DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, FOX does. Warnings for this story include: awkward underage (but consensual) sex, some swearing, and really, really bad seduction plans.

The whole "slow dating" thing is going really well, and Kurt loves their coffee dates—which he's sorely missed having everyday since transferring back to McKinley—and weekends when they'll curl up on his sofa cuddling and watching Disney movies with a glass bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of them, not to mention their make-out sessions that are steadily getting more and more heated, but it's not enough.

When Kurt had suggested "taking it slow" for the first few months, he didn't think that Blaine would take it so literally. He had been the poster child for chivalry, holding countless doors open and making sure Kurt got everything he needed.

And Kurt respects that, he really does, but Jesus H. Christ on a rubber crutch, all he wants is at least a little through-the-pants action. Instead of Blaine opening every door for him Kurt wants to be thrown against them and ravaged thoroughly, a la Atonement. Instead of chaste kisses during "Belle Notte" Kurt wants an intense battle of tonsil hockey as Frollo sings "Hellfire."

Sometimes Kurt wishes that there was a male equivalent of short skirts and "fuck me" heels, because then maybe, just maybe, he can actually get into Blaine Anderson's pants. His deliciously tight, well-fitted pants.

And it's not like he hasn't tried. There was the time when he "accidentally" left Latter Days in his DVD player paused at Christian and Aaron's reunion sex in the hopes that Blaine would see what they could be doing, but that plan fell through miserably when all Blaine did was laugh and toss Kurt the DVD case forMulan without a second thought, paying no mind to the incredibly hot and romantic lovemaking onscreen.

Blaine is so sexy and so frustrating.

It doesn't help that he's now back at home and Blaine is still at Dalton and Kurt doesn't get to see or hear Blaine's laugh when they text, just stupid little lol's and hahaha's if he's managed to truly outwit himself. Their schedules (Dalton's excessive workload and New Directions preparing for Nationals) don't allow for many phone conversations or Skype-nights and Kurt is left wondering if transferring back was really a good idea.

At Dalton, while they didn't room together—and god, Kurt wishes they had because his roommate was just a fright—it wasn't like he didn't sneak out after hours to sleep in Blaine's room. Sadly, all he did was sleep, and it was nice, really, he wasn't ever going to complain about that.

He just wishes that he hadn't been so frigid about sex before. All those nights in the dorms when there could have been handjobs and blowjobs or some heavy making-out coupled with frottage they merely danced around these possibilities and held hands. Sure, he had been nervous, but wasn't everyone their first time? He could push it off until he was thirty-five, but it wouldn't make any difference. He'd just be a pathetic, old virgin too afraid to go through with it, and Kurt Hummel is not old and pathetic.

Kurt Hummel is a fierce, remorseless queen. He has a hot boyfriend with abs far better than Mike Chang's and all he can think about is becoming better acquainted with those muscles, running his tongue along that perfect expanse of skin, down, down…

…And his French homework is still undone. That, coupled with his unrelenting hard-on, causes him to groan loudly and thunk his head down onto his desk. In this moment in time Kurt became surer of his atheism, because what deity would create such a perfect human being, place him metaphorically in Kurt's lap—because Gaga knows that hasn't happened either, what the hell—and not allow them to have hot, steamy, passionate sex?

A terrible, mean god, that's who.

He glances down, sighing, at the assignment, glad that Dalton was slightly ahead in their French courses because the five minutes to do this before third period French class would be impossible on an empty brain. He shakes his head and places the piece of paper between the pages of his Bon Voyage! workbook, threading his fingers through his hair in agitation.

He needs a plan, and a devious one at that. Blaine's a romantic sap, and it's so adorable, really, but Kurt doubts that dimmed lights and fine champagne will be the thing to pop the button on Blaine's pants. He needs to truly outdo himself, and on a scale that's large enough to work, but small enough to not be such a disaster like the GAP incident.

Unlike Blaine, Kurt is a master at romance.

But next week is both McKinley's and Dalton's spring break, and Blaine did promise to spend it in Lima with Kurt…

It's with determination that he pulls his notebook from under his forgotten French workbook and sets to work, pen clasped tight enough in his hand to stretch the skin and leave little reddened marks, cramp the muscles as he determinedly scribbles out what he hopes to be the final stage in his "Get Blaine Anderson to Sleep With Me" plan.

"Blaine Warbler."

Blaine looks up from stirring his medium drip—and they know each other's coffee order, remind Kurt again why they still weren't sleeping together?—and arches his eyebrow in question, the hint of a warm, fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Yes, Kurt New Directions?"

