DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "Doin' Dirt" by Maroon 5.

Warnings are: rimming, age difference (Blaine is 18, Kurt is 30).

This was going to be a lot more similar to the Queer As Folk pilot, but then it didn't want to go that way so I had to change things (mostly the name of the club), so when you see the similarities never fear! They're completely intentional.

Tumblr is here (endofadream)

"This is the dumbest idea you've ever had, Blaine Anderson," Blaine mutters to himself as he steps into the club, avoiding looking in the bouncer's eyes as the music, emanating from the dance floor ahead, begins to wash over him. "And you've had some dumb ones before."

Blaine doesn't club very often—or at all, really, if he wants to be completely honest, but he's sick of his roommates at NYU constantly making fun of him for having been in the city for over three months without ever stepping foot in a club, gay or otherwise. So tonight on what could have been a boring Friday night of cramming, and despite a lengthy paper due in a few days, he'd made his way to the nearest gay bar after stressing that he'd wanted to do this alone, had steadfastly kept his head down and ignored the leers from several intimidating-looking men, and had successfully made his way to the dance floor. Which he's severely regretting going to.

He doesn't think he's ever seen so many sweaty, gyrating bodies together in one room and the longer he looks the more awkwardly and uncomfortably turned-on he gets.

Some are shirtless, well-toned muscles rippling under the oscillating vibrant lights of the ceiling that pulsate over them in great splotches of pink and purple and green and red. The bass pounds under Blaine's feet, worms its way up through his chest to reverberate there, and he stands off to the side in his sensible polo and tight jeans, soaking up the atmosphere and trying not to stare as two men near him begin making out. He is so overdressed. He is in so over his head.

This was such a stupid decision.

He does his best to keep a low profile, checking his phone intermittently so he doesn't look completely lost. More than once he looks up from where he's fiddling with his lock screen and catches the sultry eye of a sweaty man, and though several of them are cute and he gets the crazy urge to go over there and introduce himself, Blaine always shyly shakes his head and looks away. He wants to get laid—otherwise he wouldn't be here—but there's also the trouble of his intact V-card, and he can only imagine telling that to some of these men.

"Aw, why so shy, gorgeous?"

The voice comes from behind him, raised for the volume of the room, smooth as silk and sudden as a thunderclap, and Blaine jumps, letting out a squeak that's drowned in the throbbing pulse of dubstep. He turns quickly around, feels his jaw drop, and stares, unabashedly and without any trace of his usual shyness, at the man standing behind him.

Unlike most of the men, this one isn't shirtless, but his pale skin still gleams, the center of attention in the passing pink of a light. Sweat shines in a slick sheen over his forehead and throat, and the tight tank top he's wearing hugs his body in diaphanous translucence. His hair, carefully coiffed and chestnut brown streaked with gold, falls in rebellious strands over his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed pretty pink in exertion.

His eyes, a striking blue, seem to sparkle and shine, and the pink of his lips pull and curve into a smile as he slowly drags that electric gaze over Blaine's body. Blaine feels like he's being electrocuted, scanned from the inside out. There is a sense of scrutiny, but of the best kind, and Blaine is rooted to the spot, subject to the hawk-like gaze. And he loves it.

"I—I, um," Blaine stammers, hears his voice go high and nervous, and the man is still staring at him, that half-smile still on his face. There is no lascivious nature to the way he's staring at Blaine, but one of intrigue, curiosity, like the man has never quite seen anyone like Blaine before.

The man then laughs, steps closer. "How about I buy you a drink, honey?"

"I—I'm eighteen." It comes out quick and Blaine wants to smack himself.

It doesn't deter the man, who only lets out a laugh that gets carried away on the waves of the noise. "So are half of those boys at the bar." A little closer and the man's hand is on Blaine's shoulder. Up close, his cheekbones are even more prominent, and his eyes are almond-shaped and colored an endless sea glass. "C'mon, you look like you could use a stiff drink, sweetheart. And a few other stiff things." He winks and Blaine gapes, mouth going dry as a shiver works its way through his body. This sort of direct forwardness shouldn't surprise him, not here, but it's so unexpected, seems almost wrong coming out of that mouth.

"I, um…okay," Blaine relents, his shoulders drooping slightly, and the man takes his hand and leads him through the maze of bodies towards the bar. Blaine can't help but notice how every guy's gaze that they pass land on the man, and then him. He catches incredulity, then unmistakable jealousy. Who is this guy?

"I'm Kurt, by the way." The man—Kurt—looks back, smiles, and Blaine watches the dimples deepen and carve their way into his cheeks.

