AN: Rating upped to M - for sexual content - for the remainder of this story; chapters will be marked for your discretion.

Blaine wasn't exactly sure when it happened, but rooming with Rachel had somehow started to feel normal. It could still be awkward if he walked in on her changing or if he forgot to knock before going into their shared bathroom, but she seemed to take it in stride and he tried to follow her lead as best he could and still feel like he was respecting her as a woman, though he knew she would have appreciated it more if he just treated her as a roommate and a friend. Though he would never be able to think of her as "one of the guys" - her incessantly girlish giggle kept him from that – he found he truly enjoyed her presence, even if it had been several years since he'd been proper friends with any girl, much less one as vibrant and demanding as Rachel.

She had the personality of someone used to getting their way, but it became quickly obvious that it wasn't out of selfishness exactly, just more that she needed things to be a certain way to function; which was fine with him if only because she gave him a much needed excuse to be just less than perfect. Inside their room, he could take off the aloof mask he wore around the halls of Dalton. He could talk to her without having to think about the words he was saying and she took a certain delight in making him swear. He could answer a question wrong and he could make the inappropriate joke and she would just smile and retaliate with one of her own. They were comfortable with each other and that helped smooth over any awkwardness that might come up.

The worst of it had been in the beginning, especially at night when Rachel would get ready for bed and saunter out of the bathroom in a loose tank top that barely covered her mid-drift, legs completely bare save for the tiny underwear she might as well have painted on for all it left to the imagination. The boxer shorts she had worn the first night had been revealing enough, but after finding her blankets kicked to the floor the next morning, he realized she had worn them for his benefit and barely a week after moving in, she was clearly over that.

"Not all of us can sleep in a parka," she had remarked when he asked her, red-faced and stuttering, about her change in attire.

"I don't," Blaine protested, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt and looking down at his long pajamas pants. "I mean, I used to just sleep in boxers but when they told me you were-."

"If you know what's good for you, you won't even finish that sentence," Rachel yelled through the toothpaste in her mouth, which she spit out before whirling around and glaring at him. "I'm not changing my life any more than I have to, so I don't expect you to change yours for me. You could sleep naked for all I care, but don't go to bed uncomfortable for my sake. You don't sleep enough as it is."

He had merely rolled his eyes and shrugged on his blazer before sitting down to print off his history report and they hurried off to the breakfast hall together, the topic completely forgotten by him until later that night when she'd undressed once again. She sat on his bed while he worked, his uniform only half off, as if she were taunting him. Still, at the end of the night, he'd put on his t-shirt and pants and tried to sleep, even as his shirt choked around his neck and his legs stuck to the sheets. He suffered through just two more weeks of this before he threw his shirt across the room in a fit of annoyance. The pants were still a bit of a problem for him, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of those, at least not right away.

It hadn't been until, just over a month since Rachel had come to Dalton, that he gave in. It was a typical school night; he slaved away over one assignment or the other while Rachel, who always finished before he did, lounged across her bed and texted her friends back home. She had started giggling, quiet at first but she grew steadily louder, until he couldn't concentrate anymore. He hadn't been really, since she started, but it was an excuse to take a break. He'd just meant to tease her, but somehow they'd end up on her bed, wrestling over her phone, pressed tightly against each other as if they had known each other their entire lives. His hands had slipped under her shirt as he held her down, her legs had pressed into his hips as she tried to flip him over and he had the casual thought that almost any guy at school would have killed to be in his position.

They had settled down and he'd gone back to his homework, though he hadn't been able to focus. It was probably his imagination, since every time he looked over his shoulder she was absorbed in whatever text she had just gotten from Quinn, but it was like she was watching him, like he could feel her eyes on him. He gave up on his work shortly after that and disappeared into the bathroom to change for bed when it occurred to him that she had just let him crawl all over her while she had barely any clothes on; if there was any doubt that she might take offense to his own state of undress, it was gone now. She whistled when he walked out in just his boxer-briefs, and he blushed, but the tension between them dissipated as she threw a pillow at him and demanded he get over himself.

It was just natural, after that, to be at ease around her in a way he couldn't be around most people; he'd always considered Sebastian to be the rare exception. They were both fairly carefree, at least when compared to the sea of suppressed prep-school boys that Blaine hated to admit he was more like than either Sebastian or Rachel would ever be. He comforted himself by reminding him it wasn't by choice, but more of a necessity to keep his father appeased and as much out of Blaine's personal business as possible. As long as Blaine made the highest marks, did anything and everything asked of him, as long as Mr. Anderson was pleased, he didn't say anything about his son's alternative lifestyle or his participation in the crude sport of boxing. It was a bit juvenile, but his father's approval mattered to Blaine, even if it never seemed to last from one semester to the next.

