CHAPTER FOUR

I notice that something's off the minute Blaine picks me up for our date.

He's as prompt as ever when he raps on the door at 3, and I open it to see a smiling Blaine in a charcoal sweater with dark wash jeans and Italian leather loafers on his feet. I'm tempted to drag him in my apartment and have my way with him - the dark tones of his clothes only causing his skin and eyes to pop - and the smile he gives me just oozes sexy and I can barely keep my wits about me. He kisses me, softly yet not without want, and I immediately wrap my arms around him, scooting up the hem of the shirt to feel the skin on his back, though I immediately regret that when he pulls away and shakes his head.

"Someone's a little eager," he notes, eyes gleaming. Then I see it - a flash of something in his expression. But before I can catalog it in the Many Looks Of Blaine archive which I run through on a seemingly daily basis, it's gone, but whatever it is I know that something is lingering under that smoldering look I saw when he first arrived.

He's still mum on what could be bothering him, but I remind myself that I'm here to act as a distraction and to help him know how much he's cared for since he does seem so dreadfully lonely most of the time. I smile and pretend like nothing is wrong as we take his sedan to Brooklyn Bridge Park. "It's nothing fancy," he says, "but my father used to bring my brother and I here sometimes when we wanted to take a break from the Manhattan life. We used to sit for hours on the bench and watch the people stroll by or the runners jog in clusters. And besides, this view is beautiful." He almost sounds like he wishes we could be somewhere else and I realize it's probably not as a result of whatever history he has hidden with his father, but likely because he's used to wining and dining his dates at five star restaurants and adorning them with gifts, and here we are at Brooklyn Bridge Park and the most expensive food option nearby is a $3 slice of pizza just up the street. But he also isn't used to dating guys like me, guys who are satisfied with the closeness that happens when you hold hands.

"It's perfect," I say, squeezing his hand. "I've always loved it and I'm glad you brought me here."

He smiles at me, a softness to his somewhat wicked smile, the one that causes my insides to swoop. The shadows and doubts and worries are still there, but there's hope with Blaine's smile relaxing and the loose feeling in his arms as we hold hands.

He leads me along the path to the area near the pool alongside the shore, closed for the season with the cooler weather at our backs. During the summer months, it's busy in this section of the park between the pool and the Pier 4 beach but it's empty now and we continue to wander further away from the bridge's pathway into and out of Manhattan. The air is chilly in that lovely mid-autumn way and I'm glad I thought to wear a thicker scarf underneath my light jacket. I may always be equipped with a scarf but the thicker material is helpful on a chilly day like today. I lean against his warmth when a particularly gusty breeze comes from the river and Blaine slides his arm around my waist.

It's strange to be a normal couple - well, normal for a gay couple which is pretty prevalent in New York these days - just walking along the shore of the river. I mean, this is the guy who is not only used to decadence but he's also capable of fucking me against a wall in the middle of a damp dungeon with clothes in my mouth to keep me quiet. It seems so unusual to experience this level of ordinary with someone as extraordinary as Blaine. I glance at Blaine who's smile is tight and his jaw is set with tension.

"How was your week?" he asks, bringing further levels of normalcy into our date, though I appreciate our ability to just chat about life. "Did you discover any painting ingenues this week?"

I think back and remember how talking about my work, though it brought me much joy, seemed to make him uncomfortable and I don't want this to ruin our wonderfully normal (albeit sexless) date. "I don't want to talk about work," I say kindly. I want to change the direction of our conversation from this conversational chat and perhaps entice him a little to add a little bit of intrigue into our relationship and remind him of the passionate, whimsical way we existed while at his manor, even if it's not a sexual kind of passion.

"See that pier down there?" I say, gesturing to the structure at the end of the section of the park. "I'll race you to it. First one down there has to cook the other dinner. And trust me, it's something you'll want to fight for - I'm an excellent cook."

His eyes darken with the challenge. I should have known, Blaine and those damn games. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You know how I hate to lose."

