LOGOS

Blaine can't keep his eyes open. It's a sleepy Friday afternoon, the repressing heat outside seeping in through the closed windows of the classroom and overpowering the already-weak air conditioning. The other seven students in the class are similarly slouched in their chairs, barely making eye contact with the professor, who prattles on writing key words and concepts on the whiteboard, seemingly oblivious to the wandering attention of his audience.

Blaine is writing down everything on the board, but his brain isn't connecting with what his hand is copying. Instead, his mind flutters to Kurt, who by this time is home from his morning rehearsal for Into the Woods. Every day this week Kurt has had a late lunch ready for Blaine when he comes home from this class, and Blaine lets his brain paint the picture of Kurt in the kitchen, pulling out peppers and onions and vegetables from the refrigerator and humming a little while he chops them up. He imagines what would happen if the air conditioner broke, and in frustration at how hot the apartment was with the combination of the oven running and the heat pouring in from the outside, Kurt decides to strip down and only cook in an apron, to keep from getting important body parts burnt. This mental image stops Blaine's pen from taking notes for a full seven minutes while he works himself up thinking of coming home to Kurt dressed like that, coming up behind him and kissing from the apron string around his neck down to the apron string around his waist before kissing a little lower…

The girl in the seat next to him is staring at him, Blaine suddenly realizes. Flushed, he's terrified she's noticed his hard-on, but no, she's watching his face. He locks eyes with her and she only looks concerned, not weirded out. He smiles at her reassuringly, trying to convey no, my glossy unblinking eyes and mouth hanging open weren't signs of a stroke, then looks down at his notes. The last thing he had written down was "the soul is immortal."

Blaine furrows his brow as he considers the enormity of this statement. The soul? How was soul being defined? And immortal? How could that—

Surprised at himself, Blaine has already raised his hand before he can think about it. The professor pauses in his lecture and raises his eyebrows at Blaine. "Yes?"

Blaine blushes a little, because it's entirely possible he's about to ask a stupid question, but he plunges in with, "Sorry, could you go over the soul being immortal again?"

"Certainly," the professor says, looking pleased. Blaine realizes this is the first time anyone has asked a question or engaged with the material today. He feels horrible for just a second before he focuses on what is being said:

"In a higher-level course, we would get into the specifics of what the soul is according to not only Plato but Aristotle, Socrates, and Gorgias, not to mention later Christian philosophers, but the basic concept here is that Plato suggested the soul is immortal because it does not have a beginning. Immortality, simplistically, was that something had an undefined beginning and an undefined end."

"Undefined…"

"Unknowable. Or, nonexistent, maybe."

Blaine nods once and the professor turns back to the planned lecture. Blaine is already losing interest again in what is being taught, but he can't get that idea out of his head: something with no beginning must go on forever backwards and logically forwards. It's immortal. Everlasting. Constant. Unshakable. Blaine still doesn't know what the soul is but he can't stop thinking about what it would mean if his is immortal. Reincarnation? Ghosts? A past life? Did he used to be a turtle, or a dog or something? How could the soul be immortal when the body wasn't? If an unknown ending and beginning meant something was immortal—according to Plato, anyway—what else was immortal? What else persisted when all other things crumbled and decayed?

He takes the idea with him when class finally, mercifully ends, and he can go home to Kurt at last. Lost in thoughts of immortality, Blaine doesn't even for a second revisit his fantasy of Kurt naked except for an apron in the kitchen, so when he gets home and that is exactly what's waiting for him, he's utterly surprised and shocked and delighted in all the ways Kurt had hoped.

THUMOS

The weekend has been perfect. Since their pre-lunch romp in the kitchen on Friday, Blaine and Kurt have been doing close inspections of each other every few hours or so. It's a three-day weekend, because Monday is Independence Day. Despite Kurt's preferential affinity for France and the mocking comments he makes about garish red, white and blue outfits—"Do they even realize they could be representing any of numerous countries? Including France? Or Russia?"—he's sentimental for fireworks and lawn chairs and hot dogs. They're relics of many Fourths of July past: six with both parents on either side of him; ten with just his father; two with his father, Carole and Finn; and one, last year, with Blaine curled up on the picnic blanket next to him, holding his hand and almost missing the fireworks in the sky for the fireworks taking place surreptitiously inside his chest.

