Kurt didn't quite understand his client's motives. He had set only one rule: to keep every doors unlocked, whatever they were doing. Though he had given Kurt the key of the room so he could use it if he really wanted some privacy, just asking for him not to use it too often.

He had used the key, the first day, for half an hour. He had needed to center himself and true to his word, mister Smythe hadn't opened the door with a spare key or even came knocking at the door to tell him to open. Then, Kurt had come out, wearing one of his very tight pants and a nice shirt.

He went straight for the kitchen, trying to spot where the man could be, but there was no noise to help him. He went into cupboards and through the fridge, trying to gather a snack.

"You hungry? Want me to prepare something?" the guy asked from the door, startling Kurt who had been so concentrated on his task that he hadn't heard him coming.

"Oh sorry… I didn't know you were there."

"Don't apologize, I told you to do as if I wasn't even there. So. Sandwiches? Is it fine for you?"

"Uh, yes."

"What do you want in yours? I have turkey, should have a leftover of roast chicken…"

"Just… do it like yours. I mean, if you wanna eat too. Oh fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to assume. Just, don't worry; I'll eat whatever you give me, as long as it's edible."

"You're not safe on that point. My last boyfriend used to tell me some of my dishes were probably used in some countries to torture prisoners." His host said with a tiny laugh.

"Boyfriend? You mean that you weren't always that pathetic creeper that pays boys to live in your insanely huge house."

"It's a long story."

"Oh my… I'm sorry, I overstepped."

"s'fine gorgeous."

Kurt let him work in silence, trying to know by the noises what the guy could be doing the sandwiches with. But so far, except for the fact that he had toasted the bread, nothing was clear to the blind dancer.

"Here." The client said, handing him a plate. "Did you want to watch TV or… Oh no, I didn't… no TV, what was I thinking about."

"I watch TV. Well, not watch it, obviously, but you know… I used to watch Project Runway but since… yeah, just say I don't watch it anymore."

"Okay. Do you want me to switch it on? What channel do you want to watch? I was going to read in my room for a while anyway."

"Just switch it on; I'll listen to anything that's on." Kurt answered shyly.

The guy did and then made a show of going somewhere else in the house. But while he was carefully eating his sandwich, Kurt could feel that he was still in the room, watching him. He heard him sliding the zipper of his jeans and the tiny gasp of relief. The TV sound was covering those little noises, but for some reason, Kurt was only focused on the creeper that was now slowly jerking off. And fuck if that wasn't turning him on to know that the guy thought he was totally oblivious of what was happening; a few steps from him.

Kurt was feeling his own cock hardening and there was no way the guy couldn't see it bulging in his pants. He finished his sandwich and set the plate aside. He didn't know what to do, knowing he was being watched. But then, his arousal became stronger than anything else.

He started stroking himself through his pants, not holding his moans. If the guy was taking pleasure while he was just eating, he should as well use the time to get off himself too. And plus, it was his job to put on a show of it, for once at least he was going to really enjoy it.

When he unzipped his pants and took off his cock, he knew that was it, the guy was coming into his hand. But no way was he going to stop now, he was too far gone and really wanted to come too. He stroked his hard cock in slow, lazy strokes, panting.

"I'd like to blow you." The guy suddenly spoke and Kurt wasn't expecting it but managed somehow to hide his surprise a little. "Would you let me do that, gorgeous?"

"I… I don't really have a choice, do I? With what you paid Claire to have me."

"First, could you please stop reminding me that I had to pay to have you here? And second, I won't do anything to you that you don't want me to. Actually, new rules. First rule; the one rule about the doors remains. Second rule; just pretend I didn't force you into this. Third rule, pretend we're at least friends, kind of sex friends and just tell me if you don't want me to do something if I ask you and ask if you want something, okay?"

"O-kay." Kurt answered, uncertain.

"So…"

"Yes, please, blow me." Kurt cut him. "Just come here and take my big cock into your mouth."

"Wow, you…"

"Oh gosh, sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"Do you know how sexy you are, talking dirty?" the guy said suddenly right into Kurt's ear. "I will eat your brain out through your beautiful dick, gorgeous."

And then, Kurt felt a hot breathe against his sensitive cock. A tongue slowly swirled around the head.

"Oh fuuuck." Kurt cried out.