"Afraid I'll win? My legs are longer than yours. You should be afraid," I joke.

Before he has the chance to respond I jet off hoping that my long legs will lead me to victory despite the sand between where we stood and the pier.

"Cheater!" he yells. Despite the fact that he's shorter than me, I can hear him gaining on me quicker than I would have liked.

Adrenaline pumps through me as I weave past an empty tent rental hut. There are maybe one or two joggers up along the paved portion of the park though they're easily a hundred feet away from us. People seem uninterested in us - typical New York City behavior - though I'm sure we have to look a little strange running in the sand like to children in the middle of autumn.

Blaine takes the other path around the rental booth and that way must've been faster since he's gaining on me even faster. I resent him a little bit for being so fast - he doesn't look like he'd be a fast runner - but I can hear him breathing behind me. Once he's close enough to reach me, he tugs at my sweater and causes me to fall back slightly, giving him another advantage as he continues to jog toward our destination.
"Who's the cheater now?" I squeal, "And this sweater is cashmere, you can't just stretch it like that!" I yell darting back toward the pier.

Blaine has a few steps on me now, but I'm not going to let him win - not this time. Thankfully the sand seems to be a bit softer in this section of the beach and Blaine's strides start to slow as sand creeps into his Italian leather loafers. I'm thankful that I wore my boots which have kept the sand out of my shoes and allowing me to stride faster without worry. As he struggles to tread against the sand, I manage to take back the few steps and even manage to gain on Blaine's earlier lead.

We're really close to the pier now and the grain in the pier is coming into focus. Blaine is on my heels and I can anticipate him reaching for me and I manage to twist my way out of his grasp, unable to pull the same stunt twice.

But I continue to underestimate him. Just as we're maybe twenty paces from the pier, he lunges, catching me around the waist. We both land in the sand, stumbling over each other with Blaine against my back and my stomach in the sand. I'm so close I might be able to manage wringing free from his grasp and reach out just enough to touch the pier. I manage to pry my arm free from under Blaine's captivity and I'm rewarded with my hand grazing the plank of the pier.

"I win!" I cheer victoriously. Despite my win, Blaine continues to keep me pinned to the ground. "You owe me dinner," I say, looking over my shoulder at him, his face placed against my shoulder blade.

"Is that so?" he breathes into my shoulder. Though I'm wearing a thicker sweater, his warmth feels good against my back.

"You lost," I remind him, "even though you tried to cheat. I won. I want to claim my prize."

"I'm the cheater? You're the one who jump started!" I laugh and he tightens his grip around my waist. "And besides, you never said I couldn't tackle you. And don't for a minute tell me that you didn't enjoy it," he says with a wicked smile.

He's right. This position, though not my favorite, only presses my ass further against his dick. Though I can't feel any excitement beneath his pants, there's only so much time before that could change. He pushes himself further up my body and his breath is now at my neck, causing me to shiver. Warmth takes over as he gently kisses the nape of my neck and breathily moans against it. I raise my hips slightly, causing my ass to graze the front of his pants, a small level of excitement coming to life.

He pulls away slightly and eases some of his weight off my body. "We should stop before things get out of hand," he resigns.

I hate to admit it, but he's right. I hardly want to be arrested for public indecency, even if I would relish in the act that would get me arrested in the first place.

"Maybe we should use that abandoned hut," I say, nodding back toward the small building we passed.

"No," he says. "We decided to wait to have sex."

I roll my eyes. "If I recall correctly, you decided we would wait to have sex. I'm perfectly fine with the idea," I say as I push Blaine off of me and push myself up off the sand. He reaches out to pull me against him - face to face this time - and I lay somewhat awkwardly with our chests touching but our lower halves nowhere near each other. I run a hand down his chest as he holds me tighter around my lower back, teasingly inching closer to my ass. Rather than continue his path downward, he brings his hand to my shoulder and uses one to cup my face. The movement causes our eyes to meet and Blaine's look so… serious.

"Trust me Kurt, it's better this way." He brushes some sand off my cheek. "I just don't want us to rush into anything before we're ready."