Blaine knows Kurt loves watching the fireworks, and while Blaine has more of a detached feeling about the holiday—how many were spent lonely at his grandmother's house while his parents were on a cruise or holiday somewhere far away?—he loves the way it makes Kurt feel, because it makes Blaine feel like that too when he's holding onto Kurt's hand so tight.

When it starts to get dark on Monday, they reluctantly crawl out of bed and take a shower before getting dressed—"I think this is the first time we haven't been naked since Saturday morning," Kurt remarks—and pack up the Escalade with everything they'll need for a night out celebrating the independence of their country—"Even if it won't let us get married yet everywhere," Blaine says before blushing at the furiously smitten look Kurt gives him—before heading out to the park where they'll be watching the fireworks.

There are already hundreds of other people set up by the time Blaine and Kurt arrive, find parking, unpack the car. It doesn't really matter, though. They find a spot behind everyone so they can people-watch, spread out their blanket, set up their lawn chairs, and unpack the cooler. In-between tea and late afternoon blowjobs, Kurt had found time to make a couple sandwiches while Blaine made deviled eggs.

Blaine takes out the lemonade and the wineglasses and pours for both of them. He hands Kurt a wineglass as Kurt finishes chewing on a deviled egg, then lifts it slightly before saying softly, "To you."

Kurt's face fills with a smile and he says back, raising his glass, "And to you."

They clink and drink down the lemonade, then eat sandwiches with one hand while grasping each other with the other. It gets very dark then, and the children who have been running around in front of them return to their families and settle down in anticipation. Blaine can feel Kurt start to hum a little out of excitement, and he squeezes Kurt's hand.

Kurt squeezes back and then suddenly the first firework goes up and Kurt clutches Blaine's hand hard before letting go and pointing.

POP. fffssssssssssssssssss.

Blaine watches as the light from the first firework is allowed to fade, and then is followed by a cacophony—

POP. POP. POPPOP. POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP. fffsssssssssssssssssssss.

Blaine looks over at Kurt's face and watches the different colors illuminate his big grin and wide eyes.

POP. fffssssssssssssssss.

He looks back up at the fireworks and thinks of probably the only thing he absorbed in philosophy: immortality. Fireworks are bright and bold and awe us, Blaine thinks, but they start and end so quickly. It's funny how a thing so ephemeral can leave such a lasting impression on the soul.

.

Each firework going up starts to run into the previous one and gets run into by the next one until it's like an endless run of lights and noise and that faint smell of smoke in the air. For just a second in there, Blaine almost feels like they're never going to stop, just keep going, an infinite supply of fireworks that keep exploding in the sky above them, that keep everyone in the park watching, that keep Kurt with his hand tucked into Blaine's and his shoulder leaning against him, that keep those little gasps of delight coming out of Kurt every time a new more fantastic display appears. He can almost, almost feel the moment stretching out in both directions forever, can almost imagine—

But after just twenty minutes, it's over. Kurt sighs next to him and cuddles up against him briefly before eating another deviled egg and pouring a little more lemonade.

"Everyone is leaving now," Blaine says to him.

"We can stay a little longer, though, can't we?" Kurt asks, smiling sweetly at his boyfriend, and how can Blaine say no? They sit eating deviled eggs while everyone else walks past them on the way to the parking lot, and then when the park is empty except for them and a few other stragglers, they make out on the blanket for well over an hour until a cop comes over and tells them it's time to go home now.

EROS

They spend five minutes at the door, Blaine pressed up with his back against it and Kurt leaning into him, vaguely trying to get the key in the lock but mostly just rolling his hips against Blaine and pulling at his hair with his free hand. Finally they hear someone coming up the stairwell and, giggling and whispering at each other, get the door open just in time, closing it soft behind them and locking themselves in to their apartment. They're giddy from it being late, from the rum Kurt spiked the lemonade with, and from the excitement, the palpable communal fun of the Fourth of July. They collapse against the door, trying to hush each other's laughs and not succeeding.

