A/N: Hi, remember when I said I would try to update once a week? That didn't really work out like I planned... (Darn life for preoccupying my time so I don't have time to write). That being said I cannot believe the response I have gotten from this story. It makes me so happy :,) before I continue the story here I'm going to fit in some responses to some of the reviews I've gotten really quick.
jojo2116: I like the story so far. You got it on point but I would love to reverse the characters Kurt is more Christian in my eyes and Blaine is Ana. I love it keep up writing :)
Thanks, I can see Kurt being into that stuff and canon Blaine is so very reserved so it could fit. I think the reason I did it how I did was because I'm into Dark!Blaine/Dom!Blaine stuff (now you know my secret haha).
Nezabudka: I'm not a fan of Fifty Shades of Grey as I believe fans have written better smut fictiom than what is that book. That said, your take on that story looks very promising and I'm intrigued. Looking forward to reading Klaine version.
Not going to lie the fact you are not a fan of Fifty Shades but still plan on reading this makes me feel so good. Like I kind of mentioned before I won't be doing everything EXACTLY like the books. It will have more plot and less repetitive actions. Like for example, Kurt won't swoon every time Blaine looks at him. He also will not be saying "oh my" all the time. Kurt will also have a bit more of a spine than Ana does and Blaine's backstory will be different (but still troubling).
* Now on to the main event- The actual story! *
Fifty Shades of Klaine: Chapter Two
"Mr. Anderson will see you now, Mr. Hummel. Do go through," Blonde Number Two says. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.
"You don't need to knock – just go in." She smiles kindly.
I shove open the heavy looking steel door only to find it being way lighter then it looked, and with all the extra force swing open and slams loudly against the steel wall. Oops. Way to go Hummel, what a great first impression you just made.
"Oh crap, uh... it was lighter then it looked my bad." I quickly explained.
"That's fine" said a man's smooth voice, full of amusement. I turn my attention to the source of the voice only to be surprised- younger and more handsome then I expected.
"I don't mean to be rude, but I was under the impression I had an appointment with a Ms. Rachel Berry, unless the information I've received was false." He said with a smile. His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it's difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.
"If wasn't false, but I'm here in place her. Rach, um Rachel, Ms. Berry couldn't come. She was uh... Sick." I said awkwardly. I don't know why I was so nervous, I usually wasn't like this around people, I was usually more confident. But the way he gazed at me was unsettling. Not in a creepy way, but interest sparked in his eyes.
"Oh, and what is your relation with Ms. Berry, or as you call her, Rachel?" He asked curiously. I shifted on my legs.
"I'm her roommate, Kurt Hummel. We're best friends. We went to the same high school together in Ohio. Then we both moved to New York, and now we are roommates." Why did I just blabber like that? He doesn't care about my life story. But if my blabbering seemed to bother him he didn't show it. In fact he seemed amused by my over-explanation.
"Well it's nice to meet you, Mister Hummel." He extends a long-fingered hand to me.
"I'm Blaine Anderson. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?"
He's so young, and attractive, very attractive. Although He's a bit short, he is dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with jet black hair smoothed back with gel, and intense, deep hazel eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice. There is no way in hell this guy is over thirty. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. It must be the static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. Why was I so nervous?
He waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch.
His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite – a series of scenes from famous Broadway musicals, all painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.
"A local artist," says Anderson when he catches my gaze.
"They're breathtaking. Some of the most emotional pieces from theatre," I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.
"I couldn't agree more, Mister Hummel," he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself a bit relaxed.
Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Rachel's questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder. Mr. Anderson says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he's watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.
"Sorry," I stutter. "I was kind of thrown into this."
"Take all the time you need, Mister Hummel," he says.
"Do you mind if I record your answers?"
"Well you did already set up the recorder."
I flush. He's teasing me? I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say, although he did have a point.
"Did Rachel, I mean, Miss Berry, explain what the interview was for?"
"Yes. To appear in an issue of the NYADA student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees of acting and directing."
Oh! This is news to me, Rachel happened to forget to mention this and I'm temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present me with this wisdom. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.
"Good," I say, trying to act and sound as professional as possible. "I have some questions, Mr. Anderson."
A/N Next chapter will feature the actual interview. Sorry for the short chapter, I figured that a short story update was better than no update at all. I would love it if you would fill out a review (it's not necessary but greatly appreciated).