A Door Opens

by missbeizy

Summary:

Kurt (45) is a senior designer at a NYC fashion house. When he discovers that his husband of almost twenty five years is having an affair and wants a divorce, Blaine (26), a new hire at the same house, is there to help him pick up the pieces.

The day that Kurt discovers his husband is cheating on him he has two major things on his schedule.

He needs to call Ari and confirm her flight details—she'd neglected to email as promised, which isn't like her—and he has to meet with the two interview candidates who have applied for the event organizer position at work.

Instead of thinking about the email that he'd found on his and Stephen's shared laptop, he thinks about their daughter coming home for the holiday. He thinks about the resumes that he's supposed to be scouring. His assistant has probably done the work for him already, but he always double-checks the details himself. The fashion shows that his company puts on must be as flawless as his designs and the models who wear them, and therefore the person in charge of them has to be equally flawless.

His work is everything to him: it proves his integrity, showcases his passion, and makes him proud.

He stares at the laptop screen.

It hadn't been a matter of snooping, not really—this is their laptop that holds their shared accounts, and when he'd clicked on the email inbox he hadn't noticed that it was logged in to Stephen's email account instead of his own. The first and only unread email had had the subject line “hey sexy”, and Kurt had laughed and thought it was one of those spam mails selling Viagra or advertising “hot slutty teens” or whatever such nonsense that the spam filters usually catch. But then he'd noticed that the sender's email address had seemed like a regular address, and the name one that he'd recognized as one of Stephen's coworkers. He's sure that at some point he'd even exchanged emails with the man in question in regards to the party that Kurt had arranged for Stephen's fiftieth last year.

He hadn't been able to help himself. He'd clicked on it.

He's regretted it ever since.

A few sentences is all that it takes for his world to come crashing down. Stephen has been carrying on an affair with this guy, for what appears to be a long time.

It's funny: he'd always thought that if something like this were to happen to him, he'd be able to say “well, in retrospect it's obvious” or “I should have known all along, because this, that, and the other thing”. But there's been nothing—no suspicious behavior, no lapse in intimacy, no unexplainable absences. He and Stephen are both very busy men, especially since Ari has been living at college, and they do have, to some extent, their own lives. Kurt supposes that it isn't outside of the realm of possibility for him to have simply not noticed the change.

He doesn't know what to do. As for what to feel—well, all he can feel is numb. He doesn't want to scream or cry or confront Stephen. He doesn't think that he'd be capable of anything like that in this moment.

Routine is all that he has right now. He—and consequently they—have things to do. Friends and family-related obligations. Plans with their daughter, once she arrives. And Kurt has no choice about work—he has to be there within the hour.

So he gets up. He leaves the laptop as he found it, even down to marking the email unread so that Stephen won't suspect that it had been viewed. He finishes getting dressed, taking the time to dress up his outfit so his interview candidates get a visual idea of the kind of fashion designer that he is.

He doesn't quite feel the fabric as it glides over his skin. He doesn't quite feel the chilly air on his face as he takes the subway into the heart of the city.

He's forty five years old and one of the most sought after fashion designers in this hemisphere, and he has never felt so betrayed in his life.

 

*

 

The first interview candidate Kurt sees has an impressive repertoire.

He has credentials appropriate to the position that he's seeking, years of experience, and when Kurt issues him a series of challenges related to showcasing difficult lines and trouble-shooting the usual near-disaster that many of their events tend to be, he's satisfied by the man's responses. He displays obvious knowledge of the industry and its inner workings. He would probably turn the heads of many a design firm in the city.

But it's like a trip to the doctor when Kurt wants to feel like he's going to the spa—the man is too perfect, too cold, too put together. He's trying too hard, and Kurt honestly wonders if he'd crack under the pressure of some of their more difficult backers and models. Kurt leaves him with a friendly handshake and a “we'll be in touch”, and decides to reserve judgment for the moment.

He shares coffee and office gossip with his assistant, and then decides that he might as well take an actual lunch. He has an hour before the next interview, and, well—why not? He deserves something indulgent today. And no matter what his physician says, he's still fit enough to handle saturated fat every now and then.

He happily murders a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake.

On the way back to his office he sits in a stall in the men's room on a turned down toilet seat, clasps his arms around himself, and begins to tremble. He isn't sure at what point today his morning had begun to catch up with him, but there it is, like a stone jammed below his solar plexus. He stares down at his shiny boots with their perfect laces and has to stifle the urge to tear every article of clothing off of his body and bang the walls of the stall screaming at the top of his lungs until the whole office comes running.

His phone vibrates with a text from Stephen, but he doesn't open it.

He calls his daughter instead.

“Dad!” she answers. “Did you get my email?”

“That depends on whether you're finally bringing Sara with you.”

“Dad.”

“You've been dating her all semester.” Kurt's pounding heart slows down at the sound of Ari's voice.

“She's got a family thing in Delaware. But she said she'd try to drive up on Sunday. Does that satisfy you?”

He smiles. “I'm excited to meet her. Your Papa is too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies. Kurt can hear her smile. “Okay, I've gotta run. I have an exam and then I have to get packing.”

“Okay,” he says. “Love you, sweetheart. See you soon.”

“Love you too.”

He holds his phone tightly in one hand. He doesn't leave the stall until the trembling stops.

 

*

 

From the moment that his door opens on the second interview candidate, Kurt knows that he's special.

He's wearing a gloriously tailored in-season suit from a well-known designer, but here and there are changes that are unexpected and thrilling—a bow tie in an opposing pattern to his dress shirt, a glittery sheen to his shoes, and little inlays of colorful cloth sewn into the inside of the jacket's sleeves and lapels. As Kurt's eyes discover and take in each of these alterations, his professional sense begins to stir. Blaine's alternations are similar to his style but in some ways bolder and even more creative—it's farther than he would go.

He likes that. He likes that a lot.

“Blaine Anderson,” he says, standing and extending his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” Blaine's wide eyes go even wider when he smiles. And oh, what a smile. Kurt's fingers tingle when they shake hands.

“The pleasure's all mine, sir,” Blaine replies.

He waits to sit until Kurt has, and Kurt can't help but approve of his manners. He's proper, and it's not an act—he seems genuine. It is a rare quality in this industry, especially when jobs are being ferociously sought after.

The knot that's been twisting in Kurt's chest all day loosens, just enough to allow the smile that he maintains as he looks at Blaine to remain honest. It's a curious but not unheard of feeling; Kurt has felt this way before with both friends and colleagues upon their first meeting. There's an instant and obvious chemistry between them. It could be a very good thing indeed if they end up working together.

And on that note...

“Your resume is impressive,” he says, spreading the papers across his desk. “And your phone interviews were very informative. That you've come this far indicates you're more than qualified for the job. But what really interests me is that we weren't your first choice. Are you comfortable talking about that in further detail?”

Blaine's mouth twitches downward briefly. Kurt can tell that this is the last thing he had expected to be asked, which means that it's probably a good thing that Kurt had decided to lead with it.

He's only thrown for a moment.

“When I was in high school, my passion was music. In college that evolved to include teaching music—at the elementary school level, mostly—but I could never seem to fully put aside the arts. I perform on the side, still, in fact. But I also began to design children's clothing—modern, fashionable styles that were as functional and durable as they were chic. I only got so far in pursuing it, though. It's a difficult field to get into.” He smiles. “I haven't managed to get the backing that I would need to launch my own line, and I haven't been able to convince the existing houses that my ideas would be profitable. So I began to search for firms with reputations of being cutting edge and willing to take risks. And that's why I'm sitting here with you today.”

Kurt listens with his head tilted and his mouth curved into a polite, attentive smile.

He likes this guy. He likes the whole vibe he gives off, likes his connection to the arts (still something that Kurt clings to), likes his drive, and likes his honesty.

“Do you have children of your own?” he asks, just to keep Blaine talking along those lines.

Blaine's resume states that he's twenty six years old. It's young for a parent these days, but Kurt had become a father around that age, so he supposes it's not that farfetched.

“Ah, no,” he says, smiling. “I would love to, some day.” His honey-hazel eyes darken briefly before he adds, “I guess I just haven't met the right guy yet.”

“My partner and I have a nineteen year old daughter,” Kurt says, and for a second it doesn't hurt, but he knows that once that second passes his face tenses up again.

“Okay, please don't take this as blind flattery, because I would not stoop to that during a job interview, no matter how prestigious the house,” he says, making Kurt laugh, “but you do not look old enough to be the father of a nineteen year old.”

Kurt gets that a lot. He's in pretty good shape for his age and he knows it. Aside from the faint shimmer of gray-silver-blonde hairs shot through his original reddish-chestnut brown shade and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth, he's maintained his youthful appearance well into his forties, mostly because he's been naturally slender since the end of puberty.

“Well, thank you all the same,” Kurt says. “I won't make any official record of this flattery.”

“I appreciate that,” Blaine says, smiling.

His whole demeanor is kind of dazzling. Kurt is impressed.

“You do know that if we decide to take you on, you won't be working with kids.”

Blaine holds up his hands. “Oh, I'm fully aware. I'll be honest—it's something that I'm going to continue developing, and something that I hope your firm will find interesting in time. But I'm aware that you're mostly looking for an event organizer in me, and I am fully capable in that regard. I've led show choirs and theater productions and classrooms, and I can promise you that everything I've accomplished in those situations will serve me well in serving you well here.”

He's good. Kurt is sold, though of course he doesn't say so.

They go on to discuss things like job responsibilities and the firm's upcoming schedule of events. Kurt is careful about what he chooses to say—he doesn't want to give away anything sensitive in case this conversation doesn't lead to a job offer—but he also finds himself changing his tune from the one he'd used in the previous interview. Blaine is so much more available and lively, and Kurt is nothing if not adaptable. When he says “we'll be in touch” to Blaine at the end of their time together it's not simply a polite farewell.

He receives a follow-up email from Blaine later that night that ends with “and if we don't talk before then, have a lovely holiday with your family!”. Kurt's throat closes up.

He tucks his phone into his pocket and stares at the subway tunnel wall whizzing by beyond clouded windows. He isn't sure what kind of holiday he's about to have, but he's sure that “lovely” may not apply to most of it.

 

*

 

Seeing Ari helps, just a little.

There's something wonderfully comforting about her presence, and something grounding about seeing himself in her, both biologically and otherwise, that reminds him there is more to his life than his current troubles. And in a lot of ways, it's easier to be a parent with someone than it is to be a spouse; for the first three days he manages to carry on beside his husband as if nothing has changed.

He's still frozen, deep down in the center of himself, but he cooks, he wraps presents, he cleans the apartment, he emails and calls family, and at the end of each day he goes to sleep in Stephen's arms. He even debates not bringing it up at all until Ari has gone back to school, but during the middle of the week she takes the car and goes to visit friends, and he and Stephen are alone in the house for the first time in what feels like months.

He realizes that he can't live knowing what he knows without acting on that knowledge. It's not like him. He'd learned long ago, over the course of several failed relationships in college, that avoiding indicators of dysfunction doesn't prevent that dysfunction from eventually coming to a messy head.

He isn't quite sure what's going to happen.

Will Stephen promise to call off the affair? Will he confess that it was a mistake, a fling, or just sex? Will he suggest that they go back to counseling? Will they scream at each other? Will they kiss and make up?

They've been through enough—illness, loss, financial strife, family drama, raising a child—that “divorce” is not the first thing that comes to Kurt's mind. When you've spent decades of your life with a person, it is almost never that simple. Kurt is not as afraid of change as he had been as a younger man, but he also can't imagine their family falling apart that easily. He can't imagine not trying to make things work, even though he feels so hurt that he can hardly breathe.

On the second evening alone, with decaf coffee in hand in front of the Christmas tree, Kurt finds the courage to say, “It's so quiet with her gone.”

Stephen's lips quirk. “She's been in college for a year now. You're just noticing it?”

“I feel like I'm never here to notice.” He pauses. “I feel like we're never here anymore.”

Stephen looks up from his steaming mug. “You okay?”

There are a lot of things that Kurt might say in response to that. He could also evade if he wanted to. Instead, he feels the numbness in his chest expand, feels that desperate sense of losing his grasp on things take over his tone when he finally replies.

“No,” he says, his mouth twisting, “no, I'm not okay.”

All it takes is one moment of eye contact, and he knows that Stephen knows that he knows. They've been married for almost twenty five years. There is very little that a glance can't reveal.

He thinks about meeting Stephen, who had been a well-to-do model at the time. He thinks about how different Stephen had been compared to the guys who Kurt had dated up until that point—how unlikely their meeting and friendship had been, as reluctant as Kurt had been at the time to date models. How they had found companionship together despite that reluctance, how they had wanted the same things, from school all the way through career changes and marriage and eventually finding a surrogate to help them have a child. Years of birthday parties and parent-teacher conferences and two vow renewals. Vacations and celebrations, funerals and parties, and two families becoming one.

It hurts to be unable to look away from the chink in that armor.

Kurt can't figure out where or when they'd gone wrong. Is this his fault? Is it Stephen's? Is no one to blame?

But no—that's not true. Stephen is to blame for being unfaithful. That, at least, is clear.

“Why him?” he asks, his voice wavering.

Stephen puts his mug down on the coffee table. Takes a breath. “I would ask how you know. But I guess that doesn't matter.”

Kurt's eyes burn with tears. He tightens his jaw and he waits.

