Title: Welcome to Burlesque
Rating: M
Summary: Blaine Anderson was never one for parties or clubs. But when Wes and David dragged him to the Burlesque Lounge, a certain performer catches his eye. Suddenly, he didn't want to leave. At all. AU.
A/N: HA! OMG. I WROTE IT. DAMMIT. May or may not be continued. You tell me. I couldn't resist imagining Kurt doing 'I am a Good Girl.' Too much of an opportunity to simply let it pass. Enjoy!
Blaine rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day.
"Blaaaiiiiiinnneeee", a strict looking Asian man whined beside him. "Come on Blaine."
"No", came in Blaine's terse reply. "I mean it, Wes."
"Just this once Blaine. Come on, just try it. Please?" Wes, as apparently he was called, shamelessly kneeled down in front of the curly haired guy and groveled. "Please, please, please. Please Blaine? Just this once? And you don't have to say yes ever again. Even better! You go with us tonight, and I'll make sure that you got that strip mall that you wanted. And we could even renovate it and stuff. I'll handle the negotiations and all the troublesome things that you clearly hate and suck at, and you go with us and enjoy tonight", the guy suggested reasonably.
Blaine paused for a moment to consider the idea. Then, "No."
"Oh for fuck's sake Blaine! I swear you are such a—", he made a strangling sound. Blaine smugly grinned at his furious friend. It never failed to amuse him when he intentionally blows Wes' fuse out. It's something akin to stepping on a landmine. Wes breathed deeply and counted from one to ten in his head. "Please Blaine? As your friend? We barely even get together anymore, much less the other Warblers. It's Friday, for heaven's sake. You ought to loosen up, if even just a little."
Sighing exasperatedly, Blaine threw down the papers he was reading. "No means no, Wesley. How could I make that clearer for you?" He rubbed his temple. God, how thick was his friend, really? Feeling a headache coming on, his irritation increased. "Shit. I need a drink. My head's killing me."
That gave Wes all the more reason to persuade him. "See? See? You're completely overworked, man. So, get the stick off your ass and come and drink with us tonight. It will do you wonders, my dear old chap."
"Yes, Wes. Because a gay man would enjoy the sight of girls stripping and dancing in a vulgar way", Blaine answered sarcastically.
"I—what the—David", Wes carped. "David, David. Blaine's totally being a buzzkill again!"
"Wanker", Blaine grumbled.
David, an extremely rational and polite African-American, rolled his eyes at his friends' strange yet annoying banter. Why was he friends with those two again?
He impatiently swatted Wes' pleading hand off of his knee. "Oh come now Wes, stop that. You know I'm very ticklish in there." After which, he turned to Blaine. "And as annoying and controlling and selfish Wes may be, he is right. No-don't you dare sigh on me, boy. Listen. What's wrong with having a drink? We're— "
"You're inviting me to go to a strip club!"
"—just going for a drink. And the place we're going to is not a strip club!" Blaine stared at him with disbelief. "Okay, maybe it is. In a way. But, it's classier and they actually have a programme to follow through! From what we've heard and experienced, there's singing and dancing. And they're pretty good, if I may say so myself. So, I know that you're not into females and we're pretty cool with that Blaine, it's just..."
"Just one night, for old time's sake?" Wes pleaded. "There's nothing wrong with attending a club. Heck, some social elites actually attend them! And there are girls there too, in the audience. As David and I have been trying to tell you, we're going to have fun and indulge ourselves in some unique entertainment."
Blaine stared at them. Their expressions were hopeful and earnest. Why were they pushing him anyway?
He thought about it. One night. Just a couple of drinks. He was promised a night of good safe fun. And the stress from work was kind of overbearing, anyway.
Hey, what has he got to lose?
"Fine." Wes and David both cheered and hugged each other out of sheer triumph and jubilant excitement. "Don't make me regret this."
"Oh, you won't. We promise."
"We're going to a strip club. I can't believe it! Me, Blaine Anderson. Going to a strip club."
