Glee!fic: Black and White

[rainjoyswriting]

Black and White, a Glee! winter fic.
Disclaimer: Oh my god fanfic and you know it, like I even *pretend* I own them.
Rating: NC-17, thank you boys <3
Spoilers: Well, set post-season 2, so be prepared for anything but I don't think there's a single *explicit* spoiler in it.

Summary: Kurt and Blaine do a crossword. Amongst other things.


Note: Hi guys! Been away for a weekender, it was awesome, the music played from 10am to 3am every day and I danced until my legs gave up (dancing in Docs is way harder than I make it look ;P). Then I came back home and the world has gone completely crazy! So have some fluff to make up for it. Real glad I don't still live in London, hope anyone who does live there is safe and well and unhurt, take care guys <3

Kurt's more relieved than he shows when the car is finally still and he can pull the handbrake on in Blaine's driveway. The snow's been swept, here, waist-high in heaps off the roads, and Kurt's dad pretty obsessively winterproofs Kurt's car but all you need is one patch of black ice, just one, no bigger than a footprint, and then Kurt and his boyfriend are just a sad paragraph in the local newspaper and Kurt's boyfriend is really too lovely a creature to die in such a stupid way.

Blaine lets his breath out. Kurt hadn't realised he'd been holding it. "Thank you for getting me home alive. You're my hero, seriously."

Kurt squeezes at the wheel, swallows. "I think I need some coffee before I try that again."

"We're not forecast any more snow." Blaine says, unsnapping his belt, opening the door. "Let me warm you up a bit before you head off into the wilderness again."

Kurt watches him climb down - he's wearing that dark grey woollen coat he just looks devastating in, and Kurt likes little moments when Blaine has his back to him and Kurt can just admire the shape of him in it, before he clicks his own belt open and reaches for the door handle. A cup of coffee. And at least a kiss or two. And he'll be warmed up enough to head back out into it . . .

They bang snow from their shoes on the back doorstep, kick them off on the doormat and push them against the wall (Blaine is conscientious, Kurt is just fussy), hang coats and scarves and Blaine's kitchen is cool and dark, the tiles icy underfoot. "When do they get back?" Kurt says, running a fingertip over the tiny bottles in the spice rack; nothing looks like it's really been touched since he last came here, apart from the cereal packet left on the table with the newspaper open on a half-completed crossword, evidence of Blaine's morning before Kurt picked him up for the movie.

Blaine flicks a switch and bulbs blink and hum alight under all the cabinets. "Monday, if the snow lets up enough for the plane to touch down."

"They really trust you to leave you home alone this long."

"Mm, I've been very boring so far, they just trust that it's going to continue." He flashes Kurt a little grin as he takes a jar of coffee from the fridge, heads for the fancy espresso machine Kurt so wants a duplicate of in his own kitchen one day. In their own kitchen one day. "Actually I think it's part of their ongoing effort to convince themselves that they do trust me. I don't know. It's probably dangerous to think too much about what your parents are actually thinking."

Kurt climbs delicately onto a stool at the breakfast bar, props his head on the knuckles of one hand. "They . . . didn't notice, that time you slept at mine."

Blaine shrugs, snaps the espresso machine into noisy life. "Again: I've so far been very boring so they assume that's how things will always be. Blue mug or Spider-Man mug?"

"Blue." Obviously. "Don't you get lonely?"

"When you text me every three minutes? No."

"What about when I'm not texting?"

"Normally that's only because you're asleep, and I'm usually asleep then too. And dreaming about you, so." Blaine pushes the mug onto the surface in front of Kurt and leans up to kiss his cheek, climbing onto the stool beside him. "Ugh, my toes have gone numb. I'd mind less if I wasn't wearing three pairs of socks."

Their shoulders bump, Blaine's knee is pressed into Kurt's neatly crossed leg. Kurt loves how close Blaine always seems to want to get to him; it makes him feel like he's allowed to get as close as he really wants to as well. He tilts his head a little to be closer to his face, murmurs, "You poor thing, all cold and alone in this big house on your own."

Blaine laughs, lifts the ridiculous Spider-Man mug to drink from it. "It's not quite a 'last puppy in the pound' scenario, my parents went on a mini-break, they didn't abandon me."

"I would never abandon you to go on a mini-break to - to -?"

"Florence."

"Really? I might abandon you to go a mini-break to Florence." Blaine is rolling his eyes, grinning, while Kurt folds his fingers around his mug, almost uncomfortably hot but his cold bones don't want to let go. "But I would miss you. I'd send postcards."

"We could go on a mini-break to Florence."

"We should. We really should. We should put it on the to do list."

"How long is the to do list now?"

"We definitely can't break up before we're sixty if we're going to get through it all."

"Then we won't. And we need at least another thirty years of stuff on there just, you know, to be sure." He drums the tabletop for a second while he thinks. "We should become the oldest gay couple to climb Everest."

"You're complaining about winter in Ohio and you want to climb Everest. Do you know what those temperatures do to your skin?"

"Well, I can become the oldest gay man to climb Everest and you can cheer me on."

"But I won't be there to warm your hands up then."

"Okay, screw Everest." Blaine rubs an eye, one hand around his coffee cup. "Movies make me really sleepy."

"You were completely hyper when we got out, this is just you coming down off your high."

"And all the fear hormones of that drive back."

"I really wouldn't have gotten behind the wheel of the car if I didn't think it was safe. I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Blaine tips his head, says, "I know you wouldn't." and Kurt looks away from his smile because it's making him blush, but that just makes Blaine laugh and reach for his hand.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," Kurt says quietly. Blaine squeezes his hand, watches his face, doesn't try not to smile. Kurt bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes, and laughs, just so slightly, when Blaine leans in to press his teeth off his lip with his tongue, and kisses him.

Kurt's heart beats bird-fast, bird-high. He could do this forever; when Blaine kisses him he feels safe and wanted and loved and like nothing hurts and nothing ever could hurt. His hand finds Blaine's cheek, his breath draws in through his nose, and he feels so lucky he could cry for this boy wanting him, for the way he wants him.

The coffee's getting cold when he manages to pull his head aside a little, breathe into Blaine's cheek, "I have to . . . it'll get dark soon, I." He swallows. "I should go, really."

Blaine stares at him, draws a slow breath in and out, then grins hopefully. "Beautiful, what's your hurry?"

Kurt actually facepalms, slaps a hand over his eyes so he doesn't have to look at him as Blaine bursts out laughing. "Because 'my father will be pacing the floor' quite literally, Blaine, if I'm driving in the snow in the dark-"

"No, no, I know, okay. Come on. Back out into the cold." He takes Kurt's hands in his, says, "At least you're warm again now."

Looking into Blaine's eyes all of Kurt's central heating is glowing inside him. "Yes," he says, still a little dazed by the way Blaine still keeps looking at him; months down the line, is Kurt still so beguiling to him? "I am."

*

They kiss goodbye on the doorstep and Blaine settles his hands on Kurt's waist, resting on the perfect cupped edges of his hipbones, Kurt's head bent down to his, eyes closed and lovely, all pink and pale with cold. When they break apart their breath streams past them white and they both laugh, startled, before Kurt bristles his shoulders up and Blaine tucks Kurt's scarf back underneath his lapels. "Drive safely. Call me when you get back."