“I thought things would be different, after Ari moved out,” Stephen says. “You were so—distant, through her high school years. I felt like I wasn't a priority for you at all. But I understood, on some level. You were as dedicated to Ari as you were to your work. As you were to me when we were first married. Somewhere along the way I guess I just—lost you, in some crucial capacity. And I never found the words to tell you how I felt.”

Kurt's heart slams against his chest. This isn't the first time that he's heard these words. Is he still making the same mistakes, even after all this time? It's possible, of course. But he doesn't deserve to be cheated on. It doesn't make what Stephen has been doing right.

“We were in counseling for years when Ari was in middle school,” he says, the words fractured with remembered pain, “and I thought we—I thought we got through this.”

Stephen sighs. “Honestly, babe, I'm not sure if this is something you 'get through'. I think we've just grown apart. I—I started working with Dee last April, and we just—”

Kurt's eyes glaze over. He looks away, his jaw ticking. “How could you?”

The tone of this conversation is not “let's move on from this together”. It's “this is over”.

Kurt feels himself begin to unravel in the face of such finality.

“It was a mistake,” Stephen says, frowning, his eyes equally watery. “But it grew from there.” His mouth squirms. “I felt alive. Happy. Wanted. For the first time in a long while. And I'm sorry, Kurt. I am sorry for betraying our vows and your trust, but it happened, and I'm—I'm beginning to think that maybe it was for the best, for me.” He reaches out to take Kurt's wrist. “I'm not happy anymore, and I don't think that you are, either.”

The thing is, Kurt had thought that they were happy. That he was. In the absence of obvious discontent, he had simply assumed content—he doesn't understand the escalation of things that have led them to this point, not in any logical, clear way.

“You could have said something. You could have called the counselor. You could have,” he says, hurt and growing angrier by the second.

“You're right,” Stephen says. “I could have. I had every intention of doing it. And then I met Dee, and it was like the world was in color again. I just—went astray, and for a while it seemed like the lesser of two evils.”

Kurt puts his fingers to his face, pushes his hair back, and then swipes at his cheeks. The numbness that has consumed him all day has settled in odd pockets in his body. His fingers and toes are tingling, and his face is hot and tight, but he can't feel anything else. It's as if his body is trying to cope with his emotions because his brain isn't, sending skittering, confusing sensations in all directions.

How do you even begin to move on from such a long life with someone? Is there life after this?

“Look,” Stephen says, “we don't have to do anything just yet, okay? We can keep the apartment. We can let Ari get settled back at school. Maybe by Spring Break, we'll have figured out a way to tell her together. And we can sort out the living arrangements and finances then. I don't—I don't want us to hate each other, honey, I don't want us to bicker over little things. And I'm so sorry. I truly am.”

“Do you really think it's that simple?” Kurt asks, standing. He paces in front of the tree, holding his elbows. “What about me? Don't I have a say in this? What if—we could try. We could see a counselor again. I'm—I'm so fucking pissed off that you cheated on me, but I'm willing to work through it. We've been married for twenty four years. We have a daughter. Don't you think our life deserves more consideration than this?”

“I might have agreed with you a year ago,” Stephen replies, tears on his cheeks. “But I'm—I'm sorry, Kurt. I've looked at this from a million different angles and no matter how many times I do it I always come to the same conclusion: I love you, I love Ari, and I always will. But my own personal happiness lies elsewhere. I'm in love with Dee.”

The declaration stings. Kurt sinks down onto the couch.

He has no say in this. Stephen has already made up his mind. Never in a million years could Kurt imagine their life unraveling this late in the game or this quickly. It's unreal. It doesn't feel like it's actually happening.

What are they going to tell Ari? She's old enough to understand, but as far as Kurt is concerned she doesn't deserve the pain that this will cause her. It's easier to worry about her than himself.

When Stephen touches his face and kisses the corner of his mouth he startles, pulling away so quickly that Stephen is forced to release him.

His heart is breaking. He doesn't want to let go of a relationship that has defined so much of him, that has carried him through so many years, that has filled him with purpose. This is his life. Stephen and Ari are his life.

What is he going to do?

“After Ari goes back to school, I'll move my things into the guest room,” Stephen says.

Kurt holds it together through meeting Ari's girlfriend, Sara, who turns out to be a lovely but shy girl with dreadlocks and a killer wardrobe. He and Stephen present a unified front through the meeting and driving them to the airport, but afterward they attend separate New Year's Eve parties and don't speak for days.

Kurt attends his friend Elliott's party while Stephen goes off to a cousin's. Elliott gets Kurt so drunk that he blacks out and has to spend the next day sleeping it off (and then cleaning when Elliott guilt trips him playfully).

“I can't even imagine it,” Kurt says, as they clean Elliott's apartment. “I just hope she's better at dating than I was at that age.”

Elliott laughs. “I think she inherited Steve's levelheadedness. You may have dodged a bullet, there.”

“Gee, thanks, friend.”

“Oh, come on. I'm trying to make you laugh. Don't try to convince me that last night was the result of your party animal side coming out. You are seriously hurting. Can I ask what's up?”

Elliott may have a few less piercings than he'd had when he was younger, but he's still the tattoo-covered, bright-eyed, sincere friend that he had been when Kurt had really needed just that during freshman year of college. There was even a time when Kurt had thought they might become more than friends—but then he'd met Stephen.

“We're getting a divorce,” he says, after a prolonged silence.

Elliott stops dead in his tracks. “Okay. Whoa. Whoa. Hold up.” He sits at the kitchen table, setting the half-full garbage bag that he's holding down between his feet. “You're not serious, are you?”

“He's been seeing someone else,” Kurt says, his words as cold as he feels. “He's in love with someone else.”

“Oh, fuck. Shit. Honey.” Elliott stands, closes the distance between them and hugs Kurt, who doesn't yield much at first. And then he begins to shake, and the tears come silently. He buries himself in Elliott's wide, strong embrace and lets the pain rake over him. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Uh, no, thanks, I—no.” Kurt pulls away. “He's sure. I mean, it isn't the first time that we've had problems, but this time is—yeah, he's sure.”

“How can he be sure?” Elliott asks. “I mean, sometimes, empty nest can fuck up relationships, you know? Maybe you just need to reconnect. Take some time to get to know each other again.”

“I suggested that,” Kurt says. “He says that for him, it's just over. He wants to move on.”

“Jesus,” Elliott says, cupping Kurt's elbows in his palms. “Do you want to crash here for a while?”

“Thanks,” Kurt says, “but I think that might make it worse. It'll be better if I can go home to a familiar place, I think.”

“Whatever you need, Kurt,” Elliott says. “Don't be a stranger, okay?”

 

*

 

The sense of loss is unavoidable and unbearable, like a slap to the face a dozen times a day. Walking past a hot dog stand. Seeing a show at a venue that they'd loved to patronize together. Their favorite exhibits at the Met. Restaurants that they'd discovered as a couple. Phone calls from his in-laws, or from Ari asking after her Papa.

Kurt has to force himself to breathe, to not cry, to carry on as if nothing has changed.

He doesn't bring it up at work. As much as he'd like to think of work as a haven, in many ways it's as cutthroat as design school had been—weakness is something that he can't afford to show, especially not now. There are several other senior designers vying for promotion and he can't imagine allowing them to lap him in that race.

He finds out a week or two after New Year's that Blaine Anderson has been hired (his recommendation combined with the approval of two others' had finally trickled through). Even though he won't be supervising Blaine directly, at least not in his current position, he will be working with him on shows, so he takes the elevator down ten floors to pay Blaine a visit.

Blaine is like a ball of sunshine. Kurt isn't surprised to find that his enthusiasm hasn't waned after being hired. He's decorating his little office, his desk strewn with new equipment and a box of office supplies. His sleeves are rolled up as he tacks a poster to the wall—something vaguely inspirational emblazoned in white block letters—and Kurt smiles and watches him silently for a moment before knocking on his door jamb.

“Kurt!” Blaine calls, and then rushes to add, “oh, Mr. Hummel, I mean. I'm sorry. Janice told me to call her Janice so I'm calling everyone by their first names now. It's a terrible habit.”

Kurt puts his hands in his pockets and steps into the room. “Oh, god, please, don't call me Mr. Hummel. I'm not young enough to say 'Mr. Hummel is my father', but it still makes me feel ancient.” He pauses. “Are you settling in alright?”

“So far, so good,” Blaine says. “I've had my outfit insulted twice and compliment once. I have four meetings to attend this week—two of which I've already been warned are useless—and received unsolicited advice about how to act around you in order to impress you at least five times.”

Kurt laughs. “Sounds like a typical week here. So you're fine.” He tilts his head. “One of those useless meetings is my Spring pre-planner, isn't it?”

Blaine squints. “I think I'll decline to answer that until we're better acquainted.”

“Excellent idea.”

Kurt feels rooted to the spot. Talking with Blaine has made him feel almost post-coffee refreshed—like blowing off cobwebs or a burst of fresh air. He was right about Blaine, by all accounts, and he hopes that Blaine enjoys working here as much as Kurt has thus far enjoyed his company.

“How was your holiday?” Blaine asks, when the silence goes on too long.

This brings Kurt up short. Since New Year's, he's felt no urge to honestly answer that question. With Blaine, it's different.

“It's just good to be busy again,” he says, forcing a smile.

Blaine seems to sense his desire to move on from that topic. “Can't argue with that. Well. I'll see you in your useless meeting later today, I guess?” His smile could melt stone.

“I may just have to rename it that on Outlook,” Kurt says, smiling. “See you then.”

 

*

 

Just when Kurt would love a crisis or two to keep him running around at work, things become as routine as this business can be. Agencies are behaving, designers are on schedule, materials are not back-ordered. Venues come up easily booked, suitable models are available, and Kurt's superiors aren't second-guessing his decisions at every turn. Blaine is a huge asset, of course, but mostly things are just running more smoothly than usual.

It turns out that several of Kurt's meetings do become useless as the weeks go by. Finally, one Friday, he cancels one of them, and stops by Blaine's office to share a chuckle over it.

He doesn't know what compels him to ask, as he usually restricts his work socializing to networking parties that he has to attend in order to stay current and competitive, but he finds himself saying the words.

“Hey, you up for a late lunch? We haven't really had a chance to talk since you started.”

Blaine looks up from his laptop. His bright pink bow tie and crisp white shirt make his olive-toned skin and dark, gelled hair pop so well that Kurt can't be blamed for staring. He's so perfect that he's difficult to take in, classically handsome in a way that would easily turn anyone's head.

“Wow, yeah, that'd be great,” Blaine replies.

Being around Blaine makes Kurt feel—different.

It's something that's nagged him since day one. Up until now, it's just seemed like a positive thing. He knows that Blaine will do this house a world of good. He likes Blaine's ideas. He doesn't have any hesitation about throwing his support behind Blaine, and he's glad that his say had helped to secure Blaine's appointment.

But it's beginning to feel personal.

He tries to pin down what it is about Blaine over lunch. It isn't their shared home state or similar high school experiences—Kurt has met plenty of Midwestern kids with performance backgrounds in New York. It isn't being gay or having been bullied because of being gay—see previous statement.

Maybe he just envies Blaine's youth and fresh outlook on life.

“Did you go home for the holidays?” Kurt asks.

“Not this time,” Blaine says. “I actually lived in Ohio the last few years, so I've got plenty of recent family holidays under my belt.”

“Aw,” Kurt says. “Were you alone, though?”

“I saw a friend or two over New Year's.” He smiles, shrugs, and takes a bite of his salad.

“May I ask why you went back to Ohio?”

“I had a bad teaching experience. I wasn't sure where I was going. I needed to recharge, so I went home, lived off of my mom's cooking for a while, reevaluated things, took a local job.”

Kurt smiles. “That's good. I mean, that you have that kind of support structure.”

“Is your daughter still living at home?”

“She's going to school in California, but she was just with us for the holiday.”

“What is she majoring in?”

“Pre-med. She wants to be an oncologist.”

“Oh, wow, that's wonderful.”

“She's a genius,” Kurt says, beaming. He playfully flicks his hair back. “It runs in the family.”

Blaine laughs. “Is it impolite to ask if she's—adopted or biological or...? I apologize if that's rude, I'm just really curious, since you had her back when things weren't as easy as they are for us now.”

“Stephen and I used a surrogate. I'm the biological father.”

Blaine nods. “I'm jealous. I mean—that's what I hope to have one day, you know. Marriage. Kids.”

“Trust me,” Kurt says, “there's a lot of life to be lived in between those milestones. Don't rush things.”

They eat in silence for a while. It's not heavy or uncomfortable, for which Kurt is grateful. He looks up at Blaine every now and then, at the restaurant decor and their waiter hovering, and he feels okay, for maybe the first time since he had opened that email. Blaine puts him at ease.

“I looked at some of your old portfolios over the weekend,” Blaine says.

Kurt smiles. “Really.”

“The designs that you used to get your first internships,” Blaine says, “wow. I mean—some of that stuff was out there. Inspired. I could see the beginnings of so many of your future lines buried in those high school outfits. You have a gift, Kurt. You really do.”

“Does it count as bribery-flattery even though you already got the job?” Kurt asks.

Blaine laughs. “Come on. Give a little.”

“I'm feigning the modesty, darling. Thank you. I am good, and I know it.”

