Hello one and all! Well, here I am with MY Klaine, written MY way and Karofsky nowhere in sight ;) I hope you'll all enjoy this story. So you all know in advance, it is AU, Blaine and Kurt have an 11 year age gap and I guess I should..warn, maybe, that it is a slow, drawn out was my intention to really build these characters through the chapters rather than rush the storytelling in any way. I've had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you'll love it as much as I do.

This story is for one Becky, with love from another.


Blaine Anderson closes his eyes and tries desperately not to choke. The stranger is relentless though, pushing his head further and further down until his cock hits the back of Blaine's throat, making him gag.

"I can't..." he cries, breaking off with a splutter as he gasps for air, but the stranger is too far gone to care, head thrown back, mouth parted as he simply grabs Blaine's hand and wraps it around himself, encouraging Blaine to jerk him off.

He does so frantically, desperate for this to be over but also thoroughly intrigued to see the man's face when he reaches his orgasm because holy shit does he look hot right now.

He doesn't have to wait long. Pretty soon the man thrusts up with a grunt of satisfaction, spilling hot and wet over Blaine's hand who doesn't know whether to look up or down. The guy leans back weakly against the seat, catching his breath in the darkness of the car while Blaine tries to decide what to do with his soiled hand.

In the end, deciding that the upholstery in his car is old and battered enough, he discreetly wipes it along the edge of the back seat and then folds his hands neatly in his lap, wondering what the hell happens now.

"Thanks," the stranger mumbles, tucking himself back into his jeans and tugging his shirt back into place. He doesn't even look at Blaine, just pulls open the car door and is gone, out into the night.

Blaine comes to life then, scrambling back into the drivers seat and starting the engine. His headlights scan the parking lot, picking the stranger out as he walks away from the car and the bar they were in not fifteen minutes prior. Blaine heads toward the exit, cutting him off before he can climb the grass embankment leading toward the road.

"Hey!" he calls through his open window. "Is that it?"

The stranger turns with a frown, and Blaine is once again stunned by his good looks, though his features seem hardened with anger and bitterness. "Is what it?" he snaps.

"That? You're just gonna walk away?"

He laughs, his hands on his hips as he stares Blaine down. "What were you expecting? Flowers? A romantic dinner for two?"

Blaine blushes furiously in the dark but he keeps the eye contact anyway, even though he senses he's about to be torn to shreds. "No, I just thought you might need a ride home, that's all."

"I'll walk."

"That's not very safe," Blaine points out. "It's gone midnight and..."

"Listen, little boy," the stranger snarls as he steps closer to the car. "That's all you are, got it? A little boy with a pretty mouth, which wasn't all that useful anyway. Now run along so you don't break your curfew, and don't try to play with the big guys in the future."

He is gone then, striding up the embankment and hopping over the small fence which takes him onto the road. Blaine sits for a while, not knowing whether he feels sad, hurt or just utterly hollow. In the end, he settles on the latter and with a heavy sigh, starts his engine once more and heads home.

Two weeks later.

"Move, you idiot!"

Max pushes past his new step brother Blaine, making him stumble and almost drop the box he's carrying. He makes to right himself but then his second new found and very much unwanted step brother James gives him a shove right into the path of brother number three, Simon, who simply sticks his leg out and watches as Blaine sprawls flat on his face, his books, model airplanes and other sentimental treasures falling from the box and scattering across the porch of their new family home.

"Blaine darling, be careful," his mom, Angie, calls from the back of the moving truck. Looking up at her new husband Spencer, she rolls her eyes. "Honestly. For someone so short he's incredibly awkward. All limbs."

"Everything about Blaine is awkward," Spencer grumbles as he hands her another box. "I don't know how he's made it this far in life, to be honest."

Blaine closes his eyes and tries to pretend he can't hear the conversation. He swallows hard, trying to block out all thoughts of his dad but he just can't help bringing him to mind sometimes. His kind eyes which seemed to sparkle with mischief and love. The way he would always reassure Blaine, whether he was nervous about a test or worried about having to make conversation with a stranger, simply by telling him he believed in him, and the way he would always, always hug him tight until he could feel Blaine relax in his arms.

Life sucks, Blaine thinks bitterly as he shoves his belongings back into the box.

"No, loser, you suck," Max remarks as he looks down at Blaine, who hadn't realized he had spoken out loud. They both spot the final airplane at the same time, over by the porch railings. The spitfire he and his dad had spent many evenings painstakingly gluing together and then painting. Blaine scrambles across the porch on his hands and knees but Max is quicker, crunching it underfoot and grinding his toe down for good measure until all Blaine is left with is a small pile of splintered wood.

"Mom!" he cries, perilously close to tears as he scrambles to his feet. "Mom! He broke my model! The spitfire!"

"Oh Blaine honey, I'm sure Max didn't mean it, did you Max?"

"Of course not," Max lies with a smooth smile. "I'd never do something like that on purpose, Blaine."

"He did! He did do it on purpose, mom, he stepped right on it!"