Kurt licks his lips, nods, the smile twitches his mouth. "Something to look forward to when I get in."

He is actually the most adorable human being Blaine could ever dream existed. He pulls him down for another kiss and that gets dragged into another but then with another burst of reluctant mist between their mouths they part again, and Kurt's hand tightens for a second on Blaine's cuff before he turns and picks his way through the snow, careful as a cat, bipping the alarm off on his car. Blaine waits in the doorway, arms huddled around himself, breath huffing around his head while he watches the headlights come on and Kurt snaps his seatbelt on, lifts a hand in a wave, reverses slowly down the drive.

Blaine watches until the car's around a corner and gone before he closes the door behind himself, shakes the cold off sudden and hard. God the winter. Snow is entirely awesome but god the cold. And god he's worried, because Kurt at seventeen is the safest driver he knows but there's the snow, the ice, there's all those other drivers who could plough him right off the road -

Really he wants him on the phone, to talk to him and know he's okay the whole time until he's safe at home again, but clearly the last thing Blaine ought to be doing is distracting him. He wanders through the house a bit, not really thinking, cell clutched warm in one hand, not even aware he's holding it. Then he decides to play some Final Fantasy to take his mind off it.

An hour later when he's thinking about food as soon as he gets to a good pausing point his cell goes off on the carpet by his twitching foot. He catches the phone up in his hand and props it between ear and shoulder to play on. "Hey, home safe?"

"No. Nowhere near. Stuck in traffic, a truck managed to skid itself across the entire road, they've closed it off."

Blaine pauses the game, drops the control to take the phone in his hand. "Are you okay?"

"I'm wonderful." Kurt sighs down the line. "I'm bored and frustrated and out of CDs to listen to but I'm fine, honestly. I just - don't know when they're going to clear this up."

"Jeez. It's-" Blaine checks out of the window, where the light is falling, thick winter gloom coming in quick; Kurt should be home by now, and safe and warm and curled up on his bed talking to Blaine while Blaine button-mashes and Kurt tells him he'll get an RSI and then will he think beating his own high score is worth it? (Yes.) "It's getting dark."

Kurt sighs, again. "So . . . I called my dad. Um. The options are either I wait in this tailback for as long as it takes -"

"You will actually die of hypothermia."

"I have the heating on, I'll live. Or, I take the back roads back-"

"Do not take the back roads in this weather, god Kurt-"

"That is the exact tone of voice that he said exactly that in," Kurt murmurs. "Or, um. If you don't - and if your parents don't mind, if you want to call and - if you don't-"

"Come back here," Blaine says, pleadingly. "It's cold and it's not safe and it's getting dark. Come back now."

". . . thank you. If I can turn around, I'll be about half an hour, okay?"

"I'll be waiting by the door. Drive - really, really carefully, okay?"

"A million times more carefully than that trucker, anyway. I'll see you soon, okay? Thank you."

It comes out of his throat in one painful lump. "I love you."

"I love you too," Kurt says, sings, and hangs up. Blaine lowers his phone, stares at it for a moment, goes to the window to check how quickly the light is dying; the opaque clouds are darkening blue, and the shadows on the snow are a deep muted lilac. It would be incredibly beautiful if it couldn't potentially kill his boyfriend.

He's not used to not being able to do anything for Kurt when Kurt's in some kind of trouble. Normally he can say something, get in his car and be there for him, at least be someone Kurt can hold. Right now he's useless, right now he's nothing, he can't even text, trapped in some awful limbo of an inheld breath until Kurt's here and Blaine can touch him and know he's alright. Already it's darker, nights tuck themselves in neat and fast in winter. And Blaine thinks, You should be happy, you should be looking forward to a whole night of him, but all he can think about is -

Dark icy roads and skidding wheels and for some reason wolves. Are there wolves in Ohio? He watches too many vintage werewolf movies. Kurt says that, anyway, curls his legs underneath himself and continuously texts the girls while they're on. If Kurt comes back safe then Blaine will never make him sit through another eighties werewolf movie again, not even the ones with the really good bad special effects. They'll watch a thousand musicals and Blaine will never hit the peak of too many high kicks and need to roll face-down on the carpet pulling his hair for a bit. He will enjoy it because it makes Kurt happy. He will enjoy all things that make Kurt happy. Even rabid sale shopping. Even queuing for the stores to open for rabid sale shopping. He will never complain about anything again.

Blaine's sort of unused to needing anyone. There's his parents, but he still thinks of his parents as essentially untouchable - he knows that Kurt does not think the same way, but Blaine can't make the idea of losing either of them real, they are there the way that brick walls and January are just really, really there. He loves the Warblers, but he does know that they need him a lot more than he collectively needs them. It's better to be needed than needing; it's safer, at least. Kurt -

It is so strange that this became this. Blaine wanted to help Kurt, and then wanted to just keep knowing him because he's so awesome, and then Kurt was like, his best friend and Blaine had never really had a best friend, just like, friends, and then Blaine just realised - oh, hi, wow, you're actually perfect, aren't you? The parts of you that aren't perfect just make you even more perfect. And you are really ungodly attractive, why did I not notice that before. Can I please touch you actually all the time, would that be okay?

Blaine needs Kurt. He understands that, looking out of that window while the snow turns crisp and razor-bright underneath the darkening sky; he needs Kurt. Without Kurt he doesn't exist, he's just a performing blazer being what other people expect him to be, with Kurt he feels - free, and accepted, and loved, and cherished. He needs Kurt. He can't go back to the little he had before, he never knew his life was so thin until Kurt brought the whole colourful clamorous world in with him.

I need you. I really do. I know I only ever say 'I love you' but that's just because that's the socially acceptable way of saying 'oh fuck oh Christ I need you, please god don't leave me'. But, Kurt? Oh fuck oh Christ I need you. Please, god, don't leave me. Please.

"You are being overdramatic," he says out loud, in case that helps.

It mostly doesn't.

When it does start snowing again, Blaine thinks, numb with despair, of praying. A couple of generations back his father's side were Catholic, he feels like what he got out of those genes is a buttlot of internalised guilt and the occasional desperate belief that he can repent at any moment and fix things. He's not sure what he's repenting for, though. He genuinely does not believe that any god could exist who could make him gay and hate him for it, he thinks that people are basically just confused about that. So what can he renounce in himself? He does try to be good, he really does. Pride, probably. Definitely, actually. Lustful thoughts, oh, yes, he's dating Kurt. He knows that his biggest failing, the part of himself that hurts other people the most, is occasional stupidity but nowhere in the Bible has he read a denunciation of stupidity. Apparently being an idiot isn't a sin. Meekness and charity and plenty of things he can admire get good write-ups, but he just doesn't remember reading any praise of intelligence in there.

Dear God, give me my boyfriend back alive and unhurt and I will - I will -

He's not Kurt, he's not angry about it, he just can't dredge any belief up in himself, however hard he tries.

