Important note: The final half of this chapter makes this story M-rated. It isn't explicitly described at all, but if that isn't for you, don't read the section headed by Late August 2011. Also, it's my first sort-of love-scene. *blushes*

It's horribly long too, fair warning – I could've split it into two, but I was very much attached to the idea of a two-part (two months of summer) epilogue. And enough random chatter: here it is!

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Epilogue, Part 2: . . . Close to You

Early August 2011

"Why are we doing this again?" Blaine asked, frowning at his reflection as he tried to adjust the tight, thin sweater he was wearing. His parents always had the AC cranked to the max during the summer, something that thrilled Kurt, because it meant he could wear his layers and not have to worry about sweat stains.

His boyfriend appeared in the reflection next to him, straightening his bow tie. "Because your mom and Carole decided that now would be a good time to try again. I think my dad and your dad have had enough time to cool off, don't you think?"

Blaine wasn't so sure about that. His mom had scheduled their first family dinner in the week following prom, after the horrendous Prom Queen prank had happened.

While Kurt had turned around and made his prom everything that it should have been, Blaine had still come home feeling ragged and hurt on his boyfriend's behalf, something his mother had noticed. He'd told both his parents the truth of it all, though he'd cheered up significantly in the telling and showed them with pride the picture of he and Kurt together, Kurt rocking his tiara and sceptre like no one else could (including the glorious Kate Middleton).

He took his father's willingness to change for granted at times – forgot that it meant that he was trying to change, not that he had changed. Consequently, he'd missed what he now realized was discomfort at Kurt's outfit, and the worry in his eyes when Blaine described the horrible treatment Kurt had been putting up with before his friends stepped up to make the school a safer (albeit not necessarily more accepting) environment.

Blaine learned at the worst possible time that his dad wasn't quite all the way there yet.

"It's the damned principal's fault," Burt Hummel had growled out as they all finished off the main course – a divine roasted chicken and several side dishes, all lovingly prepared by Kurt and Carole.

Kurt rolled his eyes at his father's gruff and angry tone. "Calm down, dad. It's over, it's done with, and I only have one more year left."

"Doesn't make it right." Burt sighed. "But fine, I'll drop it for now."

Blaine's mother had been standing to start gathering dishes, Kurt and Carole trying to stop her, which somehow turned into Carole and his mom convincing Kurt to sit down, which he did, looking a little bewildered as to the how and why. Blaine couldn't help but to laugh at his boyfriend, who elbowed him, inciting a wince, though he smiled throughout, capturing the hand of the arm that tried to elbow him again. He was tempted to raise it to his lips, brush a kiss across Kurt's knuckles, but he settled for simply clutching it tightly in his own.

"I'm super pissed I was kicked out of prom though." Finn had been sitting next to Blaine's mother, and had been nothing but his kind and unassuming self, though Blaine knew the boy didn't think highly of Blaine's father. "There's no way that should have happened. I mean, what the hell was Figgins thinking, reading out your name?"

Kurt breathed out heavily through his nose. "I don't know, Finn, I haven't spent much time thinking about it – all I know is that I held my head high, and I got to dance with my boyfriend. Now can we all, please, not talk about this anymore?"

"Sorry, son." Burt reached over, putting an arm across the back of Kurt's chair. "It's just something that riles up your brother and I but good. And you know I keep the flamethrower primed and ready. You just give me the word."

"Because arson is the answer to all of life's problems," Kurt said sagely, raising an eyebrow at his father. "Thanks, dad."

He said that last part without a hint of teasing, and the smiles that all three Hudson-Hummel men exchanged were full of familial affection. Blaine looked towards his father, who sat stiffly at the table, a frown on his face. When he caught Blaine's eye, he sighed, flicking his gaze back and forth between Blaine and Kurt, saying in a wearied voice, "Is McKinley really all that improved, Kurt? I haven't had the opportunity to ask you this, but ever since Blaine told me about your prom . . . I'm sure Dalton would be glad to have you back for your senior year."

Kurt shook his head. "I'm sure they would, Mr. Anderson. But I belong at McKinley. My friends – they're like my family, and I want to see high school through with them. They're trying to make it a safe place for me, and it is. Safer."But not completely, Blaine thought to himself, fingers tightening around Kurt's. "I know that doesn't preclude verbal teasing, and pranks of that nature, but I guess it's no worse than what I'll have to face in the real world as well."

If you're gay, life's just going to suck, Blaine recalled, bitterly and with resignation. He was safe at Dalton from almost every type of abuse. If anyone had any issues with his orientation (and he knew, realistically speaking, there had to be a few), he never heard a word about it. No one amongst the Warblers thought that way, he was certain.

"Don't get so down, Kurt, the world's changing a little bit every day," his boyfriend's dad said softly, his own eyes hopeful and yearning. Blaine nodded along with this statement, and wished his mom would hurry back – but she and Carole had hit it off fairly quickly, and were probably having a glass of wine or something, talking without the men present.

"In the meantime, I'll keep trying to bring a touch of class and fashion to the slushie-stained walls of McKinley High," Kurt said with a half-smile. "I've spotted a few fashion-forward freshman imitating my vest and shirt combinations. It's heartening."

"You dress like this at school?" Blaine's dad said incredulously, gesturing at Kurt's current outfit – tight crème-coloured trousers, a striped top with a plunging neckline that revealed a burst of purple undershirt that matched his belt, and knee-high black boots.

Almost as soon as he'd said them, Blaine was wincing at his father's words. He knew his dad probably hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but he could both feel and see Burt's gaze sharpen, and Kurt sat up a little straighter in his chair. Finn froze while reaching for the jug of juice, and then slowly retracted his hand, mouth open and eyes wide.

Kurt was wearing that blank expression Blaine had become familiar with – the cautious, unwilling to reveal what he's thinking approach to situations where things could go either way. "I dress how I like to dress, Mr. Anderson. I've never worn anything inappropriate – okay, well, there was that one time with the corset, but it's not like I was showing vast amounts of skin or anything."

Right then, Blaine had sort of lost track of what was going on again becauseKurt had a corset? Why had he not known this? He had to physically shake himself to prevent his mind from conjuring up images he just knew he'd be indulging in later tonight – assuming he wasn't at the hospital, with his father being attended to by several doctors.

Because he could see Burt Hummel gearing up for a fight, and Blaine knew his father would lose, badly, if it came to that.

His dad seemed to sense this, leaning back in his seat, but for whatever reason, he kept going. "I realize that, Kurt, but when Blaine showed me your prom picture, I . . . I presumed you were making a statement for that particular event and that it wasn't your . . . personal and typical dress code for school."

Blaine remembered the way his father had smiled when Kurt had said that his 'fabulousness could not be stifled.' That had been a few weeks ago – was his dad regressing or something? He'd been so understanding. Before Blaine could stop himself, he blurted out, "Dad, you knew all this already – you heard Kurt tell you that he's everything you've seen him be, all the time, without fail. And you said you understood. That you respected him for it. What's going on?"

His father looked pained. "I'm sorry. Kurt, I meant no disrespect. Of course I know you are yourself, and that you're proud of it. However, I assumed that you . . . toned things down when you were at school. Made yourself less of a target." His own hands clenched into fists on the table and he actually glared at Burt somewhat belligerently, as if challenging him to take this up a notch. Blaine had seen his father throw a punch before, and the rising tension had him wondering if he was about to see it again. Though this time, he very much did not want it to happen.

He bit his lip, darting a glance towards his boyfriend and his boyfriend's dad. Both of them looked unhappy, Burt on the angry side of that scale, Kurt leaning towards upset.

"There's no way for me to hide what I am," Kurt said softly. "Therefore I see no reason to 'tone things down.' It would be for their benefit, not mine. And I refuse to give them any concession, of any kind."

"Kurt didn't used to dress this way," Burt interceded at last, his voice level, but barely. "In his freshmen year, I remember he dressed a lot like Finn does now, with the plaid shirts and what not. It didn't matter – they still pushed him into lockers and called him names. Eventually he just . . . started being honest with himself, and the next year, he started acting more like himself, and he came out to me and . . . it don't matter, it's never mattered what he looks like."

"But he's risking so much more than a loss of identity," Blaine's father insisted, his hands spreading opening now, imploring. Blaine relaxed as his father's determination eased into a sort of pleading. "These types of people, they see it as a challenge, as an affront to their well-ordered universe – of course things like what happened at the prom are going to occur if Kurt's going to deliberately –"

A hand slammed down hard onto the table, and everyone jumped. Burt was slowly standing and his glare was positively lethal. Blaine knew he was crushing Kurt's hand, but he could not let go for the life him, and to his immense gratitude, Kurt wasn't trying to pull away. But he was leaning into his father, his other hand resting on the man's arm in a calming gesture. Blaine didn't think it was working, but when Burt Hummel spoke next, it was coolly.

"I don't think you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, because I would have to throw you out of my house. Generally speaking, I'm not all that bad mannered, whatever my kid might say. But if you're trying to tell me that my boy is at fault for all the abuse those ignorant little assholes heap on him, we're going to have problems, you and me. He went to that prom with a kilt on, and I thought maybe some jocks were going to rough him up. I told him as much, because I was scared for him. But what happened . . . they'd planned that before they ever saw his outfit." He looked down at Kurt's pale hand on his arm, and he lifted one his own large hands to cover it, squeezing it gently. He lifted his eyes back to Blaine's dad, intent and unforgiving.

