CHAPTER 11

The next morning, Blaine tells me that he wants to go back to his place to grab a few things. When he'd come over the night of my drunken escapades, he hadn't intended on staying that long. Thankfully he can squeeze into some of my clothes, but even I have to admit he looks sort of ridiculous in some of my things. Blaine is not a man that can pull off a razor blade pattern.

"Come with me," he insists. "We can get food or something?"

The question comes out hesitantly and I get why. He's nervous. He's exposed himself in ways he probably hadn't intended and he's worried that leaving will somehow break the spell or set things back to where they were before we connected. I also worry that as soon as he leaves, the happy Blaine I've come to know in the past few hours will disappear and worried, sulky Blaine will take his place.

I agree to go with him, but realize it might have been all for naught when Blaine stiffens upon arriving at the subway station near his house. He grabs my hand firmly as we approach his walkup but the gesture is possessive and protective rather than affectionate.

We're just about at his door when the person lurking outside turns around and has a giant camera around his neck. He rushes forward as soon as he realizes Blaine has returned home.

"Mr. Anderson!" he says, running toward us snapping pictures all the while. The pictures can't be very good considering that he's running while taking photos, but it won't matter; there's a second photographer right behind him.

"Blaine! A few questions!" the other photographer says, yelling from a distance with his camera steady as Blaine stops in the middle of the sidewalk; face stony and controlled.

"Can you comment on the allegations against your father?" the first photographer asks.

"How much did you know about your family's activities?"

Blaine remains still and his grip remains tight on my hand. I see his eyes shifting back and forth, up and down the street. He doesn't say anything nor does he move.

But his stillness seems to have brought something to the attention of the photographers; they notice that there's a second person with Blaine. Me.

Gulp.

"Who are you? How did you meet Blaine?" the first photographer asks, lens practically in my face. I bring my hand up to my face, shielding myself from the photographer's flash.

"Are you two dating?"

"What do you think of his father's legacy?"

"Did he hide his family's situation from you?"

The questions come at me like rapid fire bullets and I can't do anything aside from hiding from the flash and avoiding their questions.

"Let's go," Blaine says harshly, tugging my arm and taking us back toward the subway station. "Leave him the hell alone," he says over his shoulder, practically running down the block. I can hear footsteps behind us as Blaine makes a sharp turn into an alley alongside a cupcake shop. We stop behind a dumpster - effectively hiding ourselves from view - as Blaine pulls out his phone and starts tapping things.

"They're going to keep looking for us," he says, poking furiously on the screen of his iPhone. "I've requested an Uber; it should be here in 2 minutes."

I nod, not sure what else to do. The photographers don't seem to find our hiding spot, but I see two other photographers running past - neither of which were the two outside his door. That means there's more and they're hungry for a cover story. Great.

A black car pulls up and Blaine practically thrusts me forward, pushing me into the door as I scrabble for the handle. Within seconds Blaine and I are in the car and Blaine insists that the driver put a step on it.

I scrunch down in the backseat, looking leerily out the window, as Blaine looks out the back window for any reporters who may have found us. He sighs deeply and faces forward after a couple of minutes.

"I don't think they saw us."

I sigh. "Where are we going?" I ask.

"Away."

The worried Blaine from before is back but with a new level of panic in his eyes. He's thumping his fingers against the door nervously, his other hand holding firm on his iPhone. I relinquish his hold on his iPhone as I settle my fingers between his.

There's nothing I can do now that they've found him. Blaine kept a fairly low profile after moving out of his family's residence, but given that rental agreements and paper trails follow him everywhere, I'm sure he knew that eventually they'd catch up to him. Personally, I had hoped we'd get at least a little time before the vultures would set in.

The cab moseys its way up Bowery to Park Avenue - Blaine and I remaining silent in the backseat. We head uptown, further and further away from his new apartment and back to the bustling city due north of our current location.

"Can you please head to Park and 72nd?" Blaine asks the driver, cutting our silence.

I sit for a moment before I realize something. "We're headed back to your old place."

He doesn't say anything; he doesn't have to.

I'm not sure that going to his old home is the best idea given his current state, but I can't think of a better alternative. Besides, no argument of mine will stop him.

