can get up."

When Kurt looks back to Blaine, Blaine's smile is so sweet and sated, it gives Kurt enough energy to hoist himself up the bed next to him. He flops down and throws an arm over Blaine's back and doesn't really care that his pillows are all either on the floor or under Blaine or that they both must reek of sex and are in desperate need of showers. "Good plan," he says before a jaw cracking yawn can swallow his words. "I'll order pizza for dinner."

end part II