That night, Kurt barely sleeps. He lies perilously close to the edge of the bed, holding his breath when he hears Frank return. He feels the bed dip on the other side as Frank gets in, and Kurt immediately knows he's close, because he can feel his breath on the back of his neck and he shouldn't be able to if he was keeping properly to his own side. He wonders what would happen if he were to roll over right now. Something he'd deeply regret, probably.

It's not that he dislikes Frank, but if Blaine thinks he has twenty years on him, then Frank must have at least thirty, and then some. Kurt feels no attraction to him whatsoever, and he's made the mistake of sleeping with someone out of pity once before.

That time, it was his dance teacher, whom Kurt had thought was just being friendly but it turned out he had a burning crush. Kurt had felt nothing in return but almost felt as though he should. Consequently, he went to bed with him, and then ended up switching classes and changing his number in an effort to avoid his advances.

Right now though, Kurt's head is a mass of confusion as he lies there, wishing sleep would come. He'd felt oddly elated to see Blaine tonight, and for some reason, his smile and especially his laugh, makes him feel overcome with a longing to make him happy more often. He knows that Blaine's natural demeanour is to be grumpy and brusque, so to know he can make him laugh seems to mean more.

Kurt sternly reminds himself that while Blaine is undeniably attractive, he is also not the type of person who Kurt would ever want to be with. It's been a long time since he's slept with anyone- more than a year, in fact, and so Blaine's physical appearance is proving rather distracting.

In fact, it's proving more of a distraction as he lies there in the dark, than ever. When Frank moves even closer still, Kurt has to keep reminding himself that it's not Blaine lying behind him and if he turns around and acts on his urges, he will regret it big time.

Suddenly, the covers move slightly, and then again. Frank's breath comes a little faster, and then he gives a soft grunt before the covers move even faster.

Kurt freezes, his blood running cold, his eyes wide in the darkness. He doesn't know what to do, whether to turn around and confront him, or lie there and wait it out. At first he decides to wait, but then he starts to worry that Frank might try and jerk off over him, so he does the only thing he can think to do.

He sits up, stretches, and yawns.

"Oh, you're awake!" Frank says, and there's an edge of panic to his voice as he scoots back to his side of the bed.

"Headache," Kurt mutters. "I think I'll sleep on the couch."

When he wakes the next morning, after just a few hours on the lumpy, hard couch, Frank is gone. Kurt is thankful, and he takes a shower in peace before heading out to the shops. He doesn't want to spend his hard earned money on an outfit for dinner, because he doesn't want Blaine thinking he's gone to an effort for him, but he also imagines that when Blaine says dinner, he doesn't mean a burger and fries in some greasy fast food joint.

He spends far more than he should have on a shirt and a nice pair of shoes, ignoring his inner voice which is telling him he has plenty of nice clothes back at the apartment that he could choose from.

He takes a shower right after the show, figuring Blaine will just have to wait. He dresses, and double and triple checks his hair in the mirror before running down the stairs, out of the stage door, and right into Frank.

"Kurt! Hey. You look nice. Ready for dinner?"

"Huh?"

"You've been busy all day," Frank says. He smiles softly and takes Kurt's elbow. "I missed being in your company and I thought you and I could go grab some food before heading home."

"Uh..."

"He's with me." Blaine steps forward, and though he matches Frank in height, he still seems to stare him down, his dark eyes almost burning with intensity. "We have a date."

"We do not have a date!"

"We have a date," Blaine reiterates, entirely unruffled. "Good to see you, Frank. Nice to see the show doing so well. Kurt? Ready?"

"We do not have a fucking date," he hisses as they walk away. "And don't touch me," he adds when Blaine places a hand in the small of his back.

"Fine. Just get in the car."

"What car?"

"This one."

"It has someone in it."

"My driver," Blaine says with a laugh. "Now get in."

"You didn't need to bring your fancy car and your stupid, fancy driver," Kurt grumbles as he slides across the backseat. "I already know you're rich because I never see you in anything less than a Tom Ford suit."

"Oh you're just a treasure, aren't you?" Blaine snaps. "Such a peach. Your mommy ever tell you that?"

"My mom died when I was two hours old," Kurt says, then turns to stare out of the window.

"Shit. Sorry."

"Yeah," Kurt says, quieter this time. "That's why, when we first met and you said that comment about my mom telling me the world revolved around me, it really fucking hurt."

"Yeah...well..." Blaine flounders for a moment. "You should have said."

"You didn't give me much opportunity."

"It was you who stormed out of that bar."

"Are you surprised?"

"I was trying to talk to you, I told you!" He breaks off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look. Can we just...not argue?"

"I don't know. Can we?"

"I'm asking you."

"And I'm asking you."