Kurt can't stop his giggle, nor does he want to. He's well aware of the fact that Blaine finds it "adorable and endearing," to put it in his words. "I have a proposition for you, Blaine Anderson Warbler," he says as he pushes aside his fat-free skim Mocha latte. "But you have to take it seriously and you're not allowed to back down. Or…" Kurt pauses, trying to think of something severe that would make Blaine have to say yes. "Or I'll—I'll burn all your sweaters."

Blaine's mouth drops open a bit and he brushes his fingertips across the maroon cable-knit sweater he's currently wearing. "You wouldn't. You love them as much as I do."

Kurt has already made up his mind and this is going to work, no matter what extremes he has to go to, no matter how many innocent sweaters will meet their end with flickering flames and the hot end of the iron poker kept by Kurt's fireplace. "Doesn't matter. You have to promise me that you'll take whatever happens in this next week seriously."

"Oh my wizard god," Blaine says. "You're going to do Gaga in glee again, aren't you? From what you told me about 'Bad Romance' this can only end badly." His eyebrows furrow in concern, the expressive beings that they are. "Please tell me you're going to be safe."

"What? No, I'll be safe," Kurt replies, incredulous, flattered and touched by Blaine's statement. "I'm actually offended by what you said. We owned that song, but I don't really plan on ever intentionally murdering my feet like that again. This is more… personal."

Blaine steeples his fingers together and rests his elbows on the table as he leans forward, lips pursed and eyebrow cocked in interest. "Is that so, Kurt Hummel?" he says in a low, seductive voice and Kurt's stomach begins doing backflips that would make Coach Sylvester proud.

"Stop beating around the bush and say yes," Kurt breathes, voice wavering slightly as Blaine leans closer, closer until their lips brush and Kurt's shuddering from the sensation. "And stop distracting me."

Blaine sits back in his seat with a lopsided grin, wrapping his hand around his warm coffee cup. "If I say yes, will I regret it?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No. At least, I don't think so. I really hope not, actually."

"I trust you, then," Blaine says, and Kurt tries his best not to squeal in excitement. This plan would have to work; there'd be no way Blaine would ever in a million years say no to any of it. It was all just a matter of finding when he had the time, but he knows for sure that clothes would be off by next Saturday, when the Hummel-Hudson residence would be completely empty. That is, providing everything goes the way it's supposed to.

Kurt hasn't known Blaine long, obviously, but Blaine is very expressive about his likes and dislikes, and the number one thing Kurt knows Blaine likes besides garish sunglasses and hair gel is Disney. Blaine had told Kurt about his old high school, how bad it had been for him there, and had mentioned in passing his home life, which wasn't exactly the best either, and had said that his best cure for the dejection and loneliness was singing Disney songs in front of his mirror at home.

Well, Disney has always been something of a quote unquote comfort food for Kurt when he's feeling particularly down as well, and thus begins phase one: "Make the best possible Disney mash-up that he can to begin to express his undying attraction for the most attractive boy he's ever met."

In all honesty, it's not the most solid plan, but this is Blaine Anderson, lead vocalist for the Dalton Academy Warblers, the very same who broke out spontaneously into "I'll Make A Man Out Of You" in passing period between third and fourth block classes just a few weeks back. Needless to say, it had been spectacular and Kurt may or may not have purposely avoided the most direct route to his next class in order to see the impromptu performance.

Kurt only has a few days to create a mash-up before spring break would be officially a go for Dalton Academy and McKinley and Blaine would be making the drive from Westerville. So far he has one not-really love song—"You And Me Together" from Oliver & Company, because who didn't love that movie—and the ultimate proclamation, "Looking For Romance (I Bring You A Song)" from Bambi.

This was something that even Kurt wasn't sure that he could Tim Gunn, but he had to try, for romance's sake. Personally he likes the juxtaposition of contemporary and classic Disney elements and thinks that it works well with his and Blaine's very different attitudes.

His bias for talking orange tabbies and mutts voiced by Billy Joel aside, the realistic side of Kurt knows how ludicrous the idea of this mash-up is. He's taking Oliver and Jenny's friendship song and pairing it with Bambi and Faline's romantic romp through the moonlit meadow, but it is fitting in a way, he thinks, knowing how long Blaine considered him "just a friend."

His phone buzzes in his pocket and Kurt briefly hopes that it's not Mercedes. She had texted him about an hour ago and he's been so into his mash-up that he hasn't bothered to reply back and the last thing Kurt wants right now is an angry Mercedes angrily texting him in an angry capslock because she is seriously frightening sometimes, maybe even more so than Rachel or Quinn.

Kurt's planning a funeral full of Patti LuPone and Whitney Houston as he retrieves his phone, but when he unlocks the screen the text is marked from Blaine and he smiles before he opens it. For a few seconds as it loads he has an inane thought that he needs to fix his hair or check his teeth or something before he realises that no, Blaine cannot see him through his iPhone and that maybe he needs help more than he thought he did.

