A/N: Hi! If you are here and you haven't read He's the Cheer Captain, I'm on the Bleachers, you might be a little confused, but don't let that stop you. For those of you who are reading HTCC, these are the 'notes' Kurt and Blaine have been leaving for one another in their lockers during the period that our boys are supposed to have no contact with each other. There is .03% plot in this, and I'm pretty sure teenage boys writing to each other would be even more graphic (um, and less flowery) in their descriptions.

Warnings: It's been rated M for a reason, folks. Go get an iced drink and a fan.

Disclaimer: I'm writing this for fun, not for profit. Kurt and Blaine are not my creations. Just my muses.

Under the Bleachers: The One You Won't Forget (Letter #1)

Hobbit-

Those notes and suggestions you made for our competition routine are filthy! Where have you been all my life? I'm being totally serious, Blaine. When we (Santana, Sam, and Mike) read them over, you had everyone totally turned on (you always have me turned on). We're on board with making all the changes and have already started making some of the easier ones – we'll wait until you're back at practice to make the bigger ones – since we both know you've got the magic touch when it comes to getting those freshies to do it right.

Speaking of magic touches, I miss yours. I miss you so much, Blaine. I swear I spend most of my class time thinking about all the things I'd like to do to you and what I'm going to do to you when I can see you again. God, I really hope you think it was all still worth it.

Halloween is coming up – do you have a costume picked out? I'd suggest a couples' costume, but since I'm persona non grata at your house and your mom isn't going to let you come over to mine, what would be the point? Oh, BTW, people don't really dress up for Halloween here at McKinley. Anyway, if you do dress up, I was thinking you should totally rock that sexy nerd thing you have going on. Fuck, now I'm hard and I'm in Foods class. Thank god she's showing us another video.

Hmmm … well, if I had my magic wand, this is how our Halloween would go.

-Kurt

The One You Won't Forget

I know you don't realize it, but you're the sexiest fucker to walk through our hallways in forever. The new kid from another school that no one knows – but from the moment I lay eyes on you, not only is it my goal to get to know you, but to make you mine.

You're so shy, ducking your head when people greet you, offering that sweet smile instead of replying. It does something to my body that would have you flushing crimson if I were to whisper it in your ear.

It's the same color you turn the day I walk up to your locker and inform you that you're coming to my Halloween party. Maybe it's over-confident, but I'll be damned if I'm going to give you the chance to back out.

"7:00 pm," I say quietly, spilling out my address, "my brother and I are having some friends over for a Halloween party. You're my date. Don't be late, Blaine."

You stand there, that beautiful flush creeping across your face as you blink at me. Clearly I've had an impact. From behind your black framed glasses, I watch the colors swirl in your eyes, and then the flare of your pupils as, perhaps, you realize some of the attraction I feel towards you.

"M. ?" you stutter.

I tap your lips with my index finger. "Yes, Sexy. You."

"I'm not-"

You start to deny your attractiveness, but I can't allow you the words. Dipping my head, I press my lips against yours. This only serves to make the flames of desire flare higher, and I cannot stop the quiet groan that escapes me as I claim you.

When I finally pull back, your lips chase after mine until your senses return and you realize what you're doing. Your eyes drop to the ground, arms wrapping protectively around your chest. "Sshh," I whisper against your ear. "It's okay to feel like this, Blaine. Please come."

When you look questioningly at me, I add with a smirk, "To my house. Please come to my house."

I'm not sure you realize it when you mouth the words, "Okay, Kurt."

There are no adults at home for our Halloween party. It's probably best for everyone that they don't know the deviant behaviors we indulge in on this evening. Our invited all know to just enter through the front door and to make themselves at home in whatever room best suits their pleasure.

But you – you're new … and innocent. Which is why I find you standing on the front step, wringing your hands nervously, waiting for someone to invite you in. One look at you and I want you to invite me in.

You've worn dark khaki corduroy pants and a button-down ecru shirt, with green and gold plaid striping running across it. Both items of clothing look to be a size smaller than comfortable, but it makes my mouth water more, seeing the flexing of your muscles beneath the fabrics. You've just barely tamed your curls and your ever-present black glasses complete this look. The most mouth-watering nerd just walked into my life.

