"Your dad said…" Finn starts to object when Kurt and Blaine practically fall through the front door, laughing about something, and start in the direction of the bedrooms.

"Blaine's terrible at French," Kurt says plainly, eyeing his stepbrother defiantly and never ceasing his forward movement or loosening his grip on Blaine's sleeve as they head toward his room. "So unless you want us blaring the Celine Dion album and drilling conjugations out here…" Finn waves them off and turns back to the game he'd been watching, missing the grin Kurt shoots Blaine as they scurry down the hall.

Finn knows that Burt's still not entirely comfortable with Blaine being in Kurt's room, not after the morning discovery that led to many failed and one successful attempt at The Talk. But he doesn't know that they're…them. No one does. Not yet. Because then Burt definitely wouldn't be comfortable with Blaine being in his room. Which is why Kurt hasn't told anyone. Which is how, under threat of French serenade, they've managed to disappear behind Kurt's bedroom door.

"Bad at French, huh?" Blaine asks as Kurt clicks open a French music playlist on his laptop and cranks it to an adequately muffling volume. He turns back to see Blaine smirking from where he's leaning against the door. Kurt crosses back to him, unable to resist, and when he gets close enough Blaine hooks his fingers through his belt loops and pulls him the rest of the way until they're pressed together from shoulders to toes, raising an eyebrow. "Are you complaining about my French?" And before Kurt can say anything, Blaine's backing up his words, running his tongue across Kurt's bottom lip until he opens his mouth and smiling against his lips as he dives in, sliding along Kurt's teeth, the roof of his mouth.

"I can't believe you went for the pun," Kurt groans when he reluctantly pulls back, because oxygen is a bitch for being so necessary and making them ever have to stop kissing. "You're such a cheeseba—allllllll." The power of his insult is diminished when it turns into a moan because Blaine just found that spot under his ear, right where his jaw meets his neck, and what was he saying? He gives up ever remembering when Blaine pushes off from the door, attempting to steer them without lifting his head and Kurt feels the backs of his knees hit his bed.

Blaine makes a little questioning noise against his neck, asking if it's ok, and it's definitely ok, so Kurt falls back as gracefully as he can, laughing a little breathlessly as Blaine tries to climb up after him and their legs get impossibly tangled.

"Again, are you complaining?" Blaine asks as he finishes the climb and props himself up with his elbows on either side of Kurt's head, voice low and gravelly in that way that makes Kurt's stomach flip completely over. Kurt bites his lip, suddenly shy under the intensity of Blaine's stare, and shakes his head, earning a bright smile from his boyfriend - his boyfriend. He's not sure if he'll ever get used to that.

"Good," Blaine darts down to kiss his nose. "Then can I go back to my game?" He ducks his head again and Kurt is left looking down at a mop of half gelled curls.

"What game is that?" he asks as Blaine drags his mouth down his jaw.

"Get Kurt to make silly, ridiculously hot noises," Blaine says right into his ear before quickly nipping at his earlobe, chuckling when he feels Kurt shiver underneath him. "Quickly becoming my favorite game." He's all tongue and teeth and dragging lips and Kurt sees what he means when he hears a really undignified gasp/moan/whine choke itself out of his throat just as Blaine reaches the hollow at its base and starts to suck, hard, but he can't bring himself to care because Blaine threads a hand through his hair and is using it to tilt his head back for more access, and he's managed to wiggle a leg in between Kurt's and THAT was good thinking because—

Kurt senses the door opening before he hears it. Blaine doesn't sense anything but sudden weightlessness as he half-sails, half-tumbles off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor, followed by blindness as Kurt's bedspread lands on top of him.

"Hey, dad!" Kurt says, too loudly even through the layers of bedspread hindering his hearing, and Blaine stops breathing, goes entirely rigid with embarrassment and surprise and pure, unadulterated fear.

"Hey kiddo," Burt smiles at his son, who's sitting curled up in a ball and seems really engrossed with his fingernails. "What happened to your bed?"

"Oh, laundry. I'm stripping the bedding," Kurt replies, inwardly cursing how high his voice is coming out, focusing on breathing normally and willing his blood to redistribute. "Got distracted. I really need a manicure. You should come with me, come get one too," he starts, knowing that personal grooming conversations are one of the fastest ways to get his dad to leave.

"I'm good," Burt holds up his hands. "Just wanted to let you know that Carole and I were home. Dinner should be ready in half an hour."

"Ok great," Kurt chirps, and god is his voice ever going to go back to normal?

"You're welcome to stay for dinner, Blaine," Burt says, raising his voice a little as he addresses the bedspread. "The three of us can have a little chat after." It takes everything he has not to start laughing at the choked noise that comes from under the blanket, at way his son freezes with wide eyes. But he manages, turning and stepping back into the hallway, pointedly leaving the door open.

"Sorry!" Kurt squeaks, pulling at the bedspread until the considerably more rumpled form of Blaine's body comes into view, half sitting up in the awkward space between the bed and wall. "Are you ok?"

"Is your dad going to shoot me?" Blaine asks in response.

