A.N. I'm going to be honest: when I first started writing this one-shot I didn't know it would turn on itself like it did. That being said, I knew it was going to be part of my 'Many Shadows of Blaine Anderson' collection and it did have dark elements that I hoped dark!Blaine fans would enjoy as the original draft portrayed a manipulative and shameless Warbler running rings around a baffled Kurt BUT (as is common when I write) my enthusiasm wore off when I realised I had no ending. I abandoned it and came back recently to fuss over it again and then decided to do something drastic and totally against writer's instinct: I deleted half of it. Then I just typed and typed and typed until I had this. It takes a very sinister turn and...Well, I'll just leave it at that.

Just a word on my other fics: I'm still planning out an end to The Rebound Arrangement, no further forward :(. I'm also trying to get back to my dark!Klaine roots, whilst entertaining a few new plots (see my profile for an edited list) but I've also had a few requests that have got me buzzed so... Yay!

Warnings: All my standard warnings apply: swearing, sexual scenes, violence, twisted themes etc. However, I've been advised to give a particular warning to the last little segment at the end as a friend of mine tells me she found it very unexpected and graphic in violent terms. Personally I hadn't noticed it, usually when I write I'm in a blurry haze, but I trust that if she was disturbed by the imagery then it's worth mentioning. If that concerns you – FOR THE LOVE OF KLAINE – do not read.

Replies:

MrsMusicAddict: To be fair, it's more of a reply to your review on another fic BUT I wanted to say that this chapter (which comes after numerous non-dark!Blaine updates) is dedicated to you due to my self-imposed guilt that you are kind enough to give my stuff a chance and always deliver such awesome feedback and I probably spam your computer with fluff when we both know you and I are lovers of the dark side. Did that make sense? I don't know. But I now realise there's now a lot of pressure on you to find something you like about this update because, well, you can't exactly reject a dedication, right? Hahahhaaha! x

whitegardenia5: In response to your too-kind review, I will state this: the e mail in my inbox alerting me to your most recent update has been on my mind for DAYS but I've noticed that I flip out when someone interrupts my reading of your work so I've been 'saving' it for tonight. My reward for writing this chapter is AT LAST delving into another Pandora world and please take it as the highest compliment that I'm getting increasingly giddy just typing about it! Expect a review, like, really really soon. :D

Upset Person Known As 'Guest': If it is any consolation, I added more of a warning in the previous chapter concerning the Jeffrey Dahmer-inspired Blaine. Like I said, I feel like my usual writing hints that such scenes of gore should be somewhat expected, however obviously I am sad to have caught you off-guard and brought you to near tears. I honestly didn't think I was capable of writing for such a reaction! Hopefully no hard feelings and as a warning (because now I'm consciously thinking about it) if you have come back to read this and are considering reading the chapter below I'd suggest not to just simply due to the last section. I think nothing of it but my friend thought it was a little graphic and real. I don't want to make you upset again! D:

Reviews and personal messages are sorely welcomed! :D

(Dark!Blaine level: Quite strong (Twisted and uncaring Blaine))


Red Light District


Kurt first noticed the stranger following him when he had crossed the road on Jefferson Avenue. At this point the stranger - quite obviously a man - was simply just another pedestrian roaming the streets at one in the morning, but soon after witnessing the man cross after him Kurt realised he had a stalker. Rolling his eyes, the nineteen year old slowed his walking pace and made for the street corner.

Perhaps it was a cop? The recent murder of Chandler Kiehl, an ex-classmate of his and a fellow hooker from downtown, had caused enough shock-horror in the community to warrant more police patrols. Momentarily concerned, Kurt glanced back. No, the man was not in an officer's uniform nor did he look old enough to be long out of high school. Besides, most sting operations of Lima's police department targeted female hookers, not males ones. On the rare occasion gay street walkers were arrested, it was by middle aged, balding and more than a little overweight men who drew the short straw when their department was choosing who would go undercover. The stranger behind him was no cop. So who was he? A classmate? It wouldn't be the first time he was approached on the street by a baffled kid who used to sit next to him in French class or Algebra demanding to know why the nerdy gay kid they used to know was now only wearing skin-tight jeans and a tear-able t-shirt in the cold wintery Ohio air, but it was very unlikely now that most of his classmates were living out of town.

Up ahead, Kurt saw flashes of red and blue lights and his hand instinctively clutched at the pair of glasses in his pocket. He always had to be ready to shove his glasses on his face if police were around; for some reason it didn't occur to people that a young prostitute like himself would wear glasses so it was a form of deception. The spectacles had no lenses and were simply made of clear glass; still they were a staple accessory of Kurt's everyday appearance. It helped him separate his normal self from his night-time 'alter ego'. The same way an actor becomes his character when he puts on an article of clothing, Kurt would become the innocent, hard working boy who looked after his ailing father whilst working part time at his local library and delivering newspapers in the morning. When the glasses were off, however, Kurt would rid himself of his insecurities and put on the sharp crack-of-a-whip persona which was known on the streets as 'Oliver', or 'Oliver Twist' to those more cultured male hookers who knew of him. When he was Oliver, Kurt had no limitations or fear. When he was Oliver, Kurt could sleep with men for money and not consider it real. He could pretend that it was all just a game - a pretend game where Kurt could still look his pale father in the eyes and say that the money was as a result of a big tip on his newspaper route.

The flashing lights passed and Kurt eased up on his glasses when he saw it was only an ambulance. His usual strut now firmly back in place, Kurt continued on to the street corner. For a Wednesday night, it was unusually quiet. Kurt started on the streets a little after ten and had had no bites so far, and it was nearing his clocking out time of two AM. After two AM Kurt would consider the night over and finally head home to sleep the last few hours of the night before his delivery shift began.

What a waste of an evening... Kurt thought to himself. He stopped on the corner and leaned his back and one foot on the brick wall. This was a pretty good way to show off his slight yet quietly muscled frame without looking like it was a deliberate effort. Surely someone would take him home and make the last few hours of wandering the streets worthwhile?

Footsteps could be heard from the direction Kurt had been walking from. He looked over and suddenly remembered the stranger who had been following him. He had passed him off as just another one of those in the closeted guys who just wanted some eye candy to get them through another day. However, the stranger was still heading towards him and finally stepped out under the nearest street lamp. The shy and quiet library assistant Kurt would have flushed and shuffled nervously at seeing such a handsome young man in the flesh, but Kurt was currently playing the role of 'Oliver, the rent boy' and barely lifted an eyebrow. The man was a little older than him, it seemed. Perhaps in his early to mid twenties. Dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a warm looking jacket, there was nothing overly impressive in his choice of clothes. It was his face: hazel eyes framed by velvety black lashes, the faint stubble seemed sort of sexy on his firm jaw. His hair, too, was jet black and under the yellow light seemed full and textured, just begging to be run through with fingers. The stare was the most captivating part of him, though. Even with his cocky attitude at the ready, Kurt felt rather small and insecure under its intensity. Why was this guy smiling like that?