His statement hits me like a punch to the gut. He's not ready for this - he doesn't want to make this a thing so he's trying to pull away from me in the one way that we had clicked so perfectly before. He wants to separate us physically so he doesn't have to connect with me emotionally. He doesn't want to be "all in." I'm truly a distraction and not in a way that will keep me as a part of Blaine's life for the long term.

The thought kills me.

He's watching me closely but I can't look at him now, not after I realize that he doesn't want this to be anything substantial. He doesn't seem to realize my anguish when he leans up and kisses me softly on the cheek. "So, how about that dinner?" he questions softly.

I nod silently, not trusting me to say anything good or sane. I stand again and brush the sand off my clothes and he does the same. Once we're both free of lingering sand, he reaches out for me and pulls me close, burying his nose in my clavicle and tucking his cold nose into my neck. "Thank you," he whispers, "for being patient."

"Of course," I reply, trying to hug him tighter as if willing him to not let this go through my touch.

His grip tightens more. "Kurt…" His voice sounds so… broken. It's something Blaine has never sounded like - he sounds so resigned, so lost; something is clearly wrong and I continue to hold him as the waves from the river flit against the shore.

"I'm here," I say reassuringly. "I'm always here." You have to know how much I care, I think to myself wishing I had the guts to say it out loud.

He whispers again, breath tickling my ear. "You don't know what you do to me."

I close my eyes. "But I know what you do to me," I say, barely loud enough to hear.

I wait for him to reply but instead I'm met with silence. Yet he doesn't let me go. He's tight against my frame and shoulders seem tense as I hold them against me. It breaks my heart to know he's carrying this much worry in him - physically and emotionally - but I don't know what to do. He won't really let me in and being in the periphery is only helping so much.

We stay like that for some time before my stomach starts to rumble. I couldn't eat anything before our date - nerves - so now I'm starving.

"Come on," he says, pulling himself from me. "Let's go eat."

We turn and head back toward the entrance near the bridge where Blaine had parked. I'm an emotional wreck and hardly know how to feel after that conversation with Blaine. Rather than think about the conversation, I think about how nice the weather is and how much I love scarf season. As if to make things better, Blaine takes my hand in his and twines his fingers through mine. His grip is steady, secure, assured. Our fingers don't believe that anything is wrong and I trust the unspoken language of our bodies more than the words running around in my head.

We're nearly back to the road leading into the park when Blaine flinches and turns looking around the park. I try to follow his gaze but I don't see what he's looking at. "What is it?" I ask.

He doesn't respond just clutches my hand tighter and continues on the path toward the car. His grasp on my hand doesn't relinquish and if anything he gets tenser as we walk up the street.

It's clear that something is wrong once his car is in sight; there's a crowd of people waiting for us. And not just traditional people - reporters.

They come at us all at once like a pack of flies, recorders and small microphones in hand, cameras trailing them by a few steps.

"Mr. Anderson! Mr. Anderson!" they cry as Blaine picks up his pace, practically tugging me behind him.

"Did you know about your father's financial troubles?"

"Have you lost everything?"

"What happened to the millions of dollars promised to the Red Cross?"

"Did your father have a gambling addiction?"

Blaine keeps his stride confident, his head down and face emotionless as he nears the car and forces his way through the crowd. He's practically crushing me with the way in which he's holding my hand.

"We have to run," he whispers as he pulls me closer.

Without a second's notice, he takes off, dragging me by the hand behind him. We race past the car, past the reporters and up the street, dodging cars as we dart across side streets toward the main strip of Dumbo. It's not until we reach a bank of Citi bikes that Blaine stops, satisfied that we lost the people with the heavy equipment wearing skirts and suits that were following us. I turn back and see that we've lost most of the crowd though one lone reporter looks determined in her suit set, hiking her bag up on her shoulder as she struts down the street in her stilettos. And with our luck, the rest will follow her - just what we needed on our second date.

