Strip clubs were definitely not on the top of the list of Blaine Anderson's favorite places to go.

He was far from prudish, but he just preferred to enjoy the pleasures of the night in a more…private setting.

In his entire twenty-five-year existence, he'd only ever been in one before, and that didn't really count. Once, it was for David's bachelor party, and while David and Wes were certainly entertained by the scenery, Blaine had been bored to tears, but had paid for a private room and dance for both Wes and David anyway, despite the fact that he found himself spending most of the time drowning his sorrows in extra-dry Martinis, missing an ex.

Truth be told, Kurt Hummel (the ex in question) was someone he hadn't thought about in a ivery/i long time. Not thinking about him had taken up far too much energy than he wanted to admit after their mutual break-up when he was accepted into Columbia. Kurt had gotten a full-ride scholarship to UCLA. Four time-zones aside, they just became two different people and although Blaine held onto hope that Kurt would go to grad school at NYU's Tisch School for the Arts or Manhattan School of Music, that never happened (or if it did, Blaine wasn't made aware) and although they were in touch via Facebook, it wasn't long before Kurt just…fell off his radar.

But here he was, blocks away from The Stallion Room at ten thirty on a Saturday night and finding himself wondering what Kurt was up to after all these years. He told himself it was just the typical longing for a relationship anyone would feel when they were the only single person in their group of friends. Besides even if Kurt was in New York, he wouldn't even know where to begin to look for him, if that was what he wanted to do. It was a huge city and so odds weren't all THAT miniscule that they might happen to just…bump into each other. Not in a place like this, though, Blaine realized as he eyed the menacing security guard who was probably named Jake or something along those lines. The windows were blacked out and he could almost smell the sex and smoke at the subway stop and wouldn't even be here at all except that it was his roommate Preston's thirtieth birthday.

Preston Walcott The Fourth (as he always introduced himself to everyone he ever met) wasn't actually a bad guy, despite the ridiculously pompous name. Preston was his roommate at Columbia University and although he'd been a tad older than the traditional student, his age only really showed with the more-than-occasional iX-Files/i reference and other obsessions with shows that had been off the air for over a decade. But Preston wanted to celebrate his thirtieth with copious amounts of debauchery and man-candy, and since he was one of his best friends, Blaine did the Good Friend thing and promised dinner and a strip club he knew about on a rather seedy section of Times Square.

"I had reservations for one of the private rooms for Anderson, party of four," he told the rather large, hulking wall of muscle that was the security guy.

The guy nodded.

"YO, GUNTER!" He hollered. A man about Blaine's age came trotting up to them, his blonde hair flopping with each step. He looked like he'd just forgotten to change out of a shoot for a porn film.

"Well hello, gorgeous," he beamed at Blaine, flashing a set of too-perfect white teeth at him. "I'll be taking care of you…and getting you drinks and food for the evening," he said with a breathy laugh.

Blaine rolled his eyes and followed.

"Don't think I've seen you around here before," Gunter said as they made their way down the hall. "You don't come here much, do you?"

"Actually, no," Blaine said. "I'm just here for a friend's birthday party."

"Suuuuure, that's what they all say," Gunter said, giving him a wink. "You're in good hands tonight, you lucky duck! Trick will be your entertainment this evening. He's quite the performer."

Blaine only nodded to acknowledge his new companion. He was relieved when Preston came trotting up behind them with his boyfriend Simon.

"You owe me one. You owe me one BIG TIME," Blaine whispered as they entered the room. Preston just winked and wrapped his arms around Simon's waist. It was poorly lit and there were red-velvet circular couches all decorated with zebra striped pillows and accented with smaller, deep purple ones that made Blaine suddenly miss Kurt for the second time that evening, who would have had PLENTY to say about the décor.

"Extra-dry martini please," he told Gunter, who nodded. "No olive."

"And for everyone else?" Gunter asked.

Simon and Preston both ordered their usual rum-and-cokes.

"The entertainment will begin shortly," Gunter informed them, and scampered off in the direction of the bar. The stage was bare save a pole and a chair, and it didn't take much imagination to realize what THOSE were for.

The house lights darkened completely and the stage was lit with red, purple, and white lights. Fog machines (or dry ice, Blaine couldn't be sure which and honestly couldn't be bothered to care), created a thin cloud. Low, thunderous bass beats thumped out a rapid steady rhythm and a synthesizer whined the outline of a minor chord.

Blaine sighed, wondering when that waiter would arrive with his drinks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, The Stallion Room is proud to present…Trick Mystere."

A curtain lifted to reveal the figure of a young man about his age clad in a cape and a very well-fitted black tuxedo. There was something about the way the performer carried himself that reminded him of Kurt. That was impossible. He'd just been thinking too much about his old ex lately.