"You look … hot," I breathe, stepping away from the door to allow you room to enter.

You smile nervously, brushing against my body as you step inside. "Thanks. So do you," you reply breathlessly. "What are you?"

I glance down at myself before raising my eyes to yours. "Glitter rock vampire?" I've donned skin tight black leather pants, knee-high boots and a black jeans vest. The silver spiked collar and wrist bands, along with a heavy application of smudged eye liner help complete the look. I've styled my hair so it sweeps off of my forehead while looking tousled at the same time. I'm hoping you might help tousle it a bit more by the end of the evening.

You reach a hand out, gliding it down my hip, "Those look incredibly … tight."

I smirk, though you're too busy studying my pants to notice. "That's the price of fashion, Babe. Besides, they make my ass look fabulous," I say with pride, turning so that you can admire for yourself.

"Fuck me," you whisper.

Spinning back around, I wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you tight against my body. "Later. If you want," I answer cryptically. I know you didn't mean for me to overhear your exclamation, but that doesn't mean I can't let you know that I did. Or that I wouldn't be completely willing to pursue matters to that natural conclusion.

"Let's dance," I say more conversationally, walking you back into the family room. Loud music is playing and all sorts of people, in various stages of dress and undress are undulating in an area we've cleared for just this sort of activity. Walking into the middle of the dancers, I can sense your reluctance.

"What is it?" I ask over the loud music.

"I don't dance," you admit shyly.

"Tonight, you do," I insist. I step around you, wrapping my arms around your chest and snuggling my crotch into your bottom. "Just close your eyes and let go. I've got you, Blaine, and I'm not letting anyone close enough to touch you."

You rest your head on my shoulder and allow the music to wash over you. You may not dance often, but it is clear to anyone watching you have a natural talent for such things.

At first my hands skim over your chest and arms, occasionally drifting lower to your hips and thighs. But then the music shifts, and I want to touch. Need to touch your skin. With deliberate slowness I unbutton the lower three buttons on your shirt, giving me access to your stomach and abs. I feel the hitch in your breathing at my first touch, then slowly you melt back into me, wrapping an arm around my neck to hold me in place.

It's you who reaches up and unbuttons the top button on your shirt, pulling it to the side in order to give me access to your neck. Who am I to deny you? I start nipping and sucking on the juncture of your shoulder and neck, pleased to find you pressing back into me even harder as I do so. My hands slide lower, running along the crease where your leg meets your pelvis, so close and still not there.

Gently I unsnap the top button of your pants and lower the zipper, before gliding a hand inside and down, caressing the swollen flesh that rises to meet my touch.

"K. ," you stammer, eyes still closed as you thrust against my hand, "we … we're not alone."

I move my lips to your earlobe, suckling on it hard. "They're either wrapped up in their own games, or enjoying ours – our pleasure. I know how much you like this, Blaine. How much it turns you on. You feel their eyes on you, don't you?"

A whimper escapes you, and I turn your chin so our lips can meet. It's pure bliss, the feeling of your tongue in my mouth, your ass grinding on my cock and your own cock firm in my hand. Not stopping our kiss, or the stroking of my hand, I slowly turn you until we're facing one another. It's an invitation of sorts, and another dancer move behind you, his hands resting on your hips. Pulling away, I nudge your nose with mine.

"Blaine, look at me," I ask, waiting for your golden orbs to flicker open. "Is this okay? Are you okay with dancing with someone else." I'll send them away in a heartbeat if you're the slightest bit anxious, but instead, you bite your lip and wrap your arms around his neck, thrusting your hips into my hand.

"Sex kitten," I murmur, claiming your lips again for a long, frantic kiss. Our dance partner nuzzles your neck, licking at path up to your ear where I greet him with my lips. You're pressed between us as our tongues battle languidly. It's nowhere near as intense as kissing you, but I sense the jealousy and possessiveness rise up in you as your hands leave his neck for my hips, digging in as you continue to fuck my fist.

When his lips finally leave mine, you glare at me, telling me without words how upset you are that I've shared myself with someone else. Leaning forward to kiss you again, you rebuff me, turning your face until your lips meet his. An angry explosion of jealousy forms in my stomach, and it is all I can do to keep myself from throwing him away from you as you deliberately suck his lower lip into your mouth just before your tongue wraps around his.