Blaine swings one of his legs over Kurt and straddles him, sitting back a little but not enough to completely crush him. Kurt puts his hands on Blaine's hips and pulls him in a little closer, then finds Blaine's lips with his own. They kiss, sweaty and needy against each other, for what seems like an eternity. Blaine loses himself completely in the taste and scent and feel of Kurt. His brain focuses completely on how to get Kurt to make those little noises he does when he's being kissed particularly correctly.

Suddenly Blaine's stomach grumbles loudly and Kurt pulls back from him, his face a little astonished before falling into laughter. "Baby, was that sandwich not enough for you?" he asks, and Blaine rolls his eyes and shoves at Kurt a little.

"It's been like three hours since that sandwich."

"You're such a boy," Kurt says with utter fondness, leaning in to kiss Blaine again.

Blaine wants to keep kissing back but his stomach makes an ungodly noise again and he groans and gets up off the floor, putting his hand down and helping Kurt up too.

"Do we still have one of those mangos from the farmer's market?" he asks Kurt.

"Yeah, but I put it in the fridge. It was getting a little over-ripe."

"Yum," Blaine says, and retrieves it from the refrigerator, setting it on their diminutive kitchen island before grabbing a knife to cut it up with.

Kurt saunters forward and leans down on the other end of the island, watching Blaine cut the mango. He sings: "Mangos, papaya, chestnuts from the fire, in my house of straw I have so much more…"

Blaine sings back, "Pie from the peach and I fix in the kitchen, each bite is just right for your appetite."

Kurt stops for a second to say, "We should totally bake a peach pie tomorrow."

"Yes," Blaine says, then puts the knife down and sashays around the island, grabbing Kurt's hands in his and moving them into a bit of a mambo. "Now if you like-a the way I cook… and if you like-a the way I look…"

Kurt laughs. "Then step inside my shady nook, and you'll find mangos and papayas, anything your heart desires!"

Blaine spins him, pulls him back in close, and continues singing, "Mangos, papaya, chestnuts from the fire. The food is so good, you will want to stay!"

"Yes, I will," Kurt murmurs into his ear, and sings the rest of the verse: "Eat up and drink up and maybe you'll think up the day when we say preacher man, okay."

Kurt takes over lead for a second and dips Blaine, then when he snaps him back close into his arms he says, "You don't need mangos to convince me to stay, by the way."

Blaine closes his eyes against Kurt's cheek and smiles. "I know," he whispers, then chuckles and sucks a little at Kurt's jawbone before he says, "But I bet it helps, doesn't it?"

Kurt snorts and pushes Blaine away playfully. "Yes, go finish cutting up the mango so I can steal most of it from you."

Blaine grins fondly at him, then returns to the other side of the kitchen island, cutting the rest of the mango into pieces. He picks up a piece and holds it up to Kurt, who reaches for it. Blaine pulls it back a little, just out of reach, and Kurt follows after, until he's close enough for Blaine to put his hand up and put the mango piece right into Kurt's mouth. Kurt closes his lips around both the mango and the tips of Blaine's fingers and sucks a little. Blaine shudders but removes his fingers and scoops up more mango for himself.

"You don't get all of it," Blaine chides Kurt. "I'm the one with the impolite stomach, remember."

"I remember," Kurt says, patting Blaine's stomach like an old friend, then turning to the refrigerator and playing with their set of dirty sex-related magnetic words, a housewarming gift from Santana.

Blaine eats another piece of mango and starts feeling a little sleepy. He stares at Kurt through almost half-closed eyes, seeing not just his gorgeous boyfriend standing there, but also reflecting on the night and the weekend and their life in general, and he feels this immense tight warm feeling in his chest that he recognizes as total happiness.