Dear Kurt, if you come back to me safe then I will do anything for you and you know I will and I always will, forever and ever amen.

*

It's those huge movie snowflakes, big and wet as torn-up tissue, wadding up on the wipers as he pulls into Blaine's driveway again. Blaine's in the doorway, idiot boy, snow in his hair as Kurt cuts the headlights off and opens the door, steps down, says, "There was no need for you to freeze your ass o-"

It ends in a yelp as his boot skids, but Blaine's already flung his arms around him, banging both of them into the cold side of the car. His thrumming chest strains against Kurt's, and Kurt stares at him bewildered, his body still too tense from the slip. "Are you alright?"

"I really worried," Blaine says, and Kurt stares at him, just doesn't understand. He lifts a hand, ruffles the snow out of Blaine's hair.

"You're frozen. We should get inside."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Tired, driving in this is a bitch." He waves a hand at the falling snow, and a flake catches in his lashes, falls freezing to his cheek when he blinks in shock. He wipes it off with a palm. "Can we go inside before you actually get hypothermia-?"

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes."

"I have to call my dad and tell him I got back safe."

Blaine's still got his arms sort of locked around Kurt, making getting inside more difficult than it should be; they shuffle like crabs, claws caught, through the snow. Kurt's too confused to be annoyed, and it's sort of nice to be held like this anyway, and it is very much not like he's unused to finding Blaine bafflirritating. Which really ought to be a word for how often Blaine inspires the feeling in him.

Inside, it's uncomfortably hot in all his layers. He unwinds his scarf, drapes it around Blaine's neck instead because the idiot was standing there in a sweatshirt and no coat even. "I feel like I need to babysit you half the time," Kurt says, shrugging his coat off, laying it around Blaine's shoulders; Blaine blinks up at him, holds it on with his arms crossed around his chest.

"Sorry. I worried."

"Don't worry about me. Aren't I always fine?"

"That means I always have something to worry about," Blaine murmurs, and Kurt doesn't understand, just sighs, brushes Blaine's wet hair back and kisses his forehead, slipping his cell out of the coat pocket hanging at Blaine's side. "Warm up. Behave." He skims through the menu, calls his dad, leaning against the wall to pull his shoelaces open with one hand.

The phone clicks alive against his ear. "Hey, Kurt, you made it safe?"

"Mm-hm. I could feel your worry-vibes, though. Do not get stressed. We have rules about your getting stressed. You do the breathing exercises and you do not stress."

"There are things parents worry about, Kurt."

"There are things kids worry about, Dad." Blaine shuffles over, drapes himself over Kurt while Kurt's bent down to pull at a boot; Blaine likes being able to engulf him. "Do you want me to call later on?"

His dad sighs down the line. "No, in the morning's fine. Why do you sound muffled?"

Crammed in Blaine's embrace with his own hanging coat cutting him off from the world, Kurt says, "No reason," and Blaine's body shakes over his with silent laughter.

Boots off and coat and scarf properly hung this time, Blaine takes his hand and pulls him through the house for the lounge with the real fireplace, all ready laid to be lit. Kurt feels shy, suddenly, of a whole night with Blaine opening ahead of him; they've never had a whole night together as boyfriends, never had the opportunity, certainly not alone . . . Blaine seems giddier, delighted now Kurt's back, and Kurt wonders how much he really did worry. He wasn't in any danger, certainly not at his own hands. There are other drivers but there's not a lot he can do about them, and he isn't particularly given to worrying; there is not a lot you can do about the bad in life apart from enjoy the good in it.

Blaine crouches at the fireplace, opens a box of matches, and Kurt stands uncertainly at his back, arms wrapped around himself. "Did - you call your parents? Are they okay with it?"

"They made frequent mentions of the guest room and where the sheets are kept as if I didn't know that." Blaine glances over his shoulder, grins, strikes a match. "Um. There is the guest room, if you . . . want it."

Something runs up Kurt's back like it's alive and many-legged. "- I -"

Blaine pushes the fireguard in and stands up, dusting his hands off; lighting a ready-laid fire is not so messy, and Kurt knows it's mostly nerves. He looks right into Kurt's eyes in that earnest way he does, usually before he offers far, far too much information in a way that he genuinely intends to be caring. "I am seriously not suggesting anything you might not be comfortable with, but," he grabs helplessly at the air with an extremely unillustrative hand, "I mean, we have shared a bed before, just to sleep, and it's cold out and cuddling is nice and I, uh, think it would be nice. But that's your decision. Anything, everything is your decision." He clears his throat a bit, and Kurt stares into his eyes and thinks, Oh my god what am I dating. Why can't he be a normal boy. Why can't he just - grope me and make it easy, a yes or no in the moment, why does he want me to think and decide, I don't want to decide, I don't want to think about it.

He draws his breath in, slowly, through his nose. "What colour is your guest room?"

"Sort of peach."

Kurt wrinkles his nose. "Oh. No. So not my colour. It makes me look - no. That's not happening."

Blaine's starting to smile again. "My room's blue."

"I know it is."

Blaine takes his hand. "You look amazing in blue."

The fire hushes the room, like it wants to listen very closely. Blaine's eyes are very dark, very fixed on him, his face very quiet and intense. Kurt swallows, says huskily, "So do you."

Blaine is stupidly attractive in such unhelpful ways. Kurt swallows again because he has to, opening his mouth, trying to find something to save himself with; he croaks, "Cookies."

Blaine blinks. "What?"

"We could make cookies. We, we have a whole night, it might get dull."

And suddenly Blaine is trying to contain the six year old boy going nuclear happy inside him. "What kind of cookies?"

"I don't know, what ingredients do you have?"

"I don't know. Let's go find out!" He's almost bouncing. God, what has Kurt unleashed? "Do you need a recipe? Is there just one recipe for cookies or are there different ones? Can we eat them warm? With milk? Can I take photos to send to the Warblers to make them jealous?"

"We could make extra for them."

"Best. Night. Ever."

God, Kurt's boyfriend. Dragged off by the hand again, for the kitchen this time, Kurt skips a little to keep up with Blaine's excited stride and says into the back of his neck, "You are such a little boy sometimes."

"You love me." Blaine says, calm and happy with that knowledge. What is Kurt meant to say to that? He murmurs, Blaine will never know how helplessly, "I do."

"I love you too, you're amazing. And your cookies are like, heaven in the form of baked goods."

"Blaine -"

Back onto the cold tiles of the kitchen floor and Blaine glances back at him, bright and eager. Kurt forgets what he was going to say, kisses him instead.

*

They make all the cookies in the world.

It turns out there are like, hundreds of recipes and Kurt knows some off by heart and they get the rest from the internet. They make big soft chocolate chip ones (Kurt has Blaine chop up the chocolate for the chips, and leans over scowling to wipe it off his mouth and warns him for the fourth time about eating their ingredients) and chewy oatmeal raisin ones and these little intense coffee ones all crisp on the outside and squishy on the inside. Like Kurt.

Blaine eats a lot of dough. Seriously, a lot-lot.