"What's this I hear about you turning down an invitation to the debate club?" his father snapped without even a simple hello as Blaine answered his phone Saturday morning.

"I didn't turn it down," Blaine sighed as hurried down the hall, glancing at his watch. "I just offered to be an alternate."

"Explain to me in what world 'debate team; alternate' is better than 'debate team; captain' when read on a college application," he father huffed from his end of the line. As if he was standing right in front of him, Blaine could see his disapproving grimace, the hard set of his jaw that made Blaine feel less than an inch tall.

"I wouldn't have been captain, Dad," he said weakly, knowing it was a fuitile argument.

"No, you won't be as an alternate."

"Can we talk about this later?" Blaine pleaded. "I'm already late for Sebastian's game and-."

"You're going to be later," was his brisk response, "because I've already spoken to Professor Mitchell and told him to expect you at practice as a full fledged member of the debate team. You are to apologize to him, say you had a change of heart and I expect you to be a willing participant from now on."

"How am I supposed to fit this into my schedule?" Blaine gaped as he sagged against the wall, running a hand irritably through his hair. "Dad, I know you just want what's best for me, but I'm barely keeping up as it is between all my classes and boxing and-."

"For God's sake Blaine, don't you think it's time to give up that childish sport?" Mr. Anderson growled. "A bunch of boys playing at being men because they can punch a bag of sand for an hour. It's unfit for a gentleman and I only allowed it because you needed a physical extracurricular to be considered a well-rounded applicant but three years is more than enough to satisfy any school."

Blaine could have argued that boxing taught discipline and patience, but since his hands had curled into fists during his father's tirade, he wasn't sure it would sound convincing. "I'll work it out," Blaine promised instead, shoving his shaking fist into his pocket, "somehow. I won't give up boxing."

"I don't care," his father groaned. "Just don't complain to me how you don't have time for the important things when you waste six hours of your week in the gym, and then spend your Saturdays watching your friend play a lacrosse game."

"He's my boyfriend," Blaine corrected automatically.

"It doesn't matter Blaine. Just get to debate practice. You're late enough as it is."

His father hung up, again with no goodbye or other pleasantries, leaving Blaine standing in the empty hallway, clutching the phone tightly in his hand as he fought the urge to yell or punch the wall – or both. He managed to keep himself from lashing out at the building, but as he turned to stomp angrily towards the class where the debate team met and practiced, he didn't stop the scream that escaped the depths of his gut. The sound echoed off the high rafters in the ceiling and followed him across the school. It rattled around in his head during his practice, which he begrudgingly sat through until it was dismissed, and didn't go away until he had raced down to the lacrosse field just as the fourth quarter was starting.

"Sebastian made this amazing save at the last minute," David said as Blaine sat down next to him, searching out Sebastian in the goalie net. "You should have seen it."

"Yeah," Blaine agreed sadly, "I should have."

It would probably have been a very exciting game if Blaine had the capacity to pay attention, Instead, all he could hear was David's words about how he had missed yet another thing he hadn't meant to, something important to the people he cared about, to Sebastian, to him. He wished he knew how to be there for everything and for everyone but the more he said yes to, the harder it was to say no and the less time he had for... for just anything. Even when Dalton won and the stands erupted into cheers, Blaine couldn't seem to muster up even a false enthusiasm, just marched blank-faced down to the field to wait for Sebastian.

"Nice of you to show up," Sebastian griped, rubbing a towel through his hair to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes. "At least you know we won."

"David said it was all thanks to you," Blaine said, hoping he at least sounded happy for Sebastian.

"Seeing as he was the one in the stands, he would know," Sebastian snapped, glaring at Blaine as he started unbuckling his shin guards.

"Seb, I'm sorry," Blaine offered, his voice tired and thin even to his own ears. "I even left early, okay? You can ask Rachel but then my dad called and-."

"And you had to go kiss the dean's ass some more, right?" Sebastian interjected, throwing his equipment down onto the bench, making it rattle. "No, I'm sorry, that's Tuesday isn't it? You had to join the jazz band."

"The debate club actually."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Sebastian groaned. "Blaine, you turned them down already."

"I know, but my dad-."