Lazily putting another piece of mango in his mouth, Blaine tries to remember the moment he first fell in love with Kurt. Traditionally they say it was that day Kurt sang "Blackbird," but Blaine knows he was head over heels for Kurt long before that, just didn't know what really, solidly being in love felt like until Kurt called him on it and Blaine realized. So it was sort of like, maybe love at first sight, Blaine thinks, sucking on the mango piece until it melts in his mouth. But it wasn't like some stupid crush or whatever. It was real. Fiercely real. Too real to comprehend at first. Blaine recalls what he told Kurt when he confessed he was in love: I've been looking for you forever. Was that a real truth? Blaine snorts a little as that word "truth" infiltrates his brain and reminds him of all the lectures on divine truth and Plato and Socrates and oh god, why did he take Intro to Philosophy as a summer course? Four weeks was not long enough to really digest any of what he read. But he did get that immortality thing out of the class, so that's kind of cool. Blaine wonders, if he can't remember when he first started loving Kurt and he can't ever see stopping loving Kurt, does that mean their love lasts forever in both directions? Is it immortal by default?

"Huh?" Kurt asks, startled from his reverie of constructing deliciously filthy sentences on the refrigerator. Blaine realizes he said that last thought out loud. "Is what immortal?" Kurt prompts.

"Oh, uh, just something we talked about in class Friday."

Blaine wants to leave it at that but Kurt gives him a look and Blaine knows to elaborate.

"Basically, like, if something doesn't have a beginning or an ending, then by default it's immortal."

"Oh really? Who says that?"

"I think it's Plato," Blaine says. "So like, the soul is immortal. But the body isn't. Or something."

"You sound kinda sleepy," Kurt tells him.

Blaine laughs. "I am kinda sleepy."

"Finish your mango, then we're going to sleep," Kurt says.

Blaine whines a little, still half-hard from their earlier escapades against the door.

Kurt looks down, sees, and smirks. "I guess we could take care of that first."

The rest of the mango is gone in seconds, and then Blaine is being half-dragged, half-pushed into the bedroom. Kurt shoves him onto the bed and then kicks his shoes off before crawling on top of Blaine. He lifts Blaine's shirt up to his arms but doesn't push it over his head, just holds the shirt up while he kisses against Blaine's stomach. Blaine arches his back into Kurt's kisses, and Kurt gently works at the buttons on Blaine's trousers.

Blaine loses focus on what happens next, his mind exploding into bright light—like fireworks—and his hands grasping helplessly at the air as Kurt expertly gets Blaine's trousers and boxers off his hips and over his cock, then employs the various tongue-related methods he has perfected over their three years together to bring Blaine to the edge of climax in just a couple minutes. Blaine's gasping and bucking his hips and mouthing Kurt's name but unable to formulate any semblance of a word, everything about the moment just captivating his entire conscious as his mind chants the mantra of—

"OH—" Blaine manages before he is coming, Kurt sucking him down as if his come tastes like the best mangos and papayas in the world, and Blaine trembles when it's over, his brain still buzzing on a high of Kurt. Kurt. Kurt. Kurt is all he can think about, and he pulls him up closer to his face so he can kiss Kurt softly on the lips and then lick into his mouth and taste himself on Kurt.

"You taste like mango," Kurt murmurs into his mouth.

"I love you," Blaine says back, and Kurt smiles.

After cuddling, after washing up, after brushing their teeth, after stripping naked and getting into bed together, in the seconds before he falls totally asleep, Blaine reflects. Immortality may be something without a beginning and without an end, and in that respect, he'd like to think his soul and Kurt's will walk together forever, wherever forever takes them—maybe we'll be reincarnated as swans in our next life, Blaine thinks happily, 'cause they mate for life—and the intangible love between them is definitely a forever kind of thing. But more important than that are the moments they have and share in the present, especially when the present is as fantastic as cuddling his face against Kurt's chest and wrapping his hands around Kurt's back and sighing a little as he falls totally unconscious into, maybe, dreams of a wedding—the day when we say preacher man, okay.