"It would have happened if he'd shown up in a plain tux, or in a white dress. It would have happened if he'd ended up taking Mercedes as his date, or gone stag. It doesn't matter, it never matters, because it's blind hatred, and there isn't a damned thing any one of us can do about it."

Carole and Blaine's mother had re-entered at some point during Burt's speech, though he wasn't sure when. He was too busy feeling a jumble of things that made him wish he was anywhere but here – that he and Kurt were anywhere but here. His father opened his mouth, closed it again, and then tried once more, but before he could get any words out, Blaine's mother intervened, coming to sit down next to her husband, a hand on his shoulder, the other wrapping around one of his hands.

"Bernard," she said softly. "I need you to think about what you've just said. And then I need you to go back to the night when Blaine was . . . attacked."

Finn flinched, hard, and Blaine met his shocked expression with a weak smile. Burt and Carole didn't react with any kind of surprise, which meant that Kurt had mentioned it to his parents. He was grateful that this wasn't news to them – it wasn't something he wanted the world to be aware of, but he didn't mind Kurt's family knowing.

"Belinda –" His dad sounded pained, tired, and Blaine remembered him, all rumpled and red-eyed, next to Blaine's hospital bed, holding his hand so lightly, thumb stroking the inside of his palm.

"No, I want you think about what Blaine was wearing, what Javier was wearing – about the fact that the Guevara's dropped them off, and were going to pick them up. They went as friends, they danced only in a large group of their other friends and nothing they did called attention to what they are. Other than the fact that they were there. That they were who they are. And they were still attacked. Just like Kurt was."

It was a long tense moment, and everyone was watching Blaine's father absorb these words. Kurt's dad was still standing, and Kurt was still clutching his arm. Carole had come to stand at Finn's side, and the taller boy glanced up at his mother, who smiled reassuringly down at him.

Blaine's father stood up abruptly, and he stared over at Kurt and Blaine, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He turned to Burt, pressing his lips together for a moment. "I'm sorry, Burt. Sometimes, I don't think before I speak, and there's a lot I apparently haven't come to terms with. Understand that I was reacting out of concern for both my son and yours."

"And my wanting to punch your face in was for the same reason," Burt said indifferently. "I get that you're trying, for Blaine's sake, but I'm thinking you need a little more time before we can try this family dinner thing again."

His mom stood up, holding his dad's hand, offering Carole a sincere look that was both grateful and apologetic. "We'll go then, and we're glad that we managed this much, at least. Kurt, you are a truly gifted cook. Blaine, we'll see you at home, tomorrow afternoon, all right?"

Blaine nodded wordlessly as his parents began to make their way to the front door. He sat motionless in his seat, not sure if he should go over and say something, even if it was just 'good night,' or show his support for Kurt and his dad. But then again, his father was trying hard, so hard, and he hadn't said anything deliberately offensive. He was just worried – so worried that he or Kurt could end up in a hospital, or worse, and Blaine couldn't blame him for that.

He rushed over to the door, taking the time to hug his mother and grip his father's hand firmly in good-bye. The surprised look on his father's face was quickly overrun with gratitude. He squeezed Blaine's shoulder with his free hand. He didn't say anything, but he did smile wanly, and then he was gone.

Blaine stood there, unsure what to do now – he heard Carole speaking softly with Burt, and Finn rounding up the dishes. He turned, ready to brave the discomfort of being around them after this disaster of a dinner.

Kurt had been waiting right behind him, and he enveloped Blaine in his own hug, close and comfortable. When they separated, he tilted his head towards the stairs – clearly Carole and Burt were excusing them from clean-up. He was smiling half-heartedly. "Well, like my dad said, I suggest we wait a while before trying that again."

The thing was that Blaine wasn't sure if it had been long enough of a 'while.' He really didn't want his and Kurt's father having a throw-down in the middle of dinner.

Kurt pivoted around to face him and helped in adjusting his checkered sweater, smoothing out any wrinkles Blaine had caused with his nervous fidgeting. It was nice, and it eased the build-up of tension in his muscles as Kurt kept smoothing his hands over Blaine's chest, his eyes that subtle more-grey-than-blue/green shade. Blaine didn't associate any particular emotion with Kurt's changing eye colours – that had more to do with the degree of light in a room, or what colour his clothes were on any given day – but he was endlessly fascinated by how they could shift from green to blue to grey, or any combination thereof. And he may or may not have written ludicrously corny odes to them in his head. (He swore to himself he would never, ever write them down. Ever. Or set them to music . . . anymore than he had already had. Really. One ballad was all. And not written down. Or sung out loud.)

"I think that not only is everything going to be just fine, but that your father has improved quite a bit in these past couple of months – and that he's willing to try again after what happened last time, is fairly indicative of his willingness to keep on improving." Kurt smiled encouragingly at Blaine, his hands still moving in soothing circles on his chest. He may not have been one hundred percent convinced that this night wouldn't end in tears and regrets, but Kurt would be there, right next to him for all of it, and that was enough to have him sighing out what was left of his fear and anxiety.

It also allowed his mind to shift gears from nervous to a different but ultimately better kind of nervous, because those pale, long fingers were trailing all over his torso, and he would always find Kurt touching him to be very, very good. He inhaled deeply, capturing those roaming hands in his own. "Okay, mission accomplished – now you need to stop before I do something highly inappropriate."

"Oh? I wasn't aware I was eliciting such thoughts." Kurt was all innocent looks and parted lips, and Blaine was not buying it. He rolled his eyes and leaned in, only slightly, but it was enough for Kurt's eyes to flutter shut and a brief, but oh-so-smug expression to flit across his features. Blaine leaned back just as their lips brushed.

Kurt opened his eyes and frowned at him. Blaine grinned. "You are a tease, Kurt Hummel. You know perfectly well we can't do anything, lest we ruin our wonderful, well-coordinated, flawless outfits and our equally fabulous hair."

His boyfriend crossed his arms, one hip jutting out, and it was stupidly hot, that pose, but Blaine was not starting something that would lead to them having to scramble to straighten up when the Hudson-Hummels got here. This evening already had the potential for so much pain and awkward, Blaine was not risking more.

"You are right, of course," Kurt said while examining his fingernails, his other hand resting on that jutting hip. "But I'm also not staying the night, and the next time we will have the opportunity to be alone together will be a whole week from today. I am perfectly capable of making out with my boyfriend without mussing him up. As you well know."

This logic was sound, and Blaine could feel himself weakening, especially with that almost-pout Kurt's lovely pink lips were forming, and they still had at least twenty minutes before Burt and the rest arrived . . . But no, no he was so much more than his hormones (which were all screaming at him to grab that so-freaking-gorgeous-he-can't-be-real boy in front of him and kiss him absolutely, positively senseless). He shook his head at Kurt with a fond and regretful smile. "I love you and not a moment goes by where I don't want to be holding you or kissing you, but I really can't right now, Kurt."

Kurt's haughty, indifferent expression faded into something much more down to earth and touchable. "Of course, Blaine. Oh, do you think we can get in a little piano time before my family gets here?"

They were down in the basement, belting out an awesome rendition of Lady Gaga's Speechless when they heard the loud and enthusiastic greeting of Blaine's mother for Burt, Carole and Finn.

Blaine's fingers fell off the keys and he swallowed hard, flicking his worried his gaze up to Kurt, who was looking up to the basement door, then back over to Blaine. He seemed to be at ease and his smile was so lovely, Blaine felt his breath catch in his throat. Kurt tilted his head towards the stairs. "C'mon. No sense hiding down here."

"No, though the idea does have its own unique appeal." Yet even as he spoke, he was rising from the piano bench, and moving next to Kurt, clutching his hand tightly. Kurt held his hand firmly in his own, but didn't move to head upstairs. Instead, he slowly, tenderly, cupped Blaine's cheek and jaw with one hand, bringing him in for a kiss so soft and loving that Blaine felt like he was floating, light-headed, light-hearted, light everything.

His eyelids flicked open slowly, staring into those (at the moment) baby blues, right across from his. Apparently, being in love with someone didn't mean simply being in love, so much as falling in love over and over again, each time a little deeper than the last.

"Blaine! Kurt! Everyone's here – time for dinner!" Blaine's mother called from the top of the basement steps.

Blaine darted in to press one last kiss to Kurt's lips before leading the way up to what would hopefully be a nice, relatively normal and not at all violent or humiliating family dinner.

And it was. For the most part. There was some awkwardness in the beginning. There were some suspicious, not at all subtle questions from Burt as to how Blaine had been feeling, and how's your summer going, kid? as if he didn't know, since Blaine was at his house as often as he could make the drive. Blaine was in knots all throughout – loving that Burt Hummel, the coolest man on the planet, cared enough about him to be like that, be protective. Hurt on behalf of his father because the man was truly making an effort. But even with that undercurrent, everything moved right along, with his mom and Carole holding up the conversation, along with Kurt and Finn jumping in now and then – as a result, things got easier.

But also, mortifying.

"Blaine, son, do not play with your food like that," his dad scolded mildly. "I swear, I haven't seen you do that since you were seven and we had to keep you from putting on concerts with your cutlery and vegetables."

"Dad!" Blaine was horrified, both by his whiny teenaged response, and by the embarrassing reveal.

Kurt snorted daintily into a napkin, teasing smirk already in place. "Oh, Blaine – let me guess, the broccoli was always the lead singer, yes? Still your most hated green, I know. Also bearing a certain resemblance to your younger self. That hair, Blaine, that hair."