—

The latest round of The Talk goes better than Kurt expected, really. He gets the feeling that his dad is struggling between playing overprotective and wanting to high five him, because he has this silly little smile on his face the whole time and it only disappears whenever he stops talking to fix Blaine with another "they'll never find your body" look, but even then it looks like his shoulders are shaking with the effort it's taking to avoid laughing.

Blaine spends the entirety of dinner and their 'man to man to man' chat, as Burt had called it with a pleased look, being almost painfully proper and polite. He's all 'yes sirs' and 'no sirs' and gushing compliments over everything from the chicken to the wallpaper. But the whole time Kurt can see the frantic edge to his eyes, like they're debating whether he can fit through the kitchen window or if the walls are too thick to allow a Kool-Aid Man style exit right through the wall.

Burt finally picks up on the trapped animal vibe and tones down his glare, patting Blaine on the shoulder and letting his hand rest there for a moment.

"Door stays open," he says simply. "Don't do anything you wouldn't want Carole to interrupt."

—-

Carole, it turns out, isn't a cause for worry. Carole insists that Burt start taking a ballroom dance class with her, a class that meets for 2 hours every Tuesday night. Carole manages to wander in when they're actually studying and forget Burt's rule, accidentally closing the door behind her with a wink. Carole walks down the hall singing showtunes at the top of her lungs, taking loud, slow steps. Carole is not the problem.

Finn is. Finn, the ultimate cockblok, who has managed to walk in on them at least five times in the past two weeks. Finn, who can't walk to the kitchen for a glass of water without registering on the seismic scale, but apparently became a ninja once Kurt getting action became a possibility.

It's Tuesday night and, since everyone is gone, Kurt is straddling Blaine's lap on the small couch in his bedroom, mouth latched onto his neck, because Blaine was right, this game is fun. Particularly when he scrapes his teeth against Blaine's collarbone and feels his hips immediately jerk in response. Kurt returns the pressure with a roll of his hips, grinning at the strangled noises and curses pouring out of his boyfriend's mouth in a continuous stream. He's gotten most of the buttons on his shirt undone and is fumbling with Blaine's belt, taking a second to appreciate the boy under him, pupils blown out and mouth hanging open as he gasps for air, when he finally gets the damn thing undone and goes for the buttons.

"Hey Kur—whoa WHOA!" Finn yells from the doorway, and Kurt yelps, spinning around quickly, his knee catching under Blaine's hip in a way that uproots him from the sofa, leaving Kurt in his place on the couch and him sprawled on the floor.

"How," Blaine pants, propping himself up on one arm and staring at Kurt in disbelief. "Did I end up on the floor again? When YOU were on top."

"Ugh, dude, I don't need to hear that Kurt's a top," Finn groans, one hand still shielding his eyes.

"I said he was ON top," Blaine says, snorting. "Not that he IS a top." He tries, and fails, to stifle another giggle and falls back onto the floor, laughing as Finn lowers his hand and smiles sheepishly.

"If you don't want to hear things," Kurt says, voice all venom. "I suggest you stay out of my room. Like I told you the last time. And the time before that."

"I'm bored," Finn shrugs. "I was going to see if you guys wanted to play Call of Duty." Blaine perks up a little at this and opens his mouth to speak, closing it at the look he gets from Kurt.

"What did we discuss?" Kurt asks in his deadly sweet voice, the one that Blaine has made his life's mission to never have directed at him.

"I need to make noise," Finn grumbles, staring at the pattern his toe is making as he drags it through the carpet fibers.

"And did you make noise?"

"I tried. Maybe you were just…distracted," Finn laughs. Blaine snorts again and Kurt tosses a throw pillow at his head, smirking when it hits him squarely in the face.

"I'm getting the bell," Kurt sighs, heaving himself off the couch.

"No way, man," Finn argues, crossing his arms over his chest and doing his best to look intimidating. Kurt rolls his eyes as he pulls a short chain out of his top drawer, flicking at the small bell hanging from the middle of it.

"I warned you," he raises his eyebrows, challenging Finn to defy him as he crosses to the door.

"I'll tell Burt," Finn whines, but he knows he's losing this fight. Blaine shrugs at him from the floor in a 'just go with it' way as Kurt fastens the clasp and flicks the bell again.

"Door was open. No rules broken. Go walk up and down the hall," Kurt demands, shoving Finn through the door. Finn sighs and walks to the end of the hall before turning, grimacing at the tinkling noise coming from his neck.

"Perfect," Kurt nods. "If you weren't so insistent on sneaking up on us you wouldn't have to wear it, ya know."

"If you weren't so insistent on climbing into your boyfriend's mouth every chance you got, maybe you'd hear me," Finn mumbles, setting Blaine off into another fit of laughter.

"Shut up," Kurt glares at his brother before turning back to his room and nudging Blaine in the ribs with his toe. "You shut up too."

—-

"Hi boys," Carole trills when they walk through the door, laughing at the matching looks of concentration on the boys' faces as they frantically hit buttons on their controllers.

"Hey mom," Finn turns to smile in greeting and a soft tinkling noise fills the air. Kurt and Finn both immediately turn red, making Blaine snort again. Kurt shoves at his shoulder with all his strength, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Finn honey," Carole narrows her eyes at the silver glinting below her son's jaw. "Why are you wearing a bell?"