It was no secret, Kurt Hummel had a thing for bad-boys. His crush on Puck and anyone like him were proof enough of that. It's not even that Kurt was a bad-boy himself. No, Kurt got all As and Bs, he didn't smoke or drink, and by every reliable source, he was still a virgin. He just wanted the sexy, rebel-without-a-cause attitude that usually accompanied that tongue ring and tattoo. Could you really blame him?

Blaine Anderson was the antithesis of a "bad-boy". He studied, had never smoked or drank, he gelled his black curls so tightly on his scalp that it took three shampooings to get it out, he wore bowties and sweater vests, and he blends in. He wouldn't have been surprised if, since he moved to Lima six months age, Kurt hadn't learned his name. But that didn't matter. Blaine's palms got sweaty and his mouth dried out just in anticipation of seeing Kurt's next sexy, brilliant outfit. So it took him six months, but Blaine had a plan.

It was the first day back from Christmas break when Kurt choked on his morning coffee and hissed at Mercedes, "Who the hell is that?"

Dark-wash jeans over beat-up combat boots, a tight-fitting black t-shirt, and a cloth-hooded leather jacket. Loose and slightly damp black curls hung down, one side slightly covering his eye. An eyebrow ring, eight earrings on one ear, and the words "IF YOU CAN RE" clearly visible in ink down one side of his neck, the rest covered by his jacket.

Blaine was proud of himself. He hadn't even looked at Kur- Hummel. he reminded himself, he was trying to be bad. Bad enough, at least.

As he walked by, Kurt tried to cover up his gaping mouth. Blaine smelled amazing. Like smoke. He groaned internally. Delicious.

They'd had French together before lunch all year; but suddenly Blaine was being... Noticeable.

Three times, Kurt zoned out into fantasies involving Blaine and Desks.. Or chairs... Or Beds... Or floors.. It wasn't until he felt hot breath on his ear that he realized the classroom was empty- the bell had rung.

"What'cha thinkin' about, Hummel?" Blaine blew on his neck and Kurt whimpered. Whimpered.

He leaned in a little as Kurt subconsciously laid his head on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine sucked on Kurt's collarbone without warning, hard. Kurt bucked up, frantically searching for friction for his already hard length, and moaned. Almost a scream, really. Blaine chuckled, not wanting Kurt to know how intense this was for him. "Look how easy you are for me. Already hard." He punctuated his words with a sharp bite and a lick. There, he thought, That was pretty badass. As he lapped at the blotchy bruise forming, Kurt felt the metal tongue ring scrape across his skin. "Oh, God, Oh God, Ohgod, Oh!" Kurt's words became strangled when Blaine reached around him and palmed him through his pants.

Kurt pulled away and stood up, panting, and whipped around. Grabbing the sexy curls and pulling Blaine in for a kiss, desperate to feel his tongue ring again.

Blaine hitched Kurt's leg on his hip, rutting their cocks together. Kurt released Blaine's mouth, throwing his head back and screaming at the sensation. "Oh god, Blaine!" Blaine growled possessively as Kurt's other leg wrapped around him. They slammed together, mouth on mouth, chest on chest, groin to groin.

Blaine reached around Kurt, aiming to do what he'd wanted to for so long. As he grabbed Kurt's ass, the boy moaned. But it wasn't until the loud "SWAK" of palm on jeans was heard that the bouncing thrusts stuttered. "Oh, God. Blaine, I'm- ungh!" Kurt's forehead dropped onto Blaine's shoulder as he came, yelling out.

Blaine continued to thrust until Kurt whispered his undoing in a raspy lust-ridden voice, "Harder, Blaine." He whispered, hot breath in Blaine's ear. "Fuck. Me. Harder."

Blaine came with a cry, jolting and nearly falling to the floor.

They both collapsed on the floor, Kurt laying on Blaine, jeans wet and sticky.