Unfortunately, the old Lady Gaga song that had just started up certainly didn't help in that department, Blaine realized miserably. Kurt iloved/i Lady Gaga.

Let's have some fun,

This beat is sick

I wanna take a ride on your disco stick./i

The dancer turned around then, but the face was still obscured by a cape.

iLet's have some fun,

This beat is sick

I wanna take a ride on your disco stick/i

At "disco stick" the cape was released apparently so that the dancer could grab his own crotch, much to the light of the other people in the room. Heavy make-up obscured features, but he knew fine bone-structure when he saw it. The view wasn't exactly unpleasant, Blaine decided, and he was actually singing rather than just lip-synching the words, which was refreshing, and the man's voice was quite good.

Blaine usually hated this sort of thing, but he couldn't help but watch as this…Trick person gyrated his hips in time to the bass beat. Simon and Preston cat-called, and the performer turned his head to face the audience for the first time.

Blue eyes widened then, but Trick never missed a beat.

iI wanna kiss you, babe

But if I do then I might miss you babe

It's complicated and stupid

Got my ass squeezed by sexy Cupid (he turned around again and squeazed his own ass-cheeks and made his way towards the poll at the center stage."

Guess he wants to play./i

He wrapped his legs around the pole then, and climbed higher with each line.

Wants to play

A love game

A love game/i

He swirled down, and Blaine had to wonder how the singer managed to do that without getting dizzy, because Blaine was feeling lightheaded from just watching him, accentuating the last verse with the removal of the cape.

Buttons of the vest were being undone next to the rhythm of the beat, and Blaine couldn't help it. He found himself staring. Part of it was because as much as he hated to admit it, he was being turned on, but the other part of it was he KNEW he knew this guy from somewhere, he just couldn't put a finger on where exactly they'd made each other's acquaintances. Blaine didn't exactly…frequent places like this.

"Hold me and love me

Just want to touch you for a minute

Maybe three seconds is enough for my heart to quit it

Let's have some fun,

This beat is sick

I wanna take a ride on your disco stick

Don't think too much just bust that kick

I wanna take a ride on your disco stick/i

He sat down on the stage at that point, and…good bLORD/b Blaine felt his breath hitch as he realized he was actually going to bTAKE THE PANTS OFF/b.

Not that there was anything Blaine was going to do to protest the situation, exactly. This was a strip-club, after all, but he hoped that the dancer just had…one of those faces that people thought they recognized all the time, because it was weird enough with a stranger removing his pants on stage in a room with his best friends, but if it was someone he actually KNEW? He'd die. He was pretty sure that he'd die right then and there.

Let's play a love game,

Play a love game

Do you want love or you want fame?

Are you in the game?

Dans le love game?

Clad only in a pair of black speedos that left VERY little to the imagination now, the dancer was making his way towards their table, moving suggestively as he sang the next verse.

I'm on a mission,

And it involves some heavy touchin' yeah.

You've indicated your interest,

I'm educated in sex, yes.

He sat in Preston's lap, and Blaine wondered if his imagination was playing tricks on him, but he was fairly certain that this Trick person was trying VERY hard not to look at anyone else but the person in his lap, but he was grinding to the rhythm now, accentuation the end of each line with a thrust of his perfectly round pear hips.

And now I want it bad,

Want it bad.

A love game,

A love game.

He moved to Simon, now, giving him the same treatment, hands suggestively tousling his hair and Blaine was going crazy in all the good ways, but now he was BEYOND certain he knew this person…

And then it was his turn.

I can see you staring there

from across the block with a smile

on your mouth and

your hand on your huh

Trick grabbed his crotch again as he climbed out of Simon's lap and made his way over to Blaine,

The story of us…Trick began, but faltered.

Blaine swallowed as realization dawned on him.

He knew EXACTLY who this dancer was.

Before he could say anything, though, the song had ended, and Kurt was gone.

"What the hell?" Preston asked.

"He was hot," Simon said. "But…seriously, what. The. Hell?"

"Excuse me gentlemen," Blaine said, getting up and taking the last swig of his martini.

He ignored the puzzled looks of Preston and Simon, and made his way back stage.

"Hey! You can't go back there!" said a chunky, bearded man in an unusually high voice that did not match his physique at all.

Blaine slipped him a twenty.

"Really, dude? You think THAT'S going to stop me from calling security on your ass?"

Blaine rolled his eyes and gave him a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

"Just…could you please tell me where Trick is?" Blaine pleaded.

"Third door down the hall on the left." Blaine nodded thanks and took a deep breath.

The hallway was crowded with men in various stages of undress, all of them impossibly good-looking. Some of them were eyeing him as he passed, but he ignored it all, making a beeline for the third door on the left.

He knocked softly.

"Give me a few minutes, JoJo," he said.