You're doing this to make me feel what you felt, and it's working in spades. But I can take you even higher. Making my way down your body, leaving a trail of bruises for you to remember this night, I drop to my knees in front of your body and tug your pants and briefs down just enough to free you from the confinement of your clothing.

I swallow your cock down my throat, my hands gripping your ass hard as you thrust. When your dance partner begins to unbuckle his belt, I smack at his hands, letting him know he's moving too far. As I continue laving your cock with my tongue, he meets my eye and nods his understanding, instead moving closer to you and reaching to cup your balls, giving me enough time to grant permission before his hand touches you.

You've given up any pretext of holding back your moans and it is the most erotic sight watching you give yourself over to the pleasure coursing through your body. With little warning your eyes snap open, meeting mine right before you spill down my throat.

It's your dancing partner that helps keep you upright, at least until I'm done cleaning you with my tongue and have tucked you back into your pants that I re-fasten around your waist. With a nod to him as I stand, I pull you back into my arms, gliding my hands over your back.

"So fucking hot," I murmur against your hair. "So fucking hot."

We make our way into the kitchen to find something to quench our thirst. The sight in front of you has you stopping in your tracks, mouth open. Gently I place a finger under your chin, closing it before I slip past you and open the refrigerator. When I return, placing a dripping bottle of water into your hand you turn to me in wonderment.

"What are they doing?" you ask quietly, trying not to draw attention to your ignorance.

"We call it bobbing for cock," I explain with a shrug. "An adult version of bobbing for apples, if you will. But no teeth … for obvious reasons." I look over the teenage guys sitting on my kitchen table, shoulder to shoulder, with their legs hanging down, pants and briefs sitting at their ankles. Each participant's partner sat or stood with his or her hands behind their backs, bobbing their mouths over the participant's cock.

"The winner is the guy who lasts the longest, although I don't really think there's a loser, do you?" I murmur into your ear, moving my hand around your waist until I can hook my finger into a loop on your waistband.

Standing in the back, we watch for a time before you turn to me, disbelief still on your face. "This is the craziest Halloween party I've ever been invited to."

I can feel my lips pull up in a smile. "That's because those other Halloween parties involved carving pumpkins and cupcakes and other stuff that's fun when you're, like, nine. It's time to party with the big boys, Blaine."

You huff and turn back to watch the game. I play with the curls around your ears, stretching them out and then allowing them to spring back. "Mad at me again, Sweetheart?"

"Bite me," comes your response as you bump me with your hip. You're quiet for a few minutes before you can't contain yourself any longer.

"It's just … everything is so out there. No one cares that there are twenty other people watching them have sex."

I cup your jaw, drawing your attention back to me. "And no one does care. You didn't fifteen minutes ago in the dancing room, when you came down my throat in the middle of all those dancers. You just felt. That's what this is about. One night to just … feel."

At my reminder of your earlier exhibition you flush and pull away, moving towards the hallway that will take you to the front door. I reach for your wrist, holding you in place. "Blaine! Don't go."

My words have little impact as you shake off my hand and stalk away.

I'm torn. My heart wants to chase after you, demanding you stay and submit to this attraction between us. My head, however, cautions me about pushing you too far, too fast. It hurts. More than I ever thought it might.

Filled with a sense of melancholy, I wander away from the kitchen, slipping out the front door to sit on the porch swing in the chilly night air. I have no sense of how much time passed before I realize there are two feet in front of me; two feet with shoes that belong to you.

Fearful of what I might find in your gaze, my eyes travel up your form slowly. You really have chosen this outfit to highlight your frame. Taking the plunge I move from staring at your swollen, pink lips to your eyes. Honey gold and green and pupils that speak of your desire.

"Hi."

For the first time in forever I am at a loss for words. Too frightened of saying something that will chase you away, I choose to allow you the first move this time. Your head swivels around, looking for something or someone and then you are carefully straddling my lap wrapping your arms loosely around my shoulders.

"Hi."

You nervously bite your lip before leaning in to kiss me gently.