"Oh shush Blaine. We're already late. I can't believe that we missed the opening number-"
"Half of my life I've been trying to keep tight the goody-two shoes image. And the other half, I lived it. I mean, sure, I broke a few rules back in high school. But nobody didn't really care, right? Nobody would dare care because we oh I don't know, donate a very generous amount to that school that resembled the gay version of Hogwarts?"
"—and god. Could you believe it David? We fucking missed the opening number! All because of the fact that we had to drag Blaine out of his hotel room!"
"But now, really? I may be sitting with a successful music producer and a lawyer but how low could we possibly get? A fucking strip club."
"Oh my god, I thought that we could have fun but apparently we're bringing a gigantic pain in the ass with us! I swear the moment we step foot in that club—"
David massaged his temples. They were going to the club, as planned. And generally, things were fine, up until the point that Blaine's anxiety attack kicked in. All of a sudden he had the time to ramble on and on about them being gents (seriously, who uses that word anymore?) and that women were to be respected and other crap like that again and again going back to full circle each and every time. Wes, being the short-tempered one, tried to calm Blaine the first few seconds. But really, he ended up fuming and contradicting each and every word Blaine said.
It was one hell of a limousine ride. David thought that he was seated with children.
"Okay, okay. Both of you shut the hell up". David raised his hands in defeat. They all get off the vehicle, and patiently waited for a few seconds to watch it drive away, not wanting suspicions and rumors to conspire for what they were secretly doing for a few months now. "Wes, stop being an asshole. No wait, I've got a better idea. Stop talking. We may have missed the opening number. But I'm pretty sure the Cheerio's and Rachel's number aren't over yet." David felt Blaine's eyes on him. "The Cheerios are composed of two blonde girls and a Latina. They're hot. And Santana usually does a solo. Rachel may not be that all sexified, but she's elegant and decent enough to reproduce an amazing Barbra Streisand performance."
Wes and Blaine pouted, arms crossed against their chest. "Seriously guys, behave."
And with that, Wes and David proceeded to descend the stairs. Blaine took in the scene before him. Grungy, dirty building equipped with old, rusty, squeaky staircases. There was an arc, some sort of flashy attempt to create an entryway, a la Moulin Rouge. There was the name of the club: Burlesque Lounge, written in pink and yellow neon lights. Seriously, this was the place his best friends were gloating of? As far as he knows, he had seen way better and well-ventilated clubs than this one. With a sigh, he entered the building.
Inside, it was...satisfying, to say the least. The narrow hallway was carpeted and decorated with plants, as it was with hotels. Blaine walked further, awfully worried yet undoubtedly curious at the same time. There was a poster at one side. He stared at it. There was a picture of a beautiful Jewish girl. Her hair was curled perfectly, her eyes were big and they twinkled mischievously, her lips were full and in a pout. All in all, Blaine had to admit, she was not bad looking at all. She gave off the aura of a diva, if her snobbish expression indicated anything.
'The Best View in Sunset Strip', it read below. 'Featuring: Rachel, Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Lady'
He kept on walking, examining all the portraits and the framed pictures on the walls. He noticed that there were other people hanging out in the hallway, casually chatting with each other or smoking alone. They didn't mind the curly haired man as he passed and turned to his left, where a neon sign of 'The Best View in Sunset Strip' hung artfully. There, he descended down the stairs, only to find colorful stained glass dividers on his right, and what seemed to be a cashier's window directly upfront. Figuring that was the place people pay to before entering, he saw David chatting up with the man by the window. Sighing with relief, he caught up with him.
"It's about time", David chuckled as he took in Blaine's awed expression. His face seemed to scream 'What is this place? It's magical and I love it.'
"First time?" The guy through the window asked, with noted amusement in his voice. Blaine peered in a little. He made out a guy around the same age and height as him, his face was powdered with foundation, and his eyes (which were bluish gray) were heavily lined with eyeliner and mascara, his lips were black and he was wearing a black top hat. Overall, he had the whole pantomime-esque feel on his appearance. "I'm Artie, by the way. And that's my real name, in case you were wondering. My stripper name is Wheels."
That made Blaine crack into a grin. His friend, David, shook his head at the attempt at humor. "You know, with the rate of how things are going, this may as well be his first and last."
"Oh! Is he—?"
"He is."