Afterwards, in the headachy buzz as he comes down from the sugar high, they collapse in front of the fire - Blaine on the floor propped back against the sofa, Kurt curled up in the corner of it with his arms around himself and his eyes low and drowsy and satisfied - and Blaine hugs a guitar over his poor abused stomach, strumming odd little riffs out.

Kurt murmurs, "You eat a hell of a lot for someone so small."

"I have a hyperactive metabolism."

"You have a hyperactive everything, Blaine."

"I'm being quiet now."

"That's because if you jumped all over the place right now the contents of your stomach would explode. Which would be disgusting." Kurt puts a hand over a yawn. "The nutritional content of our last 'meal' was pretty negligible."

"We have the rest of our lives," Blaine says, picking out a handful of notes, "to eat salad." He pats the strings silent with a palm. "Hey, do you want to meet my petulant fourteen year old self?"

Kurt lifts his head a little, trying to keep his smile small but Blaine can see the amusement bright in his eyes. "I would like nothing more."

Blaine strums at the guitar for a bit. "This is a song I wrote on an off-the-grid Easter vacation with my parents by some lake in the middle of nowhere, which was really awesome actually until I broke a guitar string and there wasn't a store within three hours that sold anything apart from fishing bait and camping stoves, and I developed Angst." He looks up at Kurt's increasing failure not to grin and flashes a little grin back. "You have to imagine the slightly funky sound it's meant to have because I don't want to actually unstring my E for it. It's called The Broken String Blues."

Kurt holds it pretty well together, just watching him grinning sharp and delighted with his arms wrapped tight around himself, until Blaine gets to, "Screw you Mom this is a sucky holiday, I'd rather be at home on my Xbox anyway." when he loses it with a spectacular snort, hands flying up to cover his nose, collapsing onto his side, shrieking with laughter while Blaine gets through the last verse, the one his dad grounded him for as soon as they got home. Blaine, reunited with a restringed guitar and at that time unaware that Kurt existed and that he wasn't spending time with him, didn't care.

"Oh my god."

"I really could do off-the-grid if I had a supply of guitar strings. It felt really, I don't know, wholesome."

Kurt picks himself up from his hugged-in collapse on his side on the sofa, touches his hair to check it hasn't shifted too drastically. "Wholesome like a bowl of cookie dough for dinner."

"Wholesome like kissing you makes me feel. Like, right. All is well with the world."

Kurt's smile softens, and Blaine just looks at him for a moment, looking at Kurt looking at him, and thinks how wholesome it all does feel; Kurt makes him feel healthy, balanced, right. Then he says, "Do you want to hear what Lola sounds like on the mandolin?"

Kurt's smile flicks amused again. "Are you capable of moving to fetch the mandolin?"

Blaine puts a hand over his stomach, screws his eyes up and rests the guitar back against the sofa. "Give me five minutes. Why didn't you stop me eating so much?"

"I tried. Repeatedly. I said, quote, if you keep eating so dough much you will throw up and I will not hold your hair back for you, unquote." Kurt leans forwards, brushes his fingers back through Blaine's hair. "I probably still would anyway, though, because I'm a pushover like that."

"And because you love me?"

Kurt's hands catch his cheeks, his fingers slip under his jaw, tilting Blaine's head back so he can whisper to his mouth, "Yes," and lean down to kiss him. He is really impossibly sexy sometimes, half a step ahead of Blaine and sometimes so out of the blue sure in his sensuality, like he knows Blaine's going to keel over and drool because of course he is. And he does, partly because Kurt can knock him sideways with a single smouldering glance, and partly because Kurt knowing that somehow makes it ten trillion times sexier; Kurt actually knowing that Blaine's knees give sometimes just from looking at him makes arousal gnaw warm at his stomach.

On the other hand, Kurt is essentially trapped in this house right now and is never a hundred percent clear on where he lays his physical boundaries and Blaine would rather die - fuck the entire potential rest of his life because it means nothing in comparison, he would rather die - than make Kurt feel threatened or frightened or used about this. Also if they do attempt sex right now Blaine's stomach really might rupture. The sudden upswing in temperature might cook all that dough in his stomach and split his guts. Then Blaine really will be dead and Kurt will be so grossed out, and it probably wouldn't be worth all that. Probably?

So he tilts his head sideways out from under Kurt's, carefully so he can't chin him in the nose, and says, "I should go get that mandolin."

Kurt says, "Screw the mandolin." and slithers off the sofa, one knee thumping off the floor and the other bumping off Blaine's leg before sliding to the carpet which means, while Kurt holds Blaine's face and kisses him hungrily and Blaine's hands pull his sweater (deep green, baggy, cashmere, gorgeous) taut at its sides, that he's straddling Blaine's leg and Blaine's body -

Gives this little helpless upwards surge of want before he hauls himself back appalled, one hand hitting the floor to keep himself upright, but Kurt doesn't even seem to have noticed, just kisses him deeper. He eventually pulls his breath in with a little high noise against Blaine's cheek and leans back, flushed and looking mostly surprised, mostly at himself. He sits back on his heels with a little flump and stares at Blaine, mouth open like the last thing he expected either of them to do was that.

Blaine licks his lips, stares at him. He can't hear anything apart from some heavy rhythm that might be his heart or in all honesty might be the pulse of blood between his legs. He manages to make himself breathe again. He puts a grin on, says, "What was in those cookies?"

Kurt puts a hand over his mouth, coughs delicately, picks himself up. "Are you still planning on giving them out to a roomful of Warblers?"

"Oh god. That would be - funny, in an apocalyptic sort of way. Maybe I'll just have to eat them all to spare them the fallout."

Kurt stands up, arms wrapped around himself and swinging his weight a little left and right, embarrassed now of his own boldness. "Hey," Blaine says, catching his arm and taking his hand, pulling at it a little. "What's wrong?"

Kurt looks at the sofa. "I don't know. It feels - it, it." He closes his eyes. "It means something different. When we're the only ones in the house. It - it means something different, I don't know."

Blaine stares up Kurt's own arm at his face. He tries to understand, tries to read his face, embarrassed and awkward and maybe scared, and Blaine can't bear that. "Hey," he says, and tugs Kurt's hand a little. "It's okay. We're okay. We're always okay."

We don't judge each other. We're honest, and we don't play games, and we don't judge. And if you are not comfortable about making out in my house when my parents aren't here then that's cool; it's neither here nor there that you initiated it because people have feelings and they change their minds so you don't have anything to be embarrassed about. It's cool, and I love you, and if you love me too then everything is okay, okay?

Kurt squirms his shoulder up, hunches his head lower, meets Blaine's eyes looking so humiliated. He still isn't comfortable even talking about talking about sex. Blaine rubs the back of his hand and says, "Come outside and make a snowman with me."

That one shocked note of laughter comes out before Kurt can even lift a hand to hide it. Blaine grins. Kurt closes his eyes, shakes his head like he doesn't ever believe him, smiles.

*

Outside everything is so starkly black and white, crystalline with cold. It's no longer snowing; they roll clumsy globes of fresh snow, hiking with frozen hands to get them on top of each other, sagging with laughter like the torso does when the overlarge head collapses the snowman in front of them. They start again.