I miss my kurt :(

Would Kurt welcome something a little more PG-13 that contained the words "naked" or "hard"? Probably. As it was, a cute text from an even cuter boy would have to suffice, and Jesus, when did he become such a girl?

And I miss my Blainey-Bear ^ ^

Exhibit A.

As disgustingly cute as the nickname happens to be, the emoticon isn't very apropos, is it?

It's not an "emoticon," Blaine, it's your eyebrows. Duh. I miss those too.

I have no response for this.

Kurt smirks and blows a kiss at his screen. As he's typing out hey, got to go, working on a special project, Blaine texts back with btw, coming a few days earlier than planned. It appears that pining over your boyfriend enough to get the whole floor tired of you gives you an early "go home" pass. Kurt very literally feels his stomach drop and fall out onto the floor with a disgusting squelch. At least, in his state of hyperventilation that's what it feels like.

A few days earlier than planned means, quite literally, Blaine should be arriving in Lima by tomorrow night at the latest, and since Blaine is ridiculously anal about punctuality, Kurt knows he'll be at his doorstep by the time Carole has dinner on the table, sexy curly hair mussed but somehow still orderly from the drive. It's a nice image but it's not part of the plan.

But don't you have classes?

I can afford to miss friday. It's just one day, and i'm acing pretty much everything.

The world is ending, Kurt's sure of it. After a few minutes of frantic pacing, knuckle-biting and fruitless plotting Kurt finally fires back Great :) Can't wait to see you in the hopes that maybe Blaine has forgotten all about the surprises Kurt has in store for him. Lady Luck, as it seems to be, is just not on his side when Blaine texts back Pretty excited about that surprise ;)


Kurt is not sitting in his US History class freaking out. Not at all. His frantic scribbling isn't him trying his damndest to piece together two incompatible Disney songs but rather extremely detailed notes on Prohibition, and after Rachel Berry's Trainwreck Party Extravaganza, a ban on alcohol just might be what this school needs, and the more education on the Roaring '20s the better.

As much as he's willing it to stay still the clock still ticks ever closer to three, little second hand clicking steadily along, mocking, telling Kurt that it'll only be a few hours before Blaine's little maroon Ford Focus—aptly named Maroon 5—will be pulling into Kurt's driveway and its equally small owner will be stepping out.

He hasn't even practiced this song yet, and no offense to Mercedes, but even the best divas need at least three semi-perfect to perfect practices before they feel that they can truly nail a performance. Kurt knows that Blaine will probably be too caught up in his little Disney-induced haze to notice if anything is wrong or incoherent, but he just wants it to be perfect.

He is, however, a perfectionist, and these is no Plan B, only Phase Two. All of his heart goes into one thing at a time, which is why he's helplessly scribbling down We'll always be good company / you and me so / I bring you a song

Brittany leans over his shoulder and stares at his paper like it's an alien or at least last night's Algebra 2 assignment. "That isn't what Mr. Churchill is saying. Am I in the wrong classroom?" She starts to get up to leave but Kurt quickly grabs the sleeve of her oversized t-shirt and pulls her back down into her seat.

"Sit down, Brit. You're fine." He doesn't bother to try to understand the nonsense of her last statement; no one does anymore. It's just easier to let Brittany be Brittany and hope she doesn't hurt herself.

When the bell rings approximately twenty minutes later Kurt walks to his car like a condemned man, wondering when it got to the point that he wasn't even excited to see his own boyfriend after a week of being apart. He wants to go home, tell Carole not to let anyone with dark curly hair that goes by the name Blaine Anderson Warbler in the front door, and drown his sorrows with the legends of Broadway and lament at the fact that his life isn't written by a talented songwriter.

His phone buzzes.

On my way! See you in a few hours, my little penguin :)

Kurt should be grateful that a text this late means that Blaine only dipped out on last period, but he's too busy freaking out internally as he starts up his car to feel much of anything else. He doesn't even have the capacity to reprimand Blaine about the penguin reference.

He's so, so fucked.

"Blaine, I—

"See, I thought that I could surprise you with a Disney mash-up—

"In hindsight, it was pretty stupid, I suppose—

"Oh, don't hate me," Kurt finally groans in defeat, burying his face in his hands as he slumps down onto his desk chair.

"Why would I hate you?"

Kurt's head snaps up and toward his door, where Blaine is standing with a lopsided smile, suitcase clutched in his right hand. He even has his Dalton uniform still on, and sweet Gaga this boy is his. Kurt goes through a thousand different emotions ranging from oh god you look so hot fuck me now to oh baby I missed you please come here. Fortunately Kurt's brain decides to go with the latter and he jumps up to envelop Blaine in a crushing hug.

"Who let you in?" Kurt asks Blaine's neck.

"Carole. She figured you'd like the surprise."