"Why would I do that?" Max protests. "I know you made those models with your dad, and now he's dead and you'll never see him again."

"Shut up," Blaine roars, making to charge at him but Spencer tackles him around the waist, holding him back.

"Easy there, buddy. Woah! Max said it was an accident, now just let it go. It's only a model airplane. You can buy a new kit, I'm sure."

"That's not the point," Blaine mutters, shaking himself free. "Not the point at all."

"Hey there!"

They all turn to see a man standing at the bottom of the porch steps, squinting up at them in the sunlight. Dressed in scruffy old jeans and a plaid shirt, a worn baseball cap on his head, Blaine finds himself inwardly recoiling at the sight of yet another brusque and gruff middle aged man. This whole street is probably full of them, Blaine thinks to himself as the man offers Spencer his hand.

"Burt Hummel. I live across the street there, forty nine," he says, gesturing to a house over the road and a few doors up. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Spencer Lane," Spencer replies, shaking his hand firmly. "This is my wife Angie and these are my boys, Max, James and Simon."

"Uh-huh, nice to meet you," Burt says with a nod, then he turns his attentions to the small boy dressed in shorts with a yellow plaid shirt and bow tie. His hair is dark, and gelled down tightly, his hazel eyes darting this way and that as he feels Burt's gaze on him and folds his arms tight across his chest. "And who's this?"

"Oh, that's Blaine," Spencer says quickly. "So, Burt, what do you do?"

"I'm a mechanic," he says distractedly. "So, Blaine, are you moving in too?"

"Uh...yeah," Blaine almost whispers with a small nod.

"Blaine is my son from my first marriage," Angie explains.

"I see. So you're one of those blended families then, huh? Great," Burt smiles. "So I guess you boys will start McKinley after the summer?"

"They sure will," Spencer says brightly. "All my boys play football. Simon will be a senior, Max a junior and James a sophomore."

Burt frowns, sure the omission is deliberate. "And Blaine?"

"He doesn't play football."

"No, I mean which year will he be in?"

"You'd think freshman, right?" Spencer asks with a laugh, giving Blaine a huge pat on the back. "But seriously, he's gonna be a junior with Max. They're both sixteen, believe it or not."

"Why wouldn't I believe it?" Burt asks with a frown. "He might not be as tall as your boys, but he looks like a fine young man to me. I gotta go. Nice meeting you Blaine, and the rest of you. See you around."


By the time nightfall comes, Blaine has had enough. He lies in his new room- the smallest one of course- and blinks back the tears which have been threatening all day. The move had been torture. Simon, Max and James seemed to take great delight in asking him to carry items which they knew full well were too heavy for him, and then laughing as they watched him struggle. His mom had been on cloud nine and refusing to hear anything bad about anyone, snapping at Blaine and telling him not to ruin the happiest day of their lives, and reminding him yet again how thankful he should be for moving to a nice new house and having a ready made 'band of brothers' as she insisted on calling his moronic torturers.

He had skipped out on dinner, claiming he had a headache and coming up here instead to lie on his bed and think of happier times. The trouble is, there aren't many. All Blaine's happy memories are tied up with his dad, which instantly taints them with a wretched sadness that he just doesn't feel ready to cope with.

That was the reason he had decided to try and find a boyfriend. Before he and his mom had moved from Cleveland, his one and only friend Zach had given him a fake ID, and knowing how much Blaine was dreading the move advised him that if ever things got too much he could always escape to a bar and pick up some chicks.

Zach didn't know it wasn't the girls he was interested in, no one knew that except Blaine and his late father, but still. Blaine appreciated the gesture and during the torturous month they had spent in Spencer's house while waiting for their new one to be ready, Blaine had snuck out through the basement window every Friday and Saturday night to drive to Scandals.

They barely gave his ID a cursory glance anyway, even though he was blatantly underage, and that first night Blaine had taken a seat at the bar where he stayed all night, nursing a Virgin Shirley Temple and just looking. Watching the way the other guys moved around each other, flirted, danced, made out. He hadn't spoken a word other than to the bartender, but he had returned the next night and actually managed to smile at one blond haired guy who gave him a cute wave.

The next week he had fared even better, dancing and drinking his first ever beer, and it felt good to get some positive attention for once. It was the week after that it happened. There he was, drink in hand, surveying the darkened club as always, when a tall, good looking and incredibly confident man strode right up to the bar, next to where Blaine was sitting, and ordered a whiskey and soda.

He downed it quickly, then another, and then he turned to Blaine, looked him up and down, winked and sauntered off to the dance floor. Blaine knew he was staring, but then most of the guys in the room were staring too. The stranger was lithe and graceful, with light brown hair swept high on his head and impeccably styled, pale skin and searching blue eyes. His lips looked like they were made to be kissed by Blaine's own and the way his perfect body moved as he danced had Blaine shifting uncomfortably on his stool.

Prior to that evening, if anyone had asked Blaine what his definition of a perfect boyfriend would be, he would have simply replied "a gay male with a pulse." But now, he knew.