Artie smirked. "Oh I doubt that David. I'm sure he's going to keep coming back after tonight." And then he smiled at Blaine. "Enjoy the evening, Mr. Anderson. And welcome to Burlesque Lounge."
They found Wes seated at the front, a bit close to the stage. Apparently, Wes had subsequently payed the club a rational amount to reserve that spot for him. Blaine shook his head. It wasn't anything new for him. He knew that his friends from Dalton would gallantly spend their money the way they want it. And the only reason why the three of them took each their own family's respective jobs was because they were all bored. And they had interest in it, unlike the others.
David and Blaine sat down. And Wes had ordered dry martini's for the three of them. Extra dry, extra dirty, with olives. As well as a bottle of whiskey. Damn, they really were hell bent on getting drunk that night. "Who's next?" David asked Wes.
"The Cheerios", Wes answered with a perverted grin, accompanied by suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. The curly haired guy snorted into his drink.
Not so soon after, smoke filled the stage, and the lights dimmed. There were three silhouettes accented by a red spotlight. Blaine figured out that they must be the blondes and the Latina David was talking about a while ago. He crossed his legs and propped his head against his hand, eyes avertedly darting across the room, taking in his new environment. It was only until the lights changed, and the music started playing, that he focused his attention on the performance. There were three extremely attractive girls. And Blaine was sure that if he wasn't gay, he would totally gone out with one of them...Maybe the short blonde one, she looked kind of sweet. They were wearing diamond studded leather police caps. They had the slutty version of a police outfit (leather bra and leather skimpy sexy shorts), matched with leather gloves that reached up to their elbows, and of course, those boots.
"Ooh, oh yeah yeah", the Latina, Santana, sang the part powerfully. Blaine felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. "Oooh yeah yeah I need a tough lover, yeah yeah yeah."
I need a, a tough lover, woo
I need a, a tough lover, yeah yeah yeah
A tough lover, ooh yeah
When he kisses me, I get that thrill
When he does that wiggle I won't keep still
She proceeded to sway her hips in a sultry fashion as she motions a 'come-hither' gesture to the audience. Unable to conceal his astute attraction to the performer, Wes kept on drinking down shots faster than expected. David chuckled, telling his friend to slow it down. All the while Blaine snorted into his drink, Wes was horny, for god's sake. But the amusing part was, he had no other way to deal about it.
"I wanna a tough lover", Santana continued to sing, the emotion rippling in her song. Blaine may not be aroused by her, but he was affected by her—in some way. It was as if the strength she poured into those words, the raw power, and the intensity—it was rolling into him as some sort of adrenaline. If it was the cause of the alcohol or the singer or both, the successful CEO didn't care. He was actually having fun. Damn, she was a real good singer.
The two blondes, the shorter one called Quinn, and the taller one, Brittany, began to sway and dance whilst in background. "Yeah, yeah", they sing as they wink coquettishly.
While they continued their performance, Blaine found himself bopping his head along with the music. He knew he wasn't fond of such music genres. The only music he grew up with is Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, and other long-dead composers. It was only then in high school that he had discovered of glorious bands and musicians such as The Beatles, AC/DC, Queen, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Who, Air Supply, Nirvana, and so on and so forth. He liked some of the contemporary music as well, since Wes was a music producer after all. Bands and people such as Coldplay, Florence and the Machines, Pink, Katy freakin' Perry, that Adele...But the old rock Santana was singing, he loved it.
He'll make me laugh, he'll make me cry
He'll be so tough he'll make Venus come alive
He'll do anything that he wants to do
Step on Jesse James's blue suede shoes, yeah
The audience was clapping their hands along with the beat of the music, with Blaine and David joining them. On the other hand, Wes kept on clinging unto David, sputtering drunken slurs like what he would give to get Santana into his bed, and then comparing her with his ex-girlfriend of two months, Samantha. "Oh my god, Wes, get off of me. People might think that we're getting it on in here and you might have no chance with Santana anymore!" David shouted, downright pushing Wes off of his lap.
"A tough lover yeah yeah" Santana hit the last note so perfectly while the other girls (and guys) kept on dancing in the background. Quinn and Brittany shook their hips and raised their arms as they sang the last part with their partner. "Yeah, yeah."