Maybe if I wasn't trying to plan an impossible serenade. "She knows me best," is what he says instead. He pulls away and studies Blaine's face. "You look exhausted. Why don't you lay down for a bit?" He motions toward his bed where he hopes—hopes —to have a not-hungover Blaine in by the end of the week.

"Mmm, in a minute," Blaine says as he grabs Kurt's wrist and pulls him close. "I've missed you." His other hand goes up to the back of Kurt's neck, thumb rubbing softly at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Kurt's breath escapes him in a soft whoosh and he feels his heartbeat speed up slightly as Blaine leans in to press their lips together.

Kurt's hand that isn't being held by the wrist goes to tangle in Blaine's curls, and god, he sometimes forgets that Blaine is shorter than him. He leans down slightly and makes a soft noise when Blaine's tongue skirts across the seam of his lips. The kiss is gentle, something of a "welcome back" more than anything. Kurt presses closer to Blaine's body not out of arousal but out of the pure need to be as close as he possibly can.

"When do you want part one of your surprise?' Kurt asks against Blaine's lips when they part for air.

"Oh, there's more than one part?" Blaine says excitedly.

He's like an excitable shaggy puppy, Kurt thinks as he nods. "Three parts, to be exact." Kurt is almost afraid to begin Phase One, but he's in too deep now. There's no room, or time for that matter, to back out, so instead Kurt takes a deep breath and walks over to his computer, opening up iTunes.

"Take a seat on the bed," Kurt says, his back to his room, and he hears Blaine moving around behind him and then the telltale squeak of springs as his bed dips under Blaine's weight. His cursor hovers over the instrumental track that he had mashed up that morning on GarageBand, and a little voice answers his hesitancy, saying It's all or nothing now, Kurt.

He presses play.

Soft piano starts, the same short chord repeated two times before Kurt inhales and begins. "You and me together we'll be / forever you'll see / we two can be good company, you and me / yes, together, we two / together, that's you / forever with me."

The music gradually fades into a slow, gentle waltz and Kurt pushes into the next section and ignores the obvious disconnect. "So, I bring you a song / and I sing as I go / for I want you to know / that I'm looking for romance." He takes a few steps toward Blaine, Blaine who is looking at Kurt thoughtfully in a way that he can only describe as the "Blackbird" Look and maybe this isn't going as terribly as Kurt thought it would.

While Kurt's room isn't exactly small, there's also not a lot of room for complex dance movements or any choreography really that isn't him staring longingly into Blaine's eyes or him stepping closer and closer into Blaine's personal space. He feels sort of weird for doing a little bit of both of those, but hey, it's not like he has any choice in the matter. Maybe if Blaine hadn't unexpectedly showed up they could have done this somewhere else.

Kurt finishes the song with "I bring you a song / for I'm seeking romance," and a complex flourished movement—only complex thing he had room for, actually—that ends with him on one knee in front of Blaine, and he probably should have planned this better because now, now it looks like he's trying to propose to his boyfriend, which isn't true because he just wants to get laid, damnit.

Hopeful blue-grey eyes peer upwards at wide hazel, and Kurt is afraid to say anything, honestly. Blaine hasn't either, which can only mean that Kurt is a fail at everything he does so why doesn't Rachel Berry get her perky ass over here and serenade Blaine herself because it'd probably work better.

Kurt is well on his way to hyperventilating—again—when Blaine reaches a hand down and cups Kurt's cheek, a genuinely pleased smile cutting across his face. "You are adorable," he says fondly.

It's all he says, in fact, as he just goes back to staring at Kurt like he's the greatest thing ever, and Kurt should be satisfied with that, but he'd spent days agonizing over that stupid mash-up, so why wasn't Blaine commenting on it?

"Uh, so, what did you think about the song?" Kurt asks as he gets up off his knee to sit next to Blaine on his bed. Blaine's shoulder is warm and sturdy where Kurt leans against it.

"I love those movies, respectfully," Blaine says, pausing. "But they're not really compatible, are they?" Kurt sighs. At least he's brutally honest.

"They aren't," Kurt assents. "But I wanted to do something special for you, and I know how much you love Disney, how much we both love Disney, and what better way than a mash-up?" He sort of feels like crap and life seriously sucks right now, but he tried, and that does have to count for something.

"Kurt, look at me," Blaine says, like he knows, and he probably does, and soon his hands are insistent on Kurt's jaw as he swivels Kurt's head so that they're looking eye-to-eye. Kurt worries his lower lip between his teeth. "It was adorable, and so, so sweet, and I loved it. I really did." He leans in and presses a kiss on Kurt's mouth, working Kurt's lip from its sharp prison.

"Now, what do you say to some 'reconnection' before we're called to dinner?" Blaine whispers into Kurt's ear, and Kurt only wishes that his and Blaine's ideas of "reconnection" were the same. A little making out never hurt anyone, and Blaine is awfully good at kissing.