Blaine's cheeks go pink. “See, I don't think that's a bad thing. It's important to recognize your own strengths. Why downplay yourself? Other people will do that for you along the way, especially in this business.”

“Be careful, Blaine,” Kurt says, pointing with a shrimp on the end of his fork, “or I may have to tell everyone what a smart, confident newbie you really are.”

“But then I'd have to tell everyone about your enormous,” he says, grinning, “ego.”

Kurt spends the rest of the day smiling at random moments and staring off into space.

 

*

 

The first time that Kurt comes home to find Dee cooking dinner in their kitchen, he barely gets Stephen behind a closed door before he opens his mouth.

“How does this fall under the umbrella of 'we'll just carry on as usual until Spring Break'?” he asks.

“Don't you think it's unfair that I can never be in my own home with him? Kurt, we're separated. You said that you wanted us to stay friends, to respect each other. I texted you this morning asking you if this would be okay and you ignored me, the same way that you always do, so I made the call myself. I can't just wait around for you to be available to approve so that I can live my life.”

“Doesn't he have a place of his own?”

“He lives with his son, his son's wife, and their daughter, so to get some privacy, I thought I could have him over here a couple of nights a week. Our place is three times the size of theirs.”

“Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? You've moved on. It's easy for you. I still love you! I miss you and I miss us and I miss being close.” Kurt puts his hands on Stephen's shoulders. “Don't you even...”

“Of course I do,” Stephen says, deflating. “Kurt, you and me, that's muscle memory and—and good times, years and years and years of wonderful times. It's not as if it's just gone for me. But it's over. It's a closed chapter. I just—I can't do this if we're not going to be okay living in each other's space, at least for now. Until we can figure it out, until we tell Ari.”

Kurt doesn't know what to say. He wants to be what Stephen needs him to be, even now. But he doesn't feel that way and he can't force himself to. And yet he doesn't want to leave. He isn't ready to tell their daughter, and he isn't ready to give up the apartment that they've shared for over a decade now.

“I can't do this, not tonight,” he says, and leaves before things get any worse.

He meets Elliott at a gay bar that they've been patronizing for years. Elliott has his favorite drink in duplicate waiting for him. He knocks back the first without a thought or greeting.

“You are beautiful,” he says.

“That's what they all say,” Elliott says. “Bad night?”

“He brought his boyfriend home for dinner.”

“Fuck me.”

“I thought I could do this.”

“You don't have to do this,” Elliott says, signaling for more drinks. “You realize that, right? You may not have made all the right choices, but you don't have to share a home with him if he's going to disregard your feelings now that it's all gone down.”

“We're not rich. I don't know if I could swing a smaller place in the same area we live in now by myself, not on top of helping Ari with tuition and books. He has nowhere to go, and his boyfriend already lives with family.”

“My offer stands.”

“Sweetheart, you live in a shoebox. We'd have to sleep on top of each other. And you know how badly I need my space.”

Elliott smiles. “Not worried for your virtue, are you? You know I love you, Kurt, but you ain't my kettle of fish.”

Kurt groans into his daiquiri. “Like you're such a catch.”

The teasing is familiar and feels good. They dance and drink and Kurt crashes on Elliott's sofa that night and ends up back at home the following afternoon, avoiding Stephen and Dee like the plague.

He spends the rest of the weekend cleaning house and packing some things that are intended for storage—they've amassed so much stuff over the years, and a good bit of it is going to have to be donated, trashed, or boxed up if they are going to split their things and move out. It's productive work, and keeps his mind off of things.

Before going to bed that night he gets a text from Blaine.

Have some ideas for the models we're fitting on Tues—see me in the morning?

Sure thing. Sleep tight.

Will try. :)

 

*

 

Kurt spends the week before his first seasonal show out of the office, more often than not with Blaine, visiting vendors, venues, and agencies with wardrobe in tow to tie up all of the last minute details of the event. It's stressful but also kind of exciting, in the exact measure that Kurt finds most compelling. He loves his work, and it's clear that Blaine shares this enthusiasm and thrives off of the running around in the same way that Kurt does.

They end each day by going out for a drink or a meal, a new place every time, taking turns sharing their favorite restaurants, dives, and bars.

Tonight it's Blaine's turn, and he's taken them to a piano bar that serves the most amazing wings. Kurt drinks hard cider and eats spicy wings and listens to Blaine—sleeves rolled up, collar loose, hair coming undone—play the piano and sing adapted Top 40 songs. Blaine tries to get him to sing along, but he just waves Blaine off and continues getting buzzed. The cider is too light to get really drunk off of, but after four or five he's almost there.

He feels amazing.

He's been too busy this week to even interact with Stephen, his first show of the year is shaping up to be a hit (the industry buzz is louder than it's ever been), Ari is doing well in school and is in love for the first time in her life, and he's having drinks with a capable, friendly co-worker who just happens to be cute as hell.

“One day you'll sing with me,” Blaine says, when he finally relinquishes the piano to another player.

Kurt hands him a beer. “Maybe.”

“You do realize that there are still recordings of your high school show choir's on line. And that off-Broadway thing you did sophomore year of college. I've heard that voice, Kurt. And I intend to hear it again.”

“La la la, you should be drinking.”

Blaine squeezes in between Kurt and the man next to him at the bar. Up close, Kurt can see that he's a little sweaty—his shirt is dark at the collar and under the arms, and his hair is curling up into fierce wisps. He has the most beautiful eyes and mouth that Kurt has ever seen, full and round and so very young.

He doesn't realize, though, that he's staring at Blaine's lips until Blaine clears his throat and his Adam's apple bobs. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Sorry,” Kurt says. “I'm kind of drunk.”

“You deserve to celebrate,” Blaine says. “The show is going to kick ass.”

“I can't thank you enough for that substitute. Sam is perfect for that sporty look that we were missing, and he is hard to book, normally.”

Blaine smiles. “I knew it would work out.”

They split their tab and wander back out onto the street, enjoying the crisp air and relative quiet. Kurt's drunkenness simmers down into a buzz again, and he feels comfortable enough to put his arm through Blaine's. Blaine smiles and clasps his forearm. After a block or two, he turns them around a corner.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” he asks.

Kurt braces himself. He's ready to answer, at least briefly. “Sure.”

“When I met you, you were wearing a ring and said you had a partner. This week you don't have a ring on. I didn't want to assume, but...”

He inhales. Exhales. “We split over the holiday. He—he met someone else.”

Blaine says nothing for a full block. At the corner, he stops Kurt when the crosswalk sign changes. “I'm so sorry to hear that. Hey. I know that we don't know each other very well, but you can talk to me, if you want. If it helps.”

Kurt's chest twinges with pain. The offer is more tempting than any of Elliott's offers for a shoulder to cry on. There's something about Blaine that gets to him, something that makes him feel vulnerable and terribly human.

“I'm not sure what to say,” he says, even though that's a lie. “We've been married for a long time. But—well, I guess time doesn't guarantee anything, you know? Relationships don't become magically permanent at thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, whatever. Things can always change. Things are always in flux.” He sighs. “I am still drunk, so this is going to sound really stupid. But I feel like I'm still making the same mistakes I made when I was twenty. Shouldn't I know better? Shouldn't I be a different man? I feel just as idiotic about relationships as I did then.”

“This is the part where I feel silly offering advice to someone older and more experienced than I am,” Blaine says, smiling, “but I think you're too hard on yourself. I'm single now. And every relationship that I've been in has failed because I didn't know how to articulate what I felt or needed. I think we all screw up sometimes with the people we love because we don't know how to put ourselves first once we have someone who we think we have to put first instead. We lose touch with ourselves, with our own desires, and so eventually our partners do, too.” He nudges Kurt's side. “I haven't been able to fix this in practice yet, so who am I to talk?”

“Blaine,” Kurt says, smiling, “you're probably right. But I am way too drunk to respond to that.”

Blaine laughs. “Come on. Let's find a taxi.”

 

*

 

The show is a resounding success. Kurt brings Elliott as his plus one—he's always trying to get Elliott to come, and Stephen is not an option any longer for obvious reasons—and introduces him to Blaine. For about ten minutes he thinks that he may have just accidentally played matchmaker, but at the intermission Elliott pops that bubble.

“Oh my god, who is the adorably dressed Carey Grant lookalike?”

“He's our new event coordinator,” Kurt says.

“Oh honey, you've got it bad. You haven't stopped smiling all night.”

Kurt blinks. “What?”

“Mic drop,” Elliott says, and swans off toward the open bar.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, tugging his sleeve, “we have backstage drama. I need someone with authority.”

A model is throwing a fit that involves shoes, so Kurt sees to that while Blaine plays wingman, calming people down and making subtle changes. It's a tiny wrinkle in the scheme of things, but Kurt breathes easier when it's over and the lights flicker and everyone takes their seats again.

He and Blaine stand side by side backstage, watching the models strut.

Kurt feels incredibly proud. Those are his designs on his models, and everything looks fabulous. The last model walks the runway with a child model wearing one of Blaine's designs—a last minute flourish that they had worked very hard to get approved—and when the model leads the little boy in the suit and bow tie back down the catwalk Blaine makes a soft noise and reaches down to clasp Kurt's hand.

“Thank you,” he says, his eyes brimming with tears. “It's—me, that's mine, and without your support it never would have happened.”

Kurt squeezes his hand. “You're welcome. You deserve it.”

 

*

 

Kurt stays late at work in the weeks that follow, tying up loose ends from the show (closing a show and follow-up is almost as much work as putting one on) and beginning work on the next while doing all of his usual year-round design and coordination. He honestly has no idea what he'd done before Blaine—so much of the grunt work has already been completed, and everything is organized to his liking.

He's startled when there's a tap on his door, and even more surprised to see that it's Blaine. Blaine isn't the stay late type—he works hard to get his work done and go home on time. He's a bit overly controlling when it comes to schedules. It's one of the things that makes him such an excellent event organizer, in Kurt's opinion.

“I have some paperwork that came up at the last minute,” he says, by way of greeting. “I thought we might hang out while I do it to pass the time? If you're going to stay, that is.”

Kurt hadn't planned on it, but it's Friday and Dee will probably be over, and he doesn't mind missing as much of that as he can. “Sure. Are you okay with music?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He turns on an Internet radio station as Blaine settles on the other side of his desk to work. Blaine has a stack of papers and his laptop, and he gets about halfway through the pile before he speaks again.

“How are you?” he asks.

Kurt exhales. “A little better, I guess. I always kind of hold my breath until the first show of the year is over. And I like the design stuff a little more. The collections, the advertising, the print campaigns, the trips abroad.”

Blaine nods, chews his lip. “How's home stuff?”

Kurt realizes that this is what he'd been asking about to begin with. “Oh. Well. I'm getting used to it. It's hard. Seeing him with—Dee, the guy's name is Dee. We don't talk much, but I've learned to not glare quite so much.”

Blaine smiles. “I can't imagine your lesser glares.”

“And you will never see them, I assure you. I am full-on bitch glare at work at all times.” He smiles, shrugs. “Sometimes I'm surprised by how easy it is to just accept the situation. I don't have a choice. Other times I'm so angry I could rip a phone book in half. It's up and down like that.”

“Elliott's a good friend to you,” Blaine says. “He, um, he called me last weekend. We went out.”

Kurt's pulse spikes. “Oh. Really?”

“I mean, not, not like that,” Blaine says. “He just thought that since we had you in common I might want to bond. He's nice.”

“God, what did he tell you?”

“We mostly just talked about ourselves, Kurt. No worries.”

“Phew,” Kurt says, feigning comical relief. “Fabricating convincing lies to make myself look better is so tedious.”

Blaine laughs. “I think you have kind of a terrible view of yourself.”

“Ha. Don't suggest that to my hu—my ex. He'd confirm that I am indeed a neglectful, distant man.”

“Can I be honest with you?” Blaine asks. “I have noticed that you're kind of inward at times. I wouldn't call it distance, though. That's just who you are. And there's more to you than that.”

Kurt thinks about that, and then shrugs. “Six of one, half a dozen of another?”

“Not really. I just think that sometimes people don't know how to bridge gaps. Or—they think that gaps are flaws that can't be reconciled or understood.”

“People can be different but still succeed together?” Kurt asks, by way of answering.

“I'd like to think so,” Blaine says. “My parents are like that. And I honestly didn't get it until I started dating and making mistakes of my own.”

Kurt likes Blaine's way of looking at the situation. He's wary of investing in it, though, because he's not sure whether he likes it because it's correct or simply because it makes him feel better about himself.

“Well,” he says, “thank you. I—I really do appreciate your concern and advice. You're a good friend, Blaine. And I don't say that lightly. I haven't made many real friends at work.”

“Me either,” Blaine says. “I'm usually too busy having to tell people what to do or why they're wrong, and that never leads to friendship.”

Kurt smiles. “Dictator.”

“Know my own strengths.”

“If you say so.” Tapping away at the keyboard, Kurt adds, “Of course, it's easy to get away with that when you're adorable and talented.”

There's a moment of silence. Embarrassed, he realizes what he'd just said. He looks up to see Blaine smiling at him over his laptop, his cheeks flushed. They stare at each other for a moment. Blaine wets his lips. Heat crawls down the back of Kurt's neck.

“Thank you,” Blaine says.

Kurt's heart hammers against the inside of his chest.

 

*

 

It's only when they're seated at the dining room table together that Kurt realizes this is it.