Blaine scowled at him, pushing his salmon to the far corner of his plate, where his peas lay mostly untouched. Burt was shaking his head from his seat next to his son.

"Kurt, I don't think you're in any position to be making fun of Blaine – you used to hide cauliflower in your shorts and slip asparagus up your sleeve. Or do you not remember when we were over at the Hendricks place and –"

"Dad, no!" Kurt whined, looking just as horrified as Blaine no doubt had a moment ago. Blaine's own horror diminished in the face of Kurt's blush and Finn's snort of laughter – which was soon cut off as Carole launched into Finn's own vegetable stories and all too quickly, the adults were laughing and trying to top each other's anecdotes, while the three teenage boys were cringing and sinking lower and lower in their seats.

But Blaine's burning need to hide under the table was second to the wonderfully welcome relief he felt at seeing his father relax and joke with Burt and Carole. Kurt's own face was red, and he kept wincing, but when he looked over at Blaine, his smile was as happy as it could be.

The night was over when nearly every embarrassing story that could be told had been told (Blaine, Kurt and Finn had sworn, while the adults went into the backyard so Blaine's dad could show Burt the barbeque pit he'd built, that they would never, ever reveal to anyone any of the information that had been revealed tonight, under pain of gruesome and excruciating death.). Kurt was leaving with his family, and Blaine was so grateful and thrilled with the way the evening had passed, that he didn't even think twice about kissing Kurt good-bye. He lingered a little longer then he normally would in front of Kurt's parents, forgetting completely that he neverdid this in front of his parents.

When he pulled away, that familiar nervousness making his insides contort unpleasantly, he turned to see his mother smiling and chatting with Carole, having totally missed it. His father had been watching, but he gave Blaine a half-smile and returned to saying his good-byes to Burt.

"I may drop by the garage sometime soon," he was saying. "I've found another car for Blaine and I to restore, but this one is in the worst shape I've ever seen – we may be basically building the thing from scrap. It's definitely a year-long enterprise, and we'll need a professional's guiding hand."

Blaine blinked in surprise, having not heard of this until that moment. His mother was smiling widely and exchanging significant looks with Carole.

Burt nodded, rubbing at his chin. "Sounds great. Lemme know the make and model, and we'll see about getting parts for you too. Kurt's here often enough to lend a hand, if you want him to – my boy is about as good as any certified mechanic in my shop."

To Blaine's unparalleled shock, his father's face broke into its own wide smile. "That's actually the next thing I was going to ask." He turned to Kurt, who was looking about as amazed as Blaine felt. "Kurt, I'd appreciate you taking a look at it, as Blaine and I go. Otherwise, I'm fairly certain it will end up looking like anything but a car."

Kurt cleared his throat before speaking. "I'd be very happy to help, Mr. Anderson."

"Great – it's not going to be something to take away from time better spent doing homework, Blaine," his father said to him, eyes serious. "But whenever you and I have the time, we'll tinker away . . ." He seemed to want to say more, but let the sentence drift and end there. But Blaine could see that this was his way to replace the last car-building exercise. That it was his dad looking for ways for them to spend time with each other. That it was a way to breach the gap between him and Kurt, and that, more than anything, had Blaine riding a high he didn't think he would ever come down from.

He nodded wordlessly, incapable of saying much of anything, and watched as his dad and Kurt's dad shook hands. Finn thanked his parents for the meal, and gave Blaine a happy grin before following his parents out to the car. Blaine's mother leaned in to give Kurt a hug, kissing his cheek. "Have a good night, Kurt. Thank you for bringing dessert – it was absolutely delectable."

Kurt hugged her back, and Blaine saw the sparkle in his eyes as he pulled away, and then turned to Blaine's father, sticking out a hand. "Thank you for having all of us, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine's father shook Kurt's hand gravely. "No, thank you, and your family, for giving me a second chance, and for being the kind of man you are Kurt. It does me a world of good to know that Blaine is in your hands."

Blaine choked back some tears, holding them in with a smile and some fierce blinking. Kurt's sparkle became more of a telltale gleam, and his voice was slightly uneven as he said, "It's a real pleasure getting to know you. And Mrs. Anderson. Thank you for being so welcoming."

With that he turned to give Blaine a tight hug, whispering, "Call me in an hour – I love you." He left with one last wave, and as soon as his mother shut the door behind him, Blaine walked up to his father and wrapped him up in a hug – the first one he'd initiated guilelessly in almost two years.

His father hugged him back with all affection, though he said nothing. He pulled away after a few minutes, smiling gently down at Blaine and turning to walk into his study. Maybe he hadn't been as comfortable as he'd appeared to be, but Blaine knew, could finally see that his father was getting better. He wiped at a lone tear that managed to escape.

His mother put a hand on his shoulder. "Blaine. Are you all right, sweetheart?"

He flashed his mother a smile, though his watery vision was making her blurry about the edges. "I'm perfect. In fact, I'm so perfect, I think I'll help you finish cleaning up the kitchen, and let you pick which playlist on my iPod we'll listen to."

She swept him up in an embrace before letting him go, laughing lightly. "Why don't you head on up to your room and text your boyfriend like I know you want to. I'll deal with the kitchen."

Blaine laughed too, but didn't even try to insist – he wanted desperately to share his overflowing joy with Kurt. His Kurt. This was all because of him, and Blaine would be willing to bet his life on the fact that no one on earth was as lucky as he was when it came to love.

He reached his room and cell phone to find a text already waiting.

As wonderful as this night was (terrifying childhood stories aside), I would like to say it could have been even better ;)

Blaine raised an eyebrow, and then fired off a quick reply: You're not texting while driving, are you?

He could easily envision Kurt's eye roll accompanying the responding message: No, dad, I'm not – Carole's driving me in my car, and Dad's driving his car with Finn.

He threw himself down against his pillows, now totally uncaring as to the state of his clothes or hair. Blaine settled himself comfortably on the bed Kurt envied so much, and sent back: So what do you mean?

He waited for a long pair of minutes, curious and ready to be highly amused. When Kurt finally finished and sent him his next message (which had split into four separate texts), Blaine read it, expecting to laugh out loud, and instead found himself gulping, his eyes fixing on his tiny screen, wide and unblinking.

I mean that if you hadn't spent an hour fussing over your outfit, and then another hour stressing out about dinner, and then patently refused to let me kiss you while waiting . . . You could have easily gotten to second base, Blaine Anderson.

Blaine breathed out shakily – he and Kurt had discussed a lot about what was and wasn't comfortable for him. In one such conversation, Blaine had offhandedly mentioned the baseball metaphor, to which Kurt had instantly made a disapproving face. But, despite that, they'd spent a lot of time defining which bases meant what – and Kurt had designated their current status as first base. Second base would be anything involving fewer clothes and a lot more touching in a lot more places – they'd kept it vague, due to both of them turning redder and redder, covering their laps with pillows and fumbling over their words as they kissed between descriptions.

There were many places on Kurt that Blaine wanted to touch, had been ready to touch for a long time. And rub against. And press himself shamelessly to. Skin on skin contact wasn't even one hundred percent necessary, though it would doubtless be incredible. Now, he needed to stop and try to think of something to say back to Kurt, lest the other boy get self-conscious and worried about Blaine's lack of reply.

His fingers rested on his phone's keyboard, and he had no clue how to respond without sounding ridiculous and like every other horny boyfriend out there. His phone pinged with another text, and this one did make him laugh, though it hardly helped with his feeling distinctly hot under the collar.

;) That is a slow and sexy wink sent your way.

He shook his head, biting his lip and then just going for it.

I don't suppose we could negotiate a rain check – possibly for this coming weekend?

There, that was fairly innocuous and not at all racy.

Kurt sent him back a teasing response:Maybe. Depends on how much alone time we get.

Blaine swallowed drily. His fingers were pressing keys and sending before he could really think about it.

How much alone time will we need? What do you plan to do with me, Kurt Hummel?

It was another long, long wait, and the reply had him groaning.

I am in the car with my stepmother, Blaine – I refuse to discuss this now.

He shook his head, and sent back the only thing he could think of, considering the bloodless state of his brain: You are evil. And I love you.

He sat up further, ready to slide off his bed and pull on some flannel pants and a ragged T-shirt. His phone pinged as he reached the edge of his mattress.

I am a brilliant, fashionable, fabulously talented evil. Call me in about an hour and a half, and we can discuss the depths of my depravity ;) But no more. Carole's shooting me these creepy knowing looks and that is just . . . no.

Blaine laughed out loud again, and sent back his own 'slow and sexy wink,' while getting ready for bed.

In the end, their phone conversation didn't involve much elaboration on Kurt's newfound comfort with another level of physical intimacy. Instead, Kurt had been discussing the fact that Sam was moving away, and Mercedes was boyfriend-less after a brief summer love. Then, he moved on to the fact that they hadn't heard from Quinn since early July, and Kurt could have sworn he'd spotted her smoking outside the used-record store – Blaine couldn't believe that, not of Quinn, from what little he knew her. Kurt philosophically stated that one could never truly know a person, which Blaine argued against – and the conversation went on in a similar vein.

The next weekend, they didn't have the time or opportunity to do any thing beyond making out for half an hour. Furthermore, Kurt seemed nervous, though he maintained that he was ready – he just very much wanted to wait for a time when they could do more than rush the experience. Blaine accepted that easily; whenever Kurt was ready would be fine with him.

"We'd probably have more time and opportunity if you transferred to my school," Kurt pointed out as they lay next to each other on his bed, listening to his iPod on shuffle from the cool speakers Kurt owned.