Wednesday night at Breadstix would hopefully kick off Phase Two. Kurt wants a romantic dinner: the two of them in a little secluded booth in the back of the restaurant, hand-feeding each other croutons and bits of each other's food, and he's not asking for too much here, is he? Hopefully not because he just finalized the reservations and Kurt is not one to go back on those.

He tosses his phone on his bed and finishes towel-drying his hair, carefully folding up the damp towel when he's done and putting it back on the rack. As he sits at his vanity to go through his daily moisturizing routine he vaguely wonders what would be the least messy and most romantic food to order but he can come up with nothing. It's unfortunate.

Kurt looks at his empty bed and sighs, wishing that his dad had allowed Blaine to at least sleep in the same room. The guest room was horribly decorated and didn't his dad at least trust him a little bit? Besides, getting up to anything while parental units were present was just tacky and asking for trouble.

A quick glance at the clock shows Kurt that it's pushing ten and his boyfriend needs to get up right now so that they can get out of the house. He exits his room and goes down the hall to the guest room, slowly pushing open the door and wincing as the hinges creak loudly.

The room is a hazy blue, dark with the heavy curtains pulled tightly shut and on the bed is a distinctly Blaine-sized lump of covers. Kurt can't stop his fond smile as he tiptoes into the room, coming to a stop on the left side of the bed.

Blaine is ten kinds of adorable when he sleeps, Kurt concludes. He hovers for a minute or two, taking in Blaine's lax features, his gentle breathing and the way his eyelashes will occasionally flutter in dream before he starts to feel like Edward Cullen and this needs to stop because Kurt Hummel is not a creep.

"Blaine," Kurt whispers, gently nudging his shoulder. "Wake up." He prods a few times, earning agitated groans in response. Kurt huffs and evolves to shaking Blaine's shoulder, raising his voice this time. "Blaine! Seriously, get up, you lazy oaf."

"What?" Blaine manages to get out, his voice sleep-thick and his tone clipped. "God, Kurt, you're wors'n Thad and Wes." He rubs at his eyes and sits up, curls going every which way and Kurt has to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing hysterically. Blaine is quite possibly the furthest thing from a morning person that Kurt has ever met.

"Come on, get up," Kurt says again. "Let's go out."

Blaine sleepily glances at the bedside clock. "It's barely after ten," he says. "What are we going to do?"

"Oh, just because you like to waste your days and sleep until noon doesn't mean that there isn't a whole world of possibilities in the AM," Kurt replies as he gets up to snap open the curtains. He turns around, hands on his hips and his eyes bright. Blaine looks at him like he's gone insane.

Kurt shakes his head and sighs, bounding over to the bed to tug on Blaine's arm. "Get up, get up! I have awesome plans for today and you are not going to ruin them, Blaine Anderson. I'm still holding a metaphorical match over all your sweaters. Even the ones that aren't in the guest closet right now."

"Fine. Give me ten minutes," Blaine says, slapping Kurt's hand away. His tone is harsh but his eyes are kind, albeit hazy with sleep. Kurt smiles angelically back at him.

"The picnic is nice," Blaine comments as he leans back, green blades of grass scratching at his palms. For an Ohio day in April the weather is surprisingly fantastic and both boys soak up the warm sun where it hits their bodies. Kurt's eyes are closed, head tilted up toward the light as he says, "I think picnics are so romantic." He leans his head back down and looks at Blaine. "Just the two of us, all alone on this hill."

Blaine's eyebrows rise. "Kurt Hummel, are you trying to seduce me?"

Not yet, Kurt thinks as he smiles innocently and playfully knocks the toe of his shoe against Blaine's calf. "I can't believe you'd mistake my romantic motives of wooing you with cheap food and sparkling cider for trying to get into your pants. I am a baby penguin." He raises an eyebrow for emphasis.

Blaine grins sheepishly and leans over to rest his hand on top of Kurt's. "At least you're my baby penguin," he says before he closes the gap and presses their lips together. "It's adorable."

"You overuse that word, you know."

"What, adorable?" Blaine's grin gets even wider. "It's the perfect adjective for my adorable boyfriend, who's made of adorableness." The look Kurt continues to give him slowly morphs into absolute murder before softening slightly to devious.

"Well, Blaine, I'm so glad someone as dapper as you can comment so fully on my adorability. Your dapperness just knows no bounds," Kurt replies airily.

Blaine laughs, says, "That doesn't bother me like it bothers you. Nice try, though. I'd give it an A-."

Kurt rolls his eyes and fists his hands into Blaine's shirt, not caring that he was stretching the cheap material—seriously, if they were going to be an item Blaine needed better clothes—and forcefully pulls him closer. "Just shut up and kiss me, Dapper Anderson," he growls.