We're far from the car now and in Brooklyn which means flagging down a cab will be impossible. The only option are the Citi bikes or to hide away in one of the shops or restaurants nearby.

"Over here," Blaine says, pointing toward a small, quiet bar just off the main path with the entrance tucked on a brick-paved side street.

We walk inside the bar and note that it's tiny - even by New York standards. It pretty much only fits a bar, a handful of stools and small bar tables and a restroom in the back. It's a British pub style, so the decor is British complete with a British telephone booth inside. Why they decided to shove a phone booth into the tiny bar is beyond me but it's a nice nod to the UK. The man behind the bar gives us a subtle nod before turning back to the soccer match and the sole customer near the bar's flatscreen.

Just as I think we've lost the reporter, I hear the clicking of heels approaching the door. This part of Brooklyn hardly hosts "heel clackers" so I can't help but panic. My eyes go wide and I look at Blaine who quickly takes my hand and shoves both of us into the phone booth.

"Are you serious?" I say as he pushes close to me and shuts the folding door.

It's certainly not bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside, but we both manage to fit okay. Thankfully the glass doors have been covered with antiqued pages from London newspapers so someone from the outside isn't able to see in. Aside from the bathrooms, I guess that this is the best hiding place we can manage.

Though due to the limited space, Blaine and I are pushed chest-to-chest with hardly any space to move. It's not unwelcome, but the closer proximity causes my skin to buzz under the surface since every breath I inhale is laden with Blaine. "This is cozy," I murmur, practically breathing into his face.

He adjusts his face so his mouth is next to my ear, breath hot against my skin. "Indeed," he says distractedly, the words causing goosebumps. I can tell he's keeping an ear out for the reporter and soon enough, the bell on the door jingles and the heels click inside, the person's breaths coming in deep as if they'd been running.

Shit. I knew this would happen - I feared it on Blaine's behalf - and the public would only remain in the dark for so long before news of their financial ruin would be public knowledge. I had hoped the Anderson name would stay out of the tabloids, but people love a good scandal and salivate over the ruin of others - especially the privileged.

The worst part is that there's nothing I can do for him. Things are going to get worse before they get better and Blaine's already so deep in turmoil that I'm afraid this could be the final nail in the coffin. I want to be there for him, but there's nothing I can really do to help.

"Ignore her," I whisper, shifting slightly so my hand rubs against his. It's a small soothing motion but it's the best I can muster. We can just hide here until she catches her breath and leaves. She can't know we're in here. We could be anywhere."

I can't really see his face since turning our heads would cause our noses to crush against each other. Instead, the only way I know that he's heard what I have to say is the slight murmur that escapes his lips as he leans closer and places his head on my shoulder.

"It could be a while. She knows we're nearby and she might just hang here until she gets another tip. There have to be other reporters nearby, they know we can't have gone far," he sighs. He chuckles lightly, humorlessly. "You could be stuck with me like this for hours."

I feel the vibrations in my chest and my cock twitches with interest. Damn his proximity and his smell and the way he's pressed against me. It's not like I want anything to happen while we're in here; the booth is barely bigger than a shower and-

Bad idea. Do not think of Blaine in a shower. That can't end well. Especially not with this sexless dating bullshit Blaine is so fond of.

I can't help but bring my arms up his, to lightly rub his shoulders. He's tense - rightly so - and I begin to move my hands in circles hoping to soothe some of his stress through touch. Eventually he starts to relax and he huffs out a breath against my neck. "Kurt…" he says softly and without protest. He shifts slightly, slotting himself against me so our one of his legs is between both of mine, and tightens his grip on me. The way we're aligned now has us pressed closer than ever and I can't help but shift my hands from his shoulder down to his lower back, still rubbing circles but pulling the hem of his sweater away from his pants.

"Kurt," he says somewhat harshly.

"What?," I ask innocently as my hand creeps along his back, tucked between the sweater and his skin.

"Stop teasing me."