They finished. The Cheerios hugged one another. The audience was more than happy of such high entertainment. With a huge respect and open admiration for them, they all gave them wild applauses accompanied by a standing ovation.
Okay, Blaine admitted, maybe this strip club isn't so bad at all.
"Oh my god, she's...She's...good, I don't know what's better than good. David, help me out here. What's better than good?" Blaine asked, words rushing out. He was still feeling buzzed and high from the rush. "No, no. Not better or best. What's better than best then? She's...awesome. Awesome is good. She's...awesome. Like, really awesome." Okay, so he was tipsy now. The good news was, Wes wasn't doing any better either.
"HA! I told you Andeeerson!" Wes downed another shot. "I told you to—to stick your ass out of yer head, oh wait", Blaine howled with laughter, "—stick your head out yer ass coz this is like...real...real...David, help me out here. I can't finish the goddamned...thing."
"Real awesome", the Eurasian offered with a grin. Wes poured another round. He quickly drank it and set it down loudly. "Oh. This is...real awesome...You're too Blaine! Coz you helped me and David did not. David? You suck." Blaine laid his head on the table, shaking in silent laughter. The only probable sane person left was David. He wasn't keen on drinking too much, despite that his alcohol-tolerance was high. The reason why he didn't drink that night was because he knew that he was going to be babysitting for the rest of the evening.
Slyly, David got his phone and recorded how drunk and tipsy the other two were. "Wave to the camera, boys!"
"Hi Mom!" Blaine grinned dorkily. "Oh wait. Why are there more Cheerios on stage? Who's going to perform next? I hope it's a guy this time. Girls are kinda nice, but I like guys better."
David shrugged. "It's supposed to be Rachel, the one I told you about-oh wait", the lights finally dimmed, a lone spotlight focusing on a slender form draped across the shining, glittering, jewel-embedded French recliner. "Hey, that's not her. She's short. Hobbit-type. Kinda like you."
"Where have I been all my life?" a soft, musical voice filled the room. Then, as the band began to play the music, the whole stage lit up with yellow, orange, white lights, all focused on the person lying down there. And as if on cue, the band began to play: saxophones belting out jazzy tunes accompanied by the drums. "The Dress is Chanel. The shoes YSL. The Bag is Dior", whoever it was in there suddenly sat up, and Blaine could see that it was-well, he couldn't make out if it was a girl or a guy. But whoever that was, he/she was definitely beautiful.
"Agent Provocateur", it was a guy, Blaine realized, completely sober, as he took in the way the guy bared his neck in a seductive manner. And oh god, he looked like an angel. What with his amazing chestnut brown, coiffed hair. And then he focused his attention on his face, squinting because the guy was on the other side of the stage, completely far from where they were. Next time, he promised himself, I'm going to get a good seat. The only thing visible here are the props at the stage.
The beautiful performer then crossed his legs and faced the opposite direction. "My address today", he turned to glance back, "LA by the way", he winked at the bartender with a Mohawk. He then pushed himself upwards, and supporting his whole weight by his arms, bended forward, and swayed his hips mischievously, knowing that he was wearing a peacock skirt, which exposed his ass—what a fine view it was—and that there was a mirror behind to reflect it. It certainly did strange wonders to Blaine's nether regions. Now, he finally knew what Wes felt as he watched the guy continue his little dance. "Above the Sunset Strip, the hills all the way."
"My rings are by Webster", he continued. "It makes their heads twirl." The guy literally twirled his head, his perfectly styled hair messing up in seconds. And damn, if it was possible, it only made him sexier. He skipped a little bit before daintily sitting down, legs crossed. "They say 'Darling", he leaned forward, "what did you do with those pearls?'" He ran his finger against the necklace that was clasped around his neck.
"What?" He faked a shocked expression. And then he jumped upwards, and it was finally the moment Blaine took a real good look at him. The guy was tall, a few centimeters taller than him (why was he sensitive about height difference again? It wasn't like they were going to be together or anything...), he had gorgeous blue eyes, and then his eyes raked down his body...Unconsciously, he let out a groan. Damn. The guy was wearing a fucking corset. It was red, laced with some black ruffles and ribbons, and it clashed deliciously with his porcelain skin. And the peacock styled skirt was black, sinfully ruffled and all. The whole outfit was topped with a pair of knee high laced boots, and fishnet stockings. And despite being a guy, how did he work all those out and still look so fuckable?