Kurt hasn't made a snowman since he was a lot shorter than Blaine and his dad helped him then, and did not understand the importance of the snowman's accessories and how not just any hat would do. Blaine does. They kit it out beautifully; camel scarf, sheepskin gloves on its stick hands, sky blue hat with a small subtle pattern of snowflakes. They raid the kitchen for its face, find a carrot and use grapes for its eyes and mouth. The cold is incredible, especially once it's got right through the bones of Kurt's fingers; he pulls his scarf up over his mouth, huddles in it, while Blaine sings, "In the meadow we will build a snowman-"

Kurt tugs the scarf down with one finger to join in; their voices catch some eerie harmony in the empty night, ring off the snow as big and clear as bells. "-he'll say, Are you married? We'll say, No man-"

Blaine catches his hand and Kurt catches his waist and they dance around each other for one verse until Kurt laughs just because he's so happy and Blaine kisses him. Warmth. Blaine lets go of his hand, walks off apparently in search of fresh snow, taking care with each footprint to emphasise that delicious crumping noise underfoot; Kurt puts his head back and turns, slowly, because there are crazy amounts of stars up there in the blue-black sky. The cold has eaten up through his feet and legs, every finger hurts with it and the skin on his face is stinging and he's just absurdly, throat-cloggingly happy, because against all of the odds, relying on every fragile coincidence, every bare scrap of luck in the world, he's here, with Blaine, they found each other in the massive chaos of the human race and Blaine loves him and oh god life -

The snow makes a little paf noise as it bursts against the side of his head. He blinks, and lowers his arms, and turns to Blaine with a look of What the hell did you just do?

"I'm so sorry," Blaine says, standing there with snow on his gloves and a smile flexing between smug and a little scared. "You were just - I couldn't resist. Kurt? You look . . . I'm really, really sorry?"

"My hair," Kurt says, and stoops to scoop up snow. Blaine scrabbles off into a run but Kurt has longer legs, and wrath. They circuit the house twice, Blaine yelping when Kurt does manage a hit (he's got pretty good aim, but ridiculously small moving targets are difficult), Kurt shrieking when he skids on snow.

"Stay still so I can maul you!"

"Not a compelling proposition, Kurt!"

"Do not tell me you don't deserve it!"

"I'm so sorry!"

"Then why are you laughing?"

Blaine's laughter runs behind him like the loose end of a scarf. And then Kurt's foot catches wrong in an old footprint in the snow, an echo of their earlier circuit of the house, and he goes down with a little scream.

He lays on his back, panting, heart thrumming inside him, hot inside all his layers after the running. He can hear the quick scuff of Blaine through the snow, hurrying towards him - "Kurt, are you okay? You're not-?"

As soon as he's in range, Kurt grabs his ankle and pulls.

By the time they stagger back into the house, snow caught in their hair and still giggling in little explosive, uncontrollable bursts, the clock in the kitchen shows midnight. In the doorway they pat the snow off each other, brushing down shoulders and backs and ruffling each others' hair - Kurt wrinkles his nose up, eyes squeezed closed, and Blaine grins so broad. "You should try this look out more often. Snow is cheaper than product."

"Oh you lecturing me on too much product, really Blaine." Kurt brushes Blaine's wet hair off his forehead. "Look at all this. I could sculpt Mount Rushmore out of it."

"That would be awesome. Get photos for me."

"You are ridiculous. And sopping wet."

"You too. Hot shower time, I think."

Kurt curls cold toes in his boots, winces. "I didn't bring a change of clothes."

"You can borrow mine."

"They won't fit."

Blaine rolls his eyes. "I have some longer pants, they'll fit. Ish. Let's find you some pyjamas."

Kurt licks his lips, brushes the back of his neck where melting snow is beginning to run down from his hair, and feels the reality of their situation close around them again. Alone, in this house, in the night, and they both have bodies, and bodies want things. But Blaine takes Kurt's hand, smiles a warm little smile, heads off for the staircase with Kurt following him simultaneously wanting to put his arms around him because Blaine makes him feel safe and nervous of him because they both have bodies and being human is just terrifying, sometimes.

In his bedroom Blaine sorts through drawers and comes up with a little pile of clothing. "Transformers pyjamas?"

Kurt just stares at him. Blaine hunches his shoulders, grinning nervously. "My parents never know what to buy me for Christmas? So they usually fixate on whatever movie I was last into and, um." He stares up at Kurt, big pleading eyes like the puppy not wanting to be told off about the tooth marks on the chair leg, presses his lips together for a second and says, "I am wearing Iron Man underwear."

Something in Kurt tightens so hard. Blaine's eyes beseech but it's just not possible not to; he laughs until it aches, closes his arms around Blaine and thumps his head onto his shoulder and laughs until his eyes are wet, while Blaine's mouth twitches a lot before it just falls into the grin. "I'm so glad that I can rely on my boyfriend to never belittle me."

Kurt says, "You are wearing Iron Man underwear. I don't have to do the belittling, Blaine."

"Awesome movie, though."

Kurt rubs his cheek into Blaine's still-damp shoulder. "I love you," he says helplessly, because he does, this hopeless, ridiculous creature halfway between a boy and a man and just so sincere and so, so sweet. One of Blaine's hands lifts, and slides into his hair, warm at the back of his head.

"I love you too." he says, soft and meant. "Even when you mock my underwear. So, Transformers pyjamas?"

Kurt stands back up, wipes his eyes, sighs happily. "No. I would wear barbed wire first."

Blaine lifts the other bundle of clothing. "Dalton gym kit?"

Kurt smiles, takes the offered t-shirt and sweat pants. "Thank you."

"You're sure I can't tempt you with pyjamas designed for twelve year olds."

"No, Blaine, thank you, but I wouldn't want to deny you the pleasure of them."

"You're still mocking me."

I love everything about you. Do you know that? Even the parts I probably shouldn't, somehow especially those parts. I just love all of you with all of me. I didn't think love would be so complete but you're in every part of my life now, it all got bigger to accommodate you, how small was it before?

"I'll be less grumpy after a shower. Can I borrow shampoo?"

Blaine smiles, one of his honest, happy smiles, always soft when he looks at Kurt. "Come on, I'll show you to the guest bathroom. Mom has those mini-toiletry things in there."

". . . can I still borrow yours? I like the smell."

Blaine catches his eye surprised, and then looks so pleased, and Kurt's heart hurts with too much feeling sometimes. "Sure. Come on. Towels!"

Alone in a strange bathroom, Kurt peels unpleasant layers off himself - snow-damp on top, sweat-damp deeper down - and squirms on the tiles. He has nothing to change into tomorrow, he'll have to borrow more of Blaine's clothes to get home in. They don't, generally, share clothing; they have very different styles, of course, and very firm ideas on those styles, and normally Kurt really wouldn't want to wear Blaine's polo shirts and cardigans but -

He lifts the soft worn t-shirt to his face, breathes in slowly. It smells of the Andersons' laundry detergent, and when he inhales deeper, concentrating hard, it smells of Blaine, warm and clean and comforting. He puts his cheek into it, hugs it close. It smells like safety.