Him.

That was who Blaine wanted to be his boyfriend, and that was who Blaine was going to get.

A good hour passed while Blaine imagined every possible scenario, and planned conversations in his head. Just as he was gathering the courage to walk over to the guy who everyone wanted but didn't want to approach, the guy suddenly approached him. Picking up Blaine's beer and draining it, he set it back on the bar and leaned in close.

"I want you to suck my dick," he whispered directly into Blaine's ear. "Now."

This had been somewhat unexpected for Blaine, who had been having imaginary conversations about asking him out to the movies, and if he had really stopped and thought about it, he would have realized that this was not the type of guy he wanted for a boyfriend at all. Only, he was now painfully aware of everyone watching this interaction, and the stranger himself staring, waiting for a response, so he gave a curt nod, hoped his nervousness wasn't too obvious, and hopped from his stool.

"Let's go."

Nothing else had been said; the man had obviously seen Blaine gather his car keys, and though Blaine was embarrassed by his beat up Oldsmobile, the stranger didn't seem to care, pulling open the back door and sliding along the seat. His jeans were unfastened in record time, and Blaine was still wondering if going commando in jeans wasn't incredibly uncomfortable when a hand was suddenly on the back of his head, pushing him down.

Technically, Blaine thought as he mulled things over, he had tasted another guys cock before he had even seen one. Even now, two weeks on, he couldn't exactly remember what it had looked like in the dark of the car. He had been too overwhelmed with the entire situation to really grasp anything other than the burning in his throat as his mouth stretched around the man and he tried to suppress his gag reflex.

He knows it was terrible, and he knows the guy was obviously less than impressed but even so, he thought the evening might have ended slightly better than it did. He might have been kissed, for a start, but no. It seems as though lack of affection has become a rather unwelcome theme running through the entirety of Blaine's life, and he wishes it wasn't.

"Can I come in?"

Blaine sits, nodding at his mom as she bustles into his room and he tries hard not to let his ever growing distaste for her show on his face. She's only thirty eight, he reminds himself over and over. She shouldn't be expected to spend the rest of her days alone to satisfy Blaine's memories of his happy childhood. She's a pretty woman, with a great personality, he chants in his head. It's only natural that she would meet someone else.

He knows this is partly true. His mom, with her dark hair which swings in a ponytail and green eyes which seem to question him all the time, is petite and bubbly. His dad had been six years older, and if Blaine wanted to know what he was going to look like at any given age all he had to do was find a photo of his dad at the same age to know. He also now knew what he'd look like if he slowly died of cancer too, but he wishes he didn't.

His mom sits on his bed, unsure whether to take his hand but then deciding against it and offering a smile instead.

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay," Blaine murmurs. "Sleepy."

"Do you want anything to eat? I could ask one of the boys to fix you something?"

The idea has merit, Blaine thinks, but he also doesn't trust them enough not to do something terrible to his food, so he just shakes his head.

"Blaine, honey, this will only work if you put the effort in, you know. Try to get along with your brothers."

"They're not my brothers," he says angrily. "They're the sons of the man you married."

"You see, that's exactly what I'm talking about!" Angie cries. "We're a family now, Blaine, and you need to accept that."

"No I don't," he cries desperately. "You need to accept that dad has been gone just six months, and now suddenly here we are, in a new town, living with three guys who take great delight in torturing me and one who would just rather I didn't exist! You can't force me to like this situation, mom, because it sucks! Do you realize how much you've changed recently? Do you?"

"I'm still your mom, Blaine, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped speaking to me like that."

"Fine, I'm sorry," Blaine sighs, running a hand over his face. "Can I ask you a question though?"

Angie brightens, pleased to be having some positive interaction at last. "Sure."

"Did you really meet Spencer after dad died? Or were you two having an affair before he got sick?"

Angie stiffens and swallows uncomfortably. Rising from the bed, she resolutely avoids eye contact with her son as she straightens her blouse. "Blaine, I've just spoken with you about your attitude."

"Yet you won't answer the question," he says, laughing in disbelief.

"Spencer might not be your father, Blaine, but that doesn't mean I won't ask him to reprimand you if you carry on."

"Just answer me then!" Blaine cries angrily, jumping to his feet. "If you have nothing to hide, if you really, honestly didn't meet Spencer before dad died then just say so!"

But all Blaine gets in return is the slamming of his bedroom door, and the sound of his mom's footsteps marching down the stairs.

It takes only a split second for Blaine to decide his course of action. Tugging his bow tie off and his plaid shirt over his head, he pulls on a tight red polo and replaces his khaki shorts with black jeans. Grabbing his wallet and car keys but purposely not his phone, he storms down the stairs and out of the front door, ignoring his mom and Spencer's calls of protest. Climbing in his car, he doesn't stop until he's in Scandals parking lot, where he sits shaking behind the wheel, trying to compose himself.

Eventually, Blaine takes a deep breath and heads toward the bar. Maybe tonight, he will finally find what he's looking for.