Blaine does.

Wednesday dinner gets cancelled and Kurt wonders if the universe is secretly plotting against him. Carole tells him early Wednesday morning while Blaine is in the shower that she's having a family dinner that night because a few of Finn's relatives that Kurt and Burt haven't met yet are coming in from Tennessee and Kurt loves Carole too much to tell her that he already had romantic dinner plans with his boyfriend. He smiles and tells her it's not a problem, but it really, really is.

Begrudgingly he calls up Breadstix and takes Hummel, party of two off the seven o'clock reservation list. Life sucks. He knocks on the bathroom door with a sigh, telling Blaine through the wood that "You're gonna meet some of Finn's relatives tonight, so dress nicely," and doesn't even have the heart to appreciate the fact that Blaine is probably naked just on the other side of that door, body glistening with water droplets and hair a beautiful mess.

He doesn't wait for an answer and pouts on his way back to his room, shutting his door with as much force as he can because Kurt Hummel does not slam doors, that's just rude and tacky. Somehow the idea of hand-feeding Blaine in front of the Hummel-Hudson clan just wasn't as appealing.

Saturday night finds them both alone in Kurt's house around six in the evening, and for Kurt the temptation to say fuck it to the dinner phase of his plan was overwhelming but he tamped it down with the promise that later, just hopefully, everything would work out. While his house isn't exactly a swanky restaurant—or the closest they could get in Lima—it'll have to do. Besides, Kurt had prepared some fabulous mini quiches for an appetizer and shrimp scampi as a main course.

Those things may or may not have been bought at the local supermarket and prepared as Kurt pushed Blaine out of the house to "do something productive for a little bit, please," but Blaine didn't have to know that. Kurt wishes that he had thought of chocolate-covered strawberries earlier, but now it was too late to fret over it.

"Oh, stop fussing," Kurt says and walks over to where Blaine is standing in front of Kurt's full-length mirror, adjusting and readjusting his tie. "You're making it worse." Kurt steps in front of him and the mirror and tugs at the black silk a few times before it's repositioned to his liking.

Blaine smiles in response and leans up the press his lips to Kurt's. "Aren't you a little overdressed?" he asks, eyeing up Kurt's outfit. "I mean… it's just your dining room."

Kurt huffs and walks away, tucking his red silk dress shirt into his black jeans. He doesn't bother with a response and instead works on fixing his hair. "Stay here," he says to Blaine as he heads for his door and quickly takes the steps downstairs.

The dining room table is covered in a delicate lace cloth, long white candles in gleaming silver holders in the middle waiting to be lit. Scarlet cloth napkins sit, folded, on delicate white china plates, silverware arranged in correct order on both sides of each plate.

Wineglasses—to be filled with sparkling cider, again—rest diagonally to the left side of the plates. Kurt walks over to the stove and takes out the still-warm tray of quiche, leaving the scampi to keep warm in the oven until the time came.

With a few clicks of a lighter the candles are lit, and soon Kurt has the drinks poured and the appetizers set. Confident, he calls Blaine down from upstairs, clapping his hands together in excitement. He waits anxiously as he hears Blaine's footsteps descend down the stairs and doesn't hold back his giddy smile as Blaine walks over to the table.

"This is… Wow," Blaine breathes, eyeing up the setting. "Just for us?" He turns his eyes to Kurt, and they're big and hopeful and filled with adoration.

"Just us," Kurt confirms, pulling back Blaine's chair with a flourish.

When they're both seated across from each other Kurt gets a flash of this could be their life, together, someday. Romantic meals by candlelight, telling each other how their respective days went. Kurt can't stop the twisting in his gut when he thinks this and finally realizes how badly he wants a future with Blaine to come true.

"I loved spending this week with you, Kurt," Blaine says and Kurt is quick to agree. He picks up a quiche from its serving platter and holds it delicately in his fingertips, stretching his body just slightly over the table.

Blaine looks at him curiously, first at Kurt's face and then down at the food between his fingers. Kurt does nothing more than stay silent and raise his eyebrows. The idea slowly dawns on Blaine and he leans forward as well, biting down on half the quiche, his eyes never leaving Kurt's even as he leans back to chew.

When Blaine goes to finish it off he may or may not run his tongue along Kurt's fingertips, and Kurt may or may not bodily shiver when he does so. They repeat this process until there's nothing left on the platter and they're both wide-eyed and breathing heavily. As Kurt gets up to get the scampi from the fridge he hears Blaine say, almost inaudibly and with a touch of aroused amusement, "You are trying to seduce me, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt turns around and is surprised to see that Blaine is out of his seat and just a few feet away. Kurt takes in his gelled-back hair, his slight stubble, his expressive eyes and knows that now, now is the right moment, shrimp scampi be damned.