*

Blaine grabs a very quick shower because he needs to be downstairs and doing things for Kurt. In embarrassing pyjamas, socks and robe he hurries back to the lounge to poke the fire back into life, and then heads into the kitchen because Kurt likes warm milk before bed. It's a fact that Blaine finds hopelessly endearing, something childish and vulnerable in an otherwise very poised and mature boy. He finds a saucepan, pours in milk, sets it on a low heat. The smallest things make Kurt happy - Blaine remembering his coffee order, brushing lint from his shoulder, such small considerations really. Blaine loves making Kurt happy. He could make a lifelong project of it, working small, surprised, honest smiles out of Kurt's composed face. Kurt is always surprised by Blaine making him happy; he's clearly used to being the only person responsible for his own happiness, and is startled every time by any stupid little thing Blaine does. Blaine makes sure to do a lot of stupid little things.

It's a good thing Blaine does leave the milk on a low heat, Kurt takes forever to shower, Blaine really should have guessed that. He hears his approach only when he's low on the stairs, his socked feet padding soft on the carpet. Blaine sticks his head out of the kitchen doorway, smiles at him. "I'm making warm milk."

Kurt, wearing Blaine's t-shirt and sweat pants, still flushed with the warmth of the shower, smiles immediately and Blaine grins delighted back. He has his arms wrapped around himself, he must be cold; Blaine shrugs his robe off and puts it around Kurt instead. "Go sit in front of the fire, I'll be through in a bit."

Kurt wriggles his shoulders under the towelling of Blaine's robe, arms still folded, head a little ducked. He says, "Nutmeg."

"Nutmeg?"

"In the milk. Just a little. Please."

"Okay." Blaine leans up and kisses him. "Go warm up, I'll be quick."

Nutmeg; it smells delicious. He decants into two mugs and heads back through to the lounge, where Kurt is curled up on the sofa with sleepy eyes on the fireplace, hiding a yawn behind a hand. Blaine climbs on the sofa next to him and hands him a mug and they shuffle and pull at the robe to get it around the both of them, sitting huddled close for it to reach.

Kurt's shuffled himself down to get his head on Blaine's shoulder; Blaine can feel his heartbeat, steady against Blaine's arm. Blaine takes a sip of milk and says, "When we live in New York what will we do about holidays?"

"We'll have to alternate," Kurt murmurs, instantly understanding the question and clearly two steps ahead on planning. "Keep switching Christmas and Thanksgiving. One with your family and one with mine."

"We should stick to New York for New Year."

"Mm. Time Square."

You will be the first and last person I kiss, every year. The thought pleases Blaine absurdly. He loves every holiday, little days set aside to make the year more fun. And this year he'll have someone to share Valentine's Day with and not just 'someone' but Kurt, it will become the best holiday ever, he needs to do something epic for it. Stupid little things make Kurt happy; big things make him wear that expression like he doesn't know what to do with all his feelings, and Blaine just wants, wants, he wants too much all the time around Kurt . . .

The fire pops in the grate, and Blaine settles his arm closer around Kurt's side. He's forgotten his earlier panic, already he thinks that a trucker skidding on the ice is just the best thing that ever happened, because he has Kurt here, Kurt's cheek pressed to his shoulder, Kurt whispering, "Building a snowman is hard work."

"I think all the running was the hard work."

"For you, maybe, your legs have to work harder."

Blaine swallows a mouthful of milk. "Funny. Hilarious. Side-splitting."

"You snowballed me. I get mocking privileges for a month after that."

"A week."

"Two weeks."

"Deal." His hair is still damp but Blaine nuzzles into it anyway. He smells like Kurt and like Blaine's shampoo, and his boyfriend in his house, in his clothes, scented with his own soap makes Blaine feel strangely - not exactly possessive, but . . . secure. Like Kurt's not going anywhere. He's not, Blaine has him all night, and Kurt lifts his head a little to take a sip of milk and Blaine keeps an arm around his side. Secure, like they are meant to be here, exactly here. Kurt won't leave him, Kurt won't get scared and back off, not ever; Kurt's the bravest person Blaine's ever met, brave enough to love Blaine, Kurt is his hero.

"Hey," Blaine says.

Kurt murmurs, very sleepy on his shoulder now, "Hm?"

Blaine squeezes the hug tighter. "You are my favourite person. In the whole world."

Kurt's silent for a second, then says, "You are five years old on the inside." His knuckles skim down Blaine's side. "You're my favourite too. You are the best thing that ever happened to me."

Being loved is astonishing every day, it never becomes normal, it's always this astoundingly beautiful boy acting like Blaine makes his life better. How can you get used to that? Blaine needs Kurt; but he feels needed in return, Kurt holding onto his arm and turning his forehead into Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine settles his arm closer around him, and thinks that monogamy is the sexiest thing he knows. Isn't this intimacy and this knowledge just so much more than the quick and gone fireworks of a first meeting?

Kurt yawns again. Blaine kisses the top of his head and says, "You're tired."

"Mm."

"Come to bed."

"Mm."

"You're adorable when you're sleepy."

Kurt huffs a sigh against his shoulder. Blaine takes his mug from him, clinks the both of them together onto the coffee table. Kurt mumbles, "Wash up."

"In the morning. Come on." He tugs him up by the hand and Kurt instantly buries his face in his shoulder again, like he likes life better from there.

"Blaine,"

"Hm?"

Kurt's finger tighten in his sleeve. "Love you."

So strange that the strongest and bravest boy Blaine knows relies on him for anything at all, and Blaine knows he must be worth more than he sometimes thinks to be this to Kurt. "I love you too, Kurt. Come on, sleeping beauty, bed . . ."

"You're an idiot," Kurt tells him, pressing his cheek against Blaine's shoulder, eyes closed, letting Blaine lead his footsteps.

"I'm your idiot."

"You're my very favourite idiot." Kurt smiles without opening his eyes. "The best idiot I know."

"That is enough for me," Blaine says calmly, and leads him upstairs, step by slow step, so Kurt never has to lift his head from his apparently so soothing shoulder.

*

Kurt wakes up, and everything smells of Blaine.

He makes his eyelids open, slowly, on someone else's pillow, and there he is - the most beautiful boy in the world, sleeping with his mouth open just next to Kurt, all sleep-mussed and lovely. The next of his pyjama shirt is crooked and Kurt can see the beginning of the curve of his shoulder, warm living skin, and under the blankets their legs are tangled from the knees down, Blaine's ankle over Kurt's shin and his foot feels dead from lack of blood. It's worth it.

He tries to fight the yawn but can't, and at the movement Blaine screws his face up a little and rolls his body out, mumbling something, shuffling himself closer into Kurt and slipping his arm over his waist. Kurt smiles, wraps an arm around Blaine's back and curls his fingers against his neck, tilts his forehead down to Blaine's. Blaine laughs a little under his breath, and this is the best morning ever. Kurt rolls his body a little closer into Blaine's, he just wants to touch every warm inch of him he can, hip to hip and he feels -

That's not Blaine's hip that's pressing against his.

Kurt goes rigid. Blaine sucks his breath in and his entire body cringes back off him. "Oh - sorry. Sorry, sorry, god, it just - it does that, in a morning, I - oh god. Sorry."