Blaine positively glares at him then, and Kurt is pretty sure he's close to being thrown out on the street for being so impertinent, but then he smiles and in spite of himself, Blaine smiles back. "Damn. I hate you."

"The feeling's mutual. Where are we going?"

"To dinner. Was Frank hitting on you?"

"No, he was asking if I wanted to grab food, not demanding I go to dinner with him, unlike some."

Blaine frowns. "He shouldn't be."

"Why? I'm working with the guy, he's perfectly nice, and he's never been inappropriate," Kurt lies.

"He's okay, but I've met guys like him before. I've been on the receiving end of that kind of attention and it's not pleasant. At least, not if you're not interested. I'm assuming you're not?"

"No I am not!" A thunderous silence follows as they sit waiting for the traffic lights. "Tell me then."

"Tell you what?"

"You said you were on the receiving end of unwanted attention. Tell me."

"Over dinner."

It's then an entirely silent ride to the Langham, which Kurt already knows to be a super posh hotel before he's even set foot inside. Blaine is greeted with polite warmth by the staff and he and Kurt are led to the dining room, which only contains two other couples, both of whom look like they're just finishing their meals.

"I think they're closing," Kurt whispers, because the restaurant seems like the type of place where you should talk quietly.

"They are. But they'll stay open for us. I made a reservation."

"But-"

"But nothing. Sit," Blaine orders as a waiter pulls out a chair for him. "You look nice, by the way."

Disappointed, Kurt frowns as he settles in his chair. "Is that all?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. I just... Never mind." Kurt watches as wine is poured, and he politely thanks the waiter, while Blaine ignores his presence. "Is there uh...is there a menu?"

"They'll bring the food out."

"What if I don't like it?"

"You will."

"I might not."

Kurt sulks, and drinks his wine much quicker than he should, with the result that the waiter refills his glass and also sets down a large bottle of water with a rather pointed look. Blaine watches all this play out, and says nothing until they're left alone.

"I don't know how to compliment you without sounding like a lech."

Intrigued, Kurt leans on his elbow and gives a smile. "Oh?"

"I'm not used to this."

"To what?"

"Dates."

"This isn't a date. This is you, railroading me into dinner. Say what you want to say and I promise not to think you're a lech. A jerk, maybe," he teases. "But not a lech."

"Ooh you're so..." Blaine stops, shaking his head with a soft laugh. "You look really good," he manages to get out, and then, to Kurt's surprise, he blushes and takes a large mouthful of wine.

"Thank you. So tell me what happened?"

"Ugh. Why do you have to be so persistent?"

"Because I know it winds you up. Now tell me."

"Fine. So I was just out of college, and I was flat broke. I couldn't even get a job waiting tables. There were no jobs out there, or if there was, then I wasn't lucky enough to land them. I had nowhere to live, and no friends, which won't surprise you, I guess. So then I landed a job as a bartender in this sleazy joint out in Harlem. I met a guy...in his sixties, he was. He would talk with me as I worked, and like Frank, he was kind...seemed genuine, you know? Offered me a room in his house. Not a couch for a few days, like I was used to, but a room. He wouldn't take rent, said all he wanted was to see me get back on my feet. Which was great, until two weeks in when he climbed into my bed in the middle of the night and pushed his dick down my throat."

"Ew! Oh my god!" Kurt cries. "That's..."

"I know. Assault, rape, whatever you want to call it...but I did it. I let him use me, because I had nowhere else to go. I stuck it out for three months, until he brought home a group of friends and asked me to pleasure them one by one."

"Tell me you didn't."

"No, I didn't. I left, and stayed in a hostel until I could afford an apartment."

"That's awful," Kurt says softly. He is genuinely saddened by Blaine's story, but also intrigued. "Can I ask then... Where did the money come from? I mean you obviously have a lot of it, right?"

"I do, yes."

"Being a theatre critic pays well?"

"No." He laughs. "It's okay, I guess, but I don't do it for the money. I uh... I come from a very wealthy family. It's inherited wealth, and generations of stockbrokers who've only added to it."

"But not you?"

"Not me, no." Blaine goes quiet then, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass. He looks up when a plate of smoked salmon and scallops is set in front of them, but neither of them start to eat.

"Fine," he huffs when Kurt keeps watching him. "My brother is a stockbroker."

"Doesn't explain why you were left flat broke."

"My family paid me a very large sum of money to keep out of their lives when they discovered I was gay," he says, and he delivers the news so matter-of-factly that Kurt has to do a double take. "I refused to touch it, and kept trying to make them accept me. When I realized that wasn't going to happen, no matter how hard I tried, I decided I might as well use their money wisely. I bought an apartment and invested the rest. I now live off the money those investments made, and the rest is in savings."

"How much did they pay you?"