"Uh. Blaine," Blaine says after a moment, and now they're at the bar. Kurt leans casually against it, resting an elbow on the black reflective surface. There is a thick piece of silvery confetti near his elbow that he flicks off onto the floor. A bartender is over immediately, tall and hunky, and he gives Kurt an easy, predatory smile as his eyes rake up and down Kurt's torso.

"Hey there, hot stuff," the man purrs, lecherous. "What can I get for you tonight?" His eyes slowly make their way over to Blaine, and Blaine watches the smile droop a little, flatten out and become a nasty sneer as he asks, "And what about your kid? I think we're fresh outta milk."

"Oh, shut up, Jeremy," Kurt says breezily, rolling his eyes. "Green is not your color." He turns to Blaine in a fluid, sinuous movement, his eyebrows raised, and Blaine blinks, the cogs in his mind frantically turning as he tries to remember one drink, any drink, but he just doesn't drink that often. "I, um, I—"

Kurt cuts in quickly before Jeremy can say anything. "Blaine here will have two shots of JD." At Blaine's incredulous look Kurt laughs, adds, raising his voice over the sudden swell of music, "You need to loosen up a little, honey." He spreads his arms wide, raises his palms to the catwalk of gyrating men in hotpants above. "You're in Crash!"

Kurt then pats the seat next to him, and Blaine climbs on. Jeremy slams down one shot, then the other, amber whiskey slopping over the sides. Blaine picks one up, avoids the still-narrowed eyes of the bartender, and tips it back quickly, grimacing and letting out a low groan as he swallows and the alcohol burns fire down his throat.

He's just as quick with the other, his eyes watering slightly. He's never taken shots of hard liquor before, especially two in a row, and he isn't sure if it's his nerves, the atmosphere, or the actual alcohol itself—but suddenly Blaine feels…free. Carefree. He wonders why he'd been so worried before. He wonders, staring at Kurt and his organza-thin tank top, why he isn't shirtless, why they both aren't shirtless and maybe pantless and definitely not here.

Kurt orders two more, and Blaine knocks them back easily. Jeremy leaves after those, and then it's just Blaine and Kurt, Blaine and this mysterious, gorgeous stranger who has just bought him four shots and is only slowly nursing an apple martini for himself.

"How old are you?"

It spills out quickly, loosened by the bite of whiskey. Blaine isn't sure why he's asking it, isn't sure how it matters, but it's like his mouth is working on its own. He crumples up the cheap paper napkin, twists his head towards the dance floor, where it seems like time has no place, no existence—it's just an endless loop of song after song, beat after beat pressed against someone else's skin. This place is a lifestyle for some of these men and becomes their whole world.

Kurt lifts his glass, delicately swallows more of his drink. He's quiet for so long that Blaine feels his warm cheeks grow even warmer and he contemplates mumbling apologies and getting out of here, but Kurt finally does answer: "Not that age really matters when you're getting fucked facedown so hard into the mattress you forget which way is up, but…I just turned thirty."

"Thirty," Blaine says slowly, tasting the words on his tongue. His cock jumps in his too-tight jeans, but the restriction only serves to arouse him more. It's like just under his skin is a bubbling, boiling pit of lava just waiting to erupt. He feels too-hot, all of his clothes too-tight, and he isn't even thinking, is only half looking at Kurt, half looking out onto the floor where he zones in on two men, their hips pressed flush and their bodies moving in a way that can't be anything other than what they're simulating, and says, "I want you to fuck me."

Kurt, to his credit, doesn't look surprised. He stares at Blaine for a few seconds, then tips back what's left of his martini, downing it and slamming the glass back down onto the bar. He stands, holds out a hand and Blaine looks at it, confused, his head tilted unnecessarily to the side.

Kurt snaps his fingers, rolls his eyes, but they still sparkle with promise, with ideas of mischief. "Let's dance," Kurt says, beckoning to Blaine again. "Then, if you're lucky, I'll take you back to my place." Says, under his breath to the point where Blaine can barely hear it, "College boys, I swear."

Blaine stumbles to his feet and then Kurt is leading him down towards the dance floor, shouting greetings to the well-muscled men who see him.

Even with a few slugs in him Blaine falls easily into motion with Kurt, their movements complementing, sensual. Kurt tips his head back towards the sweeping shine of a passing spotlight, and the sweat on his throat glitters like the night sky; Blaine catches with his eyes the falling stares of sweat rolling down towards Kurt's collarbone.

