"Kurt."
"Mmm?" His fingers were wrapped tightly around his warm coffee mug. There was a book splayed on the carpet beside him, flipped to one of the first few pages. His back was pressed against the foot of the couch, and the light from the fire flickered, warm, against his face. His tie and jacket were thrown across a cushion, and he had unbuttoned the first three buttons on his plain uniform shirt.
Because for once in his life, Kurt was too tired to care about what he looked like.
His exhaustion was the primary consequence of late-night studying; the Dalton idea of learning was literally suffocating students with so much work that they were forced to absorb everything at once. Which wasn't the type of learning style that Kurt was used to. Blaine, being the kind, noble Warbler that he was, offered to help him.
"Kurt."
"I'm trying to read about the Declaration." The words had started to swim under his eyes.
There was a snort. "No, you aren't. You're about to fall asleep."
Sleep sounded perfect at that moment. Kurt's teal eyes flicked upward, meeting Blaine's hazel eyes with slight annoyance and exhaustion. He sniffed idly at the coffee in his cup and used his toes to shove the US History text book across the carpet. "Read to me?"
Across from him, Blaine's amused smile widened considerably. "In a romantic mood, Mr. Hummel?"
"Actually, I'm in an exhausted, entirely worn out mood. A I-refuse-to-read-stories-about-old-white-men mood." The corner of his mouth ticked upward as Blaine shook his head, a little spout of weak laughter falling past his lips.
"Alright, fine. But just to let you know, I have a very erotic reading voice." Blaine's long fingers reached out, snatched the book from under Kurt's socked foot.
"I doubt that anything about guns and government can be erotic."
Blaine wiggled one eyebrow; Kurt giggled. "You haven't heard anything yet."
The countertenor shrugged one shoulder, passed his fingers through his messy bangs, and motioned dramatically for Blaine to start. The Warbler sucked a breath deep into his chest (earning him another tired laugh) and flipped to the first chapter.
"The history of the United States traditionally starts with the Declaration of Independence in 1776. It is a statement adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4, 1776, which announced that the thirteen American colonies then at war with Great Britain were now independent states, and thus no longer a part of the British Empire. Written primarily by Thomas Jefferson, who..." Blaine lifted his eyes from the words just in time to see Kurt's eyelids slip down over his teal irises. A sheepish, little boy smile found its way onto his lips; Kurt was beautiful, but in sleep, he looked positively adorable.
The Warbler sighed. He was tempted to close the book, drag Kurt onto the couch with him, and sleep until three o'clock the next day.
But Blaine was responsible, so he glanced back down at the words, cleared his throat, and said loudly, "Thomas Jefferson, who bent Ben Franklin over a desk in the White House and fucked him until they both ca-"
Kurt shot up, his teal eyes blinking furiously. "What?"
Blaine fought to keep the grin off his face. "I said, the declaration is a formal explanation of why Congress had voted on July 2 to declare independence from Great Britain, more than a year after the outbreak of the American Revolutionary War."
"No, you didn't." Kurt eyed him suspiciously and, after a moment of speculation, snatched the book out of Blaine's hands to stare down at the small print. "Oh."
Blaine conquered up a look of confusion, and carefully took the book back. "Continue?" Kurt waved an indifferent hand. He sat back, huffing a large sigh and shaking thoughts of Jefferson and Ben Franklin out of his head.
"Although the wording of the Declaration was approved on July 4, the date of its signing has been disputed. Most historians have concluded that it was signed nearly a month after..." Kurt's head fell onto his own shoulder, his cheek plastered into his wrinkled button-down. Blaine realized that he'd never seen the uniform look so sloppy, and that he'd probably never get the chance to see Kurt in such a rumpled state again.
Because Kurt was perfect.
Or, perfect in Blaine's eyes.
"It was signed nearly a month after Neil Patrick Harris met his husband and had mad bunny sex on top of a red Civic while odd, gross-smelling homeless men drooled at their acts of pure lust."
This time, he didn't bolt upward; he merely opened one eye to suspiciously stare at Blaine's innocent face. "I suppose you didn't just say something about Neil Patrick Harris and mad bunny sex?"
"Uh...I don't believe I did." He shook his head, pretending to be amused, and flipped a page for effect. Kurt grumbled incoherently (Blaine caught the words "homeless" and "drool") before dragging his knees to his chest and resting his chin gently on top of them. Blaine cleared his throat.