"Let's keep playing our game," he says, truly acknowledging me for the first time since we got into the car. "It's your turn to ask me."

"Are you sure?" I ask, taking in his posture and nervous energy.

"Ask me," he insists.

I sigh. "All right, then. Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

I sit up in the seat, straightening my shirt as I move. Outside the buildings seem to blur together in tones of gray as the few trees on street corners give a shock of orange and red with the fall colors as we pass.

I recognize that we're now near Times Square, though a few blocks over, as the buildings get bigger and the crowds of pedestrians get thicker and thicker.

"Stop the car please," I ask the driver, who seems confused and looks to Blaine for confirmation. Blaine looks just as confused, but nods to acquiesce to my request. Blaine thanks the driver as we exit the car and I take Blaine's hand down the avenue toward the tourist district.

As we cross over to 6th Avenue, I turn to Blaine and gesture down the street; the bright lights of Times Square visible in the distance. "I dare you to stop in one of the tourist shops on this street and buy the most outrageous thing you can find."

His brows wrinkle with confusion. New Yorkers never frequent those kinds of shops, so I'm sure he was surprised that I - Kurt Hummel, person who refuses to wear polyester blends - would come up with a dare like that. After a minute, he starts to smile and takes my hand as we walk down the street.

The street is lined with shops that herald "New York City's finest gifts!" Any of these shops heavily feature the I Heart NY theme, Empire State building-shaped things and imagining Blaine wearing an NYPD cap makes me laugh on the inside.

But Blaine walks past a host of these shops and finds one that seems to be located in a basement of a video store. The name on the marquee makes me nervous: ADULT MEGA STORE.

There's only one type of thing you'll find here. Oh god.

There are signs in the window that advertise the products inside; Videos! Toys! Clubwear! Lingerie! Couples welcome!

This is not what I was expecting.

"Really? This?" I ask.

He shrugs, smug grin on his face. "You were the one who dared me. Plus, look, we're welcome here," he says, gesturing toward the Couples welcome! portion of the sign. Normally this would make my heart flutter, but instead it makes me really nervous about what he has up his sleeve.

"I didn't mean a place like… this," I say, disgust in my tone. I do not want to go into this store, let alone be seen going into this store with my boy- with Blaine. "I didn't know this was here and I certainly don't want to go inside. I bet you could contract hepatitis if you go in there."

He chuckles and smiles - the first genuine one since we left my apartment. "Well now we're definitely going in," he says, pulling my hand and dragging me down the stairs.

"I hate you."

He laughs again. "I'm only fulfilling the dare you gave me. I'm not even twisting your words this time."

"So you admit you cheated before?"

He doesn't answer but his grin says it all. "Come on, let's go."

I try to pull us to a stop and Blaine turns back to look at me from the step below where I'm standing. "You don't have to come in, but you probably won't like what I buy. What if I get a giant inflatable penis? We'd have to hail a cab with that. Or walk. Your choice."

I groan. That asshole. He knows that I hate being embarrassed and this is a sure way to guarantee that. "Fine," I say, "but let's make it quick." I slump down the stairs and Blaine holds the door open for me. "Oh hell no, you're going in first."

He walks in before me as I slowly slink in behind him. This store can hardly be called a Mega Store; my entire apartment is probably bigger than this place. We've walked into the merchandise room as signs point to the back area for additional rooms - probably for video viewing or, god forbid, some sort of live show. Probably with naked girls. Gross.

We seem to be the only people in here aside from the shop attendant who's reading some sort of book behind the glass counter. He looks like the type of guy who works in a sex store - sort of slimy with a sexual pun on his t-shirt and a leather police hat covering his probably greasy hair.

Before I can fully analyze his appearance, Blaine saddles up next to me with a variety of products in his hands. "What'll it be? Nipple clamps? Edible body paint? A vibrator?"

"It's your choice," I remind him, not wanting to look at the potential merchandise. "I'm just here to make sure you don't go too far and try to get a giant dick or something."

He chuckles and seems back to the Blaine I first met; playful and obscenely sexual. Sure, he's not the sweet Blaine that I know is in there, but it's a Blaine that's happier at least.