Blaine is completely consumed by the music, feels it swelling in his very bones, and when Kurt reaches out, grabs Blaine's hips and pulls him in, his cock hard where it presses against Blaine's, Blaine lets him. He stops thinking when Kurt kisses him in the middle of the dance floor, his hands on Blaine's ass and his hips gyrating quickly, desperately.

"Let's go," Kurt whispers into Blaine's ear. His tongue flicks across the shell, drags slow over sensitive skin, and Blaine shivers, nods.

000

"You…have a really nice place," Blaine says, surprised, when he steps inside Kurt's loft. It's huge, exposed-brick and sparsely furnished with expensive-looking appliances. Kurt doesn't have much in the way of furniture besides a lone white couch and a couple of plush-looking white armchairs, but somehow it works.

"The fashion industry makes things very affordable," Kurt says loftily. He heads over to his fridge, pulls out a bottle of water and downs half of it in one gulp. Blaine watches, simply because he has nothing else to do besides fidget and wonder what the protocol is, exactly, when someone brings you home with the intention of getting you naked.

"You're really gorgeous," Blaine says, his heart picking up speed. A blush warms his cheeks, and he smiles shyly when Kurt levels his gaze, raises a silent eyebrow. "I'm maybe a little buzzed still," he adds, laughing quietly, self-consciously.

Kurt finally smiles, and it isn't predatory, isn't self-assured or lecherous in any way. It's simply a smile, and it's simply for Blaine. Kurt steps forward, stops just shy of his shoes bumping with Blaine's. He reaches out, wraps his arms around Blaine's neck, and asks, "You are eighteen, right?"

Blaine chuckles, nods. He lowers his eyes, lids them so that his vision is obscured slightly by the sweep of his lashes. He hopes that he's being sultry and not looking like he's got lint stuck in his eye. "I am."

"Good. Because I have to do this." Then Kurt is kissing him, hard and bruising. He frames Blaine's face with his hands, sinks his fingers into the soft hair just behind Blaine's ears where it's barely touched by gel. Blaine stumbles, still slightly unsteady on his feet, and has to grip Kurt's hips tightly to stay upright, the leather of Kurt's jacket cool against his over-hot, clammy palms.

Kurt growls into his mouth and Blaine shivers, whimpers, when Kurt's teeth nip sharply at Blaine's bottom lip. He feels like a shaken-up bottle of soda, fizzing and ready to explode from everything happening all at once—if this is sex, how do people do this all the time?

"Gonna fuck you so hard," Kurt pants between kisses as their lips detach wetly. He slides his hands to the firm swell of Blaine's ass, grips and squeezes before going for Blaine's button and zipper. When his hand delves into Blaine's pants and wraps around him, firm and sure, Blaine cries out, rocking up onto his toes at the sharp surge of pleasure. "Gonna fucking make you scream my name."

Kurt is on him, around him, in the air Blaine breathes. Blaine's hands fumble when he unbuttons Kurt's jeans, but already Kurt is tugging up Blaine's polo, pulling it over Blaine's head and tossing it to the side. Blaine gasps at the sudden rush of cool air that pebbles his nipples, and gasps again when Kurt's lips find his neck.

"Oh—oh fuck," Blaine grits out. He fingers sink into Kurt's hair, grip and hold as the slippery wetness of Kurt's tongue drags up his skin, igniting his nerves and making his cock jolt painfully where he's just barely covered by the waistband of his boxer-briefs.

He'd never thought, ever, that it would feel this intense with another person. The slight suction of Kurt's lips on his neck, the faint bite of his teeth as he finds a spot and sucks, has Blaine squirming, wriggling, his heart pounding almost painfully fast. The heat low in his belly feeding the heavy, insistent weight of his cock flares and makes him groan in an obscenely wanton way that would have him embarrassed otherwise.

"You like that?" Kurt asks. Blaine doesn't have to look to know that there's a smile on his face, and he nods stiffly, trying to hold himself together.

Kurt sucks in a heavy breath, angling his head downwards, and when his long, dexterous fingers slip Blaine from his underwear Blaine whines, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw. His hands are clenched into useless, unsure fists at his side, and his head is tipped back.

He's almost naked in front of another man. His cock is out in front of a hot, experienced, older man and he's embarrassed and yet not—lust might be overriding anything else that Blaine could possibly feel, and for the moment he's perfectly okay with that.

Then Kurt's hand is on Blaine's, gently rubbing the back until Blaine's hand relaxes, falls limp; then Kurt is guiding Blaine's hand, and—oh god.

Blaine's hand is curving around the hard-hot shape of Kurt through his jeans and he's thick and big and so perfect and it's another man's cock under Blaine's touch. Blaine sucks in a shuddery breath, looks down with what he knows must be wide eyes, and squeezes once, gently, testing.