"I don't care about your dad!"

"What do you expect me to do Sebastian?" Blaine yelled and he didn't even care that Sebastian was glaring at him or that half of the students had turned to look in their direction. "Do you even realize how lucky you are that your parents don't care what you do in school as long as you're not getting kicked out? My dad knows all my teachers and the administrators and the department heads. Hell, he even knows the maintenance team. I don't get a break when it comes to him but I try to make time for you and I'm sorry if I screw up, okay? I can't do everything."

"So stop trying!" Sebastian screamed, stepping close to Blaine and cupping his face with both hands. "Just stop, Blaine. Just tell him no. Tell him you can't."

"You don't think I've tried?" Blaine whispered harshly.

"I don't think you try hard enough," Sebastian sighed heavily, letting his hands fall away from Blaine as he retreated back to the bench to gather his gear.

"Enough," Blaine spat, the word bitter as poison on his tongue. "It's never enough, right? No matter what I do, how hard I work, it just doesn't even matter because I'm just not good enough."

"What are you talking about?" Sebastian had gone very still, the anger in his eyes replaced with concern and somehow, that only served to make things worse.

"Nothing," Blaine muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm being stupid."

"No, answer me," Sebastian demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"Everything, okay?" he said in a strangled voice. "Nothing I do is ever enough, not for my dad, and clearly not for you."

"You've got to be high or something," Sebastian scoffed. "Are you serious right now?"

"You think I don't see it?" Blaine whispered, his heart dropping to his shoes. "I see you. Every day, every time I turn around you're there, flirting with every other guy who gives you the time of day and it kills me because I can't do that for you. I know I can't, so you have to get your fill of attention or adoration or whatever it is that I can't give you from someone else. They're always there when I can't be because I have to run off to another class or club that I couldn't give a shit about."

"It's innocent Blaine," Sebastian said softly, reaching for his hand but Blaine only pulled away.

"It's not," Blaine argued, "because one day you're going to decide you like that better and you'd rather have someone you can fuck around with all day and night because he's not trying to live up to everyone's expectations. And you can't say it won't happen," he continued in a rush as Sebastian tried to protest, "because I can see it happening, okay?"

"With who?" Sebastian asked, his eyes flashing at the accusation.

"Carter," Blaine said simply. "He's hot, Seb, and he knows it. He wants you."

"Carter is a friend," Sebastian said, emphasizing the word through his teeth. "We're on the team together and we have four of the same classes."

"I was a friend, remember?" Blaine remarked, watching Sebastian pale as he shook his head. "When we started fooling around, I was just your friend and then it just changed. Overnight almost, when you came up to me at breakfast and called me your boyfriend. It's that fast with you and what happens if one of these days when Carter touches you or bats his eyes at you like he always does, you give in and the very next day, I'm sitting by myself in the dining hall because you found something better?"

"You're making things up in your head."

"I'm not!" Blaine shouted suddenly. "If it was just him, I wouldn't care, but you flirt back! Every time I have to stomach another joke about inviting him in for a threesome, you might as well be telling me I'm not good enough for you anymore and I'm sick of it Sebastian."

"Blaine," Sebastian whispered slowly, but he didn't seem to know what to say, his head slung low as he stared at his hands. Several moments passed and Blaine couldn't take the silence. He turned on his heel and walked off the field, behind the stands, and towards the building, stopping only once to spare a look over his shoulder. Sebastian was still seated on the bench, his head down; he hadn't moved at all and to Blaine, it only meant he had been right. Sebastian wanted more, and Blaine wasn't enough to give that to him. Who would run after that?

As soon as he got back to his dorm, he wished he had gone somewhere else. Rachel was at her desk, chewing on the eraser of her pencil as she hunched over a French book and while this was perfectly normal for a Saturday afternoon, Blaine was too worked up to sit quietly on his side of the room. If he wasn't so intent on avoiding Sebastian, he would have just left, no matter how strange Rachel might have thought it would be, but he was and that left him very few choices for what he could do. He turned on his laptop, but slammed it shut without opening any of his assignments. He thought he might take a shower but only got as far as taking his shirt off before flouncing down onto his bed, his legs dangling off the edge. He sat up, crossed his ankles, lay back down-

"Would you stop?" Rachel pleaded, turning around in her chair with a half-hearted glare.

"Sorry," Blaine muttered, jumping up from his bed and crossing the room to lean against her desk, her chair swiveling around to face him. "What are you doing?"