He juggles the products for a moment, taunting me with his potential purchases, before he finds something that catches his eye - causing him to abandon the products on the nearest shelf. He grabs a hold of my waist and leads me past an assortment of vibrators - some of which move when we walk past and immediately make me cringe - before heading toward the back to the sexy games and toys. It looks like it's intended for Bachelorette (or Bachelor) parties, but clearly given Blaine's playful nature I shouldn't be surprised.

"What do you say?" he asks, stopping in front of a game, rubbing his thumb along my waist. "Want to do a little experimenting?"

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" I question, looking uncertain at the sexy dice that he could want to use. One of the positions on it looks damn near impossible - or, at the very least, painful. "Some of this stuff doesn't seem very sexy or very much like a game."

"What? You're intimidated by a game involving sex?" he asks incredulously. "I never thought I would see Kurt Hummel crumble when it came to a game about sex?"

I laugh internally, remembering a time when I practically turned into a tomato at the thought of sex, and answer his query. "I'm not even sure what you're suggesting. Besides, I want to know what the terms are before I agree to anything. I know how you are." I poke his chest with emphasis and he chuckles.

"You trust me so little?"

I laugh. Sure, I trust Blaine. I also trust that this game will go from clean to perverted in about 5 seconds if he has free reign.

"Anyway, I believe it's your turn anyway. Truth or dare?"

"You haven't fulfilled your dare yet!" I cry.

"I was thinking we can overlap them a little bit, considering we're on a special field trip and all. We can get you something to commemorate this lovely shopping trip. Besides, I know you love shopping."

I groan. "I certainly didn't mean that I liked shopping here."

"What if I got you something like this?" he says, holding up a joke pair of underwear made completely of candy.

I roll my eyes. "We're here for you, not me. Just buy something already. I'm pretty sure someone is going to come out of that back room at some point and I would rather not see people who just got off in a divey back room theater."

He grins. "You never said I couldn't buy something for you, you know. You didn't say who the intended recipient would be."

He turns on a dime and I can't help but be a little stunned. Surely he doesn't want me to actually wear something from here. Eww. Sure, I know how to rock almost any look, but I draw a limit at disgusting sequins-laden jockstraps. Just. No.

"This seems pretty outrageous," Blaine says, pulling a faux leather cod piece get up from the wall. It features fake leather briefs with a bedazzled cod piece with optional loops to fit with some sort of leather harness.

No. "There's no way in hell I will wear that."

"Are you willing to play for it?"

"Play?"

He heads back toward the games, the gross leather get-up still in his hand. I follow him and we end up in front of an adult version of Pin the Tail on the Donkey which involves putting giant cocks on a male pin up, aptly named Hang the Cock on the Hunk.

"What do you say?" The wicked tone in his voice is back and I shiver in anticipation.

"Why would I agree to this? There's nothing in it for me."

"But if you play and win, you can always demand something of me. It's only fair."

Right. Like Blaine plays fair with this crap. "Fine," I agree. Might as well go for it. "If I win, then you have to wear that thing."

His eyes widen in response, but soon his devilish grin is back. "Very well; it's a deal."

He strides over to the counter to pay for the game and the leather underwear. The cashier barely manages to look up from his book to scan the item and accept Blaine's credit card.

"Do you have a bathroom?" Blaine asks.
The man gestures toward the back, thankfully on the opposite side of the store from the back room. Blaine takes my hand and pulls me back to the bathroom - all the while wondering how much Purell I'll have to bathe in after this experience.

Blaine chuckles when he reads the "NO SEX" sign on the bathroom and opens the door for both of us to enter. If the condition of the bathroom and the empty condom wrapper on the floor is any indication, the sign has been ignored a time or two.

"Don't touch the walls," I say. I'm sure my face is giving away how disgusted I am with this whole situation.

Blaine takes the

He rips open the package for our newly-purchased game and pulls out a large, glossy poster of a very tan, very ripped, very naked man. The model is missing his important parts, of course, but it's still a lot to take in.

He gives me a nudge with his elbow and then gets to work peeling the tabs off of the adhesive strips on the back. When he's done, he sticks it up on the nearest wall. Meanwhile, I pull the paper "cocks" out of the bag.