Kurt breathes out a pleased groan, and, empowered, Blaine does it again, putting a little more pressure behind this one and letting his palm drag slightly. The twitch under his hand is obvious, and suddenly all Blaine wants is Kurt's cock in his mouth. He needs this.

"Let me suck you," he begs, breathless. He goes for Kurt's button and zipper again, tugging at them before slipping his hand inside. Kurt is heavy and throbbing and slick and big and Blaine groans again, so desperate to taste and feel that he's practically humming with the need. "God, Kurt, please."

He goes to drop to his knees, his mouth already watering and his jaw aching with phantom tightness, but Kurt grabs his elbow, keeps him upright. Confused, Blaine looks up, blinks slowly. His brain is so lust-muddled that he's having a hard time figuring out why Kurt would stop him. Doesn't he want this? Isn't that why Blaine is here in the Upper East Side, completely out of his element?

Kurt's eyes are fever-bright but completely alert. His pale cheeks are tinged red, and though there is a tiny fissure, a small crack, in his aloof façade, he still retains some semblance of the control he'd had at the bar. He doesn't look like a man who is having second thoughts, or who doesn't want a blowjob from the precocious freshman he'd picked up at the club. Still he is the person Blaine had willingly gone home with. And it makes Blaine shiver from a mixture of so many different things that it's impossible to pinpoint which one of them he's feeling at this exact moment.

"As…alluring as the thought of you being on your knees is…." Kurt begins impishly, one corner of his mouth going skyward. A tiny shake of his head and he adds, "I think this would be better taken to the bedroom, don't you?"

Blaine's sure he would've nodded at anything that Kurt had said at this point. Somewhere in the back of his mind this is registering, and as he follows Kurt to his cordoned-off bedroom he's realizing oh my god this is really happening. He's going to have to tell Drew and Blake everything.

Kurt's bedroom is in the middle of the loft on a raised platform. His bed is visible through the flowing white curtains surrounding it, and Blaine stops, stares. Kurt pushes a flap of the curtains aside and disappears behind him, only the fuzzed outline of his body remaining.

Yeah, if there's anyplace to lose your virginity it's here.

Kurt's head peeks out after a moment, and he has one eyebrow raised in both impatience and amusement. His eyes drift down to where Blaine is still exposed, and his voice is only slightly snippy as he says, "Well, are you coming? Or are you going?"

Blaine shakes his head, snaps out of it, and feels the hot burn of embarrassment-flush crawl over his cheeks and down the back of his neck. The curtains are silken against his fingers as he pushes them aside, and then he's face-to-face with Kurt's bed.

It's a luxurious marvel, king-sized and dressed with a thick, fluffy Tiffany-blue comforter. Blaine wants to sleep in it, lay on it…get fucked on it.

He swallows hard, turns to face Kurt, and finds himself pushed back onto the bed, his knees hitting the edge before he's flopping down, arms splayed out.

Kurt immediately crawls on top of him, legs snug around Blaine's waist, and bends down. His jacket is gone, strewn over a chair in the corner, and he's back in his translucent tank top. The roughness of his jeans rubs against Blaine's bare cock as Kurt lowers his body and Blaine cries out, arching up and grabbing at Kurt's bare shoulders as his body shudders.

"I love how responsive you are," Kurt murmurs, bracing his weight on one hand as he lets the other travel down Blaine's heaving chest, the slight concave of his torso. His fingers bump the slick head of Blaine's cock and he smiles when Blaine gasps, his teeth biting down on his lip. Kurt ducks his head, drags his tongue over one nipple, then the other, and Blaine grabs at Kurt's hair, scrunches his face up and squeezes his eyes shut as he bites back his groan.

"What do you want?" Kurt asks as he drags his tongue down the middle of Blaine's torso, between the faint definition of his stomach.

You you you. "Anything," Blaine gasps. Kurt's tongue is just shy of Blaine's cock, and Blaine yearns for it as he grabs at the comforter, feels its downy softness clutched between his fingers. He's never wanted anything more in his life. He's crackling with fire, with energy, from the depths of his very core.

"Anything?" Kurt parrots. He looks up, and in his eyes glints something that makes Blaine's insides both clench and twist. It's mischievous and every bit as seductive as Kurt's demeanor.

Kurt's hands inch towards Blaine's jeans and underwear, his fingers curling around the waistbands. He hesitates for the barest hint of a second, asking silently, and when Blaine lifts his hips up, his heart pounding and his lips parted, he watches as Kurt inches his clothes down, tugs them and his shoes off and lets it all fall to the floor with a muffled, far-away thump.