"You really think that would be wise?" Blaine asked, tilting his head at him.

"I could come up with a million reasons why, Blaine," Kurt said with a teasing little smile. "But naturally, I would expect you to do what feels right for you at the end, and disregard any selfish impulses on my part."

"Come up with a million reasons – well, let's say ten. I'll hear them out." He gestured at their intertwined fingers. "You know I'd do anything for you."

"Yes, but only if you want to Blaine," Kurt said seriously. His smile came back, mischievous. "But I accept your challenge – ten reasons it is."

"Hey, Kurt! Blaine! I'm home! And I brought Mortal Kombat with me!"

Blaine sat up and pointed at the door. "Did you hear that? Get your butt out there, Hummel – I demand a re-match."

Kurt sat up as well, hands immediately flying to his hair, fixing nothing, because it was still weighed down with several cans worth of hairspray. "You're absolutely ridiculous, Blaine Warbler. I can not believe you are still taking that so very personally."

Blaine continued pointing to the door, implacable as he stood up, grim and determined. "No, no I am not. I played the original Mortal Kombat for hours as a child. It's been my guilty pleasure since I was seven, and when the new one came out, I mastered it in under a week. What happened last time was a fluke. I demand a re-match."

Kurt snorted, his eyes dancing with glee. "I am so sorry I wounded your manly, gamer pride. But that game is just button-mashing, Blaine. And disgusting. Some of those fatalities are insanely disturbing. I played for the sake of a bonding experience with Finn. It was mildly entertaining, and beating you both was a pleasant bonus. But I'm done."

Blaine widened his eyes, and stretched out his pointing hand to Kurt now, pleading, "Please, please, please. I need to reassert my Mortal Kombat mastery, and I can only do that if you allow me to beat you. Grind you into dust. Possibly even make you cry."

Kurt threw his hands up. "You're serious, aren't you? You are such a sore loser, Blaine. Give it up. I am better than you at this. I will rip your spine out. And in this game, that is a literal threat."

"You're not getting near me, Kurt Hummel. I'm totally Flawless Victorying your ass."

Finn knocked on Kurt's door just then, poking his head in, eager and smiling. "C'mon Kurt, you were so boss at this last time. And, hey, Blaine, you too. It was fun watching you get owned."

Kurt raised both eyebrows, his expression all-knowing and now, competitive. "All right, Finn – we're coming. And I call dibs on Kitana."

Blaine let loose a whine – Kurt had taken him to pieces with her and her damned steel fans (again, in game context: literally).

They drifted into Finn's room, still arguing about what was fair and what wasn't; Finn was designated referee, and in the end, Kurt did take him to pieces. But Blaine managed one Flawless Victory, at which point the argument became whether Kurt's seventeen wins were equivalent to Blaine's single perfect match. Finn wisely opted out of this heated discussion, and went downstairs to get some snacks.

As soon as Finn left, Blaine kissed Kurt to within an inch of his life, and was full of smug satisfaction as Kurt gaped at him wordlessly, soundlessly, and breathlessly afterwards. Finn returned with a tray full of cookies, chips, and some vegetables and dip for Kurt.

At which point Blaine beat Kurt in five straight matches, pressed right up next to him, their thighs touching. Blaine saw it as his boyfriend's just desserts for all the shameless cheating at Monopoly during the first few weeks of their relationship.

And if Kurt wasn't nearly so crushed by his stunning defeat as Blaine had hoped, that was fine. He was annoyed by Blaine's crowing, but it passed quickly – or so Blaine assumed, because following his thorough and indisputable loss, Kurt dragged Blaine back to his room, and proceeded to revenge himself with kisses deeper than any they'd ever shared, and hands that skimmed over every inch of Blaine's clothed body. Blaine wondered dimly if now was the time to round that second base, but Burt and Carole arrived with dinner, and Kurt bounced up from the bed, fixing his rumpled clothes and still annoyingly perfect hair.

Blaine felt the need to make sure of one thing before they headed down the stairs. "Just to let you know, despite that rather spectacular display just now, I still won. You do know that, right?"

Kurt rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yes, Blaine, you won. You killed me in many grotesque and totally implausible ways. Congratulations."

Blaine laughed and hugged Kurt close. "Thank you for that, I know it wasn't how you wanted to spend your afternoon."

"It was more than fine, Blaine," Kurt said as they walked down. "And oddly satisfying. I may ask Finn if I can play that game more often."

"But not too often, right?" Blaine didn't want to think how good Kurt would get if he actually practised.

Kurt chuckled. "You are such a child. Don't worry, I am not interested in dethroning you. Though, you know, if you transfer to McKinley, I won't have to spend my evenings and the weekends you can't come over, trying to entertain myself by eviscerating digital characters."

"Seriously, that's your reason number two for my transferring?" Blaine shook his head. "Weak, Hummel."

"Well, consider what happened post-game, Blaine," Kurt said coyly, his eyelashes fluttering prettily. "And imagine the possibilities of post-study session, or post-Glee practise. Since we'd most likely retire here. To my house. And my bed."

Blaine spent the entire meal thinking of these possibilities, which he would never admit to Kurt. But the idea of having Kurt near him all day – and being able to come back to his house on the way home to his own – to have legitimate reasons to stay for homework and Glee practising – practising. Like before Regional's.

Blaine shook that off as Carole handed him a steaming plate of mashed potatoes. It couldn't be a snap decision, no matter how much he loved his boyfriend. He flashed Kurt a smile as the conversation drifted around them.

He considered not seeing Kurt on the first day school, smiling and accepting a cup of freshly purchased coffee, walking him to his first class . . .

Oh, he may not even need to come up with eight more reasons, Blaine realized as his heart protested mightily at the thought of separation. But it'll definitely be fun to watch him do it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Late August 2011

Blaine had never had a boyfriend before Kurt. He'd been kissed, and kissed back less than a handful of times in his childhood: mostly girls and one boy that never amounted to anything – so he'd never thought much of kissing in general, and the stuff that invariably followed it. When he'd hit that age where the hormones kicked in, and anyone male with long legs and a nice behind had him staring, he'd indulged in his fair share porn; this was mostly because, unlike other guys around him, he couldn't stare as openly as he wanted, couldn't flirt or make innuendos without risking at the least, cutting and disgusted remarks, and at the worst . . . Never mind the worst. The point was, aside from a vivid fantasy life where he married someone eerily similar to Ewan McGregor (but with a certain air of Neil Patrick Harris mixed in), he had no experience, no concept of what having a boy that was his, and only his, would mean or feel.

Now he did. It was earth shattering.

Kurt (his beautiful, wonderful, stunning boyfriend) was sucking a bruise high on Blaine's neck, while his fingers traced unknowable patterns onto Blaine's stomach, beneath his shirt. His (that's right,his, only his, just his) boyfriend was braced above him, knees on either side of Blaine's thighs, and Blaine was trying to hold back not just a plethora of highly humiliating and loud noises, but also tears, because he'd never been so happy, so excited, so lost in sensation, and so grateful to have found this boy. He was convinced that no other person on the planet could make him feel the way Kurt was making him feel. Not Ewan McGregor. Not Neil Patrick Harris.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed into his ear, finally releasing his neck after who knew how many insane minutes of sucking and licking and hints of teeth.

They'd had intense make out sessions, of course, before this late night. It had been a summer of kisses between work (Six Flags, for Blaine, the garage for Kurt), and short (too short) afternoons when parents were at work, and Finn was out with Rachel, the two of them splayed out on Kurt's bed, all slow and leisurely for the little time they had.

But this, this was beyond.

Kurt had called him at around six in the evening, quickly whispering that Carole had surprised his dad with a short weekend away (only to Columbus, for a night, and then a baseball game the next day before coming home) – and that they had just left. Finn was gone too, but Blaine hadn't really heard where, because Kurt was doing that low, husky voice thing again, and demanding that Blaine get in his car and come right now. Any and all rules flew straight out of Blaine's head.

Again, they'd had time alone before – their parents had allowed them to stay in each other's rooms, which was far more than many teenagers got, but Kurt and Blaine's sense of propriety and respect for the others in the household hadn't allowed them to risk more than those intense kisses that left Blaine sensitive and deliciously on edge (except for that one morning at his house, which Kurt was kind enough to never bring up again, because despite his boyfriend's sincere words, Blaine still felt the sting of embarrassment over it).

Never had Kurt sounded so desperate. And so uninterested in being proper and rule-abiding. Blaine might have actually stopped to think about that, but his brain wasn't at its reasoning best – except for figuring out how to obey Kurt's demand. Blaine couldn't rush out of his house right away, because despite how lax his parents were about him staying over at Kurt's home, that didn't mean they would automatically let him go over there with so little of a head's up. He wasn't going to risk them saying no, and for that reason he did something he never thought he'd do.

He snuck out.

Of course, he left a note in his room, on his bed, explaining where he was so they wouldn't worry, but it was risky – his note made it sound like he'd left incredibly early in the morning, as opposed to sneaking out at eleven thirty pm. If his parents happened to check on him in the middle of the night he would be caught dead to rights, but they never did, after saying good-night, so why would they start now?

It had been frightfully easy to do, though his heart pounded in his ears all through out. It was amazingly convenient that the garage was on the opposite end of the house from the bedrooms, because that meant that there was no way his parents would hear him leaving (especially since he knew they'd be 'watching a movie,' which was their euphemism for other activities he'd really rather not think about).

