A/N Not as much Klaine in this chapter - but a bit o' development! Thanks thanks thanks to all readers. Also, there's a bit of a rearrangement of Season 4 timeline, although as this is already very much AU I'm sure you won't mind.

Yours Is the Skin of the Mysterious

Just one night, just one night… There's no way, 'cause you can't pay.

~ Christian & Satine, Elephant Love Medley, Moulin Rouge

Chapter Three

They meet in the dark like lovers, exchanging not kisses but coffee. Coffee and words and even the occasional smile, they fill the silences that fall between them when Blaine rubs at a bite mark on his jaw, when Kurt blushes and looks pointedly away.

"What's your earliest childhood memory?" Kurt asks.

And Blaine rambles something shit about a swing set and the ringing bells of his mother's laughter.

"When did you lose your virginity?" Blaine asks.

Kurt chokes on his non-answer. "Excuse me?"

"When did you-"

"Define, uh, losing your, um…" he can't even spit the word out, and Blaine's smile laps it up, a starving cat to thick, rich cream.

"Putting your dick up-"

"Never!"

"Or having one put-"

"Never!"

Those panicked squeaks of shameful humiliation, not at the confession but at the very topic of their abrupt discussion one icy Wednesday night.

They're sitting alone on a bench in Battery Park, quite far from their usual haunts. Their footsteps have taken them far and so, apparently has their conversation.

It's become an every-other-night-or-so thing, this meeting after hours, if only for fifteen minutes to tease and talk and just breathe.

"You mean you've never-"

"I've done stuff," Kurt blushes at his knees as he stutters an embarrassment that rattles his pride, nearly breaks his fingers as he wrings them together. "With a boyfriend back in Ohio. We just never, um, got that far."

Blaine doesn't understand this answer; Kurt can hear it in his breathy silence. He peeks up from his fluttering lashes to see Blaine staring at him in a bemusement that makes Kurt feels very, very small; very, very sad.

"But why?"

When Kurt shrugs, it isn't from a lack of answer.

"It just never felt like the right time. I want it to mean something. To be special."

"But why? Kurt, it's just sex. It's an animal thing, we all do it. As long as you-"

"Maybe to you, Blaine, but not to me."

And Kurt blanches with guilt, snaps his head back to his friend from where he's turned angrily away. But Blaine is still watching him contentedly, albeit confusedly. Unaffected by Kurt's cutting words; in agreement, in fact, and it only twists the regret in Kurt's stomach, hurts worse than before.

They sit in silence. Silence but for a gentle snicker that escapes Blaine's smirking lips.

His empty polystyrene coffee cup tumbles to the ground as he reaches over. Two fingers of his right hand walk coolly over Kurt's jean clad knee, dancing up to his lower thigh.

"You know…" Blaine smiles mischievously, takes in Kurt's discomfort, the way his ice blue eyes stare hard at the strong hand hovering over his leg. "I could make it very special for-"

"No, Blaine." Kurt slaps his hand away hurriedly.

Blaine's laugh is hard and horrible.

"Ok," he stutters around a smoker's cough, chugging in his lungs. "I get it."

Kurt's ruffled tail feathers settle at Blaine's genuine expression of apology.

And it is genuine, it really is. Because Blaine really does get it.

Kurt wants it to be special. And fuck if Blaine knows what that means, but he knows that's not him. Blaine's not special, hasn't been for years.

His father thought he was special, but not special enough to take him to L.A. with Cooper. And Coach, Coach always thought he was special. But he moved, moved to somewhere else. Kentucky or maybe Kansas.

Away. Away from Blaine, who was special once but isn't anymore.

Yes, Blaine really, really gets it.

.

.

"Hon, there's someone here to see you. He's in the lobby."

Kurt frowns at Cathy, who gives him a clueless shrug.

"What does he, mm, look like?"

Surely he wouldn't, is all Kurt can think.

"Uh, dark hair?" she waves a hand around her own head, which is covered in bright red twisting locks. Kurt's breath catches sharply in his throat. He couldn't… "Really really tall. Like, hit your head on the clouds tall."