And then Blaine is naked, his cock curving towards his stomach, the air of the loft cool as it brushes over his skin. He's naked in another man's bed with every intention of losing his virginity by the end of the night.

He keeps expecting to wake up at any moment with his alarm clock blaring, but every time he blinks Kurt is still there, still so real and wearing way too many clothes. He stares down at Blaine with such an intensity that Blaine can feel his joints knocking together in nervousness; when Blaine scoots up the bed, spreading his legs and trying to ignore the way he blushes, his knees tremble.

"Turn over," Kurt says, his eyes narrowing slightly. They've turned a darker blue as his pupils have dilated, and Blaine has a hard time looking away as he obeys, flipping over and settling onto his stomach. The comforter rubs against his cock, and the differing friction of that and his body makes him clench his teeth to stave off the urge to rut down again and again until he comes.

The bed shudders and Blaine doesn't hear anything until Kurt's clothes make two separate thumps onto the floor. Blaine's heart starts pounding again, and the nervousness he'd felt earlier comes back with a vengeance. He's utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable, and he keeps asking himself the longer the room stays silent if this was worth it, if he just couldn't have waited until he found the right guy. He hadn't needed to go home with the one guy who had actually approached and bought him drinks. He could've said no, stayed a little longer, and gone back to his dorm.

But he hadn't, and Blaine can't help but feel that it was for a reason, that it isn't just poor choices and happenstance that he's here tonight in this admittedly awesome loft with an admittedly gorgeous older man who kisses like a sexy angel.

When strong thighs straddle him again Blaine jolts, lifting his chest up off the bed. They're bare, now, and as Kurt leans down to kiss at the back of Blaine's neck Blaine can feel the heavy weight of his cock settle against the small of his back and the top of his ass.

He whimpers. Kurt laughs.

Something lands on the bed just shy of Blaine's elbow, but before Blaine can twist to see what it is Kurt is carding his fingers through the gel, is slowly rocking his hips against Blaine's ass and back. His balls are soft and warm against Blaine's cheeks.

"You're so pretty, you know that?" Kurt says. His voice is a little lower, a little rougher, and Blaine swallows to dampen the cotton of his mouth. The feeling of Kurt on him while he's helpless, pressed tight against the mattress with nowhere to go, is making him dizzy, makes his blood rush so fast that he can hardly think. Kurt's fingers grip onto Blaine's hair, tug, and Blaine keens, pushing up against Kurt's weight. "I wasn't lying when I said that I was going to fuck you so hard that you scream my name, but you seem pretty vocal already." He gives another tug and Blaine moans, eyes sliding shut as the pain fizzles into hot, thrumming pleasure shooting straight to his cock.

"Do you like being rimmed, Blaine?" Kurt's voice is hot, smoky, against the warm shell of Blaine's ear. His teeth nip gently, brief before they're gone, and then Kurt is pulling away, sliding slowly down Blaine's body.

Blaine grabs at the sheets, forces his throat to unlock. "Y-yes." He's never been rimmed before, but he's not going to tell Kurt that now. For all Kurt knows he's had sex before, and Blaine intends to keep it that way until he leaves. "God—I-I love it."

"Good," Kurt says, distant, and then hums. His lips are suddenly warm and damp on Blaine's spine, and Blaine fights the urge to arch like a cat, pushing Kurt's mouth where he needs it. The damp trail goes further, further, and when Kurt's lips skim over his ass, up over the swell and down to where cheek-meets-thigh, Blaine is twisting the sheets in his fists as he tries not to cry out.

"Hips up, Blaine," Kurt orders, and Blaine's ass is already in the air before Kurt's finished speaking. There's a soft laugh behind him, Kurt's voice, amused, saying, "Eager," as his hands trail down over the slope of Blaine's ass. Blaine shivers, spreads his legs wider and drops his head. He sees Kurt kneeling between his legs, behind the heavy hang of his dripping cock, and he wonders how this became his life.

Despite the clench of his jaw, the way he closes his eyes as Kurt settles behind him, at the first spread of his cheeks, at the first touch of Kurt's lips to his hole, Blaine cries out. It's weird and alien but so fucking good at the same time. When Kurt's tongue, broad and slippery, laves over him Blaine whimpers, beyond caring how desperate he sounds as he pants into the heated space between his body and the bed.

"Mmm, I love a man who takes care of himself," Kurt murmurs in appreciation, lips pressing against the exposed skin of Blaine's ass before he's moving between Blaine's cheeks again, his tongue licking broad across Blaine's hole before he's spreading Blaine's ass and pressing as close as he can, working his tongue in short, fast strokes.