The door opened, and Blaine's suspicions were confirmed. It was, in fact, Kurt, same as he always was, but the haughtiness was gone. His face was only half made-up now and he was significantly more clothed, much to Blaine's relief.

"Hi," was all Blaine managed to say.

"You're not JoJo," Kurt said after a long while.

Blaine just shook his head and eyed his surroundings nervously. It just seemed so surreal. The Kurt he knew would NEVER allow himself to end up here. The Kurt he knew was too proud and self-righteous for this kind of thing. Too…igood/i for this. "So, how's it going?" Blaine asked, mentally shaking himself for asking such a dumb question.

"What the hell are you doing here? Kurt demanded. There was no anger in his voice though, only mild annoyance.

"I was going to ask you the same question. Look, is there somewhere we can talk?"

"I get off at four," Kurt said. "You've got to get out of here. If JoJo sees you back here, he's going to be PISSED."

"Can't you just get someone to cover for you?" Blaine asked.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I get off at four. Otherwise, you can find me here again tomorrow night. But I dance out front tomorrow night, so you'll just have to wait your turn."

"Kurt…I…"

"I really don't want to call security," Kurt said. "But I will."

"Four it is, then," Blaine nodded and left.

Not that Blaine could speak from experience, but he knew that it was impossible to get a taxi driver who was A)Available after 3AM and B) Willing to go to the particular area of Time Square that was his desired destination.

It took some finagling and his best winning smile and a very generous tip, but he finally managed, and at four a.m., long after he actually wanted to be awake that evening, he found himself pacing outside of The Stallion with two cups of coffee in each hand.

"I didn't actually expect you to WAIT," Kurt said when he saw Blaine.

"Well, it's good to see you, too," Blaine said, smiling and offering his companion the other cup of coffee.

"Is there somewhere we could go to catch up where it's a little…warmer?" Blaine asked. He'd been standing there for half an hour and if it wasn't for the coffee, he was pretty sure that he would've lost the feeling in his fingers a long time ago.

"I'd suggest my place, but JoJo forgot to pay the utilities, so there's not much heat."

"And JoJo's your…"

"Pimp," Kurt said, as if the answer should've been obvious.

"I just…wow. There are no words, Kurt. None. I mean, what do you say to that, exactly?"

"How did you expect this conversation to go, Blaine?"

"I don't know, honestly. I just thought…"

"What? Did you think you could be Richard Gere to my Julia Roberts and come in blaring opera and make all my dreams come true?"

"Actually, I wasn't thinking about the ending. The truth is, you've kind of been on my mind quite a bit lately and I was wondering what you were up to these days."

"Well, now you know what I'm up to these days," Kurt said, rolling his eyes and stopping in front of a diner whose only virtue seemed to be the fact that it was, as the half-lit neon sign indicated, open.

"It's just such a…far cry from where I expected to run into you again, I just…what the hell happened?"

Kurt sighed.

"Get me my usual, Ronnie," Kurt told a chunky waitress when they sat down at the booth.

"And for your friend?"

"I'll have the same," Blaine said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know what my usual IS."

"Scrambled egg whites and whole wheat toast, am I right?"

Kurt nodded, and that earned a raised eyebrow from Ronnie as well.

"Good friend," Ronnie said. Kurt just half-coughed, half-laughed on the coffee he'd just taken a sip of.

"Seriously, what happened?" Blaine asked. "Does your family at home know what you're doing with yourself? What does your dad have to say about this?"

"Nothing," Kurt said with a shrug. "He's dead."

"Kurt I'm…" Blaine began, but Kurt gave him a look that squelched the apology mid-breath.

"It happened the year I left. There wasn't any money for college, and I iwasn't/i going back to Lima, so I just managed the best I could. A friend of mine got me a job at the club, and that's where I met JoJo."

"What about Finn and your step-mom?"

Kurt sighed. "Finn's at OSU on a full football scholarship. Neither he nor Carole know about this. Or anyone back home. I'd really appreciate it if you could just…keep this to yourself."

Blaine nodded.

They got their food, and Blaine found himself struggling to find things to say to fill the silence, but Kurt relieved him of that responsibility with a question of his own.

"So, what about you?" Kurt asked, spreading the eggs onto the toast. "What are you up to these days?"

"Second year at Columbia Law School," Blaine answered guiltily. "I take the BAR exam in the fall."

"Congratulations," Kurt said. Blaine was surprised that there wasn't any bitterness in his voice.

They fell into easy chatter. Blaine found neutral topics to discuss and he was reminded just how much he just missed…spending time with Kurt.

They had both finished the meal a long time ago, and the waitress had coughed in her direction. "Look, Kurt, you're a good kid and you're a good customer, but Sal's gonna have a fit if you steal seats from the morning rush."

"See you tomorrow Ronnie?" Kurt asked, leaving money on the table for both of the meals before Blaine could protest. "No, for once, bI'm/b buying." He said with a smile.