"Impressive," I say, looking pointedly at the pile of penises we have to play with. "What are we going to use as a blindfold?"

He thinks for a moment then looks at the shirt I'm wearing.

I look down and cross my arms over my chest. "I'm not stripping down in this bathroom. Nor am I allowing you to ruin my shirt." Sure, it's second hand name brand but that doesn't mean I want it to accidentally fall on the floor and get these gross germs on it.

"I'm wearing a shirt and that won't work as well. Besides, you'll have to strip once you lose since I'll want to see you in that as soon as I take you down."

"Who says I'm going to lose?" I ask. "You're awfully cocky about your skills here."

Blaine just looks at me expectantly until I give up and relinquish my shirt. He'll be paying for a new one if this gets messed up.

"You first," he says, taking the shirt from my hand. "And turn around." I turn and he secures the shirt around my eyes and he hands me a paper penis. "At my mercy again," he says, throaty voice at my neck and I practically whimper with the contact. "Maybe we should forget this game and finish what we started earlier."

"Here? It's filthy!"

"All the more reason to do filthy, filthy things. Together." I know he's teasing me, but with his tone of voice and the fact that it's been an interesting morning, it actually sounds a little appealing.

"Want me to take you right here? Up against the wall?"

My blood rushes to my ears and cock simultaneously. His hands are rough and insistent on my hips and I can feel his desperation with his cock nudging at my ass. I can tell he's aroused and I'm once again thankful for the game and my apparent sexual currency; he's distracted and happy and Blaine again. But more than anything, he's the same Blaine who knew how to fuck my brains out as if it was his job.

"Blaine…"

"Yes?" he slips his hands down my front, clasping firmly on my hard cock. "You want this, don't you?"

In spite of my better sense, I do. I'm just as weak as him. Weaker, even, because I know this is all an illusion. But I need this, too. I need to go on pretending that there's nothing wrong.

Blaine is kissing my neck. I quiver when his tongue flicks against the place where my neck meets my shoulder.

"It's so easy," he murmurs. "It doesn't matter where we are or what we're doing… one word, one touch, and you're mine for the taking."

He's right. It kills me because Kurt Hummel wants to be his own man, but I can't help it. I want it. I want him.

"Do you want me to fuck you here?" he says. "Tell me."

My voice is hardly more than a whisper. "Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you to fuck me. Here."

He bites down on my neck. I whimper, and he gives a throaty chuckle before releasing me.

"We really should finish this game first, though. I don't want to waste our new purchases."

And just like that, his heat is off my back and I'm left wanting. And blindfolded. Again. I don't like this trend.

I'm sure some of this is part of his strategy to get me worked up - sadly, it worked - but I just need to refocus and concentrate on winning and not wearing fake leather.

"I'm going to spin you," he warns me, hand on my waist but not in the same proximity that he was before.

He twirls me about three times. When he releases me, I lean against him a little to gain my balance. I'm still a little hard from his little ploy, so I'm a little extra unsteady on my feet between that and the spinning.

"I swear, I better be facing the right direction. If I touch this wall, you're a dead man." I still feel shaky and disoriented and I'm a little worried about my chances in this game.

"You're going the right way," he assures me. "Now, just move forward and put the cock on."

I take a deep breath and move forward blindly. I don't want to walk with my hands forward, but I can't help it. I'd rather know how far away I am from the wall than accidentally end up hitting it with my face. I manage to come into contact with the wall rather quickly but manage to stick the paper dick to the poster without issue.

I pull the blindfold off to see how well I did. I managed to place the paper penis only two or so inches away from its intended placement.

I spin and face Blaine. "Top that."

I attempt to turn Blaine around to blindfold him, but he keeps making it difficult; spinning around, keeping his hands around my waist and trying to feel me up while I'm tying the knot. I think of doing exactly what he did to me earlier but decide I'm not sure if it would compromise him more than me.

When the shirt is secure around his eyes, I spin him a few times and debate whether or not to turn him in the wrong direction to increase my chances. Blaine shuffles forward slowly, hands blindly reaching out toward the wall. His hand started at a little high, but he seems to lower it as he approaches the wall. I can't see how he did since he's blocking my vision of the wall but I get a sinking feeling in my stomach as he steps away. His paper cock is practically right on top of mine - but about half an inch closer to the target.