Blaine squirms, whining desperately and fisting the sheets. He pushes his ass back, tries to get the smooth slickness of Kurt's tongue inside him where he needs it, but Kurt pulls back again with a wet sound, a sharp inhale.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he says, reaching around to grip Blaine's cock in his fist, "did you do this because you were expecting some guy to take you home tonight and eat out your sweet ass until you were begging for his cock?"

The answer is no, that Blaine always takes care of himself even if he'd never been naked with another man before just because it makes him feel better, but what comes out, mewled and desperate and…slutty, is, "Yes, yes."

Kurt clucks his tongue, but there is mirth deep within his voice as he says, "What an eager little slut."

The words send an unexpected electric jolt through Blaine's body and he gasps, gasps again when Kurt begins to slowly move his hand, thumbing over the damp slit of Blaine's cock to twist the moisture down the heavy shaft.

"Kurt. Oh my god, Kurt." Blaine pants, pushing back when he feels Kurt's tongue trace over him again, sliding across his slick hole. When Kurt points it, flicks it and slips it in, just teasing, Blaine cries out. By now he doesn't care if Kurt knows that he's never felt this before, that he's been more or less lying about everything but his age the entire night; he just wants more, wants everything that Kurt can give him. "Fuck, fuck, oh."

Kurt's hand strokes just right over him and Blaine sees stars, his body going taut. There are noises in the room, wanton moans and slick slurps, the faint smack of flesh-on-flesh as Kurt jerks him, and it takes Blaine a few minutes, Kurt's nails pinching in the flesh of one ass cheek as he holds Blaine open, to realize that the moans are coming from him.

"Fuck me," he moans, jumping slightly as Kurt cradles his balls, squeezes gently. He knows that there should be nervousness here, that he should be thinking this through, but he doesn't care, doesn't want rationality right now—right now, all he wants is Kurt's cock inside him. He twists around and reaches back, finds the thick softness of Kurt's hair, and pushes his face forward in a moment of sheer brazenness. Judging by Kurt's laugh-moan against him, Blaine's done something right.

"Oh, sweetheart," Kurt says when he pulls back, his fingers circling Blaine's loose, relaxed hole with little movements that make Blaine twitch and shudder, "you don't have to be coy with me. I know you're a virgin."

Blaine's heart stops, skips, and he looks back, nearly groans aloud at the sight of Kurt's flushed cheeks, his slick lips and chin, his bright, knowing eyes. Even if he'd been trying to keep a cover Blaine blows it by blurting, "Wha—how?"

Kurt just smiles in that self-assured, cocksure way of his and runs his hand down Blaine's side to curl around his hip. "Because you would have known who I was." His hand slides under, ghosts over Blaine's cock before moving back up to his hip. "And this definitely wouldn't be your first time in my bed."

"Does it matter?" Blaine finds himself whining. He flips over, sits up on his knees. "I'm—fine, okay, I'm a virgin. But I'm not useless." Desperate to prove his point Blaine drops to his elbows, takes a deep, centering breath, and sinks his mouth down over Kurt's cock.

He has about two seconds to appreciate the surprised half-yell that laves Kurt's mouth; immediately after the realization sinks in that he's got another man's cock in his mouth Blaine becomes aware that it's heavy and thick and choking and salty and he's about to start gagging soon if he doesn't pull back. So he does, drawing in deep breaths through his nose as he experimentally hollows his cheeks, thinks back to the porn he's seen and the articles he's read about what are the best things to do.

After he starts slowly bobbing his head, keeping his eyes shut, he feels Kurt's fingers tangle in his hair. Letting out a hum of appreciation Blaine moves a little faster, hesitantly wrapping a hand around the base, squeezing and jerking slowly as he drags his tongue over the underside of Kurt's cock.

Saliva pools and gathers at the corners of Blaine's mouth, drips down his chin, and the noises are less than sexy as he slurps, sucks, makes little wet choking noises whenever Kurt's cock goes a little too deep. His jaw is beginning to hurt and his mouth is too full and he can barely breathe, but it feels so fucking good that Blaine can't stop, doesn't want to, and he doesn't until Kurt's fingers become insistent rather than gently encouraging and he's pulling Blaine off of his cock with a rattling wet gasp.

Blaine looks up, tentative, and he almost beams and preens when he sees the dazed, blissed look on Kurt's face as he looks down, lips parted and eyes wide. His hand curves down Blaine's face, cups his chin, and then Kurt is dragging him up, kissing him hard and deep and filthy, his tongue delving into Blaine's mouth as his hands frame Blaine's face and their cocks, achingly hard brush against each other as they grapple for leverage on arms and torsos and waists.