A late night meant empty roads, which meant he could put a small burst of extra speed on, and he ended up lucking out with a string of green lights as well, so he arrived in roughly fifty minutes.

He'd pulled into the driveway and walked up to the front door, clutching a messenger bag filled with pyjamas and clothing for the next day, and feeling as though his heart was about beat its way straight out of his chest. He knocked on the door gingerly, barely loud enough to be heard, but it swung open instantly to reveal his boyfriend, hair wet from a shower, standing a little on end from either combing it haphazardly, or running his fingers through it. His white shirt was damp around the collar, and his pants were low slung – everything was slightly twisted around his torso from . . . Who knew? Who cared?

Blaine had (just barely) stopped himself from pouncing on Kurt, and shut the door behind him.

Kurt had smiled, nervous but happy, giddy in fact, and taken his hand. "Before you say or ask me anything – yes, I'm sure. I know you've known that for weeks, but I wasn't sure how to go about it, or when we could. Carole sprung this baseball thing on my dad, and my first thought was rather horribly, 'now, now, now.' And you told me three months ago you were ready for more, and we've now been dating for six months, been friends for longer, so I figured you wouldn't object, despite the rule-breaking and everything – and you won't, right?"

Blaine shook his head rapidly, eyes wide. "Never. Yes, let's go and, um, what exactly . . ."

Kurt flushed but his smile was no longer nervous. "Nothing extravagant, I'm afraid, because I'm still not comfortable with nudity, but . . . can I take the lead for a bit?" His eyes darkened perceptibly in the dim lighting, and he stepped right up into Blaine's space, their chests brushing against each other's with their suddenly quick, uneven breaths. "I'd rather show you than tell you."

And that was pretty much the end of Blaine's self-restraint. He yanked Kurt over the final few inches of space and kissed him hungrily, one hand tangling into those wet locks of hair, holding him in place so he could devour his mouth. Kurt gave as he good as he got.

Sometimes Blaine had trouble reconciling the put-together, sweet and adorable Kurt he saw on a daily basis, with this writhing, passionate creature in his arms, but there was no doubt in his mind that they were one and the same – he'd been privileged, blessed with witnessing, participating in Kurt's slow and steady acceptance of the physical side of their relationship.

This side of Kurt, currently licking his way into Blaine's mouth, was strictly for Blaine Anderson's consumption and damn if that wasn't the hottest thing ever to grace the planet.

They'd managed to make their way up the stairs with only two pauses to press one or the other against the wall and kiss them senseless. There had also been one scary moment where Blaine tugged Kurt a little too powerfully and almost sent them both careening down two flights. They'd giggled crazily then, and skipped the on-the-way-make-outs for a quick dash to Kurt's room. He watched Kurt shut the door. Blaine was licking his lips, feeling his fingers flexing, desperate for some skin contact.

When Kurt turned around to face him, he tilted his head, and pointed towards the bathroom. "I would . . . I think it would be best if we were both in pyjamas for this, and if you need . . . to freshen up?" Kurt bit his lip, gazing at Blaine imploringly.

As much as Blaine had wanted to throw himself onto the bed and let Kurt have his wicked way with him, he appreciated being given time to settle down a little, and he got the feeling that's what Kurt needed too. He had no idea how far, or even what exactly, Kurt wanted to do, but he did not want a repeat of that morning, so he disappeared into the bathroom with a quick smile, clutching his messenger bag closely.

It had taken him less than five minutes to change, brush his teeth again for whatever reason, and then stare at himself in the mirror, breathing in deeply and regularly.

He walked back into the room to see Kurt sitting with his legs stretched out, back resting against his headboard. He looked relaxed, and smiled softly as Blaine sat down on the edge of the bed, his hip brushing Kurt's leg. They sat there, drinking each other in, silent and at ease. The quiet of the house, the knowledge that they had all night together, it soothed something in Blaine he hadn't realized needed soothing.

Eventually, Kurt reached out a hand and Blaine took it, allowing himself to be pulled until he was seated next to Kurt, turned into him slightly, draping an arm around Kurt's chest. They were close enough to be brushing noses when they turned to look at each other.

That's when Kurt kissed him – light, tender, loving. Blaine shut his eyes tightly and simply let it happen – let Kurt love him with his mouth, all sweetness and sincerity, and he could have easily spent the entire night they had doing just that.

Kurt shifted until he was straddling Blaine, staring down intently. Both of them slid until Blaine was flat on his back and Kurt was above him, ravaging his mouth without pause. Blaine's hands flew up to bunch up Kurt's shirt at his back, one of them entangling in Kurt's hair after a moment. Kurt focused on that high spot on his neck, making Blaine see stars and feel a euphoria so consuming, he couldn't imagine ever being unhappy again. Because Kurt loved him, and wanted him, and had been so scared of this but now he wasn't and he was doing this with Blaine. None of his fantasies could compare, and porn was now so base and unreal compared with Kurt breathing his name in his ear, hot air sending shivers down his spine, bringing him back from his wanderings and wonderings of how the hell did I get so lucky to be here, with him, right now? to actually being present andit feels like dying from want.

"Blaine," Kurt said again, and his hands were moving up, taking his shirt with them, exposing his stomach, his chest. "Let me take this off."

Blaine nodded dumbly, his mouth dry and his limbs oddly heavy and light all at once as he lifted his arms and let Kurt drag his shirt over his head and onto the bed next to them.

He felt exposed, but calm, because this was Kurt, and that was all he needed to feel safe. Though that didn't stop him from flushing as his boyfriend stared, without touching, for so long that Blaine started squirming self-consciously. Kurt sat on his thighs to keep him from moving too much, and started to explore with just his fingertips, dancing and gliding across muscles and hair and skin – ghosting over his chest, which wasn't really at all sensitive, but everything was a live wire for Blaine right now, so he arched into the touch regardless. What really set him groaning was when Kurt stroked beneath his ribs, along his side, and then just above his hipbones.

He hadn't even known about those areas, and Kurt's smile was triumphant as lightly stroked and traced, and then did it all over again, lingering when Blaine let out his loudest gasps. A hard touch followed by a quick kiss to his side, and Blaine's whole body twitched and quivered. Oh no, no no – he grabbed onto Kurt's shoulders, forcing him up to look him in the eye, preventing him from continuing.

Blaine tried to remember how to form words, and it took him a few minutes to string them together coherently once he did. "I, I know you want to be in control, but can I take a turn for bit? Is that . . . okay with you?" He blushed and looked down, and then back up with a crooked smile.

Kurt had been tilting his head in question, but he followed Blaine's gaze, and his expression was simultaneously fond and amused. "Okay." He gingerly eased up off of Blaine, allowing himself to be kissed down into the mattress. In no time at all their positions were reversed, and Blaine was careful to keep his hips from pressing against Kurt's, just as Kurt had been doing. However, he did end up with his hands under Kurt's shirt only a few seconds after they got themselves comfortable. A few seconds after that, he was parting their mouths to look at his boyfriend questioningly, asking, "Can I . . .?"

Kurt nodded without hesitation, something that made Blaine dizzy for a time. He struggled with the grey shirt before forcing himself to concentrate on the action itself, and not the end result.

Within seconds, Kurt was topless underneath him, and he wasn't crossing his arms or cringing, like he had the first time. He wasn't turning red all the way down like he had the second. He was just lying there, a bit of pink and anxiety tinging his features, but mostly contentment and excitement as Blaine wasted little time staring and set about exploring with his hands, following the same paths he had when he'd been putting sunscreen on Kurt a month ago; had it really been that long since he'd been able to see this? Yes, yes it had, because Kurt had been mildly burned at some other pool-party Blaine had sadly not been in attendance for, and thus had spent the rest of the summer in many layered T-shirts and the like, and his mind interrupted his reminiscing with an internal exclamation: oh, never mind that, focus in the moment.

He fell on Kurt gracelessly, causing him to let out a brief oof as he did so, but that was fine, because then he was pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Kurt's neck. It had him exhaling sharply, a high-pitched sigh, and Blaine swallowed it up before Kurt could close his mouth again. He ended it abruptly, Kurt protesting with soft sounds, but then he was throwing his head back and gasping as Blaine pressed another open-mouthed kiss to his skin, this time right onto the centre of his chest.

Kurt's skin wasn't completely flawless – there were freckles, and the odd scar, and bumps beneath his lips and tongue, but it was all the more amazing because everything he discovered was something new. He knew he was leaving marks, but he did not care. Blaine hadn't known he could be so out of control. Kurt's skin was shining with sweat, and it was odd how neither he or Kurt seemed bothered by it. Was this going too far, maybe? He didn't know what Kurt's plan was for the night, and he'd already sort of disrupted it by taking control out of his hands. He glanced up at Kurt, who had his eyes screwed shut, his mouth parted as he breathed harshly. After a second of staring, those beautiful, indescribable eyes flickered open, staring into Blaine's, and Kurt smiled, bright and ecstatic.

"You can keep going, Blaine. Please."

Blaine smiled back and did as he was told. Kurt's reaction was a surprised sounding squeal. "Oh – that . . ." Kurt trailed off, and Blaine suddenly realized that neither of them had said more than a handful of words since they started this. Actually, considering all the talking they did on a daily basis, that did make sense, because they pretty much knew everything there was to know about their thoughts on these types of situations, due to several highly awkward conversations.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, hoarse and wide-eyed. "What are you . . . are you spacing out on me?"

"Hm? No, no, sorry, sorry, I just . . . okay, yes, but only because my brain is absolutely not working at full capacity right now."