"Damn, you're nosy. Five million."

"Dollars?"

"No, potatoes." Blaine sighs and rolls his eyes. "Yes, dollars. Five million of them."

"Five..." Kurt's mouth hangs open. "They... But... Wow. I can't..."

"Yeah well. There it is."

"Is that why you're so obnoxious to everyone?"

"I'm not obnoxious to everyone," Blaine barks. "Now eat, for god's sake. At least that'll shut you up."

"We're sharing?"

"Yes."

Kurt heaps smoked salmon onto his plate, deciding he might as well make the most of this luxury, and when he takes the first mouthful he groans out loud. "Damn, that is so..." He eats more, closing his eyes and moaning. "Yes."

"Kurt!"

"What?"

"You sound like you're having a damn orgasm."

"I think I might be."

Blaine laughs, unable to help himself, and Kurt grins when he sees he's starting to relax. "This is seriously good food."

"It is. But we're sharing, remember?"

"Whatever. So, you don't see any of your family?"

"No. Can we stop talking about that now?"

"Not even your brother?"

"I saw him about eighteen months back. I bumped into him on the street. He told me dad has cancer."

"What? That's terrible. He could be dead by now!"

"It's in remission, apparently. Or it was, anyway." He shrugs, and takes the last piece of salmon. "I guess Cooper would have contacted me if he'd died. I would've inherited."

"Cooper? That's your brother? He lives in New York?"

"I don't know. He works on Wall Street, but I think he and his wife moved out to Westchester."

"Can I have that last piece of salmon?"

"No."

"Blaine, that makes me really sad."

Blaine stops, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Fine." He offers the salmon across, but Kurt shakes his head.

"Not that. About your family, I mean."

"It is what it is."

"But it shouldn't be."

"Are you eating this, or what?"

"Yes." Kurt takes the salmon, and deliberately groans and throws his head back. "Oh my god!"

"You're crazy."

"Yep."

"You know, that's the first time you've said my name."

"Is it? Blaine. I like it. Tell me about your reviews, then. Why are you so critical?"

"I just am."

"Uh-uh," he says with a smile. "You told me you're notoriously difficult to please. How come?"

Blaine sits back, waiting, as their starter is cleared and their main course set in front of them. "Venison," he says, gesturing to the platter. "Go ahead, since your appetite seems never ending."

"I've never had venison."

"Oh. It's good. Rich."

"Everything about this meal is rich. Especially the company."

"True. Try it," he says, reaching across to load his plate for him. "I think you'll like it."

Kurt resists the urge to snap at him for loading his plate without asking or offering to do it. It's not easy; he's fiercely independent and Blaine's constant assumption about things is one of his biggest sticking points, but he's also really rather enjoying this whole evening, so he bites his lip and waits patiently.

"When I was at school, I loved the arts," Blaine tells him eventually. "But it was always something deemed not worthy by my parents. They wanted me to go into stocks, or accounting...even law..but not any kind of artistic endeavours. It's funny, because they collect art, but not from a discerning point of view. More like 'that painting is worth a lot of money so we must have it' angle. Because it was banned, the arts became even more precious to me. My escape from everything, and as life became harder, and I had to come to terms with being gay, and them not accepting me, I became more difficult to please. It became harder to escape into a piece of music, or a play. I had high demands and I wanted them met. I still find it very hard- in all areas of my life- to find enjoyment, and to be able to relax.

I studied a combined major of English Literature, Theatre Studies and Journalism, hoping that maybe my parents would realize I could have quite good career prospects, but they didn't. I still love my job, anyway...it's just I don't often find anything or anyone who captures me completely, makes me forget...and I guess because of that, I've earned my reputation. I don't mind though. In fact, I quite enjoy it."

"Do you..."

"I'm not going to say anything else," he snaps, blushing again. "So don't ask. You already know more about me than I'd like, so no more questions, because I won't answer."

Kurt nods, his mind whirling with a thousand and one questions or things he'd like to say. "Okay."

"Tell me about you, instead."

"Um... I'm from Wisconsin, a tiny little town called Deerfield, where everyone knows each other's business. I knew I wanted to escape as soon as I could, and I got into Pace on a scholarship."

"You'd never been to New York?"

"No."

"That's brave."

"Or stupid."

"You like it?"

"I love it now. It feels like home. I have great roommates, Anna and Meredith, who drive me completely crazy but I love them both to death. They're both musical theatre grads like me. Anna actually dated my brother for a time."

"But not now?"

"No." Kurt looks away, and drains his wine.

"That must be awkward."

"Not really."

"Are you close to your family?"