"Like that gorgeous? Like my tongue on your pretty cock?"

"Yesss."

The tongue was slowly sliding all over his cock, driving him crazy. He put a hand on the man's hair.

"Come on, stop being a tease, you bitch. Just suck it already."

"Make me." The guy said him defiantly.

So Kurt grabbed his hair more firmly and shoved his cock in the willing mouth. The guy barely chocked on it in surprise.

"s'what you want S? Me fucking your mouth. Taking it down your throat? Fuck, you feel so good. I'm gonna come right down your throat so you'll have no other choice than swallowing every last drop."

Kurt was gripping tightly his client's hair, fucking his face relentlessly. Any other time, he'd have been ashamed of his behavior and the way he was talking to the man, but it felt so good and besides, his client seemed to enjoy it.

True to his words, he finally stilled deeply in the guy's mouth and came hard, forcing him to swallow it all. Which he did, humming seemingly happily. Kurt lay back on the couch, breathing heavily and released his grip. They stayed silent for a while and then, Kurt spoke uncertainly.

"I… am so sorry. I shouldn't have… Damn, I don't know what's gotten into me…"

"I wanted it. Don't you ever dare to apologize for giving me what I asked for." The guy said, voice hoarse from having his throat fucked the past few minutes.

"I… yeah, right. I had forgotten… I'm… going to take a shower. Unless you want something else from me now."

"No… you can. Go on." The man sounded defeated. "I'll… I don't know. Yes, you can go, gorgeous."

Kurt stood up and walked to his room. Just before the door, he stopped and turned his head.

"It wasn't that bad actually. The sandwich I mean. I never had the idea of toasting the bread for sandwiches, that's pretty good even."

"The only way I found to fool my taste buds a little for not having true good baguette after coming back from France."

Kurt just nodded and went, hearing a deep sigh from his host. The whole situation felt awkward, that's what the dancer wanted to wash off, even more than the remnant of his glorious orgasm. He wished somehow he could have met that man in another life. And more than anything else, he wanted to understand him, understand what it was about him always only jerking off or getting Kurt off but never asking to be touched. That felt weird to him.

Right after his shower he took the book he had taken with him and went to the living room where the guy was, watching TV.

"So hum, France… Is that a safe subject to talk about?" he asked shyly from the door.

"There's not much to tell. My father got a job in Paris when I was a teenager. We stayed there for two years. End of story."

Kurt entered the room and went to seat beside the guy.

"End of story? Are you kidding? You spent two years in France and you don't have more than that to talk about?"

"What do you want me to tell exactly?"

"I don't know. How it is there?"

"Well, they have better bread, pastries to die for. Their cheeses stink, but if you dare to try it, it doesn't taste as bad. Most of the time. They don't celebrate Halloween nor Thanksgiving, which means, there's not really a timeline to start decorate for Christmas. Oh, and it's just so weird to watch movies or series dubbed with French voices."

"I'd love to go there one day." Kurt lets slip gloomily.

"I could take you there next time I… If you'd like I mean. Sorry, I had forgotten. So… what is that?" the guy asked, trying to hide his uneasiness, lightly touching Kurt's hand on his book, for him to know what he was talking about.

"It's a book. You know what a book is S, right?"

"Yeah, sure I know, but how do you read it?"

"With my fingers, they're my eyes now. It's in Braille, look."

Kurt opened his book and turned it to the other man.

"I don't see anything, they're blank pages."

"That's because you don't look with your right eyes." Kurt laughs and takes his hand to make him touch the page. "See?"

"Oh okay. But, how does it make sense?"

"Just like a normal book. You have to learn how to read before. Otherwise, it doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, right. I'll let you alone."

"You don't have to. You can stay, I don't mind." Kurt simply shrugged.

He felt the couch sink a little more beside him and the sound of the TV lowered a little, so he knew the guy had decided to stay. After that moment, it felt almost comfortable for Kurt to live in this house. Sure, there were still these weird moments, when the guy jerked off when he thought Kurt didn't know he was watching him. As well as those moments when Kurt was given wonderful orgasms by the hands and the mouth of the guy who was supposed to be his client and supposed to take more pleasure out of the situation than giving it.

But all in all, he could almost believe they were like friends and forget he was there because he had to, because he couldn't turn down his boss if she wasn't going to pay him for the work he had already done.