Guilt writhes in his stomach like a viper before he can quite understand why, but it soon sinks its fangs deep into his flesh.

Of course Blaine wouldn't come see him at work. He'll be sleeping, no doubt. And no doubt no doubt Blaine knows better. Knows what a respectable establishment this is and how much it would ruin Kurt's tentatively built reputation if a shameless whore came a-knocking for him.

Now that feeling is there, he can't purge himself of it. Self-hating, self-sickening.

Because he would be mortified if Blaine was to be seen at work with him, albeit innocently, and Blaine probably knows that.

"Kurt?" Cathy snaps her fingers in his face impatiently, with those purple taloned fingers.

"Uh, Finn?" he startles himself out of his revelatory trance.

"Don't know, hon," Cathy shrugs again, half ignorant and half nonchalant. "Go on, hon. You need a break anyhow."

Kurt glances in at Isabelle on his way out; she waves him away with a smile as she talks amicably on the phone, using that way she has with just her voice, her soothing voice that can placate the most dissatisfied of investors and clients alike.

"Finn!" Kurt cries when he finally reaches the lobby. "What are you doing here?"

He lets Finn envelop him in a Hudson hug, hold him tight the way only a brother can, and it's only as he lets Finn's warmth surround him that Kurt realises just how much he misses his brother.

"Thought I'd come see my little bro," Finn grins, rolling his eyes at Kurt's expected protest. (One month, Finn!)

"I thought you'd be, well…we didn't think we'd see you so soon-"

"Not we," Finn shifts awkwardly. "Just, uh, you. I've checked into a hotel. Not because…"

"I know, Finn. Don't worry."

"I would stay with you, man, but Rachel…"

And there it is. But Rachel.

"Well it's great to see you, Finn, but I'm-"

"Your friend said you were on an early lunch break," Finn interjects. He's bouncing eager as a child on the balls of his feet, inadvertently towering higher than ever over his (older, littler-but-older) brother.

"No, I usually…" don't eat lunch, he realises, will not go down well. Unfortunately, however, Finn unhelpfully has his blinkers off and his observation radar switched on to maximum volume. He glowers at Kurt with deepest admonishment, and Kurt has a momentary flash into Finn Hudson's future of fatherhood.

"Kurt, dude, you need to eat lunch. You're always going on at your dad about health stuff, but you need to take care of you, too."

It's thoughtful and insightful and charming and so very god damn Finn Hudson it makes Kurt want to pack up his things and move back to Lima just to be around that splendid, naïve wonder all the time.

Well, perhaps not quite, but it at least makes him yearn for Thanksgiving, when he can justifiably fly back to Ohio, pretend it's just an obligatory holiday visit and nothing to do with the homesickness that keeps tickling him at the oddest of moments.

They're walking out of the doors before Kurt can formulate an excuse, and rather than drag it out he remains quiet.

"I think I saw a sandwich bar on my way. That ok?"

"Mellan's Deli, yeah, it's good."

Finn's sheer joy at the prospect of a sandwich for lunch is simple enough to bring a smile to Kurt's face, a family smile. They chat around the easy subjects, a little delicately for brothers who are supposed to be comfortable screaming about whose turn it is to choose the television channel back home. Kurt's job, Finn's job, the garage.

New York is alive with an October breeze that carries the voices of the busybody streets through the air. Kurt loves it, loves it the way he could never love Lima in a hundred years of trying. The stark anonymity of being just another face in a crowd. Kurt's always thought of himself as a spotlight lover, and he is, he truly is.

It's just that New York anonymous is so different to Lima anonymous. It's exciting, not frustrating; exhilarating, not disheartening.

Dizzying.

Mellan's Deli is comprised of a clean, well stocked deli counter, twelve tables of two, and a guaranteed bright smile planted on a friendly face.

"Kurt!" the friendly face in question smiles even wider around Kurt's name. He pointedly ignores Finn's raised eyebrows, replies with a smile of his own.

"Hey Joel, how's it going?"

"Oh, so you remember who I am?" Joel pouts as he snaps on a pair of plastic gloves. "And here I was thinking I'd done something terribly wrong."

"No, I've just been busy."