After this announcement, everything will change. They'll tell their families and friends. Eventually, it will come up at work and word will get around. They'll split up their belongings, move out of their apartment, and leave all of those memories behind. He isn't sure what the fallout will be, where their friends and relatives will fall on the spectrum of blame or forgiveness or acceptance. It hurts to even consider the possibilities.

But none of that compares to the pain that he feels when he stares into his daughter's eyes and prepares to say the words that he has to say.

Of course, she's too much like both of her fathers to hold back.

“Well, no one's died, so it can only be one thing,” she says, sighing. “You're breaking up, aren't you?”

Stephen sighs. Kurt rubs his temples. They look at each other and, despite it all, they actually find themselves smiling at each other.

“Can she be your daughter tonight?”

“Nope. She's yours on Tuesdays and Thursdays, remember?”

For a moment, it feels like their life as it once was, bright and perfect, encapsulated in a heartbeat of time. But that's just an illusion, and the truth is on the table.

“Your father and I are getting a divorce, yes,” Kurt says. “We aren't fighting. We aren't leaving the city or our jobs. We're still a family, and we love you. We want you to know that none of that will ever change.”

She grows serious. Her expression softens and she frowns, and Kurt thinks that a million needles in his flesh couldn't hurt more than seeing the disappointment and worry on her face.

“What about holidays?” she asks.

“We can work out a schedule. Or you can pick, honey,” Stephen says, “whatever makes you comfortable. And sometimes, who knows, maybe we'll all get together anyway.” He squeezes Kurt's hand. “At least, I hope so.”

Kurt isn't sure about that, but he smiles and nods for Ari's sake. “We're still in this together. We just—have separate paths to take, me and Papa. So we can both be happy.”

She doesn't need to know about Dee. She doesn't need to see them that way. Kurt just wants her to know that they are still her parents, and still there for her in the exact same capacity as before.

It isn't easy, though, once the announcement sinks in. She cries. She asks uncomfortable questions that they struggle to answer. They take turns holding her and talking to her through the night.

Kurt is dead on his feet by the time that the sun rises and Ari has fallen asleep on the couch. Stephen joins him the kitchen, puts his hands on Kurt's shoulders and digs in, without seeming to consider it. The gesture is familiar and reassuring, and Kurt allows himself to relax into it.

“I'm sorry,” Stephen says.

“You keep saying that,” Kurt replies. He turns in Stephen's arms and kisses him, because he doesn't know how not to. “I don't think I know how to say goodbye to you.”

“I don't, either. I don't think it's goodbye. We're always going to be a family.”

“I can't tell whether that's going to make it easier or harder.”

“Both. I think.”

He doesn't know why he asks, but he feels brittle and stupid, and why not?

“Would you stay with me? Be with me? One last time?”

Stephen stares at him, surprised. “Oh, honey. I can't. I—I can't say that it's not tempting, but I can't.”

“You'll cheat on me for a year with another man, but you won't give me one last goodbye in our bed?” he asks.

“We don't need that between us now,” Stephen says, his fingers trembling on Kurt's arms. “It would only complicate things.”

The funny thing is, Kurt can't help but agree with that. He's embarrassed for having asked. He nods. He takes a deep breath. “I'm going to sleep, then. Can you fix Ari something to eat when she wakes up?”

“Of course.”

Kurt doesn't remember getting in bed. He just passes out.

 

*

 

Kurt travels to Paris for a week on business.

When he gets back to his office in New York his inbox has a tree's worth of paper in it, he's dressed to the nines in one of his fanciest suits because his travel wardrobe only contains the best of his wardrobe and he hadn't stopped at home to change, and there's a little basket of fruit and muffins on his desk with a note from Blaine attached that reads, “Because I know you didn't eat breakfast, Kurt Hummel.”

He shrugs off his jacket and sits down with a grin, tearing into a lemon blueberry muffin with relish. He's halfway through a second muffin and an orange when Blaine appears with lattes. Kurt thinks that he might actually die of gratitude. He chugs a quarter of the perfect coffee before managing a thank you, and Blaine laughs.

“How was Paris?” he asks.

“Incredible, as always. The agency—not so much. The material—amazing. Worth it.”

Blaine sits down. “I have gossip, but it'll have to wait until after work because it's super inappropriate.”

“My favorite kind. I don't know about tonight, though. I haven't been home. I'm way behind in packing.”

“Well, hey,” Blaine says, “let me come over. I can cook. Help you pack. And we can catch up at the same time.”

Blaine's voice is high and tight—he's nervous about inviting himself over, and Kurt picks up on that. He can't help but smile, though. It's a pretty smooth offer, and Kurt would be lying if he said that he wasn't interested.

“You had me at 'cook',” he says. “I don't like seafood.”

“Yes, sir,” Blaine says, beaming, and disappears into the hallway.

 

*

 

Blaine is on time to the minute, dressed in designer jeans and a neat polo shirt. He has a bag of groceries on his hip, a messenger bag around his shoulder, and an eager smile on his face.

“Is that your version of dressing down?” Kurt asks, just to be cheeky, as he helps unpack the bag on the island in the kitchen. “I did mention the packing part, right?”

Blaine laughs. “Uh, it sort of is? I brought a pair of sweats for the packing portion of the evening. No worries. Let's eat first, though.” Kurt fetches cookware while Blaine begins a simple pasta sauce and a small batch of meatballs. “Are we alone? I don't mean to be creepy. I'm just wondering if I'm going to meet Stephen tonight.”

“He's at Dee's, actually.”

“Ah.”

Blaine navigates the kitchen confidently, instructing Kurt on when to start the pasta water boiling and when to check on the meatballs. “How is Ari? She still taking it hard?”

“She's kind of all over the place,” Kurt says, sitting on the kitchen counter while Blaine stirs the sauce. “She'll blow up at us one day, then be overly sweet the next. It's normal, though. She just needs time and support and she'll eventually understand why this is something that we have to do.”

“That has to be rough for you,” Blaine says, “dealing with your own relationship ending at the same time as dealing with her feelings over her family changing.”

Kurt smiles. “It is. But you go through a lot raising a kid. This is just—well, it's another step. One that I'd hoped we wouldn't ever have to take, but. You don't get to choose. I love Ari more than anything in this world. I'll do whatever I have to do to make this easier on her.”

“I think you're a pretty great dad.”

“Be honest. Are you tired of hanging out with an old fogy like me yet?” Kurt asks, laughing.

“Oh my god, don't start in with that again,” Blaine says, jabbing Kurt's arm with the clean end of a wooden spoon. “When are you going to realize that I don't care about age? It wouldn't make a difference to me whether you were twenty or ninety.”

“Aw. So the distinguished older gentleman thing doesn't do it for you?”

Blaine laughs. “Okay. Well. I dunno. You haven't quite reached the 'silver fox' stage yet, my friend.”

Kurt's mouth drops open. “You little shit.”

“You're getting there, though!” Blaine says, reaching out to touch the hair at Kurt's temple where it's going blonde-silver-gray in streaks along the brown. “And you've got that sexy laugh lines and dimples thing going.”

Kurt smiles. He bites his lip inward, a little self-conscious as Blaine's thumb brushes his crow's feet.

“I'd love to know how you're still as thin as a rake, though. For future personal usage.”

“Okay, you're doing the bribery-flattery thing again. But, to be honest, I don't know. I was chubby as a kid but once I shed that round-face stage after puberty I never went back. Now, I think I just work too much and don't eat often enough. It's not very healthy. Then, in college, I mean, I ate right and exercised—but I ran out of time for that regimen once we had Ari.”

“How did that go?” Blaine asks.

Kurt takes the tray out of the oven when it dings. “Raising Ari and working, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“We had a day nanny. Stephen's parents never offered us much but when it came to their granddaughter they were very generous. Stephen worked part time so that he could be with her more. That wasn't an option for me. But we—we worked it out.” He sets the table while Blaine finishes up the meal. “It seemed like such a crazy balancing act back then. Now I just kind of miss it.”

They move around each other, setting out serving bowls and lighting candles. Kurt adjusts the place settings just so, then turns on some music and selects a bottle of wine before coming back to the table.

“Wow,” he says, as Blaine serves. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

“It's my pleasure.”

They eat, exchanging comments about the food and wine.

When they're finished eating Kurt says, “I think dessert can wait. It'll taste better once we've worked off some of this pasta.”

“Excellent idea,” Blaine replies.

They clear the table, load the dishwasher, and Blaine goes to change into his sweats while Kurt drags a stack of empty boxes and a roll of bubble wrap from the hallway closet. He can't believe that he's about to conscript Blaine into manual labor—but Blaine had volunteered, after all.

Most of the things that Kurt is packing at this stage are decor items, books, and DVDs—things that are personal but not vital for day-to-day life, at least not with his current lack of free time. There are also some appliances that are his that neither of them really need at the moment, as well as his spare sewing machine and out of season wardrobes that he won't need while he lives out the small remainder of his time here.

After a few instructions they're off, working in companionable quiet—interspersed with the occasional bit of gossip—until they've managed significant progress. They drink from water bottles sitting side by side at the foot of the couch on the floor, both of them covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat.

“At the rate we're going, you'll have nothing left to pack,” Blaine comments, staring out over the row of neatly taped up boxes.

“I should probably stop there,” Kurt agrees. “I do need most of what's left. Hell, I haven't even gone apartment hunting yet. That Paris trip cut my month in half.”

He has a few places in mind, though, and he's sure that he'll be able to make at least one of them work.

“Let's wash up, then,” Blaine says.

Out of politeness, Kurt uses the half bath and lets Blaine have the master to himself.

They meet back up in the kitchen when they're done. Blaine is scrubbed clean up his arms and over his face, neck, and collarbone, his hair mostly gel-free and puffing up into a thick mass of twists and curls around his head. His sweatpants sit low on his hips, and the t-shirt that he's wearing is tight and threadbare.

He looks delectable, and Kurt can't help but notice, which brings him to his next thought.

Kurt has no idea if this is a date, or if they are just hanging out as friends. It's been almost a quarter of a century since he's been on a date. He feels guilty thinking about tonight like that. He is still very much emotionally tangled up with Stephen, though he isn't sure that he can call that connection what he used to call it.

“You did say something about dessert,” Blaine says.

“How could I forget?” Kurt asks, and goes to fetch the cheesecake from where it's been coming to room temperature on the counter.

“Oh, god, is that the salted caramel one we had in the office last week?”

“The very one.”

They murder a slice each and then go back for seconds without shame, eating these slices slower.

“This is incredible,” Blaine says, practically moaning around his mouthful.

“I think this is actually better than sex,” Kurt says.

“It just may be.”

“I guess that depends.”

“Yeah. Maybe not better than all sex. Just...some sex.”

They're standing elbow to elbow at the kitchen island. Kurt is excited and a little turned on. Arousal at his age is not as demanding as it had been when he was younger, so he isn't in danger of making a fool of himself, but he can't ignore the way that Blaine makes him feel, and he would like to know if that feeling is mutual.

He takes a breath, and decides to just go for it.

“Is this—Blaine, is this a date?” he asks.

Blaine chews his mouthful slowly. He scrapes his fork across his plate, and then sets it down. He looks up at Kurt, his mouth a soft, expressive squiggle. “I really, really like you.”

“Okay.”

“I'm kind of—scared of that feeling, though.”

“Okay.”

“Your situation is really complicated. And that freaks me out a little.”

“Okay.”

“I guess this is a date. I just—don't know if that's a good thing for you. So I'm not sure if it's a good thing for me. You know?”

Kurt nods. It hurts to get anything less than enthusiasm in response to his question. He had expected assurance and instead received hesitance. He's not crazy about that. But Blaine has a point.

Blaine seems to pick up on his disappointment. His expression twists up into concern and then goes over warm, and he takes Kurt's free hand, passing his thumb back and forth over the inside of Kurt's wrist.

“You are the most gorgeous, engaging, talented man that I have ever met,” he says, his voice low and soft. “I am so—so attracted to you. But this is not an ideal romantic situation for either of us.”

Kurt's heart is racing. He can't remember the last time that being touched so innocently had made him feel this on edge. He's excited and terrified and a little nauseous.

“If you're okay with it, I'd like to just keep doing this. Spending time together, being friends. Letting whatever happens naturally happen. Until things are maybe a little more stable for you?” Blaine asks.

It's hard to read him in this moment. Kurt isn't sure whether he's being forcibly mature in order to hide what he's actually feeling, whether he's being entirely genuine, or whether it's a little bit of both.

“I'm open to trying that,” he says, finally.

He doesn't know what else to say. He isn't sure how he really feels about dating-but-not-dating.

 

*

 

As it turns out, dating-but-not-dating is confusing.

They go out. They drink. They eat. They dance. They sing. They socialize with Blaine's friends and Kurt's friends. Kurt mentions Blaine to Stephen, just so that there is no confusion if they were to meet in the apartment in passing. They maintain a certain distance at work, never exhibiting anything but professional behavior.

Kurt isn't sure that he is even remotely like the young man he had been when he'd dated in college, because this thing with Blaine feels like starting all over again from scratch. A part of him wonders if he's got it in him to do that, but he wants to try.

It's not easy, though. He doesn't know how to appropriately act on his feelings. He wants more, but doesn't know if he's ready for or capable of following through on more. He feels at home with Blaine in ways that he had never felt with Stephen—but Stephen had been his life partner and the father of their daughter, and Blaine can't fill those shoes. It's not his job to fill those shoes, and Kurt often doesn't know what to do with that thought.