Fuck.

I swear, he knows that he's won even before he has removed his blindfold. When he turns toward me, he looks so smug that I have to restrain myself before punching him.

"Well," he says, removing the faux leather underwear from the plastic, "it looks like you have a costume change on your hands."

I think Blaine picked the most uncomfortable piece of underwear in the entire place. It has a thong-based construction and the cod piece on the front is hard and uncomfortable against my skin. And don't even get me started on the fact that the fake leather is not doing things for the breathability of the fabric.

The worst part is that this was supposed to be Blaine's dare - so how did I end up in leather underwear?

He's grinning like an idiot as he watches me, holding my clothes as I adjust the underwear to try to fit my cock in more comfortably. "I seriously hope this isn't getting you off. I look like Madonna's back up dancers had a wardrobe malfunction on my junk."

"It works for you."

I roll my eyes. I feel ridiculous and I know I look like a total fool.

"Turn around," he says.

"What, want me to dance for you too?"

"Yes," he says darkly.

I stick out my tongue at him, but I turn around. I've owned some really hot underwear - all of the cotton variety, though - but nothing that would require modeling like this. Being on display under Blaine's appraising eyes is rather boosting for the ego though; I can tell he's loving it. I wiggle my ass enticingly and he makes an appreciative grumble in his throat.

"I dare you to wear that for the rest of the day."

I glance at him over my shoulder, coy look on my face. "I never said I wanted a dare."

"Come on," he says, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around me. He tugs at one of the straps stretching across my ass. "Do it for me." He tilts his head and slides his tongue along the skin just below my ear. How can I resist that?

"Fine," I say, "but then it's your turn again." I feel like I've had about three turns in a row.

"Agreed."

I reach down and grab my shirt. I'm about to pull it over my head when Blaine asks, "What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed."

"I'm afraid you've misunderstood me."

I turn and look up at him. I don't like where this is going.

Blaine hooks his thumbs through the straps across my hips. "You are to wear this, and only this."

"How do you expect me to get back to the car?"

"On two legs, as you usually would."

Oh, no. No no no no no. "There's a man out there, unless you've forgotten. Not to mention all of New York City!"

Blaine's eyes gleam devilishly. "Don't worry. I'm sure he's seen far stranger things in this place."

I should argue, but I don't. Maybe it's because I want to maintain this illusion of carefree bubble we've built around ourselves.

"Okay," I tell him. "But let's go now before I lose my nerve. And at least let me wear my coat - it's freezing outside."

"You? Lose your nerve? Never." But he helps me gather the rest of my clothes aside from my knee length winter coat I had on earlier. Thank god I didn't wear one of my cropped coats - people would be seeing a little too much of me.

"Want to take the game?" I ask, indicating the poster on the wall.

Blaine shakes his head. "Let's leave it for the next lucky guy who wanders in here."

With that, he opens the door and walks back into the store.

Thankfully, no one else has come into the store but that doesn't mean I'm still not slightly embarrassed that I'm wearing nothing but a coat and fake leather underwear. I move to button up my coat, but Blaine stops me, wrapping his hand around my waist and teasing the hard cup on the cod piece. "No, no. Don't button this up until we walk back outside. It's not cold in here."

I nod discreetly and hope that the shop attendant - still engrossed in his book - doesn't look up.

"Have a good day, sir," Blaine says as we reach the door, Blaine's hand pushing back the coat to wrap his arm fully around my waist.

The cashier looks up - and his eyes bug out.

Great, just great. I'm going to kill Blaine.

I tilt my head back and hold my chin up - just like a proud Hummel would - and try as best as I can to strut out of the place with as much dignity as I can muster.

As we go up the stairs and re-emerge on the street, I button my coat and shiver as I try to fend off the biting cold. I'm glad I could at least wear my coat - not only does it protect me against the weather, but I'm sure I would've been arrested for trying to prostitute myself on the street. Times Square might be more family friendly these days but that doesn't mean it's cleared of its nefarious deeds all the time.

"That was some show," Blaine says, huddling in with me.