As Kurt expected, the man slowed down as he approached. Kurt pointedly gave him one glance before turning away as if bored. Undeterred, the man came closer. He stopped just a few feet away and leaned one shoulder on the same wall as Kurt. 'How much?'

And there it was. Looks like a Prince Charming, lives like a lowlife creep. Kurt's answer came out swiftly and cutting. 'More than you can afford.' He wasn't lying. He got a good look at the stranger in those couple of seconds and there was no way he was going to waste any time entertaining the idea that this guy could come up with the amount Oliver Twist normally goes for. At the start of the night, Kurt would ask for five hundred. At this point, he'd go as low as three-fifty. And if this guy had three hundred and fifty dollars to spare then Kurt was a monkey's uncle.

The man chuckled at his response. This bothered Kurt for some reason and it wasn't just because he had been hoping the man would have sulked away by now. He stole another glance and caught sight of a hint of a hoodie under the stranger's jacket. Of course, Kurt growled to himself, a preppy college boy. He hated college boys. They were all over-entitled meatheads who had no concept of how lucky they were to have families who could afford tuition fees or to be qualified to have such money matters taken care of by another source. Kurt was not lucky. He did not qualify for any special treatment, he wasn't given any scholarship opportunities and his poor father couldn't exactly foot the bill when he was busy trying not to die back home. Feeling frustrated at the thought, Kurt turned away and hoped some rich, fat businessman would just drive round the corner already and buy him for the night, taking him away from this delusional college boy. No such businessman appeared and the stranger took another step forward. 'Being a bit presumptuous, aren't we?' He asked, amused.

Kurt rolled his eyes and gave a tired sigh. 'I doubt we are.' He replied coolly. 'I don't give out for charity, honey, and you most certainly do not have what I want.'

The stranger continued laughing quietly as he sidled up to Kurt's side. Annoyingly he was an inch taller than Kurt and his shadow fell on him. With a firm glare, Kurt's head whipped round to face him. Again, the man was not even slightly fazed. 'Oh, I don't know about that...' Without Kurt's permission, the man began stroking Kurt's bare arm, stopping short of his elbow. 'I think you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. I'll ask you again: how much?'

Kurt folded his arms, wishing he had taken up smoking at some point so his hands had something else to do instead of fidget pathetically. The nerve of this guy! Who was he to think he could just touch him? Kurt planned to take him down a peg or two. Reciting his start-of-the-night fees should do the trick. Turning his whole body towards the stranger, Kurt gave a shrug. 'Depends what you want. A handjob is a hundred. You want me to suck you off? It'll cost you two-fifty. And a fuck comes at the meagre price of five hundred.' Thrusting his nose up in the air, Kurt tossed the stranger's body a disinterested glance before turning and walking away. 'There's a reason I'm not 'cheap', honey, and I don't waste time on guys like you.' Kurt just prayed this idiot would just take what was left of his dignity and crawl back into whatever dorm room he crawled out from so that Kurt could continue with his night.

'If you agree to drop the attitude I'll make it a grand.'

Kurt made the foolish mistake of stumbling as he fought off the urge to turn back round. He maintained his pace somehow, though, and hoped that was enough to hide his moment of slight shock. Kurt had never personally been offered so much but he heard enough stories to know that ninety-nine point nine percent of the time it was all lies and the liar would run off after getting what they wanted. Well, Kurt was not going to be drawn in by false promises. 'Both the attitude and pants drop only for real cash.' He called back.

After walking a few more feet Kurt could hear the stranger following once again. God, what would it take for him to leave me alone, already? 'Money talks, I get it.' The man called out causally. He was a lot closer than Kurt was comfortable with. For the first time in a long time, Kurt worried if maybe he should start running. No, he had to maintain his sense of control. Besides, what happened to Chandler Kiehl would not happen to him. 'As much as I'm enjoying the view of your ass in those pants, babe, do you think you could give my wallet half a chance?' Both bristled and shamefully curious at those words, Kurt forced himself to a stop and turned only his head to the man. His eyes fell on what seemed to be a shiny brown leather wallet in the stranger's hands. The unmistakable flash of green caused his eyes to widen. How many notes was that? Was that a hundred dollar note? Were they all hundreds? Biting his lip, Kurt allowed the man to circle him until they were once again facing one another. Kurt stayed silent as the man counted out under his breath. 'Eight...Nine...Another two there...' At last the man smirked at him. 'I think I have you covered. Do you prefer payment in advance, baby?'

The wind was well and truly out of his sails now and Kurt knew it. His cheeks reddened but his expression remained passive. He placed his hands on his hips and gave a non-committal shrug. 'May as well...' With alarming ease, a stack of hundreds were thrust under Kurt's nose. The stranger's smirk deepened when the money was carefully studied and at last slipped into the hooker's back pocket. Feeling two inches tall, Kurt tried not to think of how close he was to missing this opportunity. At least if he had he wouldn't have to deal with the sheer embarrassment of taking sex-money from a guy he had just majorly insulted less than a minute ago.

The stranger licked his lips. 'I'm Blaine, not 'honey'. Understand?' Was Kurt being reprimanded or something? Kurt found himself nodding suspiciously. 'You call me by my name, or you call me 'sir'. Anything else and I'll drop you like a hat and you'll be lucky to leave with the shirt on your back, never mind the money in your pocket. Now follow me.'

With that, the man known as Blaine turned on his heel and strode back down the street in the direction they had come from. Kurt was left standing, stunned, in the same spot. Swallowing hard, he called out 'Hey, Blaine, it's considered rude to threaten guys you're paying to sleep with.' God, why did he even have a mouth? Shut up! His brain yelled at him, Shut up before he wises up and takes that grand straight out of your goddamn hands!

Blaine stopped. He didn't look back. 'If I were you,' He drawled, 'I'd just focus on doing as your told and hurrying the fuck up before I change my mind.' Kurt had to literally bit his tongue to stop himself putting his foot in it. He grudgingly did as he was told and followed after the mysteriously wealthy Blaine. Sir.

'This...is your car?' Kurt said before he could stop the envy dripping from his words. The main street was deserted of people but crowded with parked vehicles. The most drool-worthy of all was a shiny black convertible tucked neatly between a pick-up truck and an old people carrier. When Blaine had first stopped next to it, Kurt was positive he was jerking around. Having a grand in his wallet was one thing but driving set of wheels like this was a whole different ball game. Who was this guy?

Blaine laughed as he fished out his keys and let himself in the driver's door. 'If you're a good boy I'll let you put down the top.' Kurt threw a subtle glare at the man's grinning face but hurriedly scrambled into the passenger seat. The leather interior was soft to the touch, luxuriously cradling his slender frame. The dashboard was all mahogany and different screens light up like a Christmas tree when Blaine put the key in the ignition. Having grown up around cars in his dad's shop, Kurt was all too familiar with vehicles and he certainly knew when to appreciate a work of art. He inched forward and began playing and touching everything which grabbed his attention. It was all so impressive, which is why Kurt grew very frustrated when Blaine slapped his hands away. 'Buckle up. You can play with my car after I've played with you.' Kurt had been picked up so often by crude men of the town so he was confused why Blaine's words seemed so much dirtier than Kurt was used to when in reality they were quite tame. Nevertheless, Kurt did buckle up and he tried to cool his sweaty palms on the cool leather seat. 'So, what's your name, beautiful?'