Kurt whispers, before thinking about whether he means it or not, "It's okay."

Blaine puts his hands over his eyes and moans and rolls so his back is to Kurt. "Sorry, I'm so sorry, oh god I'm so sorry-"

Kurt closes his eyes for a second, and feels the shudder run through him and die. "It's okay," he whispers, and then softer, understanding the words, meaning them, "Blaine, it's okay."

Blaine hunches there on his side, hands over his face, and if there was enough light to see it with the curtains closed, Kurt knows he's blushing harder even than Kurt is right now. Kurt swallows again. What he mostly thinks is - it turns out that Blaine really does have a penis. And Kurt just touched it, accidentally and through two layers of clothing but still. And the world didn't end. He's surprised by that part; Blaine really is another boy, there's the physical proof of it, and Kurt just touched him, and the sky did not cave in on them. He feels bewildered. What has he been afraid of for so long?

Every shove into a locker, every dumpster-dumping, every thrown slushie, every glance of hatred and contempt, every shout and every mutter, every time he's been made to feel like he deserves what people do to him - because of this. Because of exactly this, that little touch, because Kurt likes boys and the sky won't fall on him if he actually does anything about that, and other people can't bear that. Even Kurt's hypothetical desires are punishable offences. He must not want. He must never want; if he ever did want he's buried and stamped it down so deep in himself and looked the other way and ignored it desperately and pretended it away so hard like maybe that will make them stop - but they're never going to stop, and nor will the sky cave in on him if he ignores them instead of ignoring the want. They don't want him to want this, they're scared of him wanting this, but so suddenly, Kurt's not afraid anymore, Kurt's not ashamed. Embarrassed and flustered and shocked, but not scared, and not ashamed.

Quite turned on, actually. Hot and hollow in his stomach: he wants.

"It's okay," he says, stronger this time, and he touches Blaine's back. "Blaine. It's okay."

Blaine lets his breath out, slow and heavy and groaned. Kurt presses himself closer, puts an arm around Blaine again, and the hair at the back of Blaine's neck shivers a little under Kurt's breath. Kurt turns his head down a little, hair tickling the side of his nose, and touches Blaine's side; it stiffens and then forcibly relaxes under his touch. "It's okay," he whispers, and his heart is beating so hard he doesn't know how Blaine doesn't hear it. "Blaine?"

Blaine makes a miserable questioning noise from behind the hands still pressed over his face. Kurt swallows, and lets his palm move a little lower down to Blaine's waist, until the hand's intended route is as obvious as it can get. "Is - this okay?"

Silence, and stillness. Kurt swallows again and his body is nearly vibrating with want and fear now, but he doesn't move, not until Blaine peels his hands free and looks at him over his own shoulder, his eyes enormous with surprise. Kurt quickly wets his lips and checks Blaine's face - mostly he just looks confused - and says, his voice surprising him with how low it comes out, "May I?"

Blaine's mouth is open but he clearly has no clue what to say. Kurt swallows, again, his mouth is so dry and his hand grips Blaine's waist and it's not enough but it's already so much, Blaine's body warm and alive under his palm. "You can say no," he whispers, and if Blaine says no it will crush him but that's for Kurt to deal with. But he can see in the same second that Blaine's not going to say no, because in that second, Blaine finally understands that he means it.

Blaine whispers, still looking stunned, "Okay."

"Okay?"

He nods, eyes pinned by Kurt's. "Okay."

Kurt closes his eyes for a second, and tightens his grip on Blaine's hip, and feels Blaine's body quiver a little bit. He slips his hand around the top of his pyjama pants, feels the quickening rise of his breath, and, barely believing he's doing it, slips his fingers in underneath the waistband. Warm skin contracts from his and then Blaine lets his breath out again with a shudder, and Kurt's fingers find - hair, and hot raised flesh.

It fits into his hand the way he really he should have known it would, it's baffling that something he has is so alien in this moment. He shuffles himself closer to Blaine's back, licks his lips again, burying his eyes into Blaine's hair because he can't see what he's doing anyway so he'd rather just breathe in Blaine. Blaine's breath is coming quicker every second now, as Kurt first of all just feels, learning the length and weight of him, before a slow experimental down-up swipe. Blaine's breath sucks in hard again. Kurt laughs, sudden and explosive with nerves, into the back of his neck; but he feels bolder, and tries it again, and Blaine makes a low noise as he exhales, and his hips rock a little with Kurt's hand.

Kurt is actually doing this. Understanding strikes him so suddenly, he has his hand around Blaine's dick and he's - god he's giving him a handjob and he feels - almost alarmed by how turned on he is, incredibly powerful because he's doing this and he can feel how hot his face is but why isn't he more embarrassed? But Blaine makes a shaky little noise and Kurt's breath gulps into him and oh god oh god he can't take this back, he's doing it, and it's the scariest thing he's ever done so why isn't he actually scared?

And then Blaine sucks his breath in and grabs his wrist. "Kurt - wait -"

That is when the falling sky hits him, so hard. But Blaine rolls to face him again, his hand sliding around Kurt's jaw and closing in his hair. "If we're - doing this - can it maybe be more - mutual?"

Kurt stares at him, Blaine earnest and wide-eyed and wanting, and understanding pushes him the last inch between really, really turned on and fully erect in Blaine's sweatpants. His eyes flutter closed and Blaine's thumb strokes his cheek, and Kurt licks his lips, nods. "Yes." His voice sounds so dry; he clears his throat, says stronger, "Yes."

Blaine laughs. It sounds like relief. And then he kisses him and Kurt hadn't realised how much better kissing would make it; he folds an arm around Blaine's back to keep him close and Blaine's hand slips in underneath his t-shirt, fingers on his skin, warm palm skating Kurt's stomach and then as Blaine's tongue slips between his teeth, under the sweatpants, and Kurt's breath comes in sharp and oh.

Everything is very, very oh.

His hips try to meet Blaine's hand, and he wants his hand around Blaine again now, pulls at his tangled pyjama pants to just get them out of the way and Blaine laughs against his mouth and kisses him again, jerking the sweatpants off Kurt's hips, hiking himself closer, and his erection nudges Kurt's sudden and startlingly good. Kurt gives a little stifled moan into Blaine's mouth, and Blaine gets his hand around the both of them, getting a knee over Kurt's to try to get Kurt comfortable between his legs; Kurt puts his hand over Blaine's, squeezes for access. Blaine lifts and parts his fingers, lets Kurt knit his in together with his. Blaine whispers a sudden hissed, "Jesus Jesus Jesus," against Kurt's mouth and Kurt laughs at just how inappropriate blasphemy feels at this very particular moment, as their clumsy hands find a mutual rhythm, and it feels like his skin's split and he's all nerve endings electric with touch; Blaine.