There's a distance between them. Blaine seems afraid of wanting something that he shouldn't. Kurt feels as if he's losing himself in this unfamiliar dance, and he hates it.

One evening they go out for drinks and dancing with Elliott, and Kurt finds himself pouring out his woes to Elliott while Blaine dances with a female friend of his who they had run into earlier in the evening.

Elliott rolls his eyes and laughs at Kurt's complaints. “Oh, no, a hot young thing might want to get into my crotchety pants and I don't know what to do. Cry me a river, Hummel.”

“You are the worst,” Kurt says, sighing into his sangria.

“I am fucking with you. Listen, though. He's got a point.” Kurt groans. “However. I think there's a difference between having fun and buying matching bichon frises. As long as you set some boundaries and agree to them, I don't see why you can't just call it dating and enjoy yourselves. You're separated, he's single. I know it's only been a few months, but life moves fast in this city. You know that better than anyone.” He winks. “And you ain't getting any younger, baby.” He tilts his head, watching Blaine and his friend dance. “I can help.”

“The last time you said that I ended up with a tattoo.”

“Shut up, that laser treatment went really well! You can hardly even see it now.”

“Oh my god.”

“Dance with me. And we'll like, cut in. Come on.”

“I am too old for this shit.”

“Pfft.”

Elliott drags him out onto the floor. Kurt has to admit that it's hard to resist the man—he's gorgeous and still has serious moves. Blaine notices them soon after, smiling and waving at them from across the dance floor. Elliott puts his hands on Kurt's hips and drags their bodies together. It's nice to be close to another man, even just a friend, and easy to get lost in the music, though his enthusiasm for this atmosphere is not what it once was. He's so caught up in it that he doesn't notice Elliott pulling Blaine into their huddle until he's right there, warm and compact, sweaty and smelling like cologne and alcohol.

None of them are drunk, but Kurt feels reckless all the same.

Elliott slides in between them for one song, and then another, but by the third he's shouting something about having to go to the little boy's room. Kurt's pulse skips a beat when Blaine slides right into his arms.

“Hey,” Blaine breathes, nudging their foreheads together.

The bass pounds in Kurt's bones, rattling him to his core, and he pushes his fingers into the back pockets of Blaine's jeans and holds on.

“Hey,” he replies, writhing to the beat against Blaine's body.

“This is fun,” Blaine says, curling his arms around Kurt's neck.

Kurt's is so turned on and overwhelmed that he can't think straight. “You look hot tonight.”

“Th-thanks,” Blaine says, a little breathless.

He squeezes Blaine's ass through his jeans, exhaling hot over Blaine's parted lips. “I don't—I don't want to go home alone tonight. Do you?”

The words feel lame on his tongue. He doesn't know what to say, really. He just wants, and he can't remember what it had been like to have to ask, to not know what the man in his arms had been thinking.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, with some difficulty. “Kurt, I'm not sure we should.”

Kurt's stomach churns with embarrassment. “I'm—what am I doing wrong, here? Am I just completely off the mark?”

“It's not that.”

“Then what is it? Just tell me! Do you want to be friends? We can—we can just be friends, Blaine.” He doesn't want that. It kills him to even say it, but he'll back off if that's what Blaine wants. He's not about to abandon the most organic friendship that he's had in years just because Blaine doesn't want to get naked with him.

“I can't do this,” Blaine says, upset and visibly distraught as he pulls away. “I'm sorry.”

He's gone before Kurt can do or say anything further.

Elliott finds Kurt at the bar, paying their tab.

“Shit, what happened?” he asks.

“I have to go,” Kurt answers. “Sorry. Thanks for—I'll call you.”

 

*

 

Kurt stays late on the next work night to make some progress on a design project that he's been blocked on for months. He's not sure why the lines are suddenly flowing, but he isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It's almost eight o'clock when his door opens, and he nearly has a heart attack. The cleaning staff usually knocks when they see his light on after hours, but it's not them this time. It's Blaine.

“Hey,” Kurt says, unsure of what else to say, considering how they had parted at the club.

Blaine's bow tie is undone around his neck, and his collar is open. He looks seriously stressed out.

“We should talk,” he says.

“Is this the part where you let me down gently?” Kurt asks.

Deep down Kurt knows that maybe he had been expecting miracles when he'd imagined something long-term with Blaine, but their chemistry is undeniable and he isn't sure how to walk away from that without a fight.

“See, the thing is,” Blaine says, breathing unevenly as he approaches Kurt's desk. His hands flutter, find the desk's edge and grip it as if it's an anchor. “The thing is, I can't—I have never in my life felt as out of control as I feel when I'm with you. It's like you reach past every boundary I have and touch me where it matters, touch every inch of me that no one else can see, and I can't—Kurt, you're not even divorced, you're twenty years older than me, you have a kid old enough to be my peer, and none of that means anything to me even though it should. I don't know what I'm doing. I can't stop thinking about you.” He inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales. He looks distraught, his pupils blown and his pulse slamming against his throat.

Kurt walks around his desk and reaches out to steady Blaine by his biceps. “I think you're working yourself up over this way too much. I understand why my situation may be unacceptable for you, and if that's the case, it's okay. We can be friends. We can work together. It's okay.”

Blaine's arms tremble under Kurt's fingers. “I don't want to be just friends.” He licks his lips. He stares at Kurt's mouth. “I want you. I want you so badly.”

“Blaine—”

Blaine threads the fingers of his right hand through Kurt's hair, leans up on the balls of his feet, and slams their mouths together.

Kurt moans.

Blaine tilts his head, parts his lips, and their tongues snake into each other's mouths. “I don't care anymore. I can't—I can't stop myself, I can't shut it off.” He presses Kurt back into the edge of his desk. He puts his hands on Kurt's chest and kisses him again, hungry and wet. “Please. Please, tell me you feel the same way.”

“I don't want to scare you away. I want you, too. But I can't promise you anything.”

“I know,” Blaine says, kissing him, over and over. “I know. God, you—you feel so good, you feel so right, just, let me...” He whimpers when Kurt's fingers slide down his back to cup his ass and drag him closer.

It's been so long since Kurt has felt the unbidden, white hot sizzle of surprising arousal that he almost doesn't know what to do with it. He kisses Blaine quiet and then noisy again, using his tongue and teeth to tease until Blaine recaptures the lost control. It's dizzying, trading kisses with someone new, someone whose mouth feels different, someone who is willing to give and take but can barely suppress their eagerness at the same time.

Blaine is rock hard in what seems like seconds to Kurt, who is aroused but getting there a little slower these days. It's exciting, to feel that eager young body surging against his, so desperate that it's almost needy. Blaine is practically writhing between his legs, rutting against his thigh like a teenager.

Kurt reaches up to remove the undone bow tie from Blaine's collar. He unbuttons Blaine's shirt and tugs it free of the waistband of his pants. He hooks his fingers behind the button on Blaine's pants and pulls him back in.

“We don't have to, to,” he begins, but is cut off by Blaine's tongue in his mouth.

“Don't stop,” Blaine hisses, dragging Kurt's hand over the ridge of his erection. “Please, please, touch me.”

“Fuck,” Kurt breathes, palming Blaine's cock through his pants. “Fuck, honey, don't want to stop, I don't, I promise I don't. But I don't have anything at the office—”

Blaine humps the heel of his hand frantically, kissing his neck and nibbling up to his earlobe where he pants out, “Don't need it. Oh, god, you're gonna make me come in my pants, oh, shit, oh god.”

Jesus, Blaine is ready to go off already. It's probably the hottest thing that Kurt has ever experienced, and he has no shortage of memories of amazing sex with good looking people from his college years, Stephen included.

He wraps his fingers loosely around Blaine's throbbing cock through his pants and jacks the shaft, hard and fast.

“Kurt,” Blaine sobs, turning his face into Kurt's neck.

Kurt squeezes the dip in between Blaine's ass cheeks. “That's it. Let go.”

“Oh my god, oh my god.”

He digs his fingertips between Blaine's clothed cheeks harder, pushing against his crack, against his hole through two layers of clothing while his other hand moves rapidly over his fly. “Know how badly you need to come, come on, soak these pants for me, want you to.”

The convulsion brings them tighter together, Blaine riding his hand desperately as his orgasm makes his body tense and release, tense and release. He cries out, his tight, round ass clenching up against Kurt's hand as his cock jumps. The wetness seeps through after a moment, bleeds a wet, dark patch down Blaine's hip and thigh, and Kurt lets himself enjoy it, rubs the mess into the whorls of his fingertips until it stops sprawling.

“Oh my god,” Blaine breathes, curling into his body, shaking.

Kurt is reeling. He's so hard that his pants hurt, but he doesn't feel the need to do anything about it just yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stroking Blaine's back. His dress shirt is damp with sweat and sticking to his skin.

“That was incredible.”

He kisses Blaine's hair. “I'll take that as a yes.”

“Sorry, yes, yeah, I'm, wow. God, I want to make you feel good, too.” He kisses down Kurt's neck, thumbing the edge of his belt.

“I don't think we should do anything further without protection,” Kurt says. A handjob is so much less than what he wants to share with Blaine right now, despite the fact that giving one had been exciting.

“O-okay,” Blaine breathes, though he can't seem to stop staring at the tent in Kurt's pants.

“Hey,” Kurt says, smiling, “it won't kill me. I—that was amazing. But I want more. Don't you?”

“I do. I want more. I—sorry. I'm just kind of overwhelmed.”

“I'll call you, okay? I just need a few hours to myself.”

He also needs his right hand. After Blaine leaves he grabs a tissue, sits at his desk (the bathroom would perhaps be better, but he's more sure of the cleanliness of his office), wraps his hand around his cock and lets the mental replay of Blaine coming dry-humping his hand carry him the rest of the way.

 

*

 

Kurt spends the hours between waking up and Blaine's arrival doing a whole lot of nothing but panicking.

He has the apartment to himself, he's showered twice, and started on three separate dinner preparations with no intention of finishing any of them. He's just shy of literal pacing when the buzzer goes off.

He has every intention of acting like a functional human being until the door opens and Blaine is standing there in fitted chinos and a shirt that cuts into his biceps and his brain more or less melts at the sight.

He presses Blaine back into the door and kisses him, cupping his face, thumbing the damp corners of his mouth as they go at each other like frustrated prom dates.

“Guh,” Blaine says, when Kurt lets him breathe.

“Hi.”

“H-hi.”

He isn't really sure where this is coming from. He's too old for this kind of insanity. Or at least that's what he's always told himself. He knows that he's allowed to feel excited—this is new and Blaine is gorgeous—and he wonders why he's always telling himself that he has to feel less, has to withdraw, has to maintain walls between himself and other people in order to prevent himself from coming to rely on them too much.

He knows that he might get hurt, here. He knows that he might hurt Blaine without intending to. That kind of situation would have been an instant no in times past, but here and now all he can feel is the thrill.

This could be good. This could be something.

And Blaine's kissing him, wiggling clever fingers up and under the hem of his shirt, touching the naked skin of his back until the hair on his arms rises. His whole body is singing.

“Did you want to, um, talk?” Blaine asks in between kisses, dragging his fingernails up Kurt's spine.

“Shit,” Kurt answers, walking backwards into the living room and kissing Blaine with every other step.

“Because we can,” Blaine says, breathless as Kurt falls back onto the couch and drags him down onto his lap. “But I brought condoms, and I want to blow you so badly that I've been tasting it all morning.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt gasps. Blaine sinks to his knees on the carpet. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

He's seeing red. It's all too much, those perfectly manicured nails on his thighs, that glossy head hovering over his crotch, that tight little body between his legs. His dick is pulsing against the seam of his pants.

Blaine takes his wallet from his pocket and fishes out a condom without taking his eyes off of Kurt's. He puts his free hand over Kurt's bulge through his pants, breathing fast and shallow as he rubs it.

“I have stared at this so many times, for so long, you have—no idea,” he exhales, waiting for Kurt to stiffen a little before he pops the button on his pants and lowers the zipper. “I just want you in my mouth, I don't even care what else—god, you're big.” Kurt whimpers as Blaine peels his briefs down, as his cock twitches upward.

The condom is strawberry flavored. Kurt can smell it. It's a hysterical observation to make as Blaine's hand pushes the latex down around him, an observation that dissolves into a star burst behind his eyelids when Blaine wraps his mouth around the tip of Kurt's cock and licks it like a lollipop before sinking down on it.

Kurt groans, digs his fingers into the couch to keep from putting them on Blaine's head. He can't stop himself from staring, though, at the sight of Blaine's mouth, rosy and swollen, stripping his dick up and down, up and down, as if it's nothing at all, as if it's everything that he has ever wanted, obscene slurping and spit running down his chin and every other graphic little detail displayed as shamelessly as everything else about him.

He pops off to breathe, rolls Kurt's balls in his hand, and smiles. The smile is filthy in comparison to those wide, wet, doe eyes, and Kurt can't do anything. He's overwhelmed.

“Can I go slow? Do you mind?” Blaine asks, licking just under the head.

“Oh my god, of course not,” Kurt blurts.

He's sunk low on the couch, his legs spread and his back arched and his face on fire. Blaine licks him with luxuriously slow passes, from the head to the base of the shaft, and when he dips lower Kurt isn't prepared for the sensation of his testicle being sucked into that warm, wet mouth. He jumps, puts one hand on Blaine's jaw just to feel the suckle as Blaine licks his ball inside of his mouth over and over again.