"I thought I might as well have fun with it and own the outfit."

He laughs. "I'm sure Anna Wintour would approve."

I roll my eyes. He knows that she would do no such thing. He holds himself firmly against me and nuzzles against my neck. The proximity sends a thrill through me. "You're enjoying this way too much," I suggest. "You can't even see what I'm wearing under this coat."

He hums in agreement. "That's true, but I know what you're wearing - or rather, what you're not wearing - under that coat. And I know that it's all for me." He presses a soft kiss to my neck and try half-heartedly to maintain my composure. He leans forward and sucks on my neck and presses himself against me more firmly. The motion manages to shift aside his coat and mine and I can feel his clothed erection against my chilled leg.

"Not now," I say, leaning back against the sidewalk rail. "Anyone can see."

"I don't see how that's a problem," he says, sucking harder and bringing his hands up the back of my coat to grab my ass. "Do you think I can get you off right here?"

I have no doubt that he could.

One hand slips forward and pulls aside the front of the thong while the other hand lingers playfully at the crack of my ass. I lean back and moan - I can't help it - as Blaine continues to tease. "Still eager, I see," he says, leaning in and nipping at the skin of my neck, working his way across my collarbone and eagerly fumbling with the buttons of my coat.

It shouldn't excite me, but it does.

"People are going to think I'm a hooker," I manage to say as Blaine moves the flaps of my coat to either side of his body, concealing my fake leather get up but rubbing against me in an overtly sexual manner.

He's tugging at the loops as he forces me down the stairs, probably to conceal me from the traffic walking past. It's not an overly busy street at the moment, but that could change in an instant. I can tell that he's not only incredibly aroused, but he has this sense of maddened hunger about him - one that I haven't really seen before. His eyes - though dark - also look a little...scared. Scared?

I wonder if he has the same worries as me; worry that whatever we have between us will diminish the moment Blaine's reality comes crashing down. We dodged the reporters at his house, but his privacy won't be protected for long - and then what?

I ache for him. I want him so badly - all of him, but I'm terrified. The look in his eyes and the pent up emotion lying behind them is enough to put me on edge. But what's even more terrifying is how I feel around him, how I act around him. I'm used to forging my own path and being my own man, but Blaine makes me not want to do that. The overwhelming want to be with him could consume everything.

Blaine grabs my thigh, lifting my leg as he shifts the underwear aside - persistent finger still at my ass. But I place my hand on his chest. This isn't right.

"Stop. Blaine, please stop."

He freezes. His body shakes with his restraint.

"No one will see," he says, calmly and quietly, barely at a whisper. The thick desire he felt isn't evident in his voice; it's almost as if he's proceeding with caution.

I shake my head. I don't want to explain myself - not here at least. "I just don't want to do this here. Please."

Hurt floods his eyes, but he nods and releases me. I know Blaine respects me and would never force me to do something I want - push the boundaries, yes, but never force - yet his reaction is a little unsettling.

"Wait," I say, grabbing the collar of his shirt, forcing us face to face. I lean in and kiss him softly and with as much hope and promise as I can muster. When we break apart, I can see that he's a little confused and in turmoil - his lust persisting but the pain of my 'spurning' him evident as well.

"Come on," he says, adjusting my coat and redoing the buttons all the way to my throat, "let's keep going." Rather than hail another cab, we walk along the street. Blaine's family home is in the Upper East Side - maybe 30 blocks from here - but Blaine seems content to walk. My legs are a bit cold, but I can't complain too much when Blaine has me tucked against him and his arm around my shoulders.

At an intersection, Blaine nuzzles himself at my back with his chin tucked over my shoulder. I welcome the warmth and the way in which Blaine is unafraid in being 'us.' But a harsh gust of wind causes my jacket to flip up and one of the flaps to reveal the fact that I'm only wearing underwear beneath.

I move quickly to cover myself, but not before a beefy man standing next to us manages to get a peek. I look over and see his eyes practically bugging out of his head. I don't want to call attention to myself, so I sheepishly look down to cover myself.

Blaine chuckles against my ear - of course he saw everything - and whispers, "Even that man can appreciate how incredible you look."