'Oliver.' Kurt replied automatically. The pair of glasses in his pocket burned - the essence of 'Kurt' hidden from the underworld which was the streets at night.

Blaine glanced at him as he pulled out onto the road; a snort of laughter escaped him. 'Oliver, right.' Kurt turned as if to challenge his tone but Blaine was passed it. 'Well, Oliver, I don't know what your usual rules are concerning accommodation but tonight you'll be spending your working hours in my own bedroom. Any problem with that?'

Another thing Kurt didn't like about Blaine: his utter lack of shame. Sure, Kurt quickly grew tired of coaxing his typical customers out of their nervous, guilty shells in order to secure their business but the opposite was just as unnerving. The manner Blaine spoke to him was one a boss may use on his powerless underling, and Kurt was not used to hearing such blunt and disrespectful talk outside of the bedroom. He gritted his teeth together and shook his head. 'No.'

''No' what?'

Kurt's eyes widened and he stared at the smirking Blaine with a look of shocked contempt. 'I'm not going to call you 'sir', okay? You're, like, my own age practically.'

Blaine tutted but a smile still graced his face. 'Oh, how little you know... Age has nothing to do with it. It's all about respect, and who deserves it.'

That unexpected verbal slap-in-face actually made Kurt baulk. 'You know, there's many people who would argue someone who picks up a hustler isn't exactly deserving of respect, either.' Oh my God, Kurt, shut up before he kicks you to the curb! To mask over his very obvious rudeness, Kurt was quick to make another observation. 'You don't look like a guy who would need to be cruising street corners for someone willing to sleep with you,'

The comment was in some way complimentary and Blaine thankfully decided to ignore his earlier lack of politeness when he answered. 'Well,' He chewed on his lip as he thought on the comment, 'I guess you could say I have...specific tastes. Very particular.'

'Like what?' Kurt asked, admittedly intrigued.

Blaine smirked, bringing his hand from the steering wheel and placing it firmly on Kurt's upper thigh. Fingers brazenly curved in towards his crotch but went no further. For someone who was touched by strangers on an almost-daily basis, Kurt was alarmingly nervous at both Blaine's grip and continuous lack of shame. Kurt met his gaze and the other man laughed lightly, then returned to focus on his car. 'Nothing you aren't already used to, I'm sure.' With that he pulled out onto the road and sped them off into the dead of night.


'After you,' Blaine beckoned after pushing open the door into his apartment. He tilted his head and watched in amusement as his guest stood awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, looking a lot less confident than he did before. 'Problem?'

Kurt bit his lip and looked back at the only other home on that floor. 'Does your neighbour know about your...' he hesitated and repeated Blaine's own term for it 'specific tastes?' His question brought out a snort of laughter from his customer and he threw him a glare. 'I'm serious, the last time I came to this side of town,' or rather, somewhere this wealthy and proper, 'a neighbour called the cops and it became a real sticky situation.' The last thing he wanted was another experience like that. He managed to wriggle out from the scene without giving away any personal information and abandoned the guy who had brought him there to deal with it all himself.

Blaine slowly stepped up to him and sneaked an arm around Kurt's waist, gently pulling him inside whilst murmuring into his ear 'Don't worry your pretty head about that; no one lives there. In fact, in the entire building I only know of two other people and they are at least a few floors down. Don't scare yourself.' Feeling thoroughly patronized, Kurt clenched his jaw shut to stop his ever-ready comebacks from escaping. He tucked his nose up high and strode into the apartment, leaving Blaine chuckling behind him.

Having walked into darkness, Kurt paused about halfway down the entrance hall. He heard Blaine close the door behind them and there was a distinct locking click. Kurt turned around as Blaine moved to flick on the lights. But Kurt also saw Blaine slip a key into his pocket. Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, Kurt folded his arms and eyed Blaine warily. For fuck's sake, Kurt, stop being so jumpy – when have you ever known a customer to not lock the door behind you? The guy expects you to stay the night so of course he has no reason to keep his front door open. Deep breaths and get over yourself. 'So,' Kurt managed to keep cool and appear ready to get down to business when Blaine moved towards him. Kurt helped him slide off his coat and let it drop to the floor. 'Which way is the bedroom?'

Blaine took a few moments to enjoy Kurt's wandering hands now running down the front of his shirt. He licked his lips and put his own hands on the younger male's hips, responding thickly, 'Not yet, I want to relax first. Let me pour you a drink.' It was well after two AM by now, Kurt knew, so the stalling of sex for 'relaxing drinks' was not something he was overly pleased about. His newspaper round began around six-thirty and at the rate Blaine was going Kurt wouldn't be able to squeeze in an hour's sleep before he had to be running out the door. Kurt guessed it was just going to have to be one of those days. He forced a smile and let Blaine lead him by the hand into his living room. 'Make yourself comfortable. Do you have a favourite drink of choice?'

Kurt sat gingerly on what was admittedly a very comfortable yet stylish couch and took in his surroundings. Who was this guy to be that young and still afford a place and furnishings like this? 'Uh, anything but a beer. I don't like the taste.' He murmured, not really paying attention. The room, much like the hallway and no doubt the rest of the apartment, was sleek and fashionably minimal as if it was taken from a magazine. There was a luxury glass fireplace along one wall and an old-fashioned record player in pride-of-place just to the left of him. Judging from Blaine's unassuming attire, Kurt had to guess that he didn't piece such a look together: he must have got a professional interior designer. A good one. He finally turned his attention back to Blaine and found him fidgeting with the record player until the warm, rich tunes of a 1940's vinyl graced his ears. He then moved over to a drinks cabinet and the clinking of glasses and bottles made Kurt feel a little anxious. As a safety measure, Kurt always kept an eye on drinks he wasn't pouring himself but it was a big social faux pas in his line of work to make it obvious that is what he was doing. He tried to make it seem like he was admiring the plush rug on the floor as he peered by Blaine's body to watch. A spade-full of ice was tossed into a shaker tin along with some type of liquor and juice. With an expert flair, Blaine shook the contents with a powerful arm as he took out another bottle to splash in both glasses. Then, he opened the shaker and let the strained cocktail fill the servings right up to the brim, completing the works of art by grabbing a nearby knife to cut up a couple of orange slices to wedge on the side. 'You seem like a guy who wouldn't pass up some Cointreau, and I just happen to be a natural at cocktails.' Blaine winked, handing Kurt one of the glasses at random.

Kurt accepted and took a sip, trying not to be impressed that Blaine had managed to concoct something in a matter of seconds that was truly delicious and heated up his insides. 'You are very...talented.' Kurt finished. Blaine appeared satisfied with that and sipped at his own whilst taking a seat on the couch very close to Kurt. He turned his body so he could face Kurt completely, and the young street-worker wondered if maybe they would be doing their 'business' in here rather than the bedroom. If so, Kurt wanted to get started now. He mirrored Blaine's motions and put his hand on the older man's leg. Blaine's hazel eyes flickered down and he watched as Kurt's long, slender fingers eased over and spread out as they rubbed up and down. With a measured blink, Blaine returned his gaze back up and leaned in. Kurt did so too, half closing his eyes as his lips made to join the ones mere inches away.