Kurt presses Blaine against the kitchen wall and wastes no time in kissing him, hands tight on Blaine's shoulders. "I wanted to do this all week," he says between kisses, hitching his knee higher between Blaine's legs, moves his hands to cradle Blaine's face as they deepen the kiss.

Blaine moans, and then Kurt moans because Blaine's hands have found his ass, thank Gaga and there's so much sensation, so much breathing and noise and saliva but Kurt is too turned on to care about anything other than the hard press of Blaine's cock against his leg.

There's no admonition on his tongue when Blaine grabs his hair and pulls, only another moan. Kurt's thumb strokes over Blaine's brow bone before he too is tangling his fingers in Blaine's stiff lock, gradually working the strands loose and away from each other.

Sharp teeth worry at Kurt's lip and Kurt presses farther forward, bringing his leg down so that he can grind his hips against Blaine's and this is seriously the best thing ever, why haven't they done this before?

Kurt breaks away, says, 'I've got to turn off the stove. Then bed," and does just that. Blaine is still pressed to the wall, lips red and wet, mouth parted as he takes in lungfuls of air. His shirt is a wrinkled mess, half un-tucked from his jeans, tie loose and hanging askew.

Kurt is so damn lucky.

They trip up the stairs and hit the doorframe in their haste to get to Kurt's bed. Blaine seems to regain some of his senses as he takes control, pushing Kurt against his now-closed door. "You look so hot right now," he whispers. His fingers are quick but trembling on the button of Kurt's jeans, and for all his bravado and easy smiles Kurt knows that they're both equally as nervous about this. The sound of a zipper being pulled mingles with their heavy breathing and Kurt's soft moans.

Blaine sinks to his knees and grabs Kurt's jeans and the waistband of his briefs, working them down slowly and never breaking eye contact with Kurt. He hesitates; Kurt can see the nervousness and also a determination to succeed written across Blaine's face. He bites his lip and wills his hips still and hands to stay at his side. The last thing he wants to do is push Blaine before he's ready.

When Blaine finally closes his lips over the head of Kurt's cock he feels like he's going to simultaneously die and combust. Blaine's not experienced by any means, but neither is Kurt, and all that matters is that, for what Kurt presumes to Blaine's first time, it's not bad.

Kurt's fingers eventually do find themselves buried in Blaine's hair, but it's mainly because this way Kurt feels such a connection to his boyfriend, and oh god, he never wants it to stop, but it has to, otherwise things are going to be over embarrassingly quickly.

"Blaine, ah," Kurt gasps as he feels Blaine's tongue lave up the underside of his cock and catch on the rim of the head as Blaine pulls back slightly. "You've gotta stop." Kurt's actually surprised that he's this coherent right now.

Blaine pulls back all the way, keeping a fist wrapped around Kurt's cock, blinks up at him owlishly and Kurt's gaze is stuck on Blaine's lips—again —and how absolutely filthy they look right now. When Blaine stands up Kurt is instantly all over him, touching and kissing and shedding his clothes as quickly as possible while also getting rid of his own.

He maybe sort of trips over his pants while he's trying to get them off before realizing that, yes, his shoes are still on, and Blaine makes it a point to absolutely not laugh. A red flush of embarrassment spreads high over Kurt's cheekbones and Blaine kisses it away, touching him in all the right places to get his mind back to where it should be.

Kurt has a moment when he almost wants to request that Blaine keep his tie on, wonders how hot it would be to have Blaine fucking him, the silk whisking over his skin with every thrust. In the end, it goes because it's in danger of being ruined and Kurt actually likes that tie.

Kurt is the first to fall back onto his bed, Blaine following closely after as he moves to straddle him, tangling their legs together. Blaine's tongue is quick and wet over the sensitive skin of Kurt's neck, then his collarbone, then his chest. Kurt absolutely keens with pleasure when Blaine's mouth closes over his left nipple.

His hands latch onto Blaine's back like he's a life preserver, the only thing keeping him on the ground, and maybe he is. The moment is so surreal; they're both naked on Kurt's bed, minutes away from finally having sex, and Kurt thought that this opportunity would never, ever arrive.

Kurt grasps Blaine's face, pulls him back up eye level so that they can share a proper kiss, this one softer and less hurried than the others, less teeth and gentler tongue. Their mingled breaths ghost over each other's lips when Kurt says, "I want you to fuck me, Blaine."

Blaine laughs and Kurt wants to smack him upside the head when his only explanation is, "I never thought I'd hear you say that," to which Kurt responds, "I could say the same about you. Now if it's all the same, I'd really, really like to have your cock in me, like, yesterday."