"God, fuck," Kurt gasps. He kisses Blaine again, nips sharply at his lip, and Blaine whimpers at the flash of pain. "You weren't kidding." There's a hint of soft fondness to Kurt's voice that would have Blaine wondering if the head of his cock wasn't brushing Kurt's right now.

"Hands and knees," Kurt growls quickly, like he's trying to cover up for his moment of softness. Up close, with the lines of Kurt's face slightly blurred, Blaine can see the kaleidoscopic intensity of Kurt's eyes, the endless way they shift from cerulean to navy to forest green.

Blaine obeys, turning around and dropping down. His muscles quiver with both anticipation and excitement, and looking over he sees the lube that Kurt must have dropped onto the bed earlier. His stomach flips and he swallows hard, staring at the pile of plush white pillows at the head of Kurt's bed, and for the first time since he got here he wonders who Kurt really is, wonders what he's like when he's not at the club. If he's sweet and caring and if he and Blaine have the same tastes in music and clothes and movies. Blaine wonders if he likes coffee or tea, and if he even likes breakfast at all. Does he like staring across the city like Blaine does, wondering about these millions of people with their vastly different lives? Blaine doesn't even know Kurt's last name.

And…he finds himself wanting to. As Kurt grabs the lube and pops open the cap, deep down, secret in a way that Blaine won't admit, he wants to know more about Kurt. He doesn't want this to be their last—and only—encounter together. There's something here and he can feel it, etched deep into his soul. Kurt is still a stranger, yes, but Blaine is handing over this part of himself willingly.

"Hey."

Kurt's voice prompts Blaine to twist, and when he does he sees the condom rolled onto Kurt's dick, unlubed for now as it faintly catches the light of the room. His heart renews its fast pounding, and Blaine looks up, raises his eyebrows. Kurt's fingers are already slicked and are hovering uncertainly above Blaine's ass.

"Just tell me if I go too fast, okay?" The concern in Kurt's eyes is so striking, so different, that it has Blaine double-taking just to make sure that he'd seen correctly. But, of course, when he looks again it's gone, replaced by careful indifference, and Blaine just nods, says, "I will."

Fingers aren't an odd feeling because Blaine's definitely familiar with that aspect of it, but just knowing that it isn't him doing it, that the outcome is going to be a little more than the modest-sized dildo back in his drawer. Kurt begins with one, but two is quick from earlier, and at Blaine's insistence a third is quickly added.

Kurt's fingers twist, spread, and when they brush just right Blaine jolts and keens, grabbing at the comforter. That is much more intense with someone else. He trembles, clumsily fisting his cock, and from behind him Kurt laughs.

When Kurt finally slides in, his cock slick and blunt against the slight stretch of Blaine's hole and his hands bruising-hard on Blaine's hips, Blaine yells. The burn and stretch fades quickly, to his surprise.

It builds with every thrust, with every slap of their skin together that echoes in the openness of the loft and settles like dust into Blaine's very skin. He whimpers at the slam of Kurt's hips against his ass, whines whenever Kurt presses deep, hand tight in Blaine's hair as he swivels his hips, grinds his cock deep in Blaine's ass with a filthy, breathy, "You like that? Yeah, of course you do."

At a well-angled thrust, the bed creaking and Kurt grunting, Blaine screams, cut-off and high-pitched, and then screams again when Kurt repeats, pleasure sparking and flaring like bright fireworks across the sky. Kurt's nails bite unforgivingly into the thin skin over Blain's hips, and he pushes Blaine down with a heavy hand on the space between his shoulder blades. Words spill from Blaine's mouth, incomprehensible jumbles of them, and Blaine can't stop, not when it feels like this.

"Oh fuck fuck yeah fuck me oh my god Kurt oh my god like that right there right there baby please please oh god yeah yeah yeah yes—"

He's jostled with every thrust, his knees, rubbing almost painfully against the comforter. His cock sways between his legs, leaking hard and untouched as he white-knuckles the sheets, drops his head and pants into the humid air underneath his body. He's close, feels it in the swelling of the heat low in his belly and in his balls.

Blaine drops finally to his elbows, then to his arms and turns his head sideways, groaning at the heavy, filling feeling of Kurt's cock deep inside him. He reaches blindly back, clumsily finds Kurt's flexing thigh and grips. He moans, lewd and desperate, close but not quite there, and he needs it, chases this sweet heat until he's half-exhausted, half-mad with desperation.