'Tell me something,' Blaine had waited until Kurt was almost at his goal before speaking against his skin. Kurt opened his eyes and saw the other man with a sly expression of amusement on his face.

Resisting a frustrated sigh, Kurt flicked his tongue viciously in his mouth. 'What?'

Blaine leaned on his hand and raised his eyebrows in a shrugging manner. 'Something I don't know about you.'

Feeling like he was well and truly being played with, Kurt pulled away and glared at him. Blaine's smirk widened. Wanting to avoid being beat, Kurt decided to change tactics and placed their drinks down on a small nearby table before turning back to purposefully crawl onto the asshole-of-a-customer he had. Blaine didn't stop him but he did not move to encourage it either. Kurt eased his legs around Blaine's so he was half-sitting half-straddling his lap. 'There's a lot you don't know about me,' Kurt murmured lowly, 'like that I can be very...very impatient.'

'Oh?' Blaine responded, his voice thick and husky. It was clear his hands wanted nothing more than to grab onto him but, like Kurt, he seemed to want to win this game of theirs.

'Mmhm,' Kurt's hum sounded more like a moan, deliberate, of course: his hips slowly pressed downwards at the same time, finally eliciting a shuddering gasp from the other man. 'I enjoy kissing...you know why?'

Feeling the soft skin of Kurt's lips graze his for the briefest of moments, Blaine's muscles flexed and his body tried to readjust so he could meet his mouth. 'Why?' He breathed.

'Because kissing leads to touching,' Kurt was now whispering against him, his hips skilfully circling down on the man's crotch. 'And touching means getting naked, and being naked usually means someone is going to fuck me pretty soon.'

'Mmm,' Blaine swallowed hard and he gave an aggravated growl when Kurt's teasing mouth refused to let their licking tongues and skimming lips become actual kissing. 'What else do you like? Tell me.'

With a soaring notion of triumph and validation of his seduction skills, Kurt ran his hand up to cup his cheek to force Blaine's face up to a different angle. 'I like being the one in control,' He told him sweetly. 'I like having you just desperate for me to give you what you want.' With that final word, Kurt dipped his head and caught the man off-guard in a deep, sensual kiss that seared their tongues and began a wet, intricate dance of dominance. Another well-timed rocking of the hips brought them both into a world of heat, eager for the passion to follow. Kurt could feel the other's body reacting just as he expected: the hardening of the cock poking into him betrayed the customer's need for him despite Blaine pulling out of the kiss a little too early on for Kurt's liking.

'Well, while we're on the subject of control...' Blaine spoke softly despite his harsh intakes of breath, tilting his head just off to the side to avoid his playboy's attempts to re-engage him. 'I feel I should be honest with you.' Kurt hummed, only half listening. He didn't notice the black-haired man's eyes flutter open to stare up at him, or the careful manoeuvring of hidden hands. 'I don't like my sex toys trying to call the shots. But I love,' the word 'love' came out as a strong purr, 'how my toys look when they realise I have them exactly where I want them.'

Since he first began working the streets, Kurt had heard some dirty and worrisome lines by men. One had even used the eye-rolling line of 'I'm going to choke you with my cock!', to which Kurt had to respond with false enthusiasm to hide his own embarrassment. But Blaine's statement was new and carried a bigger threat to anything Kurt had heard in the past making him unable to pretend this was still only sex-talk. And the dangerous tone of dark pleasured determination... Kurt couldn't ignore the twist in his gut telling him once and for all something was very wrong. He halted in his nipping at Blaine's jaw and began to pull away – only the sting of something sharp against the back of his neck made him freeze. Looking away from the chilling smirk on the other man's face, he glanced down sideways to Blaine's raised hand around what was unmistakably the handle of a knife.

The air in his throat seemed trapped, temporarily rendering him unable to breathe. It appeared to be the same knife he had seen Blaine use only minutes before to slice up some orange wedges. He had kept it on him after Kurt had stopped paying attention. Gradually bearing down on Kurt's neck with the blade, Blaine forced his face back towards him so he could teasingly lick at his lips again. 'Tell me another thing, Oliver.' Blaine carefully rolled his hips up against his quivering frame. 'What has to be so fucked up in someone's life that they resort to selling their ass on street corners? How can a seemingly level-headed guy let himself be stolen away from safety by a stranger?' His prisoner's inability to speak caused him some amusement, and his free hand ran up and down Kurt's tensed arm and down his side to his rear. The boy was positively trembling. A sinister chuckle preceded another whisper. 'What's the matter? Where's that feisty little attitude of yours, hmm?'

He allowed Kurt's mind to stew in a sickening whirlwind of fear a little while longer. Then, in a move that was entirely unexpected, Blaine flicked the knife off of his skin and gave him an almighty shove back onto the floor. Kurt landed in a painful mess having not had the time or mental capacity to cushion his fall yet once the shot of agony swept up his body he once again regained his senses and he dove away from the standing Blaine. The man watched him scurry across the floor on his hands and knees until the aid of the television system brought him back onto his feet. 'Stay away from me,' Kurt somehow managed to sound a little less terrified than he really was, hiding the fact that his arms and legs were shaking so badly they might give up on him at any second. The knife was still clutched tightly in his 'customer's' hand.

Blaine pouted, rounding the coffee table but keeping the same distance away. 'Aw, you're not getting scared now, are you? It's just a little blade...'

'C-call it 'concerned'.' Kurt swallowed hard, flattening himself against the entertainment system. He had hoped to use it as a blockage by pushing it down if Blaine came closer but as he tentatively pushed at it he discovered it was fixed into the wall itself. Shit-shit-shit-! 'You're just putting me a little on e-edge. It's not every night a guy locks me in his home and pulls a knife on me

Blaine broke out into a less smug laugh and nodded. 'True. I guess I don't blame you, though I wish you wouldn't hide that sexy body of yours away from me... Come on back to me, baby,'

An outstretched hand that both knew would be rejected held up for Kurt for several seconds, Kurt inched even closer to the wall and slid along it. 'I-I think you'll understand if I politely refuse.' The hand fell back down to Blaine's side. 'What's your plan, Blaine? To kill me?' Please laugh and tell me it's all a joke. A sick, twisted, unfunny joke of yours to get back at me for being a total bitch to you. I'll say sorry – I swear – just please stop coming closer.

Stopping to consider the scene, Blaine drew out a long sigh and then turned back to him with a wide grin. 'Well, it's sure looking that way!' He laughed and then schooled himself to a respectful smile, looking his prey up and down with approval. 'I like you, though, Kurt. I like that you don't beg or plead for me to change my mind. It shows dignity – or whatever a whore has instead of dignity. Definitely an improvement from last week's cry-baby. Did you know Chandler, by any chance?'