He was pulled out from his (undapper) thoughts when he heard David crying with laughter next to him. Apparently, he was still recording this embarrassing night's events, mainly focusing on Wes.
"Oh my god. I don't care if he has a dick. He's soooo fucking sexy", Wes thrust his hips shallowly into thin air. "I'd fucking tap that. Did you see his ass?"
Before he could stop it, Blaine felt a growl build from the back of his throat. It was stupid, getting angry at his drunken friend. But it was something that happened for the first time in his life. The one where he saw someone and he just wants that person so much. And from the way his dick was quickly hardening and suffocating due to his fucking tight pants, he realized that he wanted that guy so bad.
"Blaine?" David asked, concerned for a moment.
Ignoring him, Blaine turned his attention back to the performance. No matter, he was going to do something about it. Yes, yes, he was going to come here every night if it meant that his angel was performing. And who knows? Maybe a few more visits and some persuasion (how could anybody not love him? He was Blaine fucking Anderson, for god's sake), he was sure that next time his little porcelain would be performing a private show Just. For. Him.
The guy stood up and strutted towards to where a curtain rope was hanging. He turned to the audience, his blue eyes (highlighted by some eye shadow, mascara, and eyeliner, making them appear bigger) widened, his lips in a pout—he looked so godfucking innocent that Blaine's wild imagination conjured of some images wherein the guy was lying down beneath him, on top of him, on his knees, around him—
"I am a good girl", he whispered in a high-pitched voice, crooning at the end. He swayed his hips once, lowly and how did he turn that flexible again? And then, he pulled the rope down, revealing some majestic, elegant staircase.
And while the ad lib was playing, Blaine just had to find out who he was. To his great delight and relief, there was a rather adorable Asian girl serving Wes another bottle of whatever kind of alcohol it was. He shrugged at his friend, at some point, he was going to die of alcohol poisoning, he was sure of it. Politely, he tapped the girl's shoulder, twice. "Excuse me, Miss?"
"Uuh, yes? Drinks?" The Asian girl smiled at him, almost making her eyes disappear.
"Could you tell me who's that performing right now?" Blaine pointed at the guy. And the exact moment he glanced at him, the guy strutted a few steps, looking at his back each time and winking like the nymph that he was. He placed his hands on his hips and swayed them provocatively, as if giving them the taste of what his hips could do. And he must say, those were some talented hips. The second the guy sat on a step, leaned against the railing, and then pushed his legs up in the air, making the skirt fall backwards, revealing more of the milky white skin thatwasbeggingtobemarkedbyhim, he forgot to breathe.
Wes shouted exuberantly at that moment. "Oh my god! You're Asian!" He laughed. "I'm Asian too. See? We have the same almost-not-there eyes. Blaine's Asian too. But he's a hobbit. And David's not Asian. Because David sucks. Hi David! I love you, man."
The waitress grinned, used to such embarrassing happenings. "That's Lady over there", she nodded. Blaine vaguely remembered of someone called Lady included in this night's programme from the outside advertisement. The one with the picture of the Jewish girl.
"But he isn't exactly...a Lady, right?"
She laughed. "No, he's not. We just call him that on the posters we post outside. That's his alias. His real name is Kurt."
Why did Blaine feel as if the sun was rising and everything was rainbows and butterflies again? "So, why the alias?"
"Excuse me for a second", the waitress muttered as she turned to her left and then served them their drinks. She got their empty glasses and absentmindedly set them to her tray as she leaned back to answer Blaine's question. "Oh, that. See, well...Burlesque has also been famous for being...versatile when it comes to gender. As far as I know, we're the only club who works around with the third-gender, and we know how to make use of it too." She gestured at Kurt as she placed new orders of beverages on another table. "We may be in New York City, but apparently, there are still some people who aren't particularly fond of such...uniqueness. So, first and foremost, we protect our employees by covering their identities, if needed. We have enough security to ward those homophobic bastards, though", she pointed at the guys who were standing as bartenders and even some of the waiters that night.
