I don't know what made me agree to help out at McKinley Reform school because everyone knows that it's a dump. Boys are sent there to regain their 'studious attitudes' and 'acceptable behaviour' and so far, the boys come out just as disturbed and depressed as before. And I was exposing myself to them. Wow, clever move, Blaine. Real smart.

Wes and David sent me there to check out the competition for sectionals and obviously, I wasn't exactly rearing to go.

When I arrived at the school's steel gates, my heart was beating just as fast as it was 10 minutes earlier. I saw a gang of boys wearing the infamous McKinley baseball jacket and each of them held a cigarette in their hands. One of them, a muscled guy with a Mohawk flipped me off and spat at the tarmac below. What a lovely welcome.

Ignoring him, I continued to walk towards the school and into the entrance building.

"Hi, I'm Blaine Anderson, "I said to the bored looking receptionist. I was sent to offer tuition in maths?" Grunting in approval, the 20-something beach blond Barbie nodded to a door to the left and I smiled in thanks. The piece of paper I was holding said that I was to help an after school club, usually run by 'Mr Shuester'. I walked in to see 3 boys slumped in seats and listening to music whilst a man sat slouched at the desk, snoring and giving off the dire odour of beer. Charming. Looking down at his lesson plan, I noticed the 6 worksheets full of math equations. If 3 boys were here, where were the others?

"Do you know where your classmates are?" I asked a wide-eyed, spotty guy who was clearly stoned. He shrugged and I sighed heavily in response. Seeing as the boys were already 10 minutes late, I shut the door and handed out the papers to the other students.

Just as I was about to explain the task, 2 guys barged into the classroom snickering at something probably not even remotely funny. One of the boys was the one from earlier with the Mohawk and by his side was a tall, dumb looking jock.

"Sorry we're late, teacher…" Mohawk-dude sneered sarcastically and his companion guffawed.

Choosing to ignore his comment, I handed them both a sheet and motioned for them to sit down. God, why did I think this was even a good idea! I was supposed to be practising for sectionals, not teach some immature Neanderthals who had the brain capacity of a 3 year old.

"Okay, I'm Blaine Anderson," I started, trying not to fiddle with my bow tie. "Please open your text books to page 41 and we'll go through the questions togeth…"

My brain stopped for about 10 seconds as the door slammed and in walked in…

An angel?

The boy who had just walked in was in no other words: stunning. His perfectly coiffed brunette hair had ice blue streaks and was that EYE-LINER framing those stormy, long long-lashed eyes? He wore all black and I had no idea how he managed to squeeze into those skin-tight ebony jeans. His clothes hugged his slender figure perfectly and a willowy porcelain hand was drumming beats on his side.

Those eyes met mine.

Fuck.

Had I been staring?

Of course I had.

Mohawk-dude was snorting loudly behind the angel and even the stoned guy had caught me eyeing up those legs. God, those legs. I would do anything to have them wrapped around me, to have him squirming beneath me, to make him…

Okay, stop.

An adorable pink flush appeared on the angel's face as he snatched his worksheet from my hand and sat at the nearest table. He winked at me as he sat down and purposefully bent over to pick up his bag from the floor.

I groaned. Out loud. In front of 5 lunatics and a GOD.

The hour passes slowly, me trying not to clench my fists as Mohawk-dude's goon got every single fucking question wrong.

And the angel. His name was Kurt. I found out his name when I marked his paper, looking up at him through my eye-lashes and seeing his steely grey eyes gazing back at me. He licked his lips and the flash of pink tongue made me want to do unspeakable things. Fuck, I bet he was talented with that tongue…

At the end of the lesson, after Mohawk-dude had flicked every single freaking spit ball my way, I noticed Kurt had hung back. All of his stationary was still out, but he was just leaning against the table, looking at me with a sly grin.

"Um," I croaked and cleared my throat, embarrassed. "Are you okay, Kurt?"

"Fine," he replied and continued staring. "Do you want to fuck me, Blaine?"

Shocked by his statement, so crude, yet so calm. It was hot.

Blushing, I looked down as Kurt strutted towards me, his Doc Martins clicking with every footstep.

"Do you want me?" he said.

"Do you need me?" he leant over my desk and that's when I had it.

I grabbed him by the hair and tugged his mouth down to meet mine.

Holy Jesus mother fucking Christ.

Fireworks.

Explosions.

The earth might've moved.

Fuck.

His tongue moved between my lips, venturing into my mouth like he was HUNGRY. He groaned and I felt him climb over the desk and slide into my lap. Our bodies rubbed together and I think I died a little when I felt him pressing up against me. I saw his mouth, parted in pure ecstasy. I had done that. I had made him beg for me, plead for me and need me.

Just as his fingers were about to slip below my waist line, a cough was heard from the door.

Mr Shuester had awoken and was standing, wide-eyed in the door way looking at me and Kurt fully making out over his desk.

"Er, boys, please take your endeavours elsewhere, please."

Blushing, I nodded, not before taking Kurt's hand and dragging him with me, ready to continue our 'endeavours.'