At the name of the now-deceased prostitute who was found dead - bloodied and beaten - Kurt felt the sudden urge to vomit. He had tried to not see any photos but the town had plastered coverage on every inch of the media. The words were worse, though. Merciless. Perverse. An act of such vile cruelty, fist violence on a poor defenceless teen of nineteen. But he wasn't nineteen, he was eighteen. Kurt knew that because he had known Chandler. They had grown up together, attending the same elementary school and then both signing up for weekend drama classes during high school. Chandler had been one of the few other prostitutes who had known Kurt's real identity and why he was resorting to such degrading and contemptible job like moonlighting as a rent boy. His death had come as a shock to everyone – prostitutes not an exception. Every time Kurt closed his eyes this past week he saw the retch-worthy scene that newspapers were hailing as 'the worst case of hate-crime this town has seen in decades'. As Kurt crawled along the wall, almost knocking over some well-placed portraits in doing so, he shook his head in defiant disbelief, heart pounding so painfully he wanted to double over. 'You didn't kill Chandler Kiehl,'

Blaine scoffed, flicking the knife in his hand expertly, and rolled his eyes at him. 'Don't be such a Bambi-like fool, Kurt. Do I actually need to convince you? Would you like to hear how I got him all alone in that alley – getting him hot and heavy with the same cash still tucked in your pocket – until he was on his knees and just begging to be fucked like the little dirty slut he was?' His eyes flashed in gruesome excitement, 'Would you like to know what his last words were before I beat him dead? They were 'Fuck me harder than I've ever been fucked before.' I thought it was funny as well as being a tall order, I mean, he's probably been fucked more times than a Rolling Stones groupie but-'

'You're a liar,' Kurt tried to snap at him but his voice was coarse.

Blaine appeared surprised and almost apologetic. 'I'm sorry, but what am I lying about? Killing that flamboyant little asshole or his impressive collection of notches in his bedpost-?'

Kurt couldn't reply. Blaine had been taking such casual and unnoticeable steps forward and Kurt was only now aware of how trapped he was. According to Blaine's earlier 'assurances', no one lived near enough to him to be within ear shot of screaming, and Kurt had no reason to doubt his confidence. And every door leading out of the room was either locked or blocked off behind his 'customer', with the only other route being the window. Even if Kurt could have ran for it and it had been miraculously easy to open, and even if Blaine was kind enough to give him enough time to climb out, what could he do? Kurt could do many things but flying was not one of his talents. Blaine's apartment was too high up to even entertain the idea he would survive the fall to the ground. The only other option was simple: fight off Blaine. But the man looked strong. He was armed. There were no apparent qualms about killing Kurt – and in fact it seemed that some sick sexual satisfaction in doing so was the reason the nineteen year old would probably not see the light of day again. Blaine turned his whole body towards him. 'St-stay away from me!' Kurt ordered pitifully.

Blaine laughed and playfully slashed the knife at him, reducing Kurt to a crumbling mess scrambling into a corner. 'Come on, Kurt, won't you at least try to make this a little harder for me? Chandler was such a let-down, I was hoping you would be more-'

'Stop talking about him!' Kurt's fists hit the walls behind him desperately.

'Why? I was hoping you'd be interested.' Those hazel eyes danced in watching Kurt's face crumble in sobs. 'Don't you want to know how black his blood looked pouring out of him in the alleyway? It looked so unnatural but when I walked back to the road the street-lights made my hands look like a fucking firetruck-'

'Stop!' Kurt choked out, tears blinding him and his fingers clawing at his ears to try and prevent what he was hearing and picturing.

'All the little noises he made when my fists broke everything inside his half-naked body-'

'You didn't kill him!' Kurt yelled, head shaking wildly.

Blaine narrowed his eyes and challenged him. 'Oh? And how do you know I didn't?'

'Because I did!'

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and even as his hands flew over his lips he gasped, mortified, at what he had just said. What he had admitted to. His panicked eyes flew to Blaine's face, knowing this unexpected revelation had probably just sent this horrific scene on a tailspin neither were prepared for – But Blaine just stood there. Grinning. The cat that got the cream, and the puppeteer who finally had his toy 'right where he wanted him'. The truth hit Kurt hard and fast – so much so the immobilising fear choking him took a back-seat in his mind. 'You...knew.' He stuttered out.

With a winning grin and innocent rising of his hands, Blaine accepted the charge. 'Of course I knew, Kurt.'

Kurt. Kurt – he knows my name. The blows just kept coming and all thoughts were a blur as Kurt tried desperately to seize one line of thinking. Had he accidently let slip his name at one point? It seemed unlikely but still possible. But that was not his main concern. Blaine knew what he did. 'H-how?' Slowly peeling himself up from the floor and shuffling behind the couch, Kurt stared at the other man in bewildered terror.

'I saw it all.' There was a small period of silence after such a softly-spoken explanation. 'I gotta say, Kurt, I was impressed. I didn't think you had it in you. I know he was a small annoying runt but I didn't expect a little delicate thing like you to do so much...' He sucked in a breath then finished with 'damage.'

Forcing himself to block out the mental image Blaine seemed so keen on burning in his mind, Kurt focused on trying to decipher who Blaine really was. If he saw what had happened, why not go to the police? Was this whole night the revenge by the only witness to Kurt's...accident? Nothing made sense and his rapid heartbeat causing him intense pain again through his panic. Chandler. He had never been friends with Kurt, not really; others had expected the two gay teens to hit it off, especially when they both expressed a love of drama and music, but that had been their only common links. Overly flirtatious and obnoxious beyond belief, the blonde had always seen Kurt as his rival and that kind of attitude did not fly with the more mature boy. Both of them had fallen on hard times but Kurt tried not to pry as much as Chandler did. Thankfully, Kurt's reasons for turning to paid sex were deemed righteous enough for the boy to keep quiet about him. That was until...

It had only been a couple of weeks ago, at the most. Whilst taking the risk of gathering with other street workers for a mid-evening chat, Chandler took centre of attention as he boasted of his 'hot and loaded customer-turned-boyfriend' who would be his ticket off the streets and into a life of luxury. Many of the more experienced guys humoured him and played along with his false predictions, no doubt not wanting to be the people to destroy a young man's dreams. Yet Kurt held no such care for indulging him: after voicing his serious doubt, he then openly mocked his naivety by sarcastically requesting an invite to the wedding. Chandler had been incensed by his utter lack of jealousy, as well as bursting his fantasy bubble, and had stormed off back to the arms of whoever was unfortunate enough to be the wealthy stud of his.

'You're the guy he was sleeping with,' Kurt's question came out more as a statement, and Blaine didn't deny it. 'You were the one he thought he was going to run off with.'

'I told you he was an annoying little runt.' Blaine played with the knife, poking his palms with the blade when he sat back on the arm of the couch. 'But he bent over without question and bruised like a peach so I was happy to keep him around a while.'

The flash of sexual interest in his gaze reminded Kurt not to lower his guard even for a second. 'Then why...' He couldn't form the question he wanted to ask, so he just stuck with a simple 'Why?'