"The Declaration justified the independence of the United States by listing colonial grievances against King George III, and by asserting certain natural rights, including a right of revolution. Its stature grew over the years, particularly the second sentence, a sweeping statement of individual human..."
Blaine's hazel eyes flickered up when Kurt let out a little snore. He allowed himself a few seconds of basking in the gorgeousness of Kurt's face, which was light by the glowing fire, before continuing.
"...A sweeping statement of individual human rights, like the right I have to put whipped cream on your face." He smiled when Kurt shifted slightly in his sleep. "Like the right I have to think you're positively amazing. Like the right I have to have the biggest possible crush on you. Like the right I have to kiss you, right this moment, and have you never remember any of it."
Technically, Blaine digressed, that wasn't a right he had.
But with every fiber of his body and soul, Blaine wished he did have that right.
He reached out a hand and smoothed a few wrinkles off the shoulder of Kurt's dress shirt, one finger unintentionally (or maybe it had been subconsciously intentional) brushing against the countertenor's exposed neck.
He felt the soft tingle, a little thrill, at the contact; the last time he'd touched Kurt, he'd been dragging him down an empty hallway.
Holding his breath, he inched closer. The buttons on the back pockets off his pants made scraping noises as he moved himself across the carpet.
And gently, very gently, he pushed the few stray hairs out of Kurt's face. He smoothed a few fingers over Kurt's soft cheek, touched the taut place were his neck met his shoulder. He slid his fingers into Kurt's, entwining them.
He leaned forward, ready to press his lips into Kurt's cute button nose, when the countertenor's eyelids fluttered.
Blaine jumped back, jerking his hand away, and stumbling over himself in haste.
When Kurt's eyes were finally focused, Blaine was flipping through the second chapter in the text book, sitting comfortably in his original spot on the soft carpet.
"...because the colonies were not directly represented in Parliament, colonists argued that Parliament had no right to levy taxes upon them. This tax dispute was part of a larger divergence between British and American interpretations of the British Constitution and the extent of Parliament's authority in the colonies, and - "
"Were you over there a few seconds ago?" Blaine felt his heart sink into his stomach. He lifted an eyebrow and nodded his head in what he hoped was a convincing way. Kurt's teal eyes flicked over his face, searching for something beneath the surface. For a moment, Blaine thought he could see right through him, right through his facade.
But then Kurt looked away, rubbed his eyes, and said, "I must have been dreaming."
"About Lincoln or Neil Patrick Harris?"
A smile tugged at Kurt's mouth. He pushed a hand through his hair, ruffling it to the point of incredibly sexiness (Blaine looked down at a picture of Washington and begged for strength) and shook his head. "Neither."
"Care to elaborate?"
The smile on his lips turned into a smirk. Blaine shifted uncomfortably on the carpet, Kurt's eyes (which had brightened significantly, considering his supposed exhaustion) burning into his.
He fell forward, onto his hands and knees. Blaine used the entirety of his self control to keep himself from tackling the countertenor as he stalked toward the Warbler. His body was slinky and catlike as he moved, crossing the carpet.
Sexy.
Blaine licked his lips.
Kurt closed the space between them, placing a hand on either side of Blaine's folded legs (he had a thing for sitting criss-cross applesauce) and leaned in close. "Blaine."
He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he was forced to let it out. "Y-yeah?"
"You were messing with me when you were reading about the Declaration, weren't you?" He was so close, Blaine could count every eyelash, every blink, every soft, nearly invisible freckle. The Warbler swallowed. Blaine had always considered himself suave, but tonight, witty words seemed to die on his tongue.
So all he managed was, "Yep."
Kurt let out a tinkling laugh that brushed against Blaine's face. "I'm about to elaborate on my dream. Think of it as payback."
Blaine opened his mouth, confusion written across his face, but Kurt ducked his head just then, and a the feathery touch of his lips pressed into the Warbler's neck.
"It kind of felt like...Someone touched my neck. Really...gently." A hand reached up, dragging Blaine's shirt downward, and a warm tongue flicked against his collar bone. Almost against his own will, Blaine's neck arched. Kurt let out a little laugh that felt warm against Blaine's skin. "And then here."
His lips moved upward, leaving a little trail of kisses against Blaine's jaw, and then stopping, lingering, against his cheek.
And then suddenly, they were wavering over Blaine's. Just hovering, inches, maybe even centimeters, away from the Warbler's lips.
Blaine realized he was holding his breath again.
"I wanted a real kiss." Kurt whispered, his words brushing over Blaine's mouth. "But in my...dream...he didn't kiss me."