So maybe Kurt's brain-to-mouth filter turns off when he's turned on. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that, judging by the way Blaine's hips twitch and his eyes go slightly hazy with lust. Kurt tells Blaine where to find the lube and condoms and only has to miss the heat and strong press of his body for a little under a minute before he's returning with both clutched in his hand.

"Spread your legs," Blaine says even though he's already hitching one of Kurt's legs over his shoulder and if Kurt sighs a little in annoyance Blaine chooses to ignore it, although there's a teasing ghost of a smirk turning his lips upwards. The first touch of Blaine's finger is strange but not exactly alien, and the lube isn't warmed up enough, but Kurt doesn't care because one of Blaine's fingers is pressing into him.

He closes his eyes against the burn, tries to will his body to relax as Blaine slowly begins to add another finger, slipping it in to the first knuckle, the second knuckle, and when it reaches the third Kurt's tense, no matter how hard he tells himself to relax.

Blaine's whispering softly in his ear as he works his fingers slowly, in-out, crooking them, probing, until he finally finds the spot and Kurt instantly forgets about the pain in favor of the strong, unadulterated pleasure running through him like fireworks. He moans, louder than intended, and pushes his hips down onto Blaine's hand, wordlessly begging for more.

"Got it," Blaine says, still at his spot against his ear, breathing a laugh.

Kurt's begging has now morphed into words and he doesn't feel full enough, tells Blaine this and earns another laugh in response and the loss of Blaine's fingers. He whines—though he'll never admit that outside this room—and looks at Blaine with hatred in his eyes.

Blaine just smiles and brandishes the condom, and oh. Kurt had completely forgotten about this part of the plan for a few minutes. He watches rapturously as Blaine tears the packet open and rolls the condom down over his cock, letting out a few short moans as he slicks himself up with lube.

"Just relax," Blaine says as he positions himself over Kurt. Their eyes lock and suddenly it's completely serious and the reality of the situation hits them both. This isn't just handjobs, or blowjobs, or even just fingering. This is handing themselves over to the other, opening themselves up to scrutiny and pleasure. This is showing how much they love each other.

Kurt nods, hands gripping Blaine's shoulders, and Blaine pushes in.

"Ah—" Kurt involuntarily lets out a noise of discomfort, eyes squeezing shut, and Blaine stills, letting him adjust. He pushes further in, capturing Kurt's gasp of pain in his mouth as he kisses him. Blaine's arms begin to tremble slightly from the combination of holding himself up and fighting the urge to thrust into Kurt.

"You okay?' Blaine asks softly, and when Kurt nods he slides further in, bottoming out. Both boys are gasping, Blaine at the unbelievable tightness and Kurt at the unbelievable pain and fullness.

"You're so tight, Kurt," Blaine groans as he slowly slides out and pushes back in. By now Kurt's eyes are open and he watches Blaine's face, sees the love and care, the contortion of pleasure whenever he moves. On the second thrust Blaine comes closer to Kurt's prostate, and on the third Kurt's hips meet him halfway.

On the fourth, just as Kurt's snaking a hand down to his cock, Blaine suddenly shudders and makes what Kurt can and will only ever describe as the sexiest sex noise ever before he comes to a complete stop. Kurt raises an eyebrow questioningly.

The look Blaine gives him is sheepish. "Um… I may have just come?"

Kurt sighs in exasperation because this is not how it's supposed to go. They're supposed to climax together, clutching onto each other dramatically, their moans mingling in the heated air. Instead, it's Blaine carefully pulling out, kissing Kurt when he winces, and tying off the condom, dropping it into the trashcan beside Kurt's bed. And all the while, Kurt's still hard and unsatisfied.

"I'm really sorry," Blaine says, wrapping a hand around Kurt's cock, shooing Kurt's hand away. Kurt bucks up into the pressure even though he's supposed to be angry at Blaine, the selfish bastard. "It's just… First time, you know. And you felt so good." He slides down the bed, kissing Kurt's hipbones, hovering just above the head of his cock. "I'll make it better for you next time. I promise."

"You'd better," Kurt says, though there's no heat in his voice, and all anger leaves him the second Blaine's lips are around his cock again. The combination of wet suction and tight pressure send him over the edge quicker than he'd have liked, and he barely has time to warn Blaine before he's coming.

Kurt's surprised to see that Blaine didn't move and sits up only when Kurt has collapsed, boneless, onto the sheets. He makes a face, says, "Not the worst thing, but not exactly pleasant either," and Kurt laughs, a note of exhaustion in his voice.

"Next time," Kurt says as Blaine lies down next to him, bodies pressing close.

"Next time will be better," Blaine promises, resting his head on Kurt's chest.

Kurt's half-awake, on the line between reality and dream, when he hears Blaine say, "By the way, your plan to seduce me? Totally cute."

Kurt smiles as he drifts off to sleep.