Blaine understood. 'He told me what you said.' He began, his voice now very simple and void of a lot of feeling. 'You should have heard some of the names he called you – sometimes that boy had a mouth that could make a sailor blush – and he told me about all the times you stole the spotlight from him. You got the leads in the class plays and he was stuck with being in the choir. Everyone thought you were the smart and funny one, and there was no room for a second talented gay teen when you were centre of attention.' Blaine shook his head in amused disbelief. 'God, he hated you. He told me 'Kurt Hummel – tries to make himself sound more exotic with his hooker name, Oliver, as in Oliver Twist. How pretentious is that, huh, Blaine?' I've never heard someone sound so...bored when talking about someone like your dad, either.'

The mention of his cancer-ridden father got Kurt right in the gut. Chandler talked about his dad to Blaine? 'My...dad?'

'You're poor ailing father... Of course, Chandler considered it so OTT that you had three jobs to help with his treatment. Then he went on and on about how you always managed to steal away his customers as if you were the hottest thing in the world.' Blaine leaned forward slightly and ran his appraising eyes up and down Kurt's slender frame. 'I gotta admit, up until that point I was growing bored of his ranting, but once he offered to show me your photo I just couldn't look away.' Wrapping his arms tightly around his upper body, Kurt closed himself in and mustered up a pitiful attempt of a glare as he could manage through his self consciousness. Blaine was staring at him, hungry. Even though he wasn't sure what it was yet, something in his mind clicked into place as if the whole situation was a jigsaw puzzle and he had found a corner piece. Blaine tilted his head and blinked slowly. 'Would you like to know what happened after that, baby?'

Kurt didn't answer. He didn't need to.


One Week Earlier - On the Streets

'Blaine!'

The grating prissy boy voice pierced the late-night air like a sharp pin into a bulging balloon. The raven haired man froze on the spot, knowing already he had been spotted and there was no point in trying to hide, and let the running footsteps get nearer and nearer until he felt the too-familiar tug on his arm. He turned and addressed the blonde with tired frustration. 'Chandler.'

'Honey, were you looking for me?' The smaller boy crooned, throwing his arms around him and bringing him down for a drawn-out smooch. Blaine let him, after all, kissing felt nice. And as far as he was concerned, this would be the last one they ever shared. When Chandler had giggled himself free, he urged his 'boyfriend' against the doorway of a closed store. 'I told you I was going to come to yours later on. Were you missing me?'

'No,' Blaine rolled his eyes, his voice blunt. 'I wasn't. I'm looking for someone else.'

The brief look of sting on the boy's face was replaced by a pout. 'Aw, that's a pity. Want me to help you look? Who are you looking for at this time of n-'

'Your ex-classmate,' Blaine cut in without remorse. 'Kurt Hummel, right? Or Oliver Twist, I should say, considering that I'm out for his nightly services.'

As if he had been slapped in the face, Chandler recoiled and whipped his arms away as a furious expression melted onto his face like fire. 'What? Blaine, that's not funny. You know how I feel about him and-'

'And I do not give,' Blaine stared him down with a satisfying smirk, 'a flying shit.' Those big baby-blue eyes filling with fresh tears was so over-due. 'I don't care. I don't know what planet you're living on, because you have always been nothing more than a willing ass to fuck. And right now I'd only pay you to turn around, walk away and leave me the fuck alone so I can do more interesting things than listen to your whiny voice.' The older man then groaned in disgust, turning away from the agonising breaking of the blonde's harrowing face and blubbering noises. His breathing coming out all haggard and choked with oncoming sobs, Chandler stepped back from him and brought up his arm to cover himself, staring unblinking at Blaine as if begging him to take it all back. When it struck him that such a reprieve was not going to happen, he broke down to the ground. Blaine sneered at him and gave the street an embarrassed scan to make sure no one else had to suffer through the kid's annoying show of distraught. 'Geez, Chandler, grow a pair. And get up – you're going to make me sick and I'm already in the middle of something.'

As if reminded of why Blaine was out in the first place, Chandler's cries quietened enough for him to croak out 'Kurt.' Blaine was trying to shimmy by him when the smaller boy suddenly got up and wiped his wet face with the back of his sleeve. 'It's Kurt that's made you like this. He ruined everything!' Blaine studied him with renewed interest. There was anger ablaze in his eyes and his chest heaved with a bursting hatred one Kurt Hummel. It was the least tedious Chandler had ever looked. 'He's an asshole, and I'm gonna fuck him up for doing this!'

Before Blaine could call him out on his hasty assessment, the blonde had shoved him back and took to the sidewalk again marching through the length of what was known as Lima's red-light district. It took a few moments to get over the vague surprise of what had just happened, but after mulling on his options Blaine took after him. He kept his distance. Honestly, he was hoping to see some humorous lashing-out on the blonde's part as he shoved through the litter of hookers and wannabe customers in his search for 'Oliver Twist'. But perhaps his biggest hope was that Chandler would lead him right to Kurt. It certainly would speed things along, after all Blaine was only going by a single photograph of the boy shown to him days prior. And then there was the small hassle of Chandler actually following through on his threats: what if he tried attacking Kurt? Both boys seemed small and meek, unlikely to do much harm other than a few claw marks. Still, in some odd sense, Blaine felt it was necessary to come to Kurt's rescue if need be.

Would Kurt charge him for a hardcore fuck, tied to the bed and having his ass torn to shreds if Blaine was kind enough to 'save' him from an unprovoked cat fight? Just thinking about Kurt made his dick swell – a problem which only intensified when he saw the sex-angel in the flesh just outside an antiques store. Donning a pair of skin-tight pants and a figure-hugging wife-beater, Kurt had both hands in his back pockets as he turned in surprise at hearing his name being called. Blaine held back, skimming along the shadows, unnoticed as the brawl began.

'You're a fucking asswipe!' Chandler was yelling. He shoved the stunned Kurt, causing him to stumble back and fall at the mouth of an alleyway. He got up fast but Chandler kept advancing. 'Think you're some hot shit but you're just dirty meat – a two-faced lying, man-eating whore who wants to have everything!'

Another shove and Kurt found himself hitting a dumpster. By now it was pretty obvious that Chandler was no fighter and Blaine tucked himself behind the edge of the alley so he could watch the scene unfold. Kurt was still in shock but was beginning to speak, all the while holding up his hands in an attempt to settle his ex-classmate. 'Chandler, calm down, I don't know what you're so pissed off at and-'

'You!' Chandler shrieked, bitterly throwing bits of trash at him in his grief. 'I'm pissed off at you! You always get everything and I'm sick of it!' His eyes were red raw from crying but now drier than a bone as he smiled viciously. 'And you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna tell your dad. He's going to know what his precious son has been doing with himself every night whilst he lies in bed dying,'

Kurt's shock now turned to nauseous fright. 'Chan, you can't-'

'Fucking serves you right,' Chandler sneered, stepping up to him. 'He's gonna hear everything and be so disgusted and ashamed of you he'll never want to see you again.'