“Oh, god, oh, fuck.”

Blaine repeats the process on the other ball, then lifts them both out of the way and sucks an open-mouthed kiss against Kurt's perineum. Kurt's eyes roll back in his head. His cock jumps, pulses against his belly, latex-sloppy and spit-sticky as Blaine tilts his head, pushes Kurt's thighs up and goes at the rough strip of skin between his balls and hole as if he's starving.

“Blaine,” Kurt pants, shaking. Blaine closes his hand in a fist around Kurt's cock without stopping what he's doing with his mouth, humming in pleasure as Kurt fucks up into his hand. “I'm gonna come if you don't stop.”

The hum becomes a growl, Blaine dragging the flat of his tongue up and over Kurt's balls while staring up at him from beneath those lush eyelashes. “So come,” he breathes, jacking Kurt's cock. “Want to watch your face when you come.” He sinks his mouth down around Kurt's cock without breaking eye contact and bobs twice, swallowing him to the back of his throat, which flutters anxiously as Kurt edges into it.

It's the exact right thing to say. Kurt's thighs tense up and his balls quiver and he comes inside of the condom a breath later, his cock pulsing, its veins visibly throbbing with every jolt of release. It's messy, but between a tissue and a deft condom removal, Blaine has him acceptably clean and dry in short order.

He closes his eyes, savoring the sweet, unraveled, overwhelmed sensations running rampant through his body.

It's only when he wonders why Blaine hasn't said anything that he opens his eyes and realizes that Stephen is standing in the doorway. He jerks upward and pulls a pillow over himself without thinking about it.

Blaine climbs to his feet and then sits on the couch, putting a hand on Kurt's arm. “I'll, um, I'll—go?”

“You told me you'd be out all weekend,” Kurt says, breathless with embarrassment.

“I had to pick up my laundry,” Stephen replies. “Uh. Wow. I'll—let you get back to it. Sorry.”

After he disappears, Kurt drops the pillow. “Shit. Let me—give me a second, okay?” He kisses Blaine's cheek.

“I can leave,” Blaine says.

“No, no, don't. I just need to take care of this.”

Kurt finds Stephen in the washer and dryer alcove beside the kitchen, standing still and silent over a laundry bag.

“Hey, um, I'm sorry about that,” he says, though he isn't sure why he's apologizing.

“You did mention him.”

“Yeah, but he was just a friend then. This is new.”

Stephen looks conflicted for a moment and then seems to make up his mind. “Christ, Kurt. How old is he?”

Kurt knows that Blaine looks even younger than he is. “Is that what this is about? Are you serious?”

“He looks like a college student. You're forty five years old. What are you doing with a kid that age?”

“He's twenty six. Who the fuck do you think you are judging me right now?”

Stephen flinches. “It's not like you. I—I don't know.”

“I'm not doing this with him because he's young. I'm not having some kind of midlife crisis, if that's what you're implying. We just—met, and it's been nice.”

“Are you sure about that? Are you really sure that this isn't about us? It's a hell of a rebound.”

Kurt's chest rises and falls rapidly. He doesn't see it like that. Blaine has just always felt right.

“I'm not having this conversation with you,” he says, going on the defensive. “You don't know him and you don't know how I feel. You fucking left me, so you deal with whatever leftover guilt you're harboring. Don't put it on me. Goddamn it.”

He turns on his heel and storms across the apartment only to find an empty living room.

He has a text from Blaine.

I don't want to make this any more awkward than it already is. Call me later?

Kurt groans and throws his phone across the couch.

 

*

 

It is awkward. And there's nothing that Kurt seems to be able to do about it.

They run into Stephen, Dee, and their mutual friends all the time, and he lets it slip that he's seeing Blaine to some of them. Before long, their social circle is buzzing with the news (which for whatever reason seems more interesting to most of them than the fact that he and Stephen are divorcing, and even more interesting than the fact that Stephen had been cheating on him for a year, and that makes no sense to Kurt, but there you have it).

Ari surprises them by making them one of her pre-summer-in-Europe stops, and though she doesn't quite get the show that her Papa got that afternoon, she walks in on Kurt and Blaine kissing in the kitchen, and that's how she meets Blaine. Kurt can't shake the uneasy feeling that it should have happened differently, and can't escape the supreme awkwardness of seeing just how close in age Blaine and his daughter actually, visibly are.

Is Stephen right? Is this Kurt's way of reclaiming something that he'd lost during the separation? Is he using Blaine? Or is he just scared to admit that he and Blaine might have something that he and Stephen had not?

He has feelings for Blaine—feelings that had began at “hello” and have only grown over time. There isn't a thing that Blaine doesn't know about him now, there isn't a conversation that they haven't had. It has been so easy, so simple between them. That is, until other people enter the equation.

Kurt doesn't know what to do.

Blaine, thankfully, does it for him.

Over dinner one night in May he takes Kurt's hand and says, “I'm taking the Milan assignment.”

“The June to July one?” Kurt asks.

“Yep.”

“Shit,” Kurt says, putting his fork down. “Okay.”

“I need some time,” Blaine says, with a sigh. “To think. To get a fresh perspective. Maybe it will be good for you, too?” He smiles. “It's not just about us. It's a good opportunity for me, and I've never been to Italy.”

“Oh, god, no, I mean, I want you to take it for that reason alone,” Kurt says, rushing to clarify because he truly does feel that way. “I didn't meant to imply that your only reason for wanting to get away was me or us. I just—I guess I just keep waiting for you to shrug this off and move on. I know that being with me hasn't been easy.”

Blaine tangles their fingers on the tabletop. “I'm crazy about you. The timing has been less than ideal, I'll give you that. But I'm not ready to give up on us. I think some time and distance might make things easier, actually. You're going to be busy, and you have the new place to settle into...”

Kurt hates his new studio, but it's fine for now. And the next few months are going to be insanely busy. Maybe Blaine has a point.

The time apart is difficult, especially during the first few weeks when Kurt feels a personal loss at Blaine's absence and a professional loss at work, where nothing feels quite as in control as when Blaine is around. Still, Kurt has been at this job for a long time, and he's confident in his abilities. He soldiers on and becomes accustomed to the change, though he never quite likes it.

The truth is, he's perfectly capable of living without Blaine. He just doesn't want to.

Stephen invites him over for dinner at his new place every now and then. It gets easier to see him every time that Kurt goes. They still have something of a life together, as Ari is their main concern at all times.

“Is Dee planning to move in with you?” Kurt asks him, one evening.

“We've talked about it,” Stephen answers, shrugging over his wine glass. “This place is small but it's more room than he has now, more privacy.” He makes eye contact again to ask, “What about Blaine?”

“Blaine is in Milan.”

“Ah.” He swirls the wine in his glass. “Is that, uh, a bad thing?”

Kurt sighs. “Stephen, I didn't plan this thing with him. In fact, we still don't know what we're doing. It just kind of happened.” He motions with his fork. “He needed some space, and the assignment was good for him.”

“No, I know,” Stephen says. “Look, I overreacted. Seeing you—seeing you with him like that shocked me. I do want you to be happy, Kurt. I hope you know that.”

He isn't comfortable telling Stephen that he thinks he might be falling for Blaine in all the ways that matter.

In between dinner and dessert, Kurt checks his phone and sees a text from Blaine.

Trying to figure out how I can get six pounds of parmigiano reggiano into my carry-on without smelling like cheese for the rest of my life. Suggestions?

He cracks up so badly that he forgets to respond. It feels good.

All he knows is that whatever it is they are doing, he wants them to keep on doing it.

 

*

 

Some time in mid-July, Kurt realizes that Stephen's birthday plans are no longer his responsibility. It's a strange feeling. He calls Stephen late that night to ask about it, though it's still weeks away, and they end up talking for hours.

They had shared so many birthdays over the years, and many of them had not been happy. There had been that one year when they'd had a health scare (Stephen had been sure that it was cancer), the year that Kurt had actually needed surgery, the year that Ari had been in a leg cast after falling off of the back of a horse, and the year that Stephen's father had died.

They talk until Kurt's mouth is dry and he's falling asleep sitting up.

And finally Stephen says, “I don't think Dee wants to move in. I don't think—I'm not sure anymore.”

This wakes Kurt up. “You mean, about moving in?”

“I mean in general. Things were wonderful. But then he saw the divorce papers, and something changed.”

Kurt is torn between being shocked that Stephen has the audacity to complain about his new boyfriend to him and enjoying a gut-deep excitement that Stephen and Dee are on the rocks. It's a weird combination of emotions. He's not sure why he's letting it get to him, or why he feels anything positive at all about it.

“You said that you two wanted the same things,” Kurt says, “that you were on the same page.”

“He hates the new place. He says I'm different.” Stephen sighs. “I can't believe I'm even telling you this. Can you just call me a selfish asshole and hang up on me? It'll make me feel better.”

“Babe, I don't know what you want me to say,” Kurt says. “It's been six months. Six months after thirty years together and you solicit me for dating advice?”

“No,” Stephen says, “you're right. You just always know how to make me feel better. That's all.”

Kurt's chest aches. That tone of voice is so like the one that had belonged to the man who he remembers loving so hard and for so long that hearing it is almost like a tease, tickling the edges of his soul with false comfort.

But the truth is, Kurt's heart is still broken. A betrayal of trust that massive is something that he finds very hard to forgive much less forget, and it has tainted every feeling that he still has for Stephen.

“You'll always be a part of my life,” he says, trying not to let his voice shake, “but I don't think that I can be your best friend anymore. I don't think I want to go back even that far.”

“That's generous,” Stephen says, sounding upset but resigned. “I never thought we'd even be talking like this again. I'm grateful.”

 

*

 

Blaine comes directly to the office after he arrives home, which Kurt finds funny. The urge to check in at work after a business trip is regularly overwhelming for Kurt, and apparently Blaine feels the same way.

He looks delicious in light traveling clothes, breezy pants and a scoop-neck shirt. He closes the door to Kurt's office with an exaggerated shushing motion, and Kurt is in his arms before he can consider whether or not he's being unprofessional. He was just about to go home, anyway, so he supposes that it's excusable.

“Oh my god, look at the tan on you,” he says, burying his face in Blaine's neck. He smells like a new, spicy, citrus-scented lotion, looks like he's lost a couple of pounds, and seems incredibly relaxed.

“I have gifts,” he says, putting Kurt at arm's length. “But more importantly, I have priorities.” He cups Kurt's jaw and kisses him, soft and slow and eager.

Kurt melts into the kiss.

It feels so good after two months of nothing but memory, fantasy, and several rounds of phone sex that had left him sticky and spent but also vaguely unsatisfied. He smooths his hands up and down Blaine's back and deepens the kiss, feeling the thrill of their intimacy settle in his mind as well as his body.

Blaine feels just as right—if not more so—than he had two months ago.

“Everyone on this floor is gone,” Blaine says, kissing down Kurt's throat and backing them up toward the mini-sofa in the corner. “God, I missed you.”

“What, there were no lovely Italian boys who were willing to entertain a tourist such as yourself?”

“There were,” Blaine says, pulling Kurt down into his lap. “But none of them made me feel the way you do.” He sprawls out beneath Kurt, pushing the jacket off of Kurt's shoulders. “I wasn't sure how I'd feel after a couple of months. Does that upset you?”

Kurt busies himself placing teethmarks along Blaine's collarbone. “No. Not at all. So how do you feel?”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, tipping his face up. “Kurt, look at me.”

This doesn't stop Kurt from undoing Blaine's shirt buttons. “Yes?”

“I want you. I want this. I don't want to do the casual thing anymore. I'm still terrified, but I'm willing to try if you are.”

Kurt's throat closes up. He buries his face against Blaine's chest, pushing the flaps of his shirt aside to get at the neat hair that peppers Blaine's pectoral muscles. He breathes out, feeling something that has been missing in Blaine's absence click neatly back into place.

It's not without fear. It's not the safest thing that he's ever felt. But it's implacable. It's sure of itself. And maybe that's enough. Maybe that's something that Kurt has always needed: to take a risk.

“Okay,” he says, grinning uncontrollably as he mouths his way down Blaine's belly. “I am. And I think celebration is in order.”

Blaine bites his lip, his eyes rolling back and closing as Kurt pushes his legs apart.

 

*

 

Kurt dances around making the call for almost a week, but finally it's the night before the party and he can't put it off any longer. He's been trying to deal appropriately with Stephen's increasingly upsetting and emotional texts for weeks now, messages that had begun as cries for help and have slowly evolved into hints that Stephen is regretting their divorce and missing him.

“Hey,” he says, after hitting Stephen's speed dial without allowing himself to rehearse what he's going to say, “I was just wondering if you needed me to bring anything tomorrow?”

“Just your cute self,” Stephen says.

Kurt smiles, but his tone is hesitant when he says, “Uh, sure. Look, you're okay with me bringing Blaine, right? I know you said you were earlier in the summer, but that was a while ago.”

“You're—oh. You're still seeing Blaine?”

“Well, yeah. I'm not sure why you thought I wasn't?”

“He was abroad for two months, and you never mentioned him after he got back, so I just assumed...”

“God, I'm, uh, I'm sorry. No, we're, we're very much—yeah, after Milan, he seemed a lot more sure about things. We're actually, officially dating now. I dunno, it's good. It's really good, I'm just trying to take it day to day.”