"Ah, the sad and sorry tale of a workaholic," Joel slaps his chest over his heart and beats a rapid that pulse that Kurt scoffs at.

"I am not a workaholic."

"Food-a-phobe, then."

Finn's loud cough brings them out of their bubble. A bubble Kurt has neglected recently, but apparently not even skipping lunch for almost a fortnight is enough to shut him out of it forever.

"Mr Hummel!" Joel smirks. "Who is this fine fetching fellow?"

"My brother, Finn," Kurt glares at the man behind the counter.

Finn squirms awkwardly under Joel's appraising eye. He doesn't like the sandy blond hair that's swept up out of his face, or the sparkly eyes so blue they can't possibly be trusted.

"Oh good," Joel makes no attempt to hide his delight. "I was about to get jealous."

His saucy wink does nothing but pull another laugh from Kurt and an under the breath growl from Finn who, rather than be flustered at the brief mistake of his identity is only concerned by the light blush that dusts Kurt's cheekbones an upsetting, pleasant shade of ruby.

"Joel Parkinson," Kurt shakes his head in delicate admonishment. "You're a lucky man to have a girlfriend as forgiving as yours is."

He doesn't pay heed to Finn's splutter.

"What'll it be, babycakes?"

"I'll have the usual, and…" Kurt nods his head at the menu chalkboard over Joel's head. "My treat," he informs Finn with a reassuring grin as he spies his brother's disgust at New York prices.

"Uh, the Meat Feast Deluxe."

It's Finn's turn to ignore Kurt as the slighter boy mutters about protein overdoses and possible compensation of something or another.

"One Hummel special and one Meat Feast coming up! Take a seat, boys!" Joel claps his hands together and sings a tinkling tune that sounds a little too similar to Hakuna Matata as he slices open the first ciabatta.

Kurt drags his brother away from the counter before Finn has the chance to maul the bright smile straight off Joel's tanned face.

They take the free table closest to the window, whereupon Finn glowers darkly over his shoulder towards the counter.

"Finn Hudson, I didn't bring you here so that you could be rude to my friends."

"Your friends? Kurt, that guy is not-"

"He is straight, Finn. Straight as you."

"He was flirting."

"He has a girlfriend, Finn-"

"He was flirting."

"I flirt with girls all the time, Finn. That doesn't mean I'm interested in them."

"Kurt, it's not…"

Kurt is pretty sure he should be offended. Instead he enjoys watching Finn cut himself off, swallow his words the way he's only recently learning to do.

"It is the same, Finn Hudson. Joel Parkinson is my friend. Santana spends every chance she can flirting with as many men as possible. Is she any less of a lesbian?"

When in doubt, Finn knows to change conversation fast, particularly if talking to Kurt Hummel.

"So, uh, how've you been?"

Kurt lets it go. Just this once, because he doesn't want to spoil his lunch with Finn debating his brother's varying levels of insensitivity and ignorance.

There'll be plenty of opportunities before Finn leaves, he's sure of it as his lips curl into a wry smile.

.

.

"Where have you been?"

Kurt would flinch if he hadn't expected it the moment he realised he was going to be home nineteen minutes later than he'd promised Rachel he would be this morning on his way out to work.

"I went for a drink."

Short, sweet, simple. Not enough.

"With who?"

"Whom, Rachel. Whom."

"With whom?"

"A friend."

"What friend?"

He's not sure why doesn't just lie. Maybe because he's finding it increasingly easy to lie to Rachel about what he's doing. And while there is a (guilty guilty guilty) reason for him to lie about Blaine, why should he lie about spending time with his brother? With the man that Rachel still can't quite admit didn't deserve the hand that she, Rachel Berry dealt him.

"Finn, Rach. I was with Finn."

Kurt wouldn't be surprised if her breath had cut her throat on its way down at her sharp gasp.

"He's in town?"

"Yes, Rachel. He wanted to see me."

"Oh," and really, what else is there for her to say?

She hums and flutters around her friend as he unravels his scarf and slips his arms out of his coat, both of which land gracefully on the arm of their sofa.