Blaine's hips work in quick, sharp jerks, dragging Kurt too fast with them, and he knows that Blaine's closer than he is. He works on kissing him, works on the rhythm Blaine clearly wants, his free hand twisting the back of Blaine's pyjama shirt tight in his fingers, begging with every brain cell for Blaine to come, he wants it so badly, wants to do this for him - and then Blaine's body wrenches up and there's sudden wet and his hips keep working too roughly, and he's making snarled noises into Kurt's mouth before he falls back, panting, dazed, and Kurt sags his neck back, breathing hard. He can't take his eyes off Blaine's face, his closed eyes, that tightness between his eyebrows, his open mouth struggling for breath. Kurt did that. Kurt did that. God, god, Kurt did that.

He'd like to say something but he has no clue what, and no breath for it anyway.

And then Blaine swallows hard, opens his eyes and checks Kurt's face, kisses him once, looks down under the duvet and rolls himself on top of Kurt, wet hand surer around Kurt now. "Want," he says, and either he doesn't have the breath for the rest of the sentence or there is no rest of the sentence. He leans down and kisses Kurt and his hand works with longer, forceful strokes and Kurt's hips rock helplessly to meet him, making little noises into the kiss as Blaine's free hand gets underneath the t-shirt, damp fingertips dragging across his skin. Through the daze of it all, the rising drag of oncoming orgasm, Kurt realises how much Blaine's wanted to do this, to touch, how restrained he's been and how there's no restraint in this moment, his hands everywhere on him. He remembers him saying across a coffee shop table I understand passion and oh god he does, kissing Kurt hard, his body a weight holding him into the mattress, his thumb circling Kurt's nipple hard as he comes.

He scrabbles Blaine's sides through it, can't control the noises he's making, can't even think about wanting to control them; he's all noise and quick-squeezing lungs and pleasure too sharp, pleasure like a knife slitting him. And Blaine pulls him through it, watching him with intense dark eyes while Kurt nearly splits the seams on his pyjama shirt, bucking his hips up to his hand, keening near-sobs up at him. With a last squeeze Blaine lets him collapse, finally, back onto the mattress, little sparks of orgasm still in his body like the sudden glow of fireflies, and Kurt slumps his head back into the pillow and stares up at him. He's sweating underneath his clothes, Blaine's clothes, he hadn't realised how hot he was until it's done.

He raises a shaky hand, puts it on Blaine's cheek, strokes his skin. Blaine's eyes soften, slowly, from that fierce dark glare, and the smile twitches his mouth. He puts his head down into Kurt's shoulder, gets his arms in underneath him and hugs him so hard, while Kurt folds his arms around him and laughs, helplessly, because they're both naked to the knees and a mess and oh god, that had not been supposed to happen.

Blaine says into his neck, "Where did that come from?"

Kurt smiles helplessly, closes his eyes and closes a hand in Blaine's hair. "I have no idea. We were so well-behaved last night, I thought we deserved a reward."

"That was a hell of a reward."

"You deserved it." Kurt strokes his fingers back through Blaine's hair. "You've been - so patient with me. I know." He licks his lips. "Thank you."

Blaine doesn't lift his head, is just quiet for a moment before he says, "I needed the time too, you know. It - I didn't know what you'd think, and it's - it's scary."

Kurt says calmly, "Not anymore it isn't."

"No." Blaine gets his cheek settled on Kurt's chest, relaxes over him with a sigh. "It isn't."

He's heavy, all the bone and muscle of him, warm living boy on top of Kurt's body. Kurt looks up at Blaine's ceiling, grey with the curtains closed, and says, "I want to do that again."

Blaine mumbles, "Give me five minutes."

Kurt jabs him with a knee. "Not right now. But - we will, you will, won't you?"

"Probably as often as you'll let me." Blaine wriggles himself out over Kurt. "Mmmyou're all warm."

"You're all wet."

"So're you."

"I need another shower now."

"Can I come?"

Kurt looks down, at Blaine's puppy-hopeful eyes watching him from his own chest. He thinks about being actually naked in front of Blaine and how terrifying it'll be. And he thinks about the everything he'd give Blaine, once you've already put your bare heart into someone's hands how can anything be more dangerous?

"Okay."

Blaine's fingertips draw little patterns on the skin of Kurt's side where the t-shirt's hiked up. He says, "You are my favourite, favourite thing." and kisses the divot of Kurt's breastbone. "Can we have cookies for breakfast?"

*

The world outside is all bright with snow, dazzlingly white in the morning sunlight. Kurt has toast for breakfast, Blaine eats cookies, there's no reason not to. They sit feet bumping underneath the table, finishing yesterday's crossword. "Denouement," Kurt says, tapping a fingertip along one line. "Did you have plans for today?"

"Only if you did. Does it have accents?"

"No." Kurt licks crumbs and jelly from his fingers before he picks up his coffee cup. "I said I'd darn that ratty red sweater you love so much, didn't I? I could take it with me to do at home."

"I could come with you and you could teach me."

Kurt says, "Maybe I'd rather do it for you." and takes a sip of coffee, grinning. "We need to check on that snowman and rescue those gloves before it melts."

"I don't think it'll melt for a while yet. But I do like those gloves." Blaine fills in appease and rubs Kurt's shin with his crooked, socked toes. Kurt hums a little, cupping his mug in both hands, looking out of the window at the snow. He is almost appallingly sexy to Blaine. It's not just that this morning he decided, out of the blue as always, to put his hand down Blaine's pants and short circuit his brain, and it's not just that in the shower Blaine could run his hands down Kurt's gleaming wet back where his shoulder blades flexed like wings coming open. Of course he's gorgeous, of course Blaine feels just too lucky that Kurt actually let him put his hands on him, but. It's not just sex. It's not just the first body Blaine's been allowed to do this with, it's not the first aspect of it that makes something heat inside Blaine. What he loves, what makes him long all the time for Kurt -

Is drowsy mornings, evenings in, cups of coffee and quiet. Blaine finds domesticity sexy. He finds monogamy an incredible turn on. He wants this calm, this security. He understands passion. He grounds it in knowledge; passion is more than just bodies bumping, passion is wanting him, exactly him, this boy rubbing a sleepy eye as he puts his cup down and leans a little against Blaine's shoulder to look down at the crossword. "Charon?"

"He was the ferryman who took souls to Hades. The Greeks put a coin in in mouths of their dead to pay him."

"Aren't you smart," Kurt murmurs, drawing his fingers down the sides of Blaine's spine like feeling down a rope. "Two across is 'perennial'."

"Ah, now you see my crossword weakness: plants are just green things to me."

"At least you know how to spell it. Clever boy."

"So what's four down?"

Kurt yawns behind a hand, says, "I should call my dad soon."

Blaine hooks his ankle around Kurt's to keep him close just a little longer. "Come on, oracle of the crossword puzzle. Four down."

Kurt puts his chin on Blaine's shoulder and sighs into his ear. Blaine closes his eyes for a second, says, "Do you think we can convince your dad that it's too dangerous to drive back today?"

"I think . . . maybe you should come back with me. To keep me company on the drive." He turns his cool cheek against Blaine's and Blaine can hear in his voice that he's smiling. "Then I'll have to drive you back, of course, and it might be dark again by then."

"If we're lucky."

"I have been ridiculously lucky recently," Kurt murmurs, and Blaine looks out of the window, wishes for snow.