"Clearly." He managed to sound so sarcastic even while debauched. It had Blaine smiling because that was his Kurt. "Want to come back now? Or shall we shelve this away for a later –"

Blaine bent down over Kurt's chest, and Kurt ended on a moan. Blaine smiled smugly to himself. Kurt pulled at his hair, wheezing out, "Too much, too much. Fuck."

Blaine was suddenly sure the night would end, right then, because Kurt had just said 'fuck,' all desperate and broken. He was gasping a little himself, surveying his handy-work – wow, he had managed a lot of hickies. Kurt was going to lose it when he realized.

"Blaine." Kurt sat up swiftly and hugged him suddenly, and Blaine flailed, not sure what was happening, but returned the hug on impulse. "Blaine, thank you."

He blinked, waiting for Kurt to elaborate. They stayed in that embrace, and Blaine closed his eyes after a while, silent and cozy, feeling so content despite the fire rushing through his veins, so right and at home. Eventually Kurt did speak again, after kissing his earlobe. "Thank you for being here and . . . loving me."

Blaine smiled, wide and giddy. He kissed Kurt's neck, tightening their hug. "You're welcome forever, Kurt. And thank you for letting me be here, loving you." He squeezed him, and leaned back, feeling his heart slowing, gradually coming down though he was still turned on, but that was irrelevant. Kurt was stroking his hair, and looking at him as if he was everything. Blaine was more than happy with their night, and willing to cuddle and sleep now. He stretched, grinning at Kurt while running a hand through his hair. "Did you want to set the alarm? What time is Finn –"

Before he knew what was happening, he was flung down, staring up at Kurt's ceiling in shock, and then at Kurt as he loomed over him. The smirk on his boyfriend's face was both happy and sexy, and Blaine stopped breathing as Kurt settled his weight onto Blaine's thighs, rocking forward tantalizing.

"I had a plan, Blaine – let me execute it," Kurt said firmly and coupling it with a few more shifts of his hips.

Blaine's eyes were so wide they stung at the corners, and when Kurt leaned down to kiss him, he may have muttered some nonsense words into his mouth. Kurt laughed a little, and then let his lips muffle any other attempts at speaking Blaine might make. Which he couldn't. Maybe ever again. Kurt had officially destroyed his brain.

Then Kurt shifted up, and up so that their hips were in line. They'd avoided this kind of contact since Blaine's incident three months ago, and he couldn't, he couldn't think . . . Kurt gasped. "Please, Blaine, hold on a bit."

Blaine pushed out his words after a struggle with his brain, which was just not cooperating. "God, Kurt, I don't think . . . it's not . . . oh my God, I can't."

Kurt huffed out a short laugh. He stopped in his motions, seemingly gathering himself, and staring down at Blaine, breathing heavily. "Try, as long as you can."

Blaine nodded, though he knew he was already burning red in the face, and everything almost hurt from the strain of holding back. Kurt was maintaining his stillness, adjusting his legs a little more comfortably on either side of Blaine. When he at last started moving, Blaine's jaw dropped and his eyes widened to painful proportions again.

Kurt's muscles (he'd become so defined this summer, and his shoulders, so broad), were all straining, but it was his stomach that drew Blaine's gaze, and this was how Blaine Anderson was going to die. And it was going to be glorious.

Kurt picked up speed, whispered hoarsely, "Almost . . ."

Blaine finally allowed himself to do what he'd wanted since Kurt first started driving him insane. He grasped Kurt's hips, feeling the motion, the flow and ripple of his skin and abs as his thumbs stretched to brush across his stomach.

They couldn't get a matching rhythm going (that's all right, Blaine's scattered brain spoke up randomly, you can so practise this again later, maybe even as soon as this is over). It didn't matter – Kurt made a happy sound, collapsing forward, hips slowly stilling.

The weight of him, the sound of him, the everything of him had Blaine making his own giddy noises as he wrapped a leg around Kurt's hip, and everything went away – he couldn't hear, or see anything for an untold amount time as he melted down into the mattress.

He did not know when or how he got back his hearing, but eventually the muffled cotton buzzing that had been blocking his ears faded, and Kurt was murmuring, turning his head and quieting again. They lay there, Kurt on top of him, covering him completely, his head on the pillow next to Blaine's. Everything ached beautifully, and he wanted to just curl into a ball around Kurt and sleep, but they would be so uncomfortable if they didn't change clothes.

He nudged Kurt gently. "Hey." He ran a hand through those sweat-darkened brown locks, smiling to himself. Kurt hummed and opened his eyes. They were so close Blaine could barely focus, but he didn't move back. "We should clean up, go to sleep."

Kurt's eyes cleared and he braced his forearms on either side of Blaine's body, lifting himself up just enough to collapse onto the bed next to him, still close. "You are very right. Or, we could just sleep and do the cleaning up tomorrow?"

His eyes were already at half-mast as he spoke, but Blaine shook his head, shoving him playfully. "No way. You're going to wake up and be very, very annoyed that I didn't insist that you clean up before. I want totally unhindered morning snuggles – otherwise you'll make us get up to shower and be all presentable."

His boyfriend glared balefully, but rolled out of bed. He watched as Kurt disappeared into the bathroom with a fresh pair of shorts and pyjama bottoms. He even heard the shower running, albeit briefly. In less than ten minutes, Kurt was out and sitting back down on the bed, fully clothed once more, an echo of Blaine's earlier position. Way earlier. Before they'd just done what they'd done.

Oh wow, we just, we just did . . . that.

Quite suddenly, despite the lightness and easiness of minutes before, things got tense, both awkward and not. Kurt was happy, Blaine could tell, but he also couldn't quite meet his eyes, and his hands fidgeted on his lap. Blaine wasn't much better – he didn't know, exactly, what he was supposed to say now. Something romantic? Something teasing and not at all serious? Or maybe silence was the best way to go?

"I love you," he blurted out, because really, that seemed to be the solution to everything. Kurt started, staring at him with both eyebrows up.

"I love you too," he said after a moment's consideration, and then he broke into small, but wonderful smile. "And that was . . . probably the most amazing experience of my life."

"Mine too," Blaine agreed readily, sitting up to brush his fingertips across Kurt's cheek. "Mostly because it was with you. I couldn't imagine doing that with anyone else."

Kurt's smile widened. "Not even Ewan McGregor?"

"Obi-who?" Blaine said, laughing and swooping in to steal a kiss. "And I'm going to take my turn and . . . um, I'm going to need an extra pair of PJ pants."

Kurt acquiesced happily, and in no time at all, they were both snuggled in bed, shower-fresh, in comfy pyjamas, and yawning intermittently as they talked.

"We'll need to do some laundry before my parents get home tomorrow afternoon," Kurt spoke into Blaine's chest.

"Okay," Blaine said, stifling yet another jaw cracking yawn. "What time is it?"

Kurt shifted to glance over his shoulder at his bedside clock. "Hmm, it's one thirty."

Blaine's brow furrowed as he did some quick mental math. "Are you saying that our entire . . . thing, lasted for a grand total of . . . twenty some odd minutes? Thirty, tops. Even including our journey up the stairs?"

Kurt half-shrugged from his position. "If you don't count the clean-up time, then yes. I wasn't expecting even that much, to be honest."

"Hey!" Blaine smacked his shoulder, and Kurt giggled tiredly.

"I wasn't just referring to you, Blaine, I include myself in that assessment. And you have to admit that those twenty, thirty minutes felt a lot longer when we were in the middle of it all."

He thought about that, and nodded against Kurt's hair. "I suppose you're right. And those were the best twenty minutes of my life, as we've already stated."

"There you go," Kurt murmured, sounding more than half way to falling asleep. "We'll work on stamina later."

Blaine felt his eyes snap open at that, not having realized they'd shut until that moment. "How soon is 'later'?"

"It's not right this second, if that's what you're thinking." Kurt sounded partially amused, but mostly exhausted. "Sleep, Blaine."

He huffed good-naturedly, kissing the top of Kurt's head and wrapping his arms around him loosely. His eyes slid shut again, and even with the perfectly detailed and breath-quickening replay of the night's events playing beneath his closed lids, Blaine fell asleep quickly and deeply.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

He woke up slowly at first – becoming dimly aware of light despite his closed eyes. Of warmth. Of comfort and ease.

Then he felt the body he was wrapped around take in a sudden, deep breath – and Blaine remembered Kurt, remembered falling asleep with him in his arms, remembered what they had done . . . At which point, he became suddenly and instantly wide awake. His eyes fluttered open, immediately seeking out the vision that was Kurt, inches away and so achingly beautiful in sleep.

He lifted himself up onto his elbow, as slowly and gently as he could so as not to disturb his slumbering boyfriend. At some point in the night, Kurt had ended up curled into Blaine, as opposed to on top of him, and right now he was half on his side, face turned towards Blaine's on the pillow, looking so, so touchable. And gorgeous. Blaine loved all of Kurt's many looks and outfits, he did, but this – this relaxed, simple version of Kurt – it struck at his heart in ways he didn't fully understand.

He smiled down at him, lifting a hand to brush some of Kurt's bangs off his forehead, indulging in a few light strokes across that soft brown hair. His hand fell away soon enough, because he didn't want to wake him, wanted to enjoy this silent contemplation for a few more minutes. His eyes fell upon a dark red, purplish mark on Kurt's neck, and Blaine's lips tugged even further upwards at the sight. He spotted another just at the edge of where the loose, wide collar of Kurt's shirt exposed a small bit of his chest. Blaine bit his lip, knowing there were probably many more littering Kurt's torso – he wondered if he could maybe persuade Kurt to take off his shirt again, because he wanted to see. Needed to see.