She continues to hover and flit even as Kurt makes himself a large mug of coffee, delicately stirring in a dollop of cream and humming Hakuna Matata to himself between sips.

"Kurt," Rachel insists as politely as she can ever hope to be, her thumbs tangling together and her shoulders bunched around her ears.

"Yes, Rachel?"

He knows he's being cruel, but it's too much of a temptation. For an entire afternoon (and damn Cathy and Isabelle for tricking him into half a day off) he's been watching Finn struggle against a quiet forlornness, bite back his words every time the conversation had drifted a little too close to his ex-girlfriend.

"Kurt, please. How is he?"

Kurt blinks slowly over the rim of his mug.

"Do you care? Or do you just want me to make you feel better, Rachel?"

"Do I care? Kurt, I know you're angrier at me for what happened than you've let on, but I did love Finn. I loved him for a very long time. I care, Kurt."

Kurt smiles sadly, wrinkles his eyes and twists his lips.

"He's ok, Rachel."

"Does he…"

She thinks better of it and closes her mouth, but it's out there now.

"Yes, he misses you. He needs more time."

"Oh. That's umm…ok."

She scurries back to the kitchen, helps herself to coffee of her own before dropping down into the cushions and curling up tight into her best friend's warmth at his side.

Kurt wraps an arm around her and rubs her shoulder, not unlike the way he'd parted ways with Finn barely twenty minutes ago.

He kisses the top of her head (although this wasn't something he'd shared with Finn, an inability to reach not being the first reason why) and she smells of strawberry shampoo.

"You're ok, too, you know."

"Of course I am. I always am."

She always is. She's Rachel Berry, after all.

"He must've been in town for a while. Isn't he supposed to be running the Glee Club?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're always going out recently. I assumed-"

"He only arrived today."

"So where have you…Kurt Hummel."

And of course, being Rachel Berry comes with the emotional instability that rivals a unnerved tigress.

When a sugary smile fails, he tries the disarming one armed shrug, complete with lips down-turned in confusion.

"Kurt, who have you been meeting?"

She's halfway through her sentence when her suspicion becomes devious delight.

"Rachel, no." He's insistent and so worried it comes across as angry, but his anger is yet to deter Rachel Berry.

"Oh Kurt, tell me tell me tell me!"

"There's no-one, Rachel."

"So you've been wandering the streets of New York alone? Not even you would be that stupid."

He chooses to ignore the insinuation.

"Who-"

"A friend, Rachel. He's nothing more than a friend."

"And who is he?"

Oh how Kurt hates that toothy smile of hers, the stark non-innocence of it.

And yet the name is bubbling to his lips, just as it does every time he wants to tell someone about something hilarious that happened the night before, but can't because nobody knows about Blaine.

"Blaine."

It blurts out from between loose lips, eager and ridiculous.

And Rachel laps it up oh so quickly.

"Blaine? And how did you meet this Blaine?"

"When we were out one night."

True enough, though he really hopes she won't press further.

"I see," Rachel waggles her eyebrows poorly; Kurt refrains from pointing out that they may just have found something Rachel Berry herself cannot do. "And do I get to meet him?"

"No!"

Kurt's stomach contracts at the panicked thought of his best friend meeting Blaine, and proceeds to shrivel and wriggle with shame at that very fact. Rachel startles a little at the ferocity of his rejection, leaning away from him to stare.

Her words come out in a series of edgy chuckles.

"That was a bit, um, fierce."

"I just…" Words fail him, and if that isn't just the most humiliating thing…

"You like him, don't you?"

She starts to sing it, because, well, she's Rachel Berry. And isn't that just marvellous?

"You like him, like him, you like him. You you like him, like like him."

Most of the time, at least.

He knows that splendid feeling that precedes a crush. Champagne bubbles replacing the air in his lungs, every pair of shoes adorned with taps so he can dance his way down every street.

He's been ignoring it for the past week.

"No."

"You're blushing."

"Am not."

"Kurt, let's not lie to ourselves, ok?"

"Rach, please stop."

"What's so bad about liking someone, Kurt? It's about time, I say."

But that's just it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with liking someone.

Does it make him a bad person that he's pretty sure there's something wrong with liking Blaine?