"You're so fucking hot," Kurt grinds out. He dips low, lets his sweat-slick skin stick, catch, on Blaine's back. "God, fucking made to be fucked, weren't you? Take it like a desperate little slut. Is that what you are, Blaine?" He nips at Blaine's flexing shoulder, straightens up and lets his hand fall on Blaine's cheek, the crack nearly drowned out by Blaine's surprised half-scream. "Weren't you?"

"Yes!" Blaine sobs, his eyes shut tight and his face scrunched as he pants, undulates and fucks himself back on Kurt's cock. "Please, please fuck me harder, please."

Kurt does, raising up and changing angles, and all it takes is his hand on Blaine's cock for Blaine to come, twisting and arching and crying out as semen streaks sticky over the comforter, dribbles down over Kurt's fingers and the length of Blaine's cock.

Kurt follows not long after, fucking into Blaine with panting grunts as Blaine lets out dazed contented noises, and Kurt's cock twitches as he comes into the condom.

Blaine's whole body feels staticky, numb. He's only vaguely aware of Kurt moving around, tossing the condom and grumbling about having to take the comforter down to get it dry-cleaned. Blaine feels bad, but only a little. The aftereffects of the greatest orgasm ever are still thrumming through his veins and Blaine wants to bask in them a little bit longer.

"Do you want me to go?" he asks eventually, sitting up. Insecurity begins to creep in again, finding its way through the cracks, and Blaine bites his lip, watches Kurt as he flits naked about his bedroom. "I can get a cab or call one of my roommates."

Kurt looks over from where he's hanging up his leather jacket in his wardrobe. His hair is a mess where it falls around his face, and Blaine thinks that he can see a few faintly dark marks littering Kurt's chest and shoulders. The lines of his body are long, lean, and clean-cut, and Blaine can't help but stare at the graceful way they curve into Kurt's perfectly-sculpted ass.

A faint smile twitches Kurt's lips but he says nothing, just hangs up the jacket, shuts the door, and strides back over towards the bed. "Normally I'd kick you out faster than you could say 'limited-edition Balenciaga,' but I get the feeling that you're not going to want to walk anywhere soon." He smirks and Blaine flushes. "So just for tonight, kid, and don't go around telling everybody."

Blaine bites his lip to tamp down his smile, and he helps Kurt strip the comforter before both climbing in under the sheets. "I won't."

Kurt is gone the next morning when Blaine wakes up, his body thoroughly sore but his mind happier than he's been in a long time. His discarded clothes are at the boot of the bed in a beam of sunlight, and next to it is a neatly-folded fifty-dollar bill, for what Blaine supposes is a cab fare. His eyes widen as he gets up, groans at the soreness sin his muscles and backside, and reaches for it.

It's odd to get dressed in the quietness of an apartment that's not his. He takes his time, looking around at everything. For a place to obviously expensive, it hardly looks lived-in. to Blaine, it looks like it needs some love, a personal touch that didn't come out of a magazine or an interior decorator's tablet.

On the kitchen island, next to an empty crystal glass, sits a bottle of Advil. Blaine smiles, shakes his head, and gets some water from the tap before taking two pills, tipping his head back as he swallows them with a grimace. He feels grimy from last night and he can't wait to get home and take a long, hot shower. Maybe, if he's lucky, he can successfully evade his nosy roommates.

It isn't until he gets into the cab and is sinking gratefully into the seat that he feels something rustle in his crumpled jeans pocket. He'd been too thankful that he didn't have to take the walk of shame down into the nearest subway station that he hadn't even bothered to check and make sure that his wallet and phone were in his pocket.

Shifting with a wince of pain, Blaine pulls out a piece of slightly-crumpled paper. His brows furrow as he unfolds it and squints with bleary, morning-tired eyes.

Blaine,

Take the fifty (yes, take it) for a cab fare back to your dorm. Sorry I was gone, but I had work, and, let's be honest, I'm not very good at this morning-after stuff. I will, however, say that last night was fantastic and I definitely won't be forgetting it any time soon.

On that note, it's always very unsafe to give blowjobs without a condom. So if you ever need any safe-sex tips, or any pointers on how to have proper one night stands, don't hesitate to call me.

Hope the Advil helps.

—Kurt Hummel

Blaine stares at the letters, then the numbers printed just underneath Kurt's name, and finds himself inexplicably laughing. The cabbie looks in the rearview mirror, confused, but Blaine ignores him as his gut swoops. As evasive as the note had been, there's no denying what it really is.

And that makes a sore ass and an uncomfortable ride home completely worth it.