A finger reached out and touched, brushed, against that mark, partially hidden by Kurt's grey shirt. It was hardly more than a light caress, brief and soft, but it had Kurt sighing, moving closer to Blaine, his forehead pushing into Blaine's chest. Blaine grinned and did it again – he was done with watching his boyfriend sleep, lovely as it was. His finger pressed in with more pressure, and Kurt made a muffled sound against Blaine's shirt before pulling back minutely, eyes blinking open gradually. It took him some time to focus, for the haziness of sleep to clear from his expression, but when it did, a smile broke out, shy, familiar and beaming.

"I don't think I've ever woken up to a better sight. Ever."

Blaine leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. "I was just thinking the same thing."

Kurt reached up a hand from beneath the covers, running his fingers over Blaine's sleep ruffled curls, his gaze taking on a bit of awe. "You are so unbelievably gorgeous. Are you mine, really?" Blaine flushed proudly at that – at the blatant admiration in Kurt's eyes. He would have preened, but wanted to answer Kurt's question first and foremost.

"Yes, really – you're never getting rid of me." Blaine flopped down onto the pillows, snuggling until he was eye level with Kurt, both of them on their sides and facing each other with silly, love struck smiles on their faces. "I feel the sudden urge to tell you that I love you."

Kurt's eyes were still slightly sleep-heavy, but they gleamed and glittered at that, his cheeks turning that shade of red Blaine was so intimate with. "You should never deny that urge. Give in, Blaine, give in, you know you want to."

"Okay then – I love you, Kurt. Oh, and good morning." He grinned, reaching up to slide fingers into Kurt's own dishevelled locks. Kurt captured that hand before it got to stroke more than once or twice, bringing it down and it holding in the small space that lay between them.

"Good morning, Blaine. I love you too," he said sweetly, with love and affection, and all those other fluffy things that had Blaine wondering again at his life.

After a few moment's quiet, Blaine suddenly leapt up, rolling Kurt onto his back and hugging him altogether too tightly, managing to slide his arms beneath Kurt's torso, squeezing him as hard as he could. "God this is so, so awesome. Is it dumb that I feel so awesome? No, no it isn't, because we are awesome, and what we did was awesome, and everything is awesome!"

"And that word is now retired for the day," Kurt coughed out, breath uneven and wheezy. "Blaine, honey, you're constricting my lungs a bit here."

Blaine wriggled enough to get his arms out from beneath his boyfriend, but refused to move from on top of him. Instead, he folded his arms on Kurt's chest, resting his chin on them, their faces no more than two scant inches apart. It took them both less than a minute to realize that their bodies were pressed together in highly interesting ways. Kurt's flush hadn't faded, though it took on a new meaning as he gazed up at Blaine through eyes that were heavy-lidded, though no longer from sleep.

"I'm not feeling a sudden urge to run and hide in the bathroom," Kurt said quietly, intently. "Are you?"

Blaine lifted his head up, shaking it quickly. "No. Not at all."

Then Kurt made a face. "And I really wouldn't mind a repeat of last night, but may I suggest a quick run to that bathroom regardless? Only for long enough to brush our teeth."

He was all set to counter this argument, but he took a moment to swallow, and it wasn't the best tasting thing in the world – he was sure he wouldn't mind it coming from Kurt, but he didn't want to inflict it on his boyfriend. He rolled off him and the bed, jumping to his feet and offering a hand. "Shall we?"

It took them a grand total of two minutes to brush their teeth – and he wouldn't have thought that daily habit could be made sexy (and it still sort of wasn't) but when one was turned on enough, their senses apparently took almost any audio or visual input and turned it into stimulation.

They fell into bed together, and obviously reading each other's mind, because they assumed the exact position they had been in before rushing to freshen their breath. Kurt swept in, tasting the minty-freshness of Blaine's mouth before he could say or do anything. He moaned lightly, leaning so Kurt didn't have to crane his neck upwards.

They moved without any urgency, breathing each other's air as the pressure increased, their hearts pounding irregularly. Kurt's eyes kept flicking shut, and then opening to stare into Blaine's, as if he couldn't quite keep them focused. They kissed, separated, then kissed again. Just as it was building to its glorious conclusion Kurt stilled Blaine's hips with his hands, parting their lips with a quiet smacking sound.

Blaine blinked down at him, his voice a whisper as he asked, "What is it?"

Kurt sucked in a deep breath before rolling Blaine over until he was lying next to him – but made no move to slide on top. Instead, he pushed in close to his side and rested a hand on his stomach. "Can I . . . I want to . . ."

There was nowhere, no time, no situation in which Blaine would say 'no' to that. He nodded quickly, and then held his breath as Kurt glanced down, inching his hand closer and closer. Blaine's eyes shut and he groaned out as Kurt's hand finally reached its goal — no skin contact, and yet still incredible.

Kurt's expression was only barely tinged with nerves – his cheeks were blushing, but his eyes were curious as they narrowed intently. Then Blaine flicked his gaze back down to that pale hand. Blaine's breath felt like it was punched out of him, even with clothing acting as a barrier between him and Kurt's touch. Blaine felt himself spiralling higher and higher, his breaths growing out of control. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and he started pleading wordlessly for more.

Kurt must have understood him, because a second later – "Ow, Kurt, a little less," Blaine wheezed out, wincing.

"Oh, sorry." Kurt flushed with embarrassment, but he didn't seem to dwell on it.

Kurt pulled away abruptly, and he moved to shift himself on top of Blaine – but Blaine stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Wait, why don't I . . ."

He went to slide a hand down but Kurt grabbed it before it could reach its destination. "No."

"No?" Blaine stared at him worriedly.

Kurt shook his head, smiling tentatively. "I just . . . not yet. Soon, maybe. I don't mind – in fact, I love touching you, but . . . sorry, I just . . ." He waved a hand about helplessly and Blaine sort of understood. It was one thing to reach out and touch someone – but to leave yourself vulnerable and open to that touch . . .

Blaine felt a little . . . not hurt, not disappointed . . . maybe a little sad, that Kurt wasn't ready to be vulnerable while Blaine made him feel good, but that was fine – because last night they'd discovered how to make each other feel amazing and Blaine was ready to feel that again.

He pulled Kurt on top of him, and Kurt had clearly gotten more out of his curious explorations than Blaine thought because within seconds he was just as on edge as Blaine. Their chests remained pressed together, their hearts wildly pounding against their rib cages, and Blaine could feel Kurt's heart, and he knew Kurt must be able to feel his, and everything was sweaty and hot again, yes, yes.

A minute later Blaine was sighing out Kurt's name against his mouth. Kurt was gone a moment later, with Blaine's name falling off his lips, and soft, wonderful, broken declarations of love following.

Kurt remained on top of him, heavy in such a marvellous way. He just fit, limbs entangled with Blaine's, chest to chest, hip to hip. His face was buried in the pillow, cheek brushing against Blaine's. After several silent moments, he turned his head towards Blaine, murmuring directly into his ear, "So much for working on our stamina."

Blaine snorted, arms coming up to wrap around Kurt's back. "Hmm, well I guess we're just going to need a lot of practise. Do you think you could maybe suggest another potential weekend outing for your parents? And get Finn to . . . where is he again?"

"He is currently crashing in an empty room at Sam's motel with the other guys for one last, grand hooplah before he moves. Sam and I had out own private good-byes already, so I told Finn to go on without me. And here we are."

Blaine tried to look Kurt in the eye, but they were so close together it was uncomfortable to try and focus – his faced blurred into an indistinct blob. " 'Private good-byes'?"

Kurt kissed him easily from their current position, pulling back slightly. "He wanted to thank me, without the others present, for everything Quinn and I did for him. We had a nice lunch, and a brief shopping trip, during which I allowed him to pick out his own good-bye present – though with some serious input from myself, of course. There's no need to be jealous."

"I'm not," Blaine said honestly – Sam was straight, and also a friend, so even if he had latent homosexual tendencies, he knew he wouldn't try anything on Kurt. "Sam's a great guy. I was only curious."

"Hmm," Kurt hummed, eyes closing.

Blaine tapped his back with the hands he had resting on it. "Hey, you can't fall asleep again – you've got some clean-up and laundry to do before Finn gets here."

Kurt's lids flicked up, and he glared half-heartedly at Blaine. "Fine. Be the responsible one."

He followed this up with a messy, passionate kiss that left Blaine gasping and grasping at Kurt – they could surely indulge in one more time before – but there was a loud slam and then, "Kurt! Dude, I'm home! Hi Blaine! Man, you parked way crooked – you should move before Mom and Burt get home! Hey, did you make any breakfast yet?"

Kurt dropped his head onto Blaine's shoulder, sighing long-sufferingly. "It's been a lovely time, Blaine. And now, it is over." He sat up, forcing Blaine to let out a quiet, protesting noise, which had Kurt smiling and pressing one last, intense, wet kiss to Blaine's open mouth before pulling away wistfully. "All right, do you mind if I take the first shower? Then, while you're showering, I can get started on the laundry. And breakfast."

Blaine nodded to this, falling back onto the bed as Kurt flitted about the room, gathering up a towel and picking up an outfit he'd apparently selected the night before. He gave Blaine a happy smile before disappearing into the bathroom. Blaine rolled onto his side, closing his eyes – he could hear Finn banging around doing God only knew what, and the sound of the shower running. He grimaced; the mess in his pants made things a little less than comfortable, but he knew that he'd be taking care of it soon so it was easy to start drifting off again.