"Very. My dad raised us, obviously, and he's just incredible. Then there's my granny, my mom's mom. She lives in the next town over and she's pretty much the most perfect granny there ever was. I'm kinda the opposite to you. My family's never had much money. My dad busted his ass off working in a warehouse to afford dance lessons, singing lessons, anything he could to help me out. Logan played football in high school and then college, and dad used to go to all his games with me and granny... He's the absolute best."

"I envy you."

"It's not been easy."

"I realize that, but to have such a loving family...I used to want that too."

"You don't now?"

"No, and I told you no more questions. How old are you?"

"Twenty three. You? Am I allowed to ask that?"

"Ugh. Too old. Forty three."

"You're only as young as the guy you feel, right?" Kurt gives a wink, and Blaine laughs.

"Then my age is non-existent."

"I thought you said you're never alone in a hotel room?"

"Don't push me."

"Fine."

Dessert is a salted caramel tart with almond ice cream. It seems to be an intimate dessert to share; especially as it's served on one plate and no individual plates are brought out with it. Blaine looks across at Kurt, and gently nudges his ankle. "No sex noises, please."

Kurt burns. The low, sultry tone of Blaine's voice, coupled with the gentle touch of his toe, seems to start a persistent throb in his groin, and a pooling of heat in his belly, which add up to him not being able to look up at his face at all.

"Kurt? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he whispers, staring at the table cloth. He's taken off guard, and completely unsure of what to do next. If Blaine is flirting with him, is it okay to flirt back? Is that what he wants? Is that what Kurt himself wants? If he's not flirting, and Kurt tries to turn on the charm, will it all backfire spectacularly?

As he sits there, contemplating all these questions, a mental image forms of him and Blaine in bed together; his hands roaming over Kurt's body, his lips on his skin.

"Shit."

"What now?"

"Nothing." Kurt clears his throat and forces himself to look up. "I like it here."

"Good."

Still unsure of how to proceed, and given that Blaine seems to be stuck too, Kurt digs his spoon into the tart, scoops some ice cream, and offers it across.

"No way."

Kurt keeps the spoon in place, challenging him with his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because that's...it's... Oh fine," Blaine huffs, annoyed. He opens his mouth, and lets Kurt feed him. Swallowing quickly, he gives a curt nod. "It's good. Now I'll feed myself, thank you."

"You don't like it when you're not in control, do you?"

"No I do not."

And at that moment, Kurt recognizes that maybe Blaine feels the same stirrings of want as he does, but it pains him to be smitten with someone he thinks of as a brat.

They eat in silence, but Kurt finds it within himself to rest his foot against the inside of Blaine's leg, and rub gently. At first, there is no reaction whatsoever but then he looks up, studies Kurt for the longest time, and eventually smiles.

"Here." He offers his spoon across and Kurt dutifully accepts, making a loud groan as he does so.

"It's better than sex."

"Then you're doing sex all wrong."

"I'm just not having sex," Kurt complains. "That's the problem."

Blaine grins. "Go see Frank. He'll sort you out."

"You bastard." Kurt laughs, suddenly realizing he's been doing a lot of that all evening.

Blaine looks pleased with himself, but when Kurt yawns, he frowns. "It's late, huh?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't sleep much last night."

"It's fine. Come on." He stands, and pulls Kurt's chair out for him, beckoning to the waiter for Kurt's jacket to be brought over.

"You haven't paid."

"Neither have you." He laughs loudly at the look of horror on Kurt's face. "I'm staying here. They'll put it on my tab." He holds Kurt's jacket for him to slide his arms in, and asks the waiter to have the car come around to the front.

"It's one in the morning!"

"Which is precisely why I'm not sending you home in a cab."

"Why are you being nice?" Kurt asks as they walk slowly to the hotel doors.

"Because you're a brat, but you make me laugh, and I enjoyed your company."

"You said you hate me."

"I do."

"I had a really nice time."

"Good." Blaine rolls his shoulders, and looks away. "So did I. Come here tomorrow morning. I'll take you shopping."

"That's not how it goes, Blaine."

"Huh?"

"You can't just tell someone to do something, and expect they'll fall into line. You want to see me? You have to ask, and ask nicely."

Blaine growls his annoyance, his eyes turning dark. "Fine. I'd like to see you again, if that's okay. Would you like to meet tomorrow? I'll take you shopping. I mean... We could do that, if you wanted?"

"I'll meet you," Kurt concedes coolly, though inside he's dancing for joy. "But you're not spending money on me."

"We'll see." Blaine glances outside. "Car's here. Just tell Tom the address."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He rocks slightly on his heels, and clears his throat. "Am I allowed to kiss you goodnight?"

Kurt swoons, looking deep into those brown eyes and forgetting all about Blaine's arrogance and surly temperament. "Yes."

He waits, and Blaine leans in, letting his lips graze Kurt's cheek softly. "Goodnight."