My wardrobe malfunction seems to have cracked the silence and we continue up the street. Blaine is once again stationed at my side, but this time his hand wrapped around my waist. At the next intersection, we manage to get stopped again and the man from before looks expectantly at me as we come to a stop.

Blaine laughs again, this time harder than before, and before long I can't help but join him. I cross my arms across my chest. "You think this is funny."

He's laughing so hard he can't even answer and we manage to miss the first few moments allowing the pedestrians to cross the street.

I wish I could be mad, but there's something incredibly funny and equally freeing about this. It's not exactly the way I had hoped to spend my day, but there's something wonderful about seeing that sweet and happy Blaine back in my life - even if it's at my expense.

"I hope you're happy," I grumble playfully, "If we'd been in Times Square, a million people would've seen me practically naked."

He grins as we near 59th Street and Park. "Don't tell me you're not enjoying this. It's a little fun."

If I'm being honest, then yes - I'm enjoying myself and enjoying being with him. But he doesn't need to know that.

"It's your turn again," I say. "Truth or dare."

He smiles. "Truth."

Damn. I had hoped to make him do something ridiculous as payback for my cheeky near-Full Monty situation a few corners back.

"Afraid of a little revenge?" I joke.

"Choosing 'truth' isn't a cop-out," he replies. "Not if you play it right."

He's right. I can think of ways to make this game as fun and exciting and sexual as he has. We walk quietly across the street, only a handful of blocks from his former residence. I turn to look at him and am happy to see his calm profile highlighted perfectly with the sun overhead, bringing out slight tones of lighter brown intermixed with his dark-hued locks.

I can hardly believe in this moment that he's mine. And we're together.

Initially I wanted to think of a question to make him squirm, but I realize that I really want to just know more about him; about his heart.

"All those guys you dated, the actors and models. Did you ever love any of them?"

He turns his head, looking at me briefly before looking ahead on the sidewalk. The corner of his mouth turns up. "Jealous, are we?"

"That's not what I meant," I insist. The last thing I want him to think is that I'm insecure or jealous. So I barter with him - truth for truth. "I loved Adam. Or at least I thought I did. For better or worse, there was a time that he was… everything to me. I just want to know if there was someone like that for you who was important to you once. I've never heard you mention anyone specific."

He rubs his left hand against his coat as his right maintains its place around my waist. I can tell he's a little nervous. "I can't decide if you're a masochist or if your form of revenge is just to make me exceedingly uncomfortable."

"Neither, I just…" I pause, and sigh. "You had a life before we met. You had relationships and met other men. I'm not naive enough to think that none of those men had an impact on you in some way. I just want to know you better - past, present, and future. I really want to know how you became the man I know today."

"What kind of man is that?" he questions.

"It's your turn to answer a question, not mine." Thank god my brain thought of that quickly enough - if I was my turn for a truth, things could get very emotional and mushy very quickly.

He hasn't turned to look at me since I asked the question - his eyes remain fixed on the path ahead of us, the crossing signals, and the people around us. He tenses his jaw for a moment before he answers. "There were some who meant more than others. A couple I dated for quite some time. One who I considered marrying."

"You wanted to marry someone?"
"I thought about proposing. I was much younger and rather infatuated and given how long we dated, he seemed to expect that it would happen."

"Who was he?" I ask out of curiosity.

He looks at me for the first time in minutes, likely gauging my face to see if I'm jealous or something. "He was a model. French. His name was Pierre."

"What happened?"

"It was a slow unraveling. We dated for a few years, but he became busy with his career and I was busy with my friends and the… social scene at the time. We just grew apart. He contacted me after my father died. He's back in France now - married and adopted a little boy from Russia - but he wanted to share his condolences."

"Do you miss him?" I whisper.

He looks at me again. "I don't regret breaking it off, if that's what you're asking."

"You mean he's not the one who got away?" I admit hearing him talk about potentially marrying someone does sting a little, but I'm still curious about the Blaine who existed before I met him.

"When did this become an interrogation?" he asks with a chuckle. "You were supposed to only get one question and I'm pretty sure you asked like five."

I shrug. It's not my fault he lost count.