"Exactly what you think I'm doing," she sighed, tapping her textbook, "but the real question is what are you doing?"

He shrugged, skimming through her worksheet and smiling to himself when he realized it was perfect but she wasn't paying attention to her homework at all. Instead, she focused on him with a wry grin. "That's very informative Anderson," she said shortly, hitting him in the arm with her pencil. "Really, you've painted a lovely picture for me, I can't believe I wasn't there."

"Shut up," he muttered, but found himself telling her everything about his father, the debate team, and his fight with Sebastian. She just listened, nodding every now and then as he spilled his guts and while he wouldn't say he felt like the weight had been lifted off his shoulders, she was the only person in his life who had no expectations of him. He could trust her to be on his side, he realized as she placed her hand over his, tracing small circles into his skin. "Sorry, I didn't mean to just unload like that."

"I don't understand how you haven't had a psychotic break," she said.

"Thank you," he replied through gritted teeth. "I feel much better."

"I just mean you put yourself through so much," Rachel amended with a small chuckle, her fingers trailing up his arm, "and then you take responsibility for things you can't control. Then on top of that, you have absolutely no outlet. Me, I get to sing, but what do you do? You can't box because even that's for someone else, you can't fuck your boyfriend because you just end up worrying about whether or not he's satisfied. You need to chill out."

"Why haven't I thought of that?" He moved away from her desk and headed back to his bed, surprised when her hand clasped around his wrist. He turned to face her again and with a quick yank on his arm, she pulled him down towards her, lips crashing over his. Her mouth was hard against his, insistent and purposeful as she parted his lips, her tongue dancing against his teeth. "Rachel," he gasped, as she shoved him against the edge of his bed. "What are you doing?"

"Stop talking," she demanded and with another shove, she forced him down on his back as she crawled on top of him, her legs straddling his hips. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and brought her lips back to his once more with a brief kiss before working her way down his jaw, his bare chest. "If you want my opinion," she spoke huskily against his skin, "you should go find Sebastian and make him worry about being enough for you."

"That's," Blaine gulped as she nuzzled into his stomach, "exactly what he wants me to do."

She nodded, her lips pressed against the waistband of his jeans as her fingers unsnapped the button and in one deft movement, her hand slithered into his pants and cupped him through his boxers. This seemed to snap him back into his senses as he wriggled out of her touch, though she kept him pinned at the waist. "I have a boyfriend," he said hurriedly, "as you so kindly reminded me."

"He's not here," she huffed, hooking her fingers through his belt loops, "and you have a problem."

"I'm gay."

"I'm straight and the best orgasm I've ever had came from a girl. Trust me," she grinned slyly, one hand pulling down his jeans while the other slipped into his underwear. "Close your eyes. It won't matter whose mouth is around your dick after that."

Her hand closed around him once more and his brain seemed to shut down completely as his body responded to her touch. Firm strokes, her thumb swiping over his tip as she worked him up and down until he was inexplicably hard underneath her hand and just as he was getting used to watching her, she bent over him, her tongue flat against his base as she licked her way up, her mouth closing around him when she reached the tip once more. His head fell back on the mattress at that, his eyes closed as she instructed. Her cheeks hollowed around him the further down she went, deeper and deeper until he hit the back of her throat; her tongue darted out again, his hips bucking on their own accord.

She built up a rhythm, fast and slow, shallow and deep, and a tight coil burned low in his stomach as she continued to pull him into her mouth, little whining noises escaping her as she pushed him closer and closer to the edge. He groaned as her nails dug into his thigh and he sat up to warn her that she had gone too far, that she needed to stop but she forced all of him into her at that exact moment and he fell apart, his hips jerking erraticly as he poured into her mouth. She stayed with him, her lips tight in a seal around him, drinking him in until he collapsed back onto his bed, spent.

He felt like he was spinning and it took a few moments to collect himself. She stayed on her knees, taking deep breaths as she wiped at the corners of her mouth before disappearing into the bathroom. She emerged only a minute later, her hair smooth and perfectly back in place as she dried her hands on a towel. She smiled at him and it was a strange breed of kindness and power, of knowing, as she sat back down at her desk with her back to him once more. She picked up her pencil, studying her textbook as she chewed on the eraser innocently, as if that same mouth hadn't just sucked him off, as if he wasn't watching her tongue dart out from her lips, remembering it against his skin; as if she had no idea that somewhere in his hazy brain, he wanted her to do it again.

~Ashley and Kira