'Chandler, please,' Kurt grabbed onto him desperately, 'You can't-! It-It would kill him if he knew-'

Chandler sniffed, a cruel smile gracing his lips. 'Yeah, it probably will. And it'll be all your fault.'

Blaine watched Kurt shake his head profusely as if he wasn't hearing it. 'You're lying. I don't believe you,' Kurt certainly didn't look as confident as his words were. 'You have no reason to do something so horrible when I've done nothing-'

'I have every reason,' Chandler snapped back. 'And the pleasure of destroying your world, family and reputation is enough.' And with that, he turned on his heel and made to leave Kurt shaking in terror behind him. But Kurt couldn't let him walk away. Blaine's grip on the wall he was concealed by tightened. Slyly peeking from around the corner, he prepared to step in.

'Chandler, stop-!'

'Get the fuck off me!' Chandler tried shaking off the hand that was grabbing at his arm, but Kurt frantically pulled him back from the street.

'I can't let you-' Thump. The punch Chandler had aimed at Kurt's head was enough to daze the boy onto his rear. Chandler took off again, satisfied he had gained the upper hand once and for all. But mere seconds later...he tumbled onto the ground. Kurt wrestled with him, both of them rolling over the dirt and garbage in the darkness of the alley. Fists flew like wildfire, and seething grunts echoed along the walls. Blaine wrinkled his nose. I should stop them. If Chandler gets even one good hit in I'll be left a Kurt with a burst lip or black eye and that is not fair. Blaine stood up and moved round the corner and hurried down towards them. That was when he saw Kurt's hand, balled into a rock; rise up high in the air. He straddled the blonde and got a wide clear shot of him, his knuckles crunching into Chandler's cheek. There was a crack. Was it Chandler's cheekbone? His neck? Blaine couldn't tell. Instinctively, the excited spectator snuck behind a dumpster and watched. Tears were brimming Kurt's eyes that were wide in adrenaline-fuelled dread. With Chandler no longer hitting him, he lay into boy without thought. It did not take a psychiatrist to know what spurred this on. Kurt punched without planning – his knocks hitting mainly Chandler's face and chest yet occasionally missing entirely, resulting in his hands crunching into the concrete, rendering him bloodied. Then again, it was hard to tell what blood was his and what wasn't: Chandler's face was now no longer recognisable under the mass of blackish-red gunk. And the boy was not moving.

Somewhere far off, a car backfired and the resounding blast seemed to startle Kurt out of his listless punching. As if seeing it all for the first time with his own eyes – perhaps he was, after keeping his eyes closed through it all? – the boy screamed and scrambled off of him, his legs flailing and jerking violently. The blonde lay still on the ground, no facial features visible and his arms limp at his sides. 'No, no, no, no – God, no-!' Kurt kept murmuring, his voice cracking into a pathetic weep. He brought his hands up to his face and they trembled as the blood dripped onto his front.

Blaine was in awe and his eyes took it all in with avid fascination. He didn't get to enjoy the scene for long, though: stumbling over himself and overcome with God-knows what, Kurt threw himself out the alley and took off running. Blaine went to go after him, but stopped.


Present Day - Blaine's Apartment

'You got out of there fast, didn't you?' Blaine mused, apparently impressed. 'Like a modern-day hustling Roadrunner. Or maybe trampy Speedy Gonzales...'

Struck to the bone in harrow and sickening despair, Kurt was not listening. His legs gave out beneath him and he fell onto the armchair opposite the knife-wielding man. He felt no immediate fear from him anymore: Blaine was not going to launch at him or do anything else of the sort. Why would he? He was far too busy savouring the bombshell of a reveal he just delivered. All this time I've tried telling myself to forget it – it was an accident, move on and detach yourself from it because no one else will ever know. But Blaine does. He knows the horror I've done; what I'm responsible for. An ugly twist in his gut made him want to break out into sorrowful wails. He clutched his stomach and swallowed down the impulse to vomit. 'What...' he panted, then shook his head. 'A-are you going to turn me in?' Blaine tipped his head and didn't answer. 'Are you going to tell the police? Why bring me here?'

'Kurt, you're missing the real obvious thing here,' Blaine sighed. He stood up and moved over to kneel by him, hand cupping his cheek and the other running soft strokes up and down his leg. 'I'm not like Chandler; I gain nothing from revealing your dirty little secrets to the world.' Kurt steeled himself when his filthy night activities and his brutal attack and murder of Chandler were tossed up as mere 'dirty little secrets'. He didn't dare pull back, though: Blaine's capturing stare made sure of that. 'So what if some old guy goes down the mortal drain when he finds out what his son has done with his body? And what do I get from solving the community's 'Whodunnit' mystery of some little whiny bitch's death? Let me tell you: nothing I want.'

The finger pads lightly gliding across his cheekbone up to his temple were telling: Kurt knew what to ask in his hoarse and nervous voice. 'What do you want?'

Fondness lit up Blaine's eyes: Kurt understood. 'I want to keep you. I want you to be all mine: your one and only customer. I want to keep your wallet full and your financial troubles at bay, and in return would expect you to be available to be at all hours of the day and night, whenever the mood takes me, as well as following every instruction I give – in and out of the bedroom, no questions asked. That is what I want. And if I can't get what I want, I might just do the childish thing and go to the cops after all.' His smile was apologetic and was paired with a soft wince.

'You're...blackmailing me.' Kurt concluded, his choice of words coming out a lot more frankly and his tone more angry than he felt he was entitled to.

Smirking, Blaine wrinkled his nose and moved to lock Kurt's lips in a brief yet not-so-chaste kiss. 'Blackmail,' He began, 'is such a crude word. Let's just say that I am willing to keep your world turning and hold the pieces of your life together if you're able to keep me happy. It's all about what you're capable of.' Kurt glared at him knowing fine well that Blaine was still playing with him, only this time it was a game Kurt did not know how to beat him in. But then again, toys don't normally have a say in such things. 'Do we have a deal, Kurt?'

The real question was: did Kurt have a choice?


'Mmm...' Blaine's eyes rolled back in his head as his hips thrust up, shoving his cock deeper into the sucking mouth. Kurt gagged as the length slid down his throat and caused him to pull up for air. 'No, no, baby; you have to learn to take it all.' A hand slid through his hair and shoved his face back with little consideration.

Kurt's watery eyes squeezed shut and he tried to close over his throat as best he could, which resulted in a sloppy gurgling sound and a pleased twitch from the member he was currently pleasuring. He sped up his massaging hand to give him time to slide his tight lips back up to the tip in order to take a much-needed breath of air. Blaine allowed him that much before the hand on the back of his head steered him down again.

Blaine stole a glance downwards at the boy leaning over his lap. Even in the small confines of his car, Kurt was able to lie out along the front over the handbrake and past the steering wheel with no problem whatsoever. Blaine admired the slender form's curved back that was like a cat ready to pounce. He reached over with his free hand and gave Kurt's raised ass a hard smack. The boy gasped and uttered a small cry against his cock and made to pull up. 'Blaine, please, if someone walks by-'

'Did I say you could speak?' Blaine reprimanded him lazily, manhandling Kurt's neck so the boy's tongue was draped up and down his member on full show for Blaine to enjoy. He saw the worry in the boy's gaze and he rolled his eyes. 'No one's around. And the windows are tinted, so do as I told you and suck.'