"Here's the deal," he says after a moment's pause. "I'm willing to go one-for-one on questions. You can keep going, but for every question you ask, I get to ask you one as well."

"Sounds fair," I agree.

"I get to go next, of course, since you asked so many questions."

"Fine," I acquiesce. I'm already dreading this a little bit.

"You mentioned Adam. How'd you meet and start dating?" Definitely regretting this. Blaine continues. "I'll admit that my limited contact with the guy has left me less than impressed. But you said you… cared for him once, which means he probably wasn't always the asshat he was at my estate." He pauses and looks at me sternly. "Please tell me he was not always like that. I can't deal with guys who treat their partner like that."

"He wasn't always like that," I admit. Why does Blaine want to know how he and I met? What does that matter to him? Besides, he doesn't like Adam, so what's the deal? Even now, I notice that he's tense and his shoulders have stiffened, but he doesn't say anything and waits for me to speak.

"He volunteered at the Center. He was brilliant at helping us secure donations. I guess you can say he found my weakness; philanthropic, helping children pursue their dreams." Blaine doesn't say anything so I continue. "He was really smart and knew what he wanted in life. He was also really well-respected and good at his work." He certainly had a reporter's inquisitive nature - managing to find me at Blaine's estate and get to the bottom of the Anderson's money problems.

"You loved him because he was good at his job?"

"He was very sweet to me," I note. I don't know why I'm defending Adam or my previous feelings for him, yet here I am. "He was very gentlemanly as well. He was always willing to help Will whenever he needed it and seemed interested in meeting my family when they came in town. They never ended up meeting in person, but my dad knew Adam and seemed to like him. He brought me gifts and made me feel appreciated - leaving notes on my desk and generally just making me feel wanted. Everything a perfect boyfriend should do, I guess."

I look back over at Blaine, who still has a stony appearance but I know he's been listening intently if the furrow in his brow is any indication.

"When did things change?" he asks.

I know technically it's my turn to ask a question, but given that I've never really talked to anyone about the inner workings of my previous relationship with Adam, I want to talk to someone about it. And I really want that someone to be Blaine. "I don't know exactly," I say. "It was really subtle at first. He would make a comment about my clothes or hair or something. I didn't even realize what he was doing at first because he was the first guy I ever really loved or cared about. So the fact that he would question my attire based on whatever event or occasion we were celebrating seemed like small potatoes at the time. I admit that now it incenses me since I know how to put myself together and I don't need input from anyone, but at the time I really cared about him and didn't think it was that important."

Blaine grins a bit at my feisty attitude, but remains quiet as we approach the corner of Blaine's family estate.

"It was the first sign of things to come. If he said something about my appearance, I would change it. I don't know when he realized how much I took his thoughts into consideration. If he complained about music or the temperature in my apartment or the way I spoke to someone, I would change it. As our relationship went on, he started to pull back but it only made me want to please him more. I hate that about myself - I never wanted to be that guy."

Blaine squeezes me tightly, but I'm not done with my story.

"And then, one day, I caught him with someone else." I don't want to elaborate, just saying out loud that I was cheated on is enough. "I don't really blame him…"

"Don't say that, Kurt-"

"No, not like that. I don't think him cheating on me was right - it's not right for anyone to do that. But I was a doormat and he took advantage of that. Of me. Things were over between us the minute he realized the control he had over me and how I had lost that part of myself who didn't put up with anything.

"After we broke up, I promised myself I would never be like that again. The funny thing is," I say with a chuckle, "is that the moment he realized that I was fine without him, he wanted me back. And you know how that went."

I don't want to look at Blaine. I'm a bit ashamed of what happened and how I abandoned my true self, but I also don't want him to see the regret in my eyes. Part of me wishes I'd never been with Adam, but he was part of my past and I have to accept that.

But God, I wish he would say something.

Instead, he pulls me to the side just outside the gate of his former estate.

"What are you doing?" I ask as he pulls me into a gate which he pushed open, leading to a lush side garden obscured from the street and the building with full trees and gorgeous shrubberies.

He still doesn't answer. He leans me back against the tree and just looks at me. I open my mouth to repeat my question, but he's leaning in toward me.

Any confusion I have is lost when his lips meet mine.