“It's fine. It's fine, yeah, no, I mean, nothing's changed, that's—great, even.”

It clearly isn't for Stephen, but Kurt isn't sure what else to do. He has an outfit picked out, a gift wrapped, a promise to Stephen to attend, and he's already mentioned it to Blaine, so it's a little late to back out now. At the very least, he needs to make an appearance and put on a friendly face.

Their entrance is a little awkward, but once the crowd closes ranks and everyone begins to drink and mingle it's no different than any other party. Kurt is impressed with how easily Blaine seems to be able to charm he and Stephen's mutual friends. They mingle separately for a while and then find each other on the dance floor.

“Can I give you a heads up?” Blaine asks, wrapping Kurt up in his arms. “You may not like it.”

“Crap. What's up?”

“Stephen was going to ask you to take him back tonight. He thought you were single up until last night. The only reason why I'm letting you know is that literally all of his friends are talking about it, he's wasted, and they aren't sure if he's okay. I thought you might want to talk to him in private?”

“Shit,” he says, cuddling closer to Blaine. “I wondered why I didn't see Dee here. Stephen's been keeping things from me again, but I should have read into what he was telling me. Damn. This is why he left me in the first place. I'm fucking oblivious.”

Blaine squeezes the back of his neck. “Hey. Hey, hold on. That's not true. You aren't a mind reader. And I don't blame you for pulling away if he was pushing for things that you didn't want to give.”

Kurt kisses Blaine's cheek. “I hear you. Let me go see how bad he is.” He wonders when he'll stop feeling as if taking care of Stephen is still his job. He wonders if being stuck in the past will hurt his relationship with Blaine.

Stephen is sitting out on the fire escape off of the bedroom, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a tumbler. He'd quit smoking in his thirties. Kurt had had no idea that he'd picked up the habit again.

“Hey,” he says, startling Stephen.

“Hey. Sorry. I was—okay until you got here, I swear.” He takes a long drag off of the cigarette. “I meant what I said about wanting you and Blaine to come, I just...”

Kurt leans against the railing beside him. “I get it.”

He can't judge how drunk Stephen is, but he thinks that he's sober enough to talk, since he seems to be having no trouble handling his cigarette and his motor functions seem unaffected.

They stand there in silence, the heavy, warm air still around them, the distant noise of traffic just another part of every day life, a thing that none of them even really hear anymore. They've lived in New York for almost their entire life together, sometimes in the city, sometimes in the outer boroughs, and once even across the Hudson in New Jersey, but they have never lived outside of the city for any significant length of time.

“The thing is, 'getting it' isn't really my responsibility anymore, is it?” Kurt asks. “We're not what we were.”

“I am so sorry. If I could take it all back, I would.”

“But you can't. And now that I've seen that side of you, I can't un-see it. I just can't.”

Stephen's eyes are bloodshot. “I will do anything. I'll sit in therapy forty hours a week if you want me to.”

Kurt would have given anything to hear those words nine months ago. Anything.

How times have changed.

“I want you to get better so that you can live the life you want for yourself,” he says. He feels strange and different and suddenly untethered. “But it wouldn't be for me. I'm—I love Blaine. I really do. I didn't see him coming, but I wouldn't turn him away now for anything. I'm happy with him, even though I have no idea where our future lies. That's a first for me.” He smiles, watches the cylindrical column of ash dangle from Stephen's neglected cigarette, watches the gray smoke dance around their heads. “I think I should go tell him that, huh?”

Stephen's eyes water. “Y-yeah. You probably should.” He reaches out at the last second to grab Kurt's sleeve. “Good—good for you. I mean that. It's—I'm glad that you've found something.”

“Thanks, babe,” Kurt replies, patting Stephen's hand one last time before he turns away.

 

*

 

They leave the party at midnight and are back at Kurt's by half past the hour. Blaine hasn't asked him about he and Stephen's conversation and he hasn't volunteered any details. They change into pajamas without saying much, taking turns washing their faces, brushing their teeth, and rinsing the product out of their hair. Blaine has two glasses of warm milk waiting for them on the coffee table by the time that Kurt finishes.

Kurt drinks his milk in silence, his head on Blaine's shoulder and his legs tucked up underneath him. It's too warm in the apartment for hot drinks, but the milk's flavor is comforting and familiar.

Blaine's fingers card through his hair. He closes his eyes.

Blaine isn't the man who he had become a father with. What they have is missing all of the trappings of a life half-lived. But what it lacks in history it boasts in potential—Kurt has never felt so comfortable. He feels healthy, inside and out, as if he is a better person simply with Blaine in his life. So often with Stephen Kurt had felt emotionally constipated—as if he was constantly stumbling, misreading, and making mistakes that he was unable to see coming. With Blaine he just feels like he can be himself, mistakes and all, and that this is enough.

It's so new, and so wonderful.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Blaine asks, finally, his mug empty and his expression one of concern.

Kurt puts his mug down and takes Blaine's hand, and leads him down the hall and into the bedroom. He presses Blaine down into the bed and straddles his body, hovers above him on all fours and nuzzles into his neck with a soft, wanting sigh.

“I'm in love with you,” he says, tugging Blaine's t-shirt over his head.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, his eyes wide.

“I'm in love with you,” he repeats, pulling the drawstring on Blaine's sweatpants before tugging them and his boxers down at the same time.

He flattens his hands over Blaine's belly and slides them upward, stroking all the way to the sharp upturn of his collarbone. He is beautiful. Kurt can't look away from the rise and fall of his chest. He forces himself to, finally, turns his lips against the fuzzy inside of Blaine's thigh and the tricky curve of his knee, and then kisses all the way to his soft cock, which he takes in between his lips just to taste it, just to feel it twitch.

“God,” Blaine breathes, spreading out under him.

“I'm in love with you,” Kurt says, spreading Blaine's legs so that he can kneel between them, bending low to scatter kisses down along the crease of his groin and thigh. “And I want to show you how much.” He nudges Blaine's hips up, thumbs the furry clasp of his cheeks until he stops shivering and relaxes, spreads him open and breathes hot over the sensitive flesh there. He feels Blaine search in the bedside table drawer, hears the crinkle and thunk when he finds the condoms and lubricant.

“Please,” Blaine begs, bending his legs back. “Please, yes, I—god, I want you inside of me.”

Kurt makes a soft, comforting noise and buries his face in between Blaine's cheeks. If there's one thing that thirty years in bed with the same man has taught him, it's how to do this. And he loves doing it. He can't believe that he's managed to wait this long to do it with Blaine. He doesn't just lick or suck. He buries his whole face against Blaine's crack, sets his jaw and mouths deep kisses and laps of his tongue, eating at Blaine's hole and rim with hungry motions until Blaine's skin and hair is soaked with spit, until he's sobbing at the ceiling and holding himself open so that Kurt doesn't have to use his hands.

“Oh, my god, oh, god, K-Kurt,” Blaine moans, arching his back.

He doesn't stop until he has his tongue as far as it can go into Blaine's ass. The elastic, warm, musky twitch is hypnotic and satisfying, and Kurt enjoys every noise, every roll of Blaine's hips, every clench of that perfect little channel around his tongue, against his chin and lips as he churns his face from side to side and back and forth to work Blaine open every which way. He doesn't retreat, not even to breathe through his mouth, doesn't stop until it's too slippery to continue and Blaine is shaking, tilting his ass up off of the mattress as if to beg.

Finally, Kurt lifts his head, and Blaine sobs.

“Holy shit,” he pants, looking down blearily at Kurt between his legs. “You are—that was—incredible.”

“You've never had that done to you properly, have you?” Kurt drawls, a smug grin on his soaked, swollen mouth as he replaces his tongue with two fingers, hooking them and rocking them into Blaine's ass, which closes up around them like a mouth around a cock.

“Clearly not,” Blaine answers, sounding amused and overwhelmed.

“You're delicious,” Kurt says, dotting Blaine's erection with kisses as he pushes his fingers in and out of Blaine's shining, puckered hole. “And you feel even better.”

Kurt wipes his face with a tissue, then takes the condom and lubricant from Blaine before shrugging out of his pajamas. Naked, he sits on the bed, spreads his legs, and forces himself to go slowly so that Blaine can watch him put the condom on and slick himself up. He doesn't feel anything but powerful under that appreciative gaze, and even though he knows that he's not as tight as he used to be in certain places, he's still a damned fine specimen of male flesh. Blaine goes red all the way down to his nipples, breathing shallowly as his eyes move over Kurt's body, as Kurt leans back on one hand, stretches his legs out in front of him and lets his cock stand back against his belly.

He wets his lips and asks, “Ride me?” He wants to be close. He wants to watch Blaine's face.

“God, yes,” Blaine breathes.

Blaine straddles his lap and sits down, reaching back to guide his cock between his cheeks before settling. Kurt kisses him, and isn't surprised by the choppy enthusiasm that he receives in return. Blaine is shaking, his heart is pounding, and he is unraveling faster than Kurt has ever seen him unravel. It's the sweetest treat, to feel how much Blaine wants him, how much he turns Blaine on.

He doesn't worry about his silvered body hair, or the little pinches of fat above his hips that used to be flat planes of muscle. He doesn't worry about the wrinkles on his forehead or the way that his inner thighs have lost their tone. He just feels desired, unconditionally and completely, and that is everything to him.

“You feel so good,” Blaine says, dragging Kurt's cock up and down the crack of his ass, which is still spit-sticky and warm and so soft from the attention that Kurt had given it. Kurt cups those plump, perky cheeks in his hands and squeezes and spreads them apart. “Oh.”

“Going to be so deep inside of you,” he breathes, rutting the head of his cock against Blaine's grasping hole. Blaine's tiny waist and thick ass churn under his sweaty palms.

Blaine kisses him, lines up their noses and foreheads and breathes out. “I'm in love with you, too. I would have said it sooner, only you were tongue-deep in my ass and it would have been awkward, I think.”

Kurt laughs, dragging Blaine's ass down. “Mm, you may be right about that.” He nips at Blaine's jaw with his teeth. “Come on, sweetheart. Sit down on my cock.” He holds Blaine's ass, not letting him rush. “Nice and slow.”

“F-fuck,” Blaine exhales as his body comes down. He yields so easily, lubricant and the tacky skin between his cheeks splitting as Kurt's cock halves them. “Oh fuck oh shit K-Kurt, feels—been a while, but it feels so good.” He bottoms out, his ass pooling over Kurt's thighs, and Kurt's fingers touch the small of his back as it bends. “Oh my god, yes, just let me get it deeper, f-feels—”

Blaine is so tight around his cock. Kurt breathes and lets his mind drift, lets the sensation float instead of anchor as Blaine's body rolls in his lap. He doesn't wait to be asked, he just drizzles another squirt of lubricant down between Blaine's cheeks, feels the cool liquid spread and drip down in between them. He leans back to watch, one hand on Blaine's ass as Blaine begins to rock up and down. He's flushed and sweating, his hair springing up into curls and a stripe of blood red over the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

It seems almost indulgent to bear witness to such wonderfully open carnal pleasure.

Kurt holds on, lets Blaine ride him until the muscles in Blaine's legs begin to clench up. Breathing heavily, he wraps his hands around Blaine's waist and lifts him, surprises a little squeak out of him as Kurt lowers him to his back on the bed, puts his knees over Kurt's shoulders and pushes back inside of him.

He presses down, down, down, until Blaine is bent in half under him, until they're kissing while he grinds his cock deep inside of Blaine, back and forth, not relenting until Blaine is whining. He pulls out halfway, only to push back in, sweat trickling down the back of his neck and temples as he moves on his knees.

“Oh my god,” Blaine says, and Kurt can almost hear his toes curl where his feet and calves are wagging near the middle of Kurt's back. “P-please, stay in, just, harder, want to feel it.”

“Honey,” Kurt says, slowing down, “I'm not anywhere near done with you. Just let me take care of it.”

“Oh,” Blaine moans.

Kurt's sense of urgency is nothing like Blaine's.

They go from Blaine on his back to his side, with Kurt spooning up behind him against his curves, filling him slow and hard, brutal in rhythm. He lifts Blaine's leg—Blaine makes a questioning noise—and holds Blaine wide open so that he can pound into him from behind, not willing to stop shifting around until he finds that spot. He adjusts his angle so many times that he thinks he might be overdoing it (not all men's prostates respond the same way), until Blaine cries out and Kurt sees a little gush of fluid splatter up his belly from the tip of his cock.

“W-what, oh, oh my g—Kurt, I—”

“Mm, relax, it's okay.”

“Gonna—gonna do it again,” he whimpers. Kurt hammers into him at the same steady pace, and shudders with pleasure when Blaine squirts clear again, all over his stomach. “Oh my god, I—I'm going to come for real, I think, if you keep—oh, my god, fuck me, fuck me just like that, oh—”

Kurt stops, inches out of Blaine's ass, and can't help but giggle under his breath when Blaine backs up on him greedily. “You're close. Take a breath.”

“Shit,” he pants. “You're serious.”

Kurt rolls him over onto his belly and fucks him straddled over his ass, driving him into the bed until the friction against his cock is too much. He puts him on his back a second time, lifts him so that his ass settles on the flat of Kurt's thighs, so that his legs are straight up in the air pointing to the ceiling and Kurt can push in between his cheeks and inside of him with full pressure on all sides.