"So...he's gay?"
"As the fourth of July", she smiled sweetly at him and then left to go back to the bar.
By the time that Blaine fixated his attention back to his lovely little performer, whose name was Kurt (really, he had to remember that name), he was already at the top of the stairs, presenting the four back-up dancers, wearing the same costume as he was, although the color they were wearing was white and pink. Such innocent colors, in contrast to the red and black Kurt was wearing. And on top of the stairs, in the middle of the four female entertainers, there was a godfucking pole.
A pole.
Blaine's head was pretty much broken by then.
BH I adore, Rodeo l'amour
Breakfast Polo Lounge then poolside for sure
After dancing in a rather suggestive manner (touching his collarbones, dragging his hands down his chest, bending forward-rather obvious, than suggestive) Kurt finally approached the pole, curled his leg around it, and then began sliding downwards. "The Chateau for cocktails", he stood up and went to the other side of the pole, "The Courtyard at nine", he tipped his head backward, exposing his long neck. "Dan Tana's for dinner", he gracefully leaned his back against the pole, raising his arm as he gripped the metal, "The hell is divine." He grinded his ass backwards. He then turned around, his lovely behind facing the audience, and playfully shook it at them.
Blaine used all his reasonable logic and willpower and dapper principles in life to stop himself from actually getting up from where he was seated to spank that ass.
But deargod, Kurt was testing him.
You know I have found the words goin' round
They all say my feet never do touch the ground
As he sang the last part, he grabbed the pole, lifted himself from the ground just enough to give a little kicking motion in the air. The audience laughed at the rather adorable antic.
"What?" He repeated the same feigned surprised expression, hand covering his slightly gaping mouth.
"I am a good girl", he finished the song, both of his legs around the pole before rubbing himself against it once in a subtle yet arousing way. He strutted his way downward the staircase, as the song was finally nearing to an end, and instead of singing, all the sounds that were coming out from his mouth were high-pitched mewls, moans, and gasps.
He ended up where he first began the song, at the jewel studded seat. In a half-sitting, half-lying position, he crossed his legs. And as if on cue, an tall Asian guy, wearing a black wifebeater and some pants, one of the bartenders maybe, came on stage holding a tray with a small shot glass on it. Kurt quickly drank the shot, grabbed the guy's hat, placed it on his head, and then leaned back.
"I am a good girl", his voice deepened an octave, making Blaine shiver. With the final note ending, the curtains abruptly closed down, and the lights on the stage turned off, indicating that that number was over.
The audience particularly loved it. They were cheering and wildly clapping and some were giving Kurt a standing ovation. Blaine wanted to give Kurt a standing ovation too but he couldn't. Why? Because his erection was so painful that he was sure he lost all other basic abilities like thinking, much less the ability to actually walk. His mind raced over the countless dirty adult films, porn, racy shows he watched during his adolescent years. And not once had he experienced something so evenly remotely arousing as this performance was. And the frustrating part of it? He was sporting a hard-on when Kurt's clothes were still intact.
"Man! That was some performance! What do you think—Hey Blaine, where are you going?" David turned just in time to see his friend hastily stand up, almost knocking Wes' drink.
"Comfort Room, excuse me", he mumbled as he made sure that the coat he was wearing covered his prominent problem.
Once inside, it was thankfully empty. And relatively clean too. Blaine wasted no time slipping in the nearest cubicle and yanking his pants and boxers down. As his fingers wrapped around his painfully throbbing dick, he almost sobbed in relief. He didn't bother to pleasure himself that time, as he usually does so. Just straight on tension-remover. He began to stroke it, gradually increase his speed, twisting his wrist in just that direction and-"Oh fuck Kurt", he moaned loudly. "Shit shit shit."
He was tugging at his dick quickly now, feeling the recoiling heat growing in his lower abdomen. Just imagining Kurt with his long neck bared for him, Kurt with his slender body naked, Kurt with his gorgeous mile-long legs wrapped around his waist, Kurt with his addicting voice screaming his name in ecstasy—oh fucking god, he was so fucking close—he began to thrust his hips into his hand.