"Look, Kurt," you begin, playing with the hair on the back of my head and the snap of the spiked collar I wear. "I … I just can't, you know? I can't be that much of a show off." Sighing loudly, you scramble back off of my lap to sit next to me, your leg pressed against mine as you thread our fingers together. "I was going to leave and took a wrong turn and ended up in a room with too much leather and paddles and handcuffs and just … and then I found the jello wrestling in the backyard and the group in the hot tub and whatever the hell is going down in what I assume is your parents' bedroom."

Squeezing my hand, you plead with your eyes and your words. "I'm not like that, Kurt. I don't want to share what happens between us with other prying eyes. And yeah, I'm embarrassed that I let things get so out of hand when we were dancing. I liked it … but I can't believe that I did. Which probably makes no sense whatsoever."

I brush your curls back before dropping a kiss to your forehead. "It makes sense, Blaine." I push the swing with my feet and feel happy when you drop your head against my shoulder as we rock back and forth. "What would you like to do, Blaine? I can give you a ride home if you want to leave."

The shaking of your head tickles my neck as your curls rub back and forth. "You told me that tonight was about allowing us to feel."

"Yes, I did."

I can sense you gathering your courage before you speak. "I want to feel with you Kurt. But privately. I don't want an audience. Just you and me and those fucking painted on leather pants that are driving me insane with want," you blurt without taking a breath.

"We can have that, Sweetheart," I promise, brushing my lips over yours. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Alone in my bedroom with the door locked behind us, it quickly becomes apparent that while crowds may make you shy, alone you know exactly what you want and how to take it. Standing near the bed, I wait for some sort of signal from you. Instead you toe off your shoes and carefully pop the buttons of your shirt open, never taking your gaze off of me.

When your shirt lays tossed on the floor you crook your finger, coaxing me forward. Just that small gesture has me swelling in the tight confines of my pants. When I stand in front of you, you take your time removing my collar and wrist cuffs, then slowly slide my vest off my shoulders, tossing it to the floor as well.

You lay your hands flat on my stomach and then slide them upwards until they wrap around my neck and we stand chest to chest. Your warm breath tickles my ear. "We'll need some condoms … and some lube. Why don't you get those out and place them on the bed and then come back here to me." Your arms disappear from my body and I realize I need to move.

It isn't too much later I find my arms braced against the footboard of my bed, as your hands travel over my leather clad ass.

"I'm so pissed, Kurt, that you let every other person here tonight see this ass in these pants. You flaunted it, you dick. And this" you emphasize, reaching through my legs to grab my hardness, "don't think I didn't notice how hard you were the entire time we were dancing. Fucking everyone in that room could see it." Your hand exerts a perfect amount of friction as you rub slowly, and I groan at the feeling.

"That's right, Baby. Fucking let me hear how much you like it when I handle you," you growl, fingers moving to the hooks and zipper that will free me from this too tight hell. "You thought you were getting some innocent, too sexy for himself nerd, didn't you, Kurt? I'm not that innocent, Baby, and you're about to find that out, aren't you?"

"Yes, please," I keen, my head dropping down between my shoulders.

Somehow my pants end up on the floor, and I end up curled around my pillows, ass in the air as you use the lubricant and your fingers to prepare me. When I question that you haven't yet removed your own pants, your answer has me swelling even harder.

"Pants off is making love, Kurt. And that's not what you need right now. My glitter-rock vampire wants to be fucked by his sexy nerd who's in too much of a hurry to take it all off. That's what I'm going to do, Baby. Fuck you until you don't know your own name but everyone in this house knows who owns you."

You laugh at my body's reaction to your words, and blatantly work to provoke me by spilling more filth from that sexy mouth.

Finally, after what feels like hours of teasing on your part, I hear your zipper and then the pressure and fullness as you move inside me in one slow stroke. As you bottom out, you lay over my back, linking our fingers together as you bring your lips to my ear.

"Can you feel me, Kurt? Does it feel like everything you hoped it would? Because it feels like heaven to me."

For me too.

And then you make good on your promise. They may not be able to watch as you claim me, but the certainly hear our encounter. Encounters.

In the morning, with the sunlight spilling across the sheets we share, you teach me what it means to make love. It feels even better.