He angles Blaine's ass so that his thrusts are as upward as they can go, and when he's got a good pace going he spreads Blaine's thighs just enough to get at his cock, which is straining and swollen and wine red at the tip from denial. His balls are as tight as drums, and he's so close that Kurt knows he won't be able to back down for much longer. His ass is so raw, so open, that even Kurt is beginning to lose that sense of keen friction, and so he's finally willing to let Blaine come and to give in to his own desire to let go. The bed is wrecked and they are both dripping sweat. He doesn't think that either of them are capable of much more.

“D-don't, don't, I can't,” Blaine cries, holding Kurt's wrist.

“I have been fucking you,” Kurt says, honey-sweet and chest-raspy, “for hours. Do you want to come?”

“Oh my god, please.”

“I'm in love with you, Blaine,” Kurt repeats, staring down at that sweaty, pleasure-anguished face. “I'm never going to let you forget it.”

“Kurt, Kurt, please.” Blaine fucks himself up into Kurt's hand, desperate for the friction that he needs to go over the edge. “I love you, I love you, please, just, more, I can't, not like that.”

Kurt spits on flushed crown of Blaine's cock and smooths the saliva down, spreading it with a slow tug and then pulling faster. “Like that? Faster?”

“P-perfect, oh, oh, oh, oh, ah.”

He pins Blaine's ass against his hips and pushes deep, letting Blaine tighten up around his cock as his orgasm coils. Kurt watches his balls twitch as the orgasm hits, throbbing at the base of Blaine's cock and making the vein up the shaft pulse, a second before he comes over Kurt's knuckles and his own chest, his mouth dropped open in a silent cry. His pelvis stutters, making the whole bed shake as he shoots and shoots and shoots.

Kurt thinks that he may have pushed it too far. Blaine goes limp over his thighs, against the mattress, panting, his body shining with sweat and come. He gives it a second, and then gingerly grinds his pelvis forward.

“Oh, god,” Blaine moans, his thighs falling apart to expose his furred ass and thighs, giving Kurt the perfect view of his fat erection buried halfway in Blaine's body. “I can't.”

Kurt grins, cups the backs of Blaine's knees and begins fucking him again, gentle thrusts that work the blood against the skin of the shaft of Kurt's cock, making the delicate skin there flush every color from white to plum purple-red.

“You're a mess,” he says.

Blaine's dead weight turns him into a human-sized rag doll, free, eager, and available for use.

Blaine's fingers search weakly over Kurt's belly. “Can't.”

“You don't have to do anything,” Kurt breathes, so close now that it's nearly uncomfortable. “I'm gonna use this tapped out ass to make myself come. Just lie there. Just let me, honey.”

“Feel so much, god, every inch of you.”

He speeds up, not thrusting now but grinding, working the shaft of his dick against Blaine's insides, a little rough and a little too deep, but Blaine just breathes and stares at him with wide eyes, and then shamelessly drops his gaze to watch Kurt fucking his ass open. Kurt in turn watches Blaine's cock throb on his belly, enthralled.

The orgasm winds deep, settles in his balls and digs its claws in.

“That's it,” he says, his eyelids dipping, “that's it, right there, I'm right there, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, yes, tighten up that ass for me, squeeze my cock, oh, fuck, fuck, yes.” He comes buried to the hilt inside of Blaine, so hard and for so long that he feels as if he's jolted right out of his skin. When he opens his eyes again Blaine is still looking at him, rubbing his soft cock idly to the sight of Kurt pulling out and tying the condom off.

There isn't a single dry spot on the bed, the sheets have come off of the mattress' edges, the pillows are on the floor, and Kurt has no idea where their pajamas are.

“Well,” he says, breathing unevenly.

“Shower? New sheets? Power wash?” Blaine asks, his mouth twisted into a half-smirk.

“Are there any other options?”

“We could burn everything. That might do it.”

Kurt smiles, tugs Blaine up by his wrists and kisses him. “I told you I would take care of you.”

“I'm mentally preparing a list of stamina jokes. I'll have them on your desk by Monday.”

Blaine lets Kurt chase him all the way to the shower, ducking swats as he goes.

 

*

 

Kurt and Stephen actually get some warning when Ari and Sara visit them after they get back from Europe. It seems like years instead of months, and Kurt is pleased when Ari chooses to visit him first.

They've kept up over email, of course, and Ari is aware that Blaine is now Kurt's boyfriend. She gives him surprisingly little crap about it. He thinks that it has something to do with the fact that Stephen's relationship with Dee ending has put a damper on the situation, and Kurt finding happiness with Blaine is a bright spot.

They go shopping and out to eat and Kurt gives her and Sara gifts from his sample collection, allowing them to pick the things that they like. It turns out that Sara isn't as shy as Kurt had originally found her to be; she hits it off with Blaine instantly. That door opening up makes everything easier—Kurt is suddenly able to engage Sara in lively conversation, Ari lights up like a Christmas tree, and Blaine says that he feels as if he's forged a bond.

“He's kind of awesome,” Ari says, over lunch.

“He's—different. For me, at least. I'm really happy.”

“So since you're all Mr. Romantic Second Chances right now, it would be a good time to tell you that Sara and I got hitched in Spain?”

Kurt drops his chopsticks. “Ariana Tully Hummel you did not.”

She laughs. “No, we didn't. Just checking.”

“On what, my heart health?”

“You get all spacey when Blaine. I'm just bringing you back down, Dad.”

“Did I raise you to be that rude?”

She smiles. “Rude, awesome, same thing. Look, we have dinner plans with Papa. Is that okay?”

“Sure, sure,” he says, smiling. “Have you spoken to him today?”

“Yep,” she says. “He's doing okay. I mean, he's not great, but he's been worse.”

Kurt swallows around the lump in his throat.

No matter how many times he tells himself that not everyone can remain close friends with their exes, the distance between he and Stephen never feels right. He has so many regrets, but all he can really do right now is embrace a healthy, necessary distance and do what's best for himself and Ari.

And, also importantly, to try not to make the same mistakes with Blaine. Thankfully, Blaine does a pretty good job of reminding him when he's being evasive and obtuse. Kurt is getting better at searching out issues when Blaine goes quiet and inward, as well. Maybe that's why they work—they know how to check each other in ways that Kurt and Stephen had simply never learned.

He and Blaine's relationship will always be a work in progress, but Kurt no longer sees that as failure. He's finally learned that looking at love as a process can turn it into the greatest success of all.

 

*

 

“But it was kind of hot,” Blaine says.

“For the three minutes before I got the splinter.”

“You could have said something!”

“You were fucking me for the first time. I didn't want to stop.”

Blaine turns in Kurt's arms, smiling, and kisses his neck. “And let us not forget the blotter.”

“Rest in peace, blotter. You were my favorite blotter of all until I ruined you with jizz.”

“Moment of silence?”

Kurt pauses for a few seconds, and then laughs. “Okay, let's just be honest: sneaky office desk sex is neither as fun nor as easy on the body as it looks on television or in those movies. We did give it our all, though.”

Blaine sneaks a hand down between the mattress and Kurt's ass, giving it a squeeze. “Mm, I did give a hundred and twenty percent, I feel.”

Kurt rolls over, letting Blaine get at him a little better. He hums, rutting his ass back against Blaine's crotch. “I dunno. I think the secret is that the better offices have more sex-compatible desks. Once I get that corner office, Mission Desk Sex will be a go again.”

“Which you will,” Blaine says, kissing below his ear. “That promotion is yours. I pity anyone who thinks otherwise.”

“It's in the bag,” Kurt says, and doesn't feel the need to stop talking even when Blaine begins stroking him through his briefs. “What about you?”

“My presentation is solid,” Blaine says, as Kurt fattens up in his hand. “Mm, as are you.”

“Hey, hey, stay on topic. Tomorrow is a big day. This is your chance to get launched from a platform that could send your career sky high.”

Blaine slides his hand between Kurt's underwear and belly. “We have talked this to death, though. I don't want to jinx it. I just want to make you come and fall asleep all clingy like you always do.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Mm,” Kurt says, “that feels good.”

“Have I told you that I'm in love with you today?” Blaine asks, kissing down Kurt's belly.

It's become their line, something that they say to express a variety of positive sentiments.

Kurt turns his face into his pillow, smiling so wide that it makes his face ache, as Blaine sinks his mouth down around his cock with a satisfied hum.

“Yes,” Kurt says, breathless almost immediately after Blaine's head begins to bob. “Gngh—yeah, oh.”

It's been two years, but Kurt still feels that same, jarring out-of-body pleasure every time that Blaine touches him. He tries not to compare this to all the sex that had come before, but he can't deny that sex with Blaine is better than any he's ever had. There's nothing between them to keep him from connecting to it, no fear, no doubt, no missing pieces. He can be Kurt and Blaine can be Blaine, and somehow, that's always more than enough. He'd had no idea what that could feel like, and now he feels it every day.

 

*

 

Blaine's first junior clothing line launch show is nothing like any show that Kurt has ever worked. Instead of having the traditional setup, Blaine has the venue converted into a Chuck-E-Cheese-like play environment where the kids are encouraged to do what they would normally do in such a place, only wearing his designs instead. He organizes little displays at each station, having the kids show off their clothes and shoes, but other than that it's chaos, and proves that his designs are indeed as functional as they are upscale fashionable.

It had been a huge risk, this presentation method, but the crowd is loving it. Kurt hasn't seen donation checks that big all year, and the interest in Blaine's work that's being shown today is more than enough all on its own to launch a career for him as a designer.

Kurt is as impressed as he is overwhelmed—this could mean big things for them.

At the end of the show, they put on a play of sorts—a group of kids who are not only comfortable with performing but eager to do so have memorized a variety of lines from children's plays and nursery rhymes to recite on a small stage as they show off their outfits. It's a huge success, drawing applause and shouts of delight from a crowd that isn't accustomed to displaying open enthusiasm.

At the very end of the play, a little girl in an outfit that resembles a modernized styling of a Prince Charming-esque pair of pants and jacket, down to the shiny shoes and buckles made of colored fabric worked into the design trots down the mini-catwalk and presents Kurt with a note that's been pinned to a decorative pillow.

Kurt tilts his head, confused.

“For Mr. Kurt Hummel,” she announces, loudly enough for the room to hear.

The note simply reads: Come backstage – B

Completely lost, Kurt allows the girl to take his hand and lead him backstage. He can hear the hush of the crowd grow into curious whispers behind him.

The backstage area is full of red and yellow roses, strewn over the floor and in vases on every available surface. The cast of children that Blaine has been working with flanks him in their costumes, and when Kurt reaches them Blaine leans down, thanks the kids and tells them to wait for him in a room off of the side of the stage.

Prince Charming digs a box out of her pocket, presents it to Blaine with an exaggerated flourish, bows to them both at the waist, and then runs off to join her colleagues.

Kurt laughs. “That one is going to be a theater actor for sure.”

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's in that box, but despite the fact that Kurt has been proposed to before, and despite the fact that he told himself he'd never lose his mind over this kind of thing again, his heart is racing and his palms are sweaty.

“You're crazy,” he says, smiling.

“I was going to just stroll down the catwalk and drop to one knee,” Blaine says, smiling as he turns the box between his fingers.

Kurt is glad that he hadn't. Stephen had proposed rather publicly, and even though Kurt had adored the romantic nature of the gesture then, over the years he's come to appreciate the comfort and subtly of private moments a lot more. That Blaine had realized this just shows how well Blaine has come to know him.

“But this isn't a performance or a pitch,” Blaine says, going down on one knee. Red and yellow rose petals scatter around his knees, the almost too-sweet scent making Kurt's head swim. “This is me asking you to stay by my side. It's the simplest and most important question that I've ever asked another person.” He smiles. “And if you don't say yes, we can still walk out there and do the big finish, and no one will ever be the wiser.”

Kurt had never thought that he'd do this a second time. After the divorce, he'd realized how hollow the whole institution could be, how devoid of actual promise when the emotions and effort required were absent. He'd realized that both he and Stephen had made mistakes and failed each other in a variety of ways. He'd realized that understanding these mistakes did not mean that he was going to be perfect in the future. He'd realized that he'd have to work as hard at love as he had at work and as a father in order to succeed at it.

And he realizes now, staring down at Blaine and that shimmering band, that all he's really been looking for since is a second chance at happiness.

He reaches down and takes the ring out of the box. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

Blaine laughs—overwhelmed, his chest hitching—and slides the ring onto Kurt's finger. “Oh, god, this is going to turn into a photo op. I didn't think that part through.” He stands, pulls Kurt into his arms, and kisses him.

Kurt's not concerned about the photographers. “Did you think that I was going to say no?”

“Honestly? I'm not sure. I would have understood if you had. But I had to take the chance.”

“If I had said no, would you have stayed with me?” Kurt asks, tingling all over at the sight and feel of a ring on his finger again. He can't deny that he loves it. It's been naked long enough.

“Yes,” Blaine answers, without hesitation. “You mean more to me than a ceremony or a piece of paper.”

Kurt smiles. Together, they walk over to the stage curtain. He thinks for a moment and then says, out of the corner of his mouth, “It's going to be a hell of a ceremony, though.”

“You bet your ass it is,” Blaine says, his eyes dancing with laughter.

Hand-in-hand, they step out onto the catwalk to the blinding snap of dozens of camera flashes.