Ronnie nodded gruffly and they left.

"I could walk you to your apartment," Blaine offered, eager to find some excuse to spend more time with his companion.

"You'd better not," Kurt said. "JoJo is probably there and he'll be pissed if I bring someone home."

"You CAN do something about your life if you want, you know," Blaine said.

"I'm not the same person, Blaine."

"Like hell you're not," Blaine said. "I mean, I know you've changed…I've changed too…but tonight proved to me that you're still basically the same person I knew back then. Do you like the way your life is right now?"

Kurt shook his head miserably and then shrugged. "Look, I know it's not what you imagined for me, but you don't know what its' like! Your parents have taken care of you your whole life! You don't have to worry about survival. About keeping a roof over your head. About where you're going to get your next bite to eat!"

"What if you came and lived with me?" Blaine asked, surprising himself as much as Kurt.

"God, Blaine, you're just the same as always, trying to save me from the big bad world. But you just can't Blaine!"

Blaine didn't know what possessed him. Before he had time to stop himself, his arms were wrapped around Kurt's neck and he was pulling Kurt towards him, kissing him with everything he had.

And just like that, Kurt pulled away, and was gone in the night.

Blaine found himself become a regular at The Stallion, but Kurt was nowhere in sight. He tried finding out what his address was from the employees. He thought Gunter from the other night might be useful, but he just told him that he stayed where everyone did who was in situations like Kurt's, with JoJo.

JoJo had no last name, which made all the usual search engines and avenues useless when trying to find him. The private room was $500 for a night, but he knew Trick Mystere would be back eventually, and he would drain his account if that's what it took to get Kurt back again.

It wasn't until the third night that there was a glimmer of hope. He managed to disguise himself as a waiter and worked his way back stage. He knocked on Kurt's door, but nobody was there.

The guard from the first night was finally back at least.

"Where's Trick?" Blaine asked, handing him a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills.

The guard shrugged, taking the money. "Prob'ly on a plane right about now. I heard JoJo wanted to expand his business on the West Coast. They were supposed to leave on the last flight out to LA, which…" he paused to glance at his cell phone, "is in about an hour. JoJo likes to fly JetBlue, so it'll be out of LaGuardia."

Blaine's eyes widened at that. "WHAT?"

"Sorry, man. But you know JoJo…"

Blaine didn't, but he hated the man anyway.

" Just…please…tell me where JoJo lives," Blaine pleaded, hoping against hope that there was still time to catch him.

"Abandoned warehouse on the hundredth block of Avenue C in Alphabet City," the guard said.

Blaine nodded. He stopped by the internet café to purchase two plane tickets, and prayed to whatever higher power actually listened that this worked out.

Blaine found the warehouse easily enough, but if anyone had in fact inhabited it, he certainly found no evidence of it. He had exactly thirty minutes before the flight left if it wasn't delayed.

It was the longest thirty minutes in his life, but it was some kind of miracle that he made it on time at all.

"Jet Blue Flight 242 to Los Angeles now boarding," came the announcement over the loudspeakers.

As fast as his legs could carry him, Blaine found the terminal where the plane was boarding.

"No one but ticket holders beyond this point," a security guard told him.

He had no choice. He went to the booth and purchased another ticket online for Los Angeles. Kurt was on that plane. With any luck…

He made it just in time. He scanned the passengers for any sign of his old boyfriend, but he apparently wasn't on the plane.

It all had been for nothing.

"No, I am NOT a flight attendant," came a familiar voice from the other side of the cabin. Blaine whipped his head around.

It couldn't be.

"It will be a COLD DAY IN HELL before I get YOU honey-roasted nuts!"

"Kurt, you never DID blend in very well…" Blaine murmured, standing up despite the 'fasten seat belts' sign blinking.

"Blaine!" Kurt breathed. "What are you doing here!"

An older man who had to at LEAST be as old as his dad stood up then. He was dressed in all-black from his head to toe.

"Trick, you need me to take care of him?"

Kurt shook his head.

"So you're JoJo, I take it?" Blaine asked. Kurt nodded.

"Gentlemen, you'll have to take your seats," a stewardess told them. "We're about to take off."

"Actually, sir, if you don't mind, I'd like a word with you," Blaine told him. And then threw the hardest punch he could, right for his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He took the tray straight from the stewardess' hands and knocked him cold.

"Sir," the flight attendant told him sternly, "we do NOT tolerate that kind of behavior. You'll have to exit the plane."

"GLADLY!" Blaine said, and then tugged Kurt's arm. "By the way, he's coming with me," he declared before anyone could protest dragging an open-mouthed and red-faced Kurt behind him.

"Blaine what are you doing?" Kurt mumbled through a smile of clenched teeth.

"Being Richard Gere. Now, come on Julia, I believe we have some opera to blast."