Kurt nodded weakly. 'Yes, sir.' He wrapped his lips around him once more and swept his tongue over the head. It caused Blaine hard ripples of pleasure, which was only heightened by the boy's utter compliance. It was a little after nine o'clock in the morning and they were parked round the back of the library Kurt worked at. Blaine was kind to him: there was no way he could have Kurt running off every morning for a dumb paper route but he would allow his part-time job organising books. At least Blaine would know exactly where he was. Kurt had been mortified when Blaine parked up in the secluded spot and ordered Kurt to give him good, hard head before allowing him to leave. Admittedly, there were no over-looking windows and no other cars near them, but Kurt had needed reminding of Blaine's threats before he finally obeyed.

'Now, Kurt,' Blaine was murmuring as he fondly moved the boy's hair from his face so he could see his hollowed-out cheeks more clearly. 'You finish at five, you go home to your dad and you can eat a little there. But not a lot. I'm picking you up at eight and we're going for dinner. Make sure your dad knows you won't be home until at least Friday, because I plan to have you to myself for some quality time. You understand?'

'Mmm,'

'What was that?'

With a loud pop, Kurt's swollen lips parted from the task at hand to answer. 'Yes, sir.'

'Good.' Blaine's gaze greedily drank in the sight of Kurt thrusting himself back down, his face turning this way and that whilst coaxing the older man closer and closer to his peak. It didn't take much longer: Kurt was tuned in to Blaine's quicker breaths and the tighter hold of his hair. He bore down on him heavier, his fingers stroking firmer and his second and coming up to cup and pull at Blaine's balls. Blaine hissed and eased himself up as far as he physically could, almost being able to feel himself slip all the way into Kurt before exploding his load. Kurt was able to take it this time, much to the boy's immense relief, and swallowed it all down as per Blaine's earlier instruction. As the hips settled back onto the leather seat, Kurt was a good boy and lapped up the remaining juices before they got on their clothes, or worst: the car's interior.

The fingers in his hair played with his brown locks until Blaine felt ready to let him go. Kurt reached for the door handle. 'Kurt.' That was all Blaine had to say. The teen turned round, eyes widening as he tried to recall something he missed. He really didn't think he had! 'Don't I get a kiss goodbye?' Kurt felt so dumb: the most obvious thing in the world. In apology, he climbed over and half straddled the other man. He placed both hands on Blaine's chest and ran them up slowly to his face, bringing them both forward into a deep and lengthy kiss. A contented hum signalled Kurt's permission to leave, which he did. He could still feel the man's eyes on him as he rounded the corner towards the library entrance.

Blaine felt a bothersome loss once Kurt disappeared from view. He wondered if that meant he'd soon have to pull Kurt back from all employment. Blaine's own income – thanks to his share in his father's multi-million dollar business – was beyond enough to keep them happy as well as providing Kurt the money needed to help his father. That was something he was doing out of kindness: with the dirt he had on Kurt to keep him on a short leash he did not need to be so generous and charitable, but he supposed he was at least being a little selfish not wanting Kurt to have other distractions whilst going through his 'training'. Kurt...Kurt was a keeper. Blaine had many in the past who briefly caught his eye but none came close to the true beauty of Kurt. Chandler didn't stand a chance.

A flicker of amusement arose at the thought of the blonde kid who had unwittingly brought Kurt to Blaine's attention. Such a tragic end... Kurt might torture himself for the rest of his life with the memory of what he did. Or...what he thought he did.

One day Blaine might tell him the whole truth about that night. Perhaps, if Blaine knew Kurt had fallen in love with him and was his forever more, he might release him from the guilt. But that day was far off. For now, Blaine would keep it a secret. In fact, who was he kidding? He'd never tell Kurt the truth.


Two Weeks Earlier - In the Alleyway

Blaine moved to go after the running figure of his new obsession, but as he got out from behind the dumpster he heard the unmistakable sound of a groan coming from behind him. He turned in alarm: Chandler's hand flinched slightly on the ground. Carefully and quietly, Blaine stalked up to stand over him. He knelt down. 'Chandler?' He whispered gently.

He guided his hand across the bloodied mess and uncovered the boy's eyes, nose and mouth. Chandler opened his eyes and the pools of blue were a sea of agony. 'B-laine-' He coughed out, rough and torn just like his body. 'H-Help... Hurts s-so much-'

'Shh, shh,' Blaine softly stroked the scarlet cheeks and thumbed a stray tear away before cradling his head. 'I know it hurts. I know. Quiet, now.' Chandler closed his eyes in apparent inner relief to have Blaine with him. He tried to move his hand up to touch the beautiful raven-haired man but he just couldn't garner the energy to move much at all. 'That's it...close your eyes. It'll all be over soon.' The blonde's eyebrows furrowed in a lack of understanding. Blaine smiled and placed his palm across his mouth. Chandler's eyes opened and dizzily searched for the face above him. Fingers then slid up to pinch the boy's nostrils shut. At first, Chandler merely jerked, as though doing so would get rid of whatever was covering his face. But when Blaine's hands did not let up, the teen started to rock. 'Shh, Chandler, listen to me,' Blaine sung just above a whisper, 'It'll all be over before you know it. Count back from twenty... I've been told that helps.' Chandler's eyes screamed betrayal though still could not seem to believe what was happening. He didn't have time to digest it, either: his body was struggling instinctively for air. However, Blaine would not allow him even one merciless gasp. Keeping his hands over his nose and mouth, the man leaned his knee on the heaving chest and pressed down.

It did not take long after that.

No longer breathing and without a traceable pulse, Chandler was dead. Blaine chewed on his lips as he rose up to consider the scene: he had to see it from the eyes of police and investigators. This just wouldn't do... He rose up his foot and brought it down on Chandler's still chest. The small breaking of ribs was not enough so he did it a second time for a more appealing crunch. He then toed his body over and aimed a few fair kicks at his back and legs. It had to look like a savage killing – something cops could not pin on someone like Kurt and yet it also couldn't be far from what Kurt did. The teen had to believe he had committed this horrific act. Blaine smacked him around a little more until there was no inch of him unscathed. Don't try to pretend you aren't enjoying this, Blaine. He smirked, admiring his handiwork, though wished it hadn't resulted in the staining of his clothes. He straightened himself out and strode out through the other end of the alley.

Word would get out by morning, he knew. He'd then bide his time and wait for Kurt to come out of hiding. That's the thing about guys like Kurt; they never know what's good for them. And that's why guys like Blaine Anderson always win.


A.N. For those interested, the original draft consisted of simply Blaine picking up Kurt and stumbling across his wallet leading to a nasty blackmail of sorts – Chandler isn't in it, no one is killed, and Kurt is never in danger. I prefer the re-written chapter, though: far more sinister. Please be kind and leave a review or message via my profile to let me know what you thought!