"BLAINE ANDERSON!"

He sat bolt upright, and then practically fell out of the bed, sheets and blankets snaked around his legs, tripping him up. He stumbled as Kurt whipped open the bathroom door, eyes narrowed dangerously, as Blaine stuttered out, "W-What is –" And then his own eyes fell upon Kurt's bare chest and . . . oh.

He had to smother a licentious, satisfied grin, because he knew Kurt would probably kill him if he saw it.

Kurt gesticulated sharply at his exposed skin. "What in the hell are these, Blaine?"

Blaine swallowed hard, still restraining the smile that was just beneath the surface. "Uh, those would be hickies."

"Not just hickies, Blaine – lots of hickies. A veritable explosion – a break-out of hickies, if you will!" He was glowering and his hands were on his hips and that was perfect. Because Blaine could see quite plainly (and awesomely) that he had outdone himself. There were maybe a dozen marks scattered about Kurt's chest, the lowest just to the right of one of his hipbones, the highest right above his collar bone. They were all roughly the same size, varying in intensity of colour (rose pink to a dark purplish sort of red), and so mind-bendingly hot.

"I fail to see what is so funny about this," Kurt hissed out, his foot tapping against the floor.

Apparently the smile had broken out despite Blaine's best efforts, and so he kicked the blankets off his legs, walking over and placing his own hands on Kurt's hips. "Sorry, but, um, apparently my inner caveman is really loving this – you look incredible." He backed this statement up by latching onto the mark nearest Kurt's collarbone, sucking once, quickly, before pulling back and grinning – distinctly unapologetic.

Kurt's eyes had glazed over somewhat, his mouth parted as he exhaled with a shiver. Then he seemed to force himself out of his haze and glared again, jabbing a finger into Blaine's chest. "Do you have any idea how severely you've limited my 'last week of summer' wardrobe choices? You're just lucky that I'm only going to have to sacrifice maybe one or two outfits – otherwise, I'd be forced to take it out of your hide."

"Sounds like fun." Blaine laughed as Kurt hit him across the shoulder.

"Hey, Kurt." There was a knock on the door, and before either Kurt or Blaine could shout at Finn not to come in, the boy was sticking his head in, waving at Blaine and entering fully. "Sorry, man, but I think I might've melted some – oh, holy crap, what the hell happened to your chest?"

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, anything, but instead his face burned a bright red and words failed him. Kurt was no better, though he did manage to say, "Nothing, Finn! Get out, I need to shower, and –"

"Man, that looks nasty – is it, like, an allergic reaction or something? Do I need to get some of that anti-whatever cream we have, or –" Finn came closer and Blaine shut his eyes tight as the taller boy stopped suddenly. "Oh . . . ooooh."

"Finn . . ." Kurt's tone was full of warning. Blaine risked opening his eyes again, and saw Finn smirking at them both.

"I get it – nice pyjamas, Blaine. I see you stayed the night. Without Burt's permission and with no one else in the house. Hmm, I thought that wasn't allowed? I'm pretty sure that's not allowed, Kurt."

"Yes, Finn, good for you – you've finally caught me breaking the rules, now if you don't mind –"

"Nuh-uh – no way." Finn held up a hand. "I want something. There's got to be something I can get out of this. Brother rules, man – otherwise, you are so, so dead when Burt and mom get home."

"You jerk," Kurt ground out. "Fine – the internet-browsing history? I will never hold that over you again. Ever. Good enough?"

"I don't know, this is way, way bigger than that," Finn stroked his bare chin like every cheesy movie villain that ever was. "You take over my dish duty for the next two weeks and make me one of those giant, bacon-cheese-egg-hash brown breakfast sandwiches of death and we have a deal."

Kurt growled, nostrils flaring, but he stuck out a hand, and Finn shook it happily.

"Awesome! 'Kay, I'll, um, try and clean up the mess I already made, and wait for you in the kitchen!" He shot Blaine a wide, teasing smile. "See ya down there, Blaine!" And promptly bounced out of the room.

Blaine smiled tentatively at Kurt. "It could have been worse – it could have been your parents."

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. I know. And I also know where Finn keeps all his dirty magazines, so it's not like I'm completely without ammunition. Now, if you please, I would very much like to get clean so I can get going and make my darling stepbrother the ultimate 'Death by Cholesterol' breakfast."

Blaine captured an arm before Kurt could disappear into the bathroom, pulling him in close and kissing those frowning lips gently and persistently. After a second Kurt kissed back, and they stood there, exchanging soft, tender kisses until Kurt pulled away, looking dazed again.

Blaine lifted a hand to stroke his face. "I would gladly have dealt with your stepmom and dad walking in on us too. Last night – and this morning – were so worth it. Nothing could ever make me regret this. Nothing."

Kurt's eyes were sparkling suspiciously, but his smile was wide. "Me too. I love you."

"I love you." Blaine wondered, even as he said it, if he would ever get tired of saying those words to Kurt – if there were such a thing as saying them too often. But Kurt's brilliant and beautiful smile, the last lingering kiss before he finally went to take his shower – all of it, all of this morning and last night – could only be summed up with those three words.

And partaking in Kurt's Breakfast Death sandwich and omelette dish made him say them all the more, because it was good – he had no idea his boyfriend could make food this fattening and destructive, and so, so mouth-wateringly delicious. There must have been a story behind it all, but Blaine was too busy shovelling massive spoonfuls into his mouth and savouring each bite to ask.

Not long after had Finn abandoned them with a wink, leaving the messy kitchen to their hands, Kurt and Blaine were arms deep in suds, and Kurt was saying, "I have reason number eight for you to transfer."

"Yeah?" Blaine raised an eyebrow, matched with a knowing smile. "It can't be more of what we did last night, because I think that's along the same lines as your reason number two. And number one. And number four. That's cheating."

"My reason number eight," Kurt said, flicking him with soapy water as he spoke, "is that . . . I will get to regulate most of your daily intake of food – I saw how much you enjoyed that grease and fat filled monstrosity Finn forced me to make. Somehow, I'm thinking all the salads and fat-free yogurt you were eating at Dalton were not your usual fare."

Blaine blushed and Kurt nodded, chuckling to himself – he'd been caught. All right, so maybe he'd been subconsciously – and then consciously, after a certain kiss – mirroring Kurt's diet. He'd seen the way he'd wrinkle his nose, or look faintly disgusted as the other boys chowed down on food he deemed inappropriate and heart-attack inducing (while Dalton offered many, many healthy options, there was the occasional greasy hamburger and fries combination and other such things to placate the male teenaged stomachs they had to keep filled). So, maybe Blaine had been trying to impress Kurt. And now Kurt knew that. He hunched in his shoulders as Kurt nudged him teasingly before resuming his washing.

"I am not saying you can not occasionally indulge," Kurt conceded, "but if you eat such things every day, then you will not last past twenty-five, and I intend to keep you around for much longer than that."

Blaine's cringe of embarrassment turned into a straightened back and sly grin. "Is that so? Just how long would you like me for, Kurt?"

Kurt paused in scrapping at chunks of burned bacon from Finn's earlier kitchen failure. He faced Blaine, and though he seemed self-conscious, he said, artlessly, "For as long as you'll have me, Blaine."

Forever. Blaine stared at Kurt, and it was on the tip of his tongue . . . and screw it, why shouldn't he say it? "Then, I guess I'll have to start taking better care of myself if I want to keep up with you when we're old and still fabulous."

The absolutely elated expression on Kurt's face warmed Blaine from head to toe, and he knew his face reflected that.

And it was with that same warmth tickling his fingers and toes, embraced around his heart, that Blaine adjusted the finishing touches of his outfit as he strolled confidently into McKinley High a week later. He was seeking out the boy for whom he would eat rabbit food, attend proms, withstand tense family dinners and all manner of awkward talks on sex, and deal with potential competition trying to steal him away; for whom would transfer schools for, would wait a year for and apply to universities in New York for – because Blaine didn't care how impossible, how cheesy, how unrealistic and adolescent it was; he believed that Kurt Elizabeth Hummel was it for him, and would be it for the rest of his life.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Why do birds suddenly appear

Every time you are near?

Just like me, they long to be

Close to you

Why do stars fall down from the sky

Every time you walk by?

Just like me, they long to be

Close to you

On the day that you were born

The angels got together

And decided to create a dream come true

So they sprinkled moon-dust in your hair

Of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue

That is why all the girls in town

Follow you all around

Just like me, they long to be

Close to you

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Fin

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Author's Note: And it's over! And so fluffy you could choke on it, wow. Writing romance is hard – so much harder than angst. Neglecting my school readings while finishing this was especially hard ;D

The wonderful JustYourAverageRavenclaw deserves credit for the Anderson and Hudmel family dinner idea, and 1stkittyalso must be credited for suggesting Blaine gazing down at a sleeping, love-bitten Kurt (which is what eventually gave birth to my first attempt at smut, light though it was). Thanks to you both!

SO MUCH LOVE to ALL of you who have followed this story, and those of you that have commented and helped reassure me that I wasn't total fail at this romance thing (Oh, digiMist, you've been such a blessing, darling, and such a help!) :D Now I'm off to hopefully finish off my neglected WIPs (er, assuming I catch up on all my readings and get a good start on my essays).

The song used throughout this story (and referenced in the title) is They Long to Be (Close to You) by The Carpenters.