Again, I'm content to be the distraction as I pull focus from the woman in the bar to me annoying him. I'll take it. "Are you not tempted at all?" I whisper, thankful that our proximity doesn't allow for him to move away from my touch.

He sucks in a breath and pulls me tighter at the waist. "Temptation has nothing to do with it."

"No?" I say, slipping my hands beneath his sweater again, lightly dragging my trimmed nails against his back. I can feel him shudder against me.

"I know what you're doing," he accuses lowly. "We've played this game before to see who would break first. If I remember correctly, you lost then too."

"That's up for debate," I say, turning my head slightly to nip at his earlobe. His body tenses - I know I've found one of his "spots" - and I can finally feel the slight sense of arousal in his pants as his bulge grows.

"Yeah, hey Pete, it's Hannah," a woman says from right outside the booth. I continue to nibble on Blaine's ear, though I can tell he heard her too. "No, I don't know where they went but it can't be far. I'm stationed in this bar I thought they went into. I'll just station myself here until they come out. They'll have to at some point," she says and I hear a stool scrape along the concrete floor. "For the meantime, I'm going to follow up on a few leads from here and try to wait it out, but keep me posted if you see them head back to the car, okay?" Our ears are met with silence, presumably she's listening to this 'Pete' on the other line. "No, you and I aren't abandoning the post until we get the first interview. I have to get that interview," 'Hannah' says and I curse her drive to succeed. If she's stationed outside of this phone booth, we could be stuck here awhile.

The stool scrapes again and I can sense Blaine getting stiffer in his shoulders despite the fact that I'm still nibbling on his ear and breathing into it just the way I've come to know that he loves. I rub his back smoothly as I keep nibbling on his ear and though his posture remains harsh and cautious, I can feel the rumble of a moan as our chests press against each other. He grips me harder, somewhere between a wanton grab and a comforting hug, but I sigh with relief when he tucks his nose next to my ear and breathes deeply against my neck.

"You're not really helping me any, Kurt," he whispers softly yet deeply. "You may be trying to calm me down but you're only making me more excited." He shifts himself so our slotted legs move to the side and his hard cock rubs against my leg.

I whimper as quietly as possible and my breaths come out quicker against the skin of his neck. I hear the stool outside of the phone booth scrape again before I hear the sound of squeaking getting closer. There's a quiet murmured conversation right outside our hiding place but I can't process what they're saying since the blood from my head is rushing to my other head and Blaine's deep, breathy moans are distracting me more and more.

Part of me is amused by this entire situation. Who knew that today would be the day Blaine would want to have a "normal" and sexless date and yet we end up playing a game of cat-and-mouse with a flock of reporters. And aside from that, we certainly didn't expect to be trapped in a retrofitted phone booth in a British-style pub while frotting against each other while some overachieving reporter is on the other side of the very thin barrier. He claps a hand over my mouth, then leans in and whispers so quietly in my ear that I can barely hear him.

"So you think this is funny, do you? Think this is a game?"

It's a little funny, but right now it's just hot. It seems like Blaine's resolve is crumbling slightly as my cock continues to harden and he eventually starts to respond with the motion of his hips when I moan softly in his ear as his motions continue. With Blaine's cock next to mine and his chest thumping against my own - the last thing I'm thinking of is the woman on the other side of the door.

"If you want to make this a game, you forget who you're playing against. And I don't lose," he says softly as he sucks in the slightest bit on the skin on my neck, immediately causing goosebumps to form up and down my body. He drags his teeth across my skin and I try to contain the moan I can feel resonating inside of me. I move my arms up around his shoulders and tuck my fingers into his curly yet tamed hair, scratching his scalp as his teeth do the same against my neck and his mouth moves toward my ear. We're both trying to be quiet, but if it weren't for the ambient noise outside the pub surely she would hear us. Thank god for that game on the TV to buffer the noise.

"You like that?" he breathes. "You like being in here with me like this while that woman is right outside the door?"

Just as things start to get interesting, I hear something clack against the side of the booth as the door slightly pushes open. It doesn't deter us from our mission to rub against each other in this tiny booth and we continue to push against each other with Blaine taking the lead and me just taking in every wicked movement of his hips against mine.