"Kurt, Kurt, Kurt", he moaned. Oh shit, just—yes, just a bit more—
And as he ran his thumb on the head, scraping his nail slightly, he finally finally finally spilled into his hand. It was messy. There was a lot of cum in his hand, dripping down his boxers. Blaine was sure he had never jerked off so intensely, never came that hard in his entire life. And to who does it owe it too? Not to his flings, or his boyfriends, or even his one-night stands-but to a guy he just met, well saw, a few minutes ago. Guilt carefully ebbed its way to his mind, once the intense feeling of pleasure wore off. He couldn't believe he just jerked off about a guy—a performer in a strip club, when he had his own relationship issues to take care of.
Feeling disgusted with himself, he grabbed some tissues from its holder, hurriedly cleaned up his hand and the leftovers, and tucked his clothes back into order. He dumped the tissues in the trash can. After making sure that everything was alright, he suddenly remembered that he had to explain to David about his...weirdness a while ago. 'Oh hi David. I just got back from the bathroom to jerk off thinking about the guy, Kurt, who just performed' was not the best reason to give, Blaine figured.
Opening the cubicle door, he went to the sink to wash his hands and wallow for his little slip-up when he noticed another presence in the room. After turning the tap off, he blindly searched for a dryer or some tissues or anything that could dry his hands.
"Here", a familiar quiet, yet high-pitched voice startled him. When he glanced back, he found himself staring directly at the most breath-taking pair of eyes he had ever seen in his whole life. It was a strange mixture of blue, green, and gray and—fuck.
Oh, look who it was.
It was none other than the person he was fantasizing about minutes ago—Kurt.
Great.
Was everybody really fucking with him? This was too surreal. This was too mortifying. Blaine felt blood rush to his cheeks as he took the packet of tissues from the beautiful guy. He mumbled a soft 'thanks' in return. And god, Blaine wished that the floor would eat him up alive at that moment. Really. Out of all the people in this world, what were the chances that you were going to meet the same person you thought while you got off?
"I hope you're not uncomfortable or anything", Kurt spoke in an apologetic voice. "The Ladies' Room was crowded, as usual. And backstage is as hectic. Rachel is in there right now and I don't really want to deal with her. She's going to stab me because I stole her solo from her tonight, the little bitch", he snorted at the last part. Blaine watched him move from the mirror. He could see narrow, elegant hands fiddle about with a brush, dipping into the pink blush-on container, and swiftly applying it to his cheek in quick light strokes. That was when it hit Blaine. Kurt was apologizing to him because he thought that he walked in on Blaine's private moment when he was...ohdeargod.
"I—uuh—did you—uuhh", Blaine stammered, feeling his face hot. "You know...I'm..." what was he going to say? Was he going to apologize? 'Hey I'm sorry for jerking off while moaning your name. I'm Blaine, nice to meet you.' That would go really well. Right.
Kurt paused from his actions and gazed at Blaine. He tilted his head in confusion, seemingly befuddled by Blaine's idiotic actions. Then suddenly, everything clicked into place.
"Oh", the counter tenor (based from his voice, Blaine assumed) slightly blushed. "It's...fine. Not that I mean it's actually okay for me. But I mean it's not the first time I..." he trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. They both stood there, awkward silence in the air. Then Kurt began to stuff his cosmetics into a small leather man-purse. "First time?" He asked, not bothering to look at Blaine.
When he couldn't answer, Kurt just shook his head and checked his reflection.
"Figures", Blaine heard Kurt mutter as he left the room.
A/N: I did it! Ugh. Totally fell in love with this movie. I'm going to base it from "Burlesque", just some vague parts I guess. But I'll be twisting the plot to my own…That is, if you guys want me to continue. Tell me, and I'll change this to a multi-chaptered fic. If not, I'll leave this as a one-shot.
Oh, and PS: I know it's not a strip club. More like, a cabaret of some sort. And I know Blaine, Wes, and David keep on saying that it's a strip club. But no worries! They shall be corrected soon enough. Now, REVIEWS!