Fingers slipped through Blaine's hair, making him sigh. Kurt's lips disappeared; Blaine choked back a moan of unhappiness. He lifted one eyelid and met Kurt's amused teal eyes. There was a question, unspoken, and suddenly, Blaine's motor skills returned to him.
The Warbler took Kurt by his waist, smoothing the soft cotton there, and dragged the countertenor into his lap. His fingers dipped under Kurt's cotton button-down, goosebumps erupting on his arms when they slipped across the warm, milky skin for the first time.
There was hesitation.
Because he knew how Kurt's first kiss had been stolen. How it hadn't been the least bit romantic or satisfactory.
So when Blaine kissed him, when he finally took that leap of faith and pressed his lips into Kurt's, he was incredibly surprised.
Because Kurt responded so quickly, so passionately, that it was impossible for Blaine to keep his dapper, extraordinarily wholesome composure.
Because Kurt felt like fire; hot and blazing, mesmerizing, beautiful.
Because every nerve on Blaine's body felt like it was exploding, erupting like fireworks and sending trembling shocks through him.
Like lightening.
Like he had waited forever to feel this way, like he has waited forever for Kurt.
Suddenly, Blaine's hands where everywhere. They were popping buttons off Kurt's uniform shirt, they were raking a hand through his soft hair, they were clenching his hips, pulling the countertenor as close as possible, they were hungrily exploring every inch of Kurt's perfect body.
And Kurt was making the most amazing noises Blaine had ever heard, his head tossed back in a way that made Blaine have to think of anything but. The Warbler's lips traveled across Kurt's jaw, licking and biting his way down the countertenor's neck, savoring the taste of the soft skin at his collar bone.
Kurt's cold fingertips smoothed across his stomach. There was a soft ripping noise; Blaine looked down just in time to see the last three buttons on his shirt roll under the couch.
And then, and then, Kurt's hips rotated in his.
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Kurt grinded his obvious arousal deliciously into Blaine's aching crotch and send a hard shiver through his groin.
Blaine, losing his entire composure, let out a - in his opinion - loud, obnoxious moan that made the corner of Kurt's mouth twitch upward in the cutest of smiles.
"I want you."
The three words made goosebumps erupt on his skin. Blaine met Kurt's eyes; they burned into his.
"I've always wanted you, Blaine." His hips rolled; Blaine buried his eyes in the crook of Kurt's neck, breathing in his coconut scent. A hand snaked down his chest, down his stomach, down to his zipper.
Cool fingers dipped into his pants.
"Just like this." Blaine jerked into his palm, groaning into the shell of Kurt's ear.
Kurt's teeth nipped at his jugular; Blaine knew there would be a large, purple bruise there when he woke up. The Warbler lifted his lips, seeking hungrily for Kurt's, and the countertenor met him halfway, kissing him as deeply and fully as he possibly could in that moment.
And in that moment, in Blaine's hazy, lust-filled mind, he had an epiphany.
"I love you."
And then everything came to a crashing halt.
The soft rhythm of Kurt's hips, the nipping at Blaine's raw skin, the fingers retreated from his zipper.
Even his teal eyes seemed to lose their zeal.
"What?"
Blaine felt like slapping himself, like dragging his shirt back on, knocking Kurt out of his lap and running away, but instead he smoothed over a few notches in Kurt's spine and licked his lips.
"I guess I kind of just shoved my foot into my mouth."
Kurt's hands hung loosely by his side.
"I mean...I was just...I was kidding? I mean, I wasn't kidding. There was no kidding involved in that. I was just...I was testing out that word. Because it kind of sounds cool doesn't it? Love. Luhhh-uh-ev. L-"
"Please." Kurt's soft voice cut through his unintelligible ranting. "Please, please, please. Shut your mouth."
Blaine brushed a hand over his face, trying to rub away the embarrassment. "Oh, God! I'm so stupid. I'm sorry, really, it was a slip of tongue! I get all worked up and then things just kind of drop out of my mouth and - Can we go back the kissing and grinding and whatever?"
"Blaine." Kurt cupped his flushed face in both hands and pressed their foreheads together. "Shh. You're ruining it."
"Ruining-?"
Kurt's lips pressed softly into his. "You know, you lose your dapper, totally perfect, amazingly classy persona when you're horny."
"It's a fault. But you know, I could work on that or something."
Kurt laughed.
"Or, you could just kiss me, and tell me that you love me again."
And that's exactly what he did.