Fuck this sexless shit, I'm over it and it seems like Blaine is too. If it was possible I would let him fuck me right now in this booth.

It's obvious that Blaine's abandoned his sexless existence as he grips my hips tighter and moves one hand to the front of my pants where my dick is likely, comically tenting my pants. His mouth is burning a trail of fire from my ear to the place where he's refocused in sucking on my neck. Rather than shove his hands beneath the waistband, he grasps my cock firmly and rubs the palm of his hand against my cock and the friction is perfect. Wickedly perfect.

"I'm not going to give it to you," he whispers. "I'm not going to have sex with you. I'm going to bring you right to the edge and leave you there, and then maybe you'll understand how serious I am."

So maybe he is going to continue with this sexless thing but in the most frustrating way possible. Asshole. And what's worse is that I know that he's telling the truth. He has infuriatingly consistent restraint and seems unaffected when I attempt to taunt him with my body. I wish that my own would get its shit together so he couldn't practically own me with how much I want him.

The woman - 'Hannah' - moves outside of our booth and we both still. We can hear her clacking heels hit the concrete but we both calm when we realize that she's just shifted the chair slightly and probably resituated herself on the stool.

The moment the panic has passed, Blaine resumes his movements against me and our dicks rub against each other again, causing me to almost groan out loud but I'm able to clamp down on my mouth before any sound emits in the air. And this time, he's even picked up the pace.

And this new development has me worried. Up until this point we've already had a hard enough time keeping it quiet - especially with Hannah right outside the door - but he's making it harder (no pun intended) for the silence to remain. Though there's white noise due to the TV, there's going to be a point where we're going to make noise; I can only restrain myself so much. But Blaine seems unphased. Doesn't he care that he's practically turning me into a moaning whore and it could go badly oh-so-quickly? As if to warn him, I tug on his hair slightly to pull him away but that only seems to increase his efforts.

With the pressure that he moves at to up the speed and the aching want in my limbs, I lose the ability to control them. I hit the side of the booth with a resounding "whap" and the door opens even further.

We both freeze. There's no way she didn't hear us this time. I can tell my eyes are wide with shock and I'm sure Blaine's equally shocked next to me since he's practically stopped moving altogether. I can only tell that he's breathing because his breaths are harsh and deep against my neck.

The stool moves again and to my horror, I see a french manicured hand begin to pull open the door.

Fuck.

The door opens all the way and Hannah's face moves from curious to an expression that mimics a cat who got the cream. But before she can bend down to grab something from her bag, Blaine moves forward and shoves her against the stool, causing her to fall over in her three inch heels.

I can barely process what just happened before Blaine grabs my hand and pulls me from the booth. We quickly run out the door and don't look back and head back toward the car. The car that her partner is likely at.

"But Blaine, the guy she's with…" I start but Blaine cuts me off.

"We can't get a cab and we can drive faster than someone can walk," he says, powering forward toward the car. It's only a block or so away, but we make it there in what feels like seconds; thriving off the adrenaline of Hannah discovering us and motivated by the brief break for freedom.

Thankfully when we arrive at the car it seems like the trail of reporters is no longer there or have moved to other locations to try to seek out Blaine. I'm thankful that the rest of the crews following us weren't as gung-ho as our 'friend' Hannah, but it allows for Blaine and I to quickly get into his sedan and drive away - quickly and barely legally following the traffic signs.

As I gather my bearings now that we're seated and in motion and I can't stop shaking. I can't tell if it's from the close encounter with the reporter or what had happened in the booth. I look over at Blaine and the harsh barrier is back. His jaw is set and he's staring straight ahead determinedly and I can tell he's going through a million things in his head. That was truly terrifying but for him it has additional implications; it means people know his secrets.

And I can't even imagine how much things are about to change for him.

The worst part is that I sense, with some certainty, that it